Jaine Austen 4 - Shoes to Die For Read Online Free PDF Page B

look?
    I guess I must’ve been staring, because she reached up and felt her naked earlobe.
    “Drat,” she said. “I dropped my earring again. Darn thing keeps coming off. Oh, here it is.” She reached down and picked up a gold hoop from the floor. “One of these days, I’ve got to get it fixed.”
    She put her earring back in and looked at me appraisingly. “Wow,” she said. “You look great.”
    “Lance did a makeover on me.”
    “He did a fantabulous job!”
    Fantabulous? I hadn’t heard that word since Gidget bought her first surfboard.
    “Really. I can’t get over how super you look.”
    Getting a fashion compliment from a girl with Kool Aid hair, purple fingernails, and a vinyl bustier wasn’t exactly a rave in Vogue, but I was grateful for her kind words.
    “Turn around,” she said, “and let me get a good look at you.”
    And it was then that it hit me. I’d hidden the price tag on the jacket, but I’d forgotten all about the tag on the slacks. What if it was dangling down my tush as we spoke?
    I smiled weakly and did a half turn.
    “Um, do you think I could use the rest room?” I asked.
    “Sure.”
    She pointed out the bathroom, and I scurried to it. It was a small no-frills john with a tiny window opening onto an alley. I checked out my slacks, and sure enough, the tag was showing. Quickly I shoved it under the waistband. I was just about to go back out onto the sales floor when I heard voices coming from the alley.
    One of them was the unmistakable voice of Frenchie. And if I had to guess, I’d say the other one was Tyler, the adorable salesman Lance had lusted after. But I didn’t have to guess, because by this time, I was standing on the toilet peeking out the window.
    What can I say? I’m nosy.
    Frenchie was leaning into Tyler, both arms draped around his neck.
    “I’ve missed you, babe,” she cooed. “When are you coming back to your Frenchie?”
    Tyler looked distinctly uncomfortable.
    “Look, Frenchie,” he said, removing her arms from his shoulders, “we’ve been through this a million times. You’re a married woman.”
    “So?”
    “So Owen’s a nice guy. It’s not fair to him.”
    “Owen doesn’t mind. We have an open marriage.”
    “I think he does mind. I see the way he looks at me and it’s not the look of a happy man. Besides, I already told you. I’ve met somebody new.”
    “You can’t like her more than you like me,” she said, running her finger along his upper lip.
    “I’m afraid I do,” Tyler said, brushing away her hand.
    And like that, she turned from pussycat to piranha.
    “Nobody dumps Frenchie,” she said softly, so softly I had to strain to hear. “You’ll be sorry.”
    It was hot in that small bathroom, but suddenly I felt a chill down my spine. I sure as hell wouldn’t want to get on Frenchie’s bad side.
    Frenchie strode back into the store, the angry click of her high heels echoing in the alley. Tyler just stood there, wiping his lip where her fingers had been. I couldn’t tell if what I saw in his eyes was fear or disgust. Probably a little of both.
    Then I climbed off the toilet bowl and headed out to meet Grace Lynbrook.

    The first thing I noticed about Grace was her hair. It was, to borrow a phrase from Walt Disney, snow white. Which made a startling contrast with the deep blue of her eyes. She had cheekbones as sharp as Ginsu knives, and skin remarkably free of wrinkles. I remembered what Lance said, that she’d been a top model in the seventies. Surely she must’ve had plastic surgery to look so good. But there were no telltale signs of a surgeon’s knife. No slanted eyes, no eyebrows raised in a look of perpetual surprise.
    “Jaine,” she said, standing up to shake my hand. “So nice to meet you.”
    She wore white linen overalls with a black tank underneath. Now I can count on the fingers of Venus de Milo’s hand the number of women who can wear white overalls and not wind up looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy. But