Deadly Obsession by Nigel May Page B

cocktail of personalities before. Laura was happy, adventurous, fun, wild, and reckless and she made Amy want to feel just like that too. Laura did catch the attention of one of the musicians and before heading off into the night with him, the two young women swapped numbers and arranged to meet again. They did, the following week, on a quest to try and track down Brandon Flowers.
    They’d never found The Killers’ frontman, but the two girls had found a deep friendship, which saw them share so much – from their taste in music as it twisted its way from glam rock via disco to the edgier sounds of the eighties they’d been listening to on the night Laura died – to their varied experiences with men, even though Laura’s experience with the opposite sex eclipsed anything that Amy had ever tried. Most nights out ended up with Laura leaving Amy to her own devices as she headed off after yet another man. But Laura had always been there, the naughty to Amy’s nice. And Amy found her thrilling.
    But now she was gone. The thrill was over. Someone had made sure of that when they’d fired a bullet into Laura’s back at the Kitty Kat Club. And even if Amy wasn’t sure about anything to do with her life with Riley anymore, she knew that somebody needed to pay for taking away her perfect existence with her best friend.

14
    Now, 2015
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    â€˜ S prechen sie hi-fashion , darling? It would appear that you don’t. I suggest you take your foreign, tawdry little rags and peddle them elsewhere. You’re not exactly Germany’s equivalent of Victoria Beckham are you? Now, why don’t you take your collection and give it to someone who gives a shit about your poorly stitched knick-knacks as they certainly have no place in one of England’s finest clothing boutiques ... got it?’
    Genevieve Peters hung up the phone. She had never been somebody to dress up her words with pleasantries. She had a tongue sharper than the outfits featured inside the four walls of Eruption, her goldmine of a clothing shop situated in one of the trendier parts of Manchester. In the seven years since she had opened the store she had clothed everyone from up-and-coming Hollywood through to young royalty. Not that any of the fashion was designed by her. No, Genevieve left that to the likes of Tom Ford or Roberto Cavalli. She had the shrewdest fashionista eye for spotting what the next big trend would be. With a hard work ethic of ‘nose to the grindstone’ and a well-accessorised ear to the floor, Genevieve and her team of contacts polka-dotted around the globe to make sure that any forthcoming trend would feature in Manchester’s Eruption before it had even hit UK catwalks. She had played a major part in Fashion Weeks all over the globe from the chaotic drama of New York through to the stylish flair of Milan and Paris. Images of her chatting freely with celebrities such as Cara Delevingne or Harry Styles in the front row of all the big name showcases frequently filled the red tops. At the age of thirty-five, the boutique owner, with her jet-black angularly cropped hair and tight black dress, was as feared as her severe fringe was razor-straight. Mostly by her staff, and rightly so, as it was usually they who bore the brunt of her venom, especially her assistant, Meifeng.
    Facing the pint-size Oriental girl stood alongside her behind the counter of Eruption, Genevieve let rip. ‘Meifeng, if that abhorrent little German phones again then tell him he can shove his designs so far up his arse he’ll be able to bite down on the cheap fucking fabric they’re made from. And never pass him on to me again if you want to keep your job here, okay? You’re supposed to be my assistant so please assist me by making the right decisions instead of being a total prick. Now, where’s my cup of green tea?’
    The young Asian girl scuttled out to the back of the shop as Genevieve dismissed her