Lavender Lipstick Lies: A Mystery of Makeup & Mayhem by Mary Maxwell Page A

were coming this weekend!”
    “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,”
the woman said.
    “Are you having a blast?” asked
Bree.
    “It’s been great so far,” answered
the other woman. “It would’ve been even more exciting if I’d sold a few extra things
last month. I desperately want to get Achiever of the Year sometime!”
    I couldn’t hear Bree’s response to
the woman’s remark before the elevator reached our floor and everyone slowly
stepped into the corridor. I headed to the left toward our suite, when Bree
called my name.
    “Hey, Abs!” she said cheerfully.
“Do you know Amanda Woodworth?”
    The question ripped a hole in my
heart. I’d heard my husband utter the same last name during our conversation just
two hours earlier.
    “Amanda,” Bree continued. “This is
Abby Edison. She and I went to high school together in—”
    “Boring!” Emma announced in a
high-pitched tone. “Let’s fast forward to present day and get something to eat!
We have the rest of the afternoon free, ladies. We can talk about ancient
history over cocktails by the pool.”
    The tall woman gave Emma a thumbs
up. “Now you’re talking,” she said.
    Emma spun around. “I’ve got to
tinkle,” she whispered. “I’ll see you guys in the room.”
    When I turned back to Bree and Amanda,
they were discussing the speaker we’d heard during the opening session. Once
they finished, Amanda flashed a big smile at me.
    “So, you’re the famous Abby Edison!”
she said. “I saw your name right above mine on the final rankings for Achiever
of the Year.”
    Bree frowned. “Oh, I wasn’t aware of
that,” she said. “You’re the fourth ranked consultant in the nation?”
    Amanda raised one eyebrow. “Unless
Abby or one of the other women drops out,” she said. “Like that sketchy chick
from Chicago. Then maybe I’d have a shot at the award.”
    An icy chill tumbled down my spine
as the woman smiled at me before announcing that she was meeting her friends
for lunch.
    “That was weird,” Bree said softly
when we were alone again.
    “Uh-huh,” I agreed. “But not as
weird as what I saw in your room when I came up during the break.”
    Bree’s face fell. “What are you
talking about?”
    “Let’s go back to the suite so we
can talk,” I said. “I want to get to the bottom of this before things get any
creepier.”
    With Bree a few steps behind, I
walked briskly through the hallway to our suite. Once we were inside and the
door was closed, she took my arm.
    “What’s going on, Abby?”
    “You tell me,” I said, pulling free
of her hand. “Let’s go take a look at what I saw earlier.”
    When we walked into Bree’s room,
the red hat and caftan were still draped across the bed.
    “There!” I said, pointing at the
suspicious garments. “That’s exactly what the intruder was wearing
yesterday when they left that message on my mirror!”
    Bree dropped her purse on the desk
and crossed the room. “Those aren’t mine,” she said anxiously. “I’ve never seen
them before, Abby.”
    She twirled around. Her brow was
crumpled and pinched into a mask of confusion.
    “Then what are they doing in your
room?” I plucked the caftan from the bed, glancing quickly at the label inside
the neckline. “And why does this have your initials stenciled on the tag?”
    Bree hurried to my side, tearing
the billowy sheath from my grasp. She examined the label briefly before
dropping the caftan. It fluttered to the floor like a withering balloon.
    “I have no idea where these things
came from,” she exclaimed. “And the last time I wore anything with my initials
inside was fourth grade summer camp!”
    “What about this ?” I grabbed
the tube of Lyrically Luscious Lavender lipstick that I’d noticed earlier on
the dressing table. “It’s what was used to write the note and the
message on the mirror!”
    Bree smirked. “Oh, come on, Abby!
Aren’t you being a little melodramatic? I told you those clothes aren’t