Some Like It Haute: A Humorous Fashion Mystery (Style & Error Book 4) by Diane Vallere Page A

reached up and felt the new shorter ends of my hair. “I needed a change.”
    “With just your hair or with other things too?”
    “I’m considering a total lifestyle overhaul.”
    A beer sat on a cardboard Bud Light coaster on the table. The glass was more full than empty. I glanced at it, and then at him.
    “Why’d you want me to meet you here?” he asked.
    I shrugged. “I needed an excuse to get out of the house.”
    “I don’t think that’s the reason.”
    “Okay, fine. I like their pizza.”
    “You picked a fine time to start telling the truth.” This time he smiled.
    A waiter carried a silver tray to our table. “Large round with cheese, right?” he said to me.
    “This can’t be ours. We haven’t ordered yet.”
    “Missy, you’ve been ordering the same thing since you were in high school.” He looked at Dante. “Good luck with this one,” he said. “She’s been breaking hearts for two decades.”
    Dante transferred a slice onto a beige plastic plate for me and then for himself. I shook on a generous portion of oregano and bit into the tip of the slice. Too hot. Burnt my mouth. I reached for the water and guzzled half of the glass. Dante watched me. I set my slice down and looked at him.
    “It’s hot,” I said.
    “I hear some like it hot.”
    “I heard that too.”
    “What about you, Samantha? How do you like it?”
    “I like it room temperature.” He raised one eyebrow. “Are we still talking about pizza?”
    He smiled. “For now.”
    “I can live with that.” I turned my attention back to the slice. I was reaching for my third when I realized Dante’s second still sat on his plate.
    “Go for it,” he said.
    “I can’t eat a third slice if you’re not going to at least pretend to finish your second.”
    “I have a better idea. Let’s get a to-go box and get out of here.”
    “But—”
    “Your friend Eddie asked if I could give you a ride home. And I said I would, only, there’s someplace we have to go first.”
    After packing the pizza up, I followed Dante out of Brothers. Out of the corner of my eye, I looked for Nick or Amanda, but saw neither one. It was just as well. I wasn’t sure what Dante had in mind, but I thought it best not to have the image of Nick in my mind when it happened.
    Dante led me to a black sedan. He beeped a remote at it and the lights flickered once.
    “Isn’t this Cat’s car?” I asked.
    “Yes. For what I have in mind, I thought it better to not draw attention to ourselves.”
    “What exactly do you have in mind?”
    “We’re working a case, Samantha.” He rested his forearms on the top of the car and looked across the hood at me. “We’re going back to the scene of the crime.”
     

13
    All over the world, couples were heading out to dance clubs, bars, and restaurants for date night. Dante and I were headed to a crime scene.
    Samantha Kidd, this is your life.
    While I wondered what Dante’s sister would say about the scent of pizza that would most certainly cling to the interior of her otherwise pristine car, Dante drove us to Warehouse Five. It was dark and the roads were crowded. He parked the car under a streetlamp about a hundred feet away from the gravel lot I’d stood in earlier. The aches and pains I’d been ignoring  all day were catching up to me, and I moved slowly. Dante was halfway to the building when he realized I was still by the car. He doubled back.
    “You okay?”
    “I’ll manage. I think I’m getting more stiff as the night goes on.”
    “You need to exercise. Stretch. Stay limber.”
    “I exercise plenty,” I lied. “I’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
    He reached for my hand and guided me forward. My initial instinct was to shake him off, but I found it comforting to hold onto him. Even though he was ahead of me, he walked at a pace that I could match. He didn’t let go when we reached the lot, and suddenly it seemed awkward to stand in a faintly lit parking lot with Dante holding my hand, like maybe