Handbags and Homicide

By J.C. Layne

Wren Chase knows fashion. As a writer for Posh Vogue Magazine, the hottest fashion magazine in Manhattan, every designer wants to impress her. Wren's taste in fashion is impeccable; if she loves something, so does everyone else. Her life is filled with high fashion, dinner parties, fashion shows, and other events. She has a great life!

Then, one day, a package in the mail changes Wren's life. It turns out she has a destiny, one that she can't quite believe. Then, when a friend and colleague is murdered, Wren finds herself smack in the middle of the investigation.

Teamed with an eccentric assistant, a feisty spirit, and a handsome detective, Wren sets out to find the killer. In the process, she might just fulfill her destiny.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.C. Layne
• Release date: Jul 8, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393581321

Book preview

1

Wren Chase sips her non-fat, half-caff, two pumps of mocha, one pump of peppermint latte and stares at her laptop screen. She isn’t quite happy with this article she’s writing. Wren is usually perfectly confident with her articles, but today, she feels a bit off. It must be that damn dream she had last night.

She sighs and leans back in her chair, stretching her neck from side to side to relieve the built-up tension. She presses save and stands to her full height, her four-inch Christian Louboutin stilettos putting her at 5’11". Her statuesque frame is thin with feminine curves that lets her wear clothes like a model. She is always perfectly put together in the latest hot designer fashion.

Wren’s put-together definition is down to the smallest detail. The handbag matches the shoes, the lingerie matches the general color of her outfit. The makeup is expertly applied to silhouette her sculpted cheekbones and full lips. Her long, dark hair is never out of place.

In fact, she’s been asked before if she is ever casually dressed. Wren just laughs. Of course, she dresses casually from time-to-time. It’s just that she doesn’t allow anyone to see it. That just wouldn’t be acceptable.

Wren is a fashion writer, well, fashion expert who writes for Posh Vogue Magazine, the most acclaimed new fashion magazine in the Manhattan area. Wren was stolen from one of the other national bigs when Posh Vogue started up. It was a risk for her, but it has worked out marvelously.

Wren is a clothing savant. If she likes something, it sells; not just sells, but becomes one of the newest, hottest trends.

Because of this, every designer in the New York area seeks her out when their new lines are released. She spends much of her time at fashion shows, dinners, and parties. She receives free clothing frequently, that’s the thing she loves most about her job.

She picks up her coffee cup and saunters to the window. As she looks down on the fountain in the middle of the brick courtyard, her mind wanders back to the dream the night before.

Good morning, sweets! Skyler Henry’s sing-song voice resonates as he scurries into her office, his entrance nothing less than dramatic. As he gets to her desk, he lays a stack of mail down and spins several times as if on a runway.

He then strikes a pose, head back before swishing over to Wren and kissing her on the cheek.

Skyler is a diva, and he proudly wears that title.

Wren can’t help but chuckle at her assistant. Well, good morning, Skyler.

Skyler giggles. Oh, girl, I’m in a fabulous mood today.

Wrens eyebrows raise. Oh? Why is that?

Skyler straightens his silver lame blouse. I met the most lickable prospect last night.

Ah, I see.

Oh, no, girl, you do not see. This lad is scrump-dilly-icious!

Skyler fans himself. Whew! I almost spontaneously combusted. He tilts his head to the side, Wren, darling, do you remember what that feels like? Getting hot for a man?

Wren grumbles, Do not start with me today, Skyler.

He props on one leg and wraps and arm around his waist as he studies Wren. He examines the nails on his perfectly manicured hand. I’m just wondering since it’s been, what? Three years since the malevo-dick left.

Not now, Skyler. Wren glares at him.

Stomping his foot, Skyler remarks, Then, when, hon? You’re fabulous in every way, and let’s face it, girl, if you don’t get laid soon, your shit is gonna dry up like a prune.

Wren growls, That’s enough!

She rubs at her temple with one thumb as she sets her coffee cup on her desk.

Skyler rushes to her. Oh, Wrennie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just—

Suddenly feeling very tired, Wren replies, Oh, it’s not just you. It’s this stupid dream I had last night. I can’t seem to shake it.

Sex dream? Ooh, do tell, Skyler asks with a shoulder shimmy.

Wren rolls her eyes. No, not a sex dream. Sometimes this man has such a one-track mind.

Skyler sits down daintily in a side chair. I’m all ears. I’m excellent at dream interpretation, you know.

Wren eyes him. Yes, I know. You’re worse than Freud. Everything is sexual.

Skyler brushes the statement off with a hand. Oh, tsk. Just sit down and tell me.

Wren sits down in her desk chair and dabs her face with a handkerchief. It was just bizarre.

She proceeds to tell Skyler about the dream; every strange and insane detail.

When she’s done, Skyler sits quietly, his eyes wide and incredulous. After a few minutes, he stands. He stares at Wren for a moment, then turns and walks in a large circle around the perimeter of the room. As he walks, he gestures with his hands as if talking to himself.

Wren sighs loudly as she leans back in her chair. Would you please say something?

Skyler spins to face her. Hands on his hips, he forces a smile. I’m just letting this all sink in, sweets, he replies as he gestures with his hands.

He swishes toward her. Let me make sure I’ve got this straight. Calvin Klein came to you in your dream and told you that you have a calling. That it’s your birthright to help people and that you’d be receiving a message soon. Did I get that right?

Wren nods. Yes, that’s about the gist of it. Her stomach churns as she awaits his response. Yeah, she’s had dreams before; even detailed ones, but she’s never had one like this. Not one that awoke her in a cold sweat. Not one that has eaten at her since she awoke in that cold sweat.

Skyler’s lip twitches, a telltale sign that he’s about to burst into laughter. Well did Calvin mention what this calling is? I mean you make or break designers every week. That’s probably it.

No, it had nothing to do with fashion. He did tell me that. No matter how stupid the dream sounds, Wren is in no mood to be mocked.

Skyler remains quiet for a moment before he belly laughs, bending at the waist for emphasis.

Standing, Wren puts her hands on her hips. Her heart is pounding, both with frustration and irritation. With an icy tone, she blurts, You know what? Just get out. I shouldn’t have told you.

Pulling himself together, Skyler holds his hands up with a defensive gesture. No, now, I’m not making fun of you. But, Wrennie, you have to admit it sounds pretty strange.

Wren snaps, Ya think?

Skyler sashays around the desk and puts his arm around her shoulders. It’s probably just a meaningless dream. Don’t let it bother you.

Wren crosses her arms across her chest, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. He just doesn’t understand. She doesn’t have dreams like this. Ever. If she doesn’t have the support of her BFF, who does she have?

Skyler’s brow creases, realizing the toll this is taking on Wren. Come on, sweets. Let’s blow this joint and go get some brunch at Chez Louie. You could use a break.

He takes Wren’s arm and leads her toward the door, plucking her double-breasted Burberry rain coat from the coat rack by the door on the way.

2

After a two-hour brunch and facial for two, compliments of her BFF and assistant, Wren feels much more at ease. Surely, it was just a stupid dream. She has been feeling very stressed lately. She has three articles due in the next two weeks and these designers rely on her.

As the two return to Wren’s office, another writer peeks into the door. A package came for you, Wren. We set it in your chair.

Wren smiles. Great. Thank you, Claire.

It isn’t unusual for Wren to receive packages. She gets thank you gifts all the time.

She hangs her coat back on the coat rack and turns to her desk. The package in her chair is nothing special, neatly-addressed to Wren and covered in plain brown paper. Wren hands it to Skyler. "Could you open