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  “If you love to shop ’til you drop, watch out for Josie Belle’s first entry in a new mystery series—because murder’s no bargain.”

  —Leann Sweeney, author of The Cat, the Wife and the Weapon

  Killer Deals

  The women took their places. A crowd of fifty or so had gathered, but Maggie and her crew had arrived at five this morning to stake out their turf. Stegner’s was a premier outlet in southern Virginia that specialized in shoes, handbags and belts. Twice a year, they had a sale that could blow the doors off a woman’s closet.

  Maggie and the Good Buy Girls had yet to miss a sale at Stegner’s. Their system was honed to perfection. They arrived early, they took the spot in front of the doors on the side of the store where they were headed, and they let nothing get in their way.

  Maggie glanced at her watch and began the countdown. “Seven, six, five…” She could feel her crew take its mark.

  “Three, two, one!”

  The automatic doors slid open, and the crowd pressed forward. The professionals walked swiftly, but in an orderly fashion. Shoulder to shoulder, the Good Buy Girls veered to the left as planned.

  The amateurs bolted into the store, throwing elbows and body slamming people out of the way until what had been a fine day of shopping had turned into an Ultimate Fighting cage match.

  “Focus!” Maggie ordered. “Eyes on the prize.”

  50% off Murder

  Josie Belle

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.) • Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL,

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  50% OFF MURDER

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / April 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Jennifer McKinlay Orf.

  Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher.

  Cover design by Sarah Oberrender.

  Interior text design by Laura K. Corless.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 978-1-101-56134-8

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  ALWAYS LEARNING

  PEARSON

  For my mom, Susan McKinlay, and my aunt Nancy Gould, the best shoppers I know. I love you two more than a smoking-hot bargain. And in loving memory of my aunt Joan Seybold, whose gifts always had the “wow” factor.

  Acknowledgments

  A big thank-you to my wonderful editor, Michelle Vega—you really made this book sparkle. A very grateful high five to copyeditor Andy Ball—you’re brilliant. Also, I have to give a knuckle bump to my agent, Jessica Faust, for her unwavering confidence that I could write yet another series. And, as always, high fives and hugs to my dudes, Beckett, Wyatt and Chris.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  The Good Buy Girls’ Top Ten Thrifty Tips

  Chapter 1

  “Okay, is everyone clear on what they’re supposed to do?” Maggie Gerber asked.

  “Head straight for shoes, do not get distracted by handbags,” Ginger Lancaster said. It appeared she was reminding herself.

  “What do you do when you get there?” Maggie asked.

  “Sizes eight and nine, leather only,” Joanne Claramotta answered. She had her best running shoes on and was jogging in place, her usual warm-up routine for storming a store.

  “What is our primary target?” Maggie asked.

  “Designer only, preferably Italian,” Claire Freemont answered. “No knockoffs.”

  “Excellent.” Maggie said.

  She took a moment to study the reflection of her crew in the store’s glass door. They all wore track suits of varying colors and running shoes, and carried canvas shopping bags on their arms.

  Claire had her blonde bob pulled back by a wide, neon pink headband, which matched her sweat suit and also helped to keep her glasses in place. She looked determined.

  Joanne, in navy blue, wore her long dark hair in a ponytail on top of her head. She stopped jogging and was stretching, looking prepared to run over anybody who got in her way.

  Ginger, who kept her black hair cut close to her head, was in a baby blue track suit, which enhanced the rich brown of her skin. She was muttering, “No handbags,” under her breath like a mantra. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration. She had her game face on.

  Finally, Maggie took a cursory glance at herself. She was in her favorite green workout suit, and
her shoulder-length auburn hair was pulled back and clipped at the nape of her neck. She had her shopping tote on her arm. She was good to go. She could feel the surge of adrenaline coursing through her body as the rush of scoring a good deal was just minutes away.

  She consulted her watch. “We’re in the sixty-second range. Remember, when the doors open, go to the left.”

  The women took their places. A crowd of fifty or so had gathered, but Maggie and her crew had arrived at five this morning to stake out their turf. Stegner’s was a premier outlet in southern Virginia that specialized in shoes, handbags and belts. Twice a year they had a sale that could literally blow the doors off a woman’s closet.

  Maggie and the Good Buy Girls, as they called themselves, had yet to miss a sale at Stegner’s. Their system was honed to perfection. They arrived early, they took the spot in front of the doors on the side of the store where they were headed, and they let nothing get in their way.

  “Thirty seconds,” Maggie said.

  The crowd behind them shifted restlessly. The lure of ridiculously marked down Manolo, Weitzman and Prada shoes, as well as Coach and Michael Kors handbags, was drawing them all like bees to pollen.

  Abruptly, a platinum blonde, wearing black leather stiletto boots with black leggings and a zebra striped halter top, elbowed her way to the front of the crowd until she was standing beside Maggie.

  “You’re going down, Gerber,” the woman hissed.

  Maggie turned and saw her nemesis, Summer Phillips, standing there.

  “Are you actually trash-talking me?” she asked.

  “Trash, is that how you see yourself?” Summer asked. “So you are more self-aware than I thought.”

  Maggie felt her temples contract as her temper flared.

  “Why are you here, Summer?” she asked. “Didn’t your fourth husband pay enough to get rid of you when he divorced you? I wouldn’t think outlet sales were your thing.”

  Summer’s bloodred lip curled back, and she looked like she wanted to bite Maggie.

  “Countdown, Maggie,” Ginger said.

  When Maggie didn’t respond, Ginger leaned forward and saw Summer Phillips on the other side of her.

  “Uh-oh,” she said. “This is bad.”

  Maggie was breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth. Summer Phillips had been the bane of her existence since they were kids.

  For some reason that Maggie had never fully understood, Summer lived to make her life a misery. She had made sure that Maggie was mocked, picked on and ridiculed at every possible turn. She had even tried to befriend Ginger, but Ginger had refused, seeing Summer for the devil in spandex that she was.

  Maggie hadn’t seen much of Summer over the past few years, but now here she was, horning in on one of Maggie’s ultimate joys, a sale. Well, she was darned if she was going to let this big-busted, bleached blonde bubblehead ruin one of the highlights of her summer.

  Shaking Summer’s presence off like a bad case of fleas, Maggie glanced at her watch and began the count down: “Seven, six, five…”

  She could feel her crew take their mark.

  “Three, two, one!”

  The automatic doors slid open, and the crowd pressed forward. The professionals walked swiftly, but in an orderly fashion. Shoulder to shoulder, the Good Buy Girls veered to the left as planned and headed straight for the eights and nines.

  The amateurs, like Summer, bolted into the store, throwing elbows and body slamming people out of the way until what would have been a fine day of shopping turned into an Ultimate Fighting cage match.

  “Focus!” Maggie ordered. “Eyes on the prize.”

  The four of them strode to the shoes. They fanned out by size, Claire and Joanne in the eights and Maggie and Ginger in the nines. Working in teams, they started on the end of the row and worked their way to the middle, stuffing their canvas bags full of the shoes that met their criteria.

  Maggie was a third of the way in when Summer, looking disheveled, stumbled into her row. As Maggie went to pick up a pair of Jimmy Choo ankle boots, Summer snatched them from her hand.

  “Hey!” Maggie snapped. “That’s rude!”

  “I got them first,” Summer argued.

  “Maggie, focus!” Ginger’s voice ordered from behind her. Maggie glanced up. Other shoppers were beginning to crowd into the aisle. She had to work fast.

  “Fine,” she said and turned her back on Summer. She reached for a pair of Alberto Fermani’s, and Summer snatched those, too. “What is your problem?”

  “I don’t have a problem!” Summer said. “What’s yours?”

  “What are you, twelve?” Maggie asked. The crowd was pressing inward. She reached blindly for a pair of plastic pumps, thinking she might hit Summer over the head with them, but Summer grabbed those, too.

  It was obvious that Summer’s sole purpose was to ruin Maggie’s shopping expedition. Well, Maggie had played this game with other amateurs. Summer was going to lose.

  Maggie reached for a pair of cheap knockoffs, but Summer snatched them away. While she juggled the four pairs of shoes in her arms, Maggie grabbed a pair of Seychelles. And so it went, Maggie faking out Summer with lousy shoes and using her distraction to grab the good ones, until she met Ginger in the middle.

  “We’re good?” Maggie asked.

  “Good,” Ginger confirmed. “Let’s meet the others.”

  They wound their way past the throng—through a sea of handbags, during which Ginger kept her eyes on the floor—to the corner where they always met up.

  Now, it was time to unload their bags and finalize their decisions.

  They each had managed to snag seven to ten pairs of shoes in the correct sizes. Now they would try them on, check the prices and figure out which ones they would actually buy. If the deal was good enough and no one wanted the shoes, Maggie would buy them anyway and sell them online. She had discovered she could make a tidy monthly income selling items she picked up at sales.

  She and Ginger went through the size nines. They each picked two pairs of shoes to buy for themselves and then debated the rest. When you were looking at a three-hundred-dollar pair of shoes that had been marked down to thirty, many things had to be taken into consideration.

  Fit, practicality and style were of the utmost consideration. But then this was why they came here. There was no substitute for quality. A good pair of Weitzmans could last ten to fifteen years, wear well and never look out of date. Poorly made shoes would cost the same and last one season. Not only that, but they’d probably cause foot damage before they ended up in a landfill.

  “There she is! I demand that you throw her out!”

  The Good Buy Girls glanced up from their pile of shoes as one.

  There, looking indignant and pointing a bony, red talon–tipped finger at Maggie, stood Summer Phillips. Beside her was Stegners’ manager, Barney Comstock.

  He broke into a grin at the sight of them. “Hey, it’s the GBGs. Great to see you!”

  “Hi, Barney,” they all said together.

  “GBGs?” Summer asked, looking disgusted.

  “Good Buy Girls,” Barney said. “Get it? Good buy girls! I didn’t see you come in. We had a bit of a ruckus at the opening today.”

  He cast Summer an unhappy look, and Maggie was pleased that he knew exactly whose fault that was.

  Summer’s face flushed. She did not like the way this was going. Maggie had to duck her head to keep from laughing. She and Barney went back more than twenty years. He’d helped her pick her wedding shoes, for Pete’s sake.

  “So, Ms. Philbrick here says you have some shoes of hers,” Barney said.

  “The name is Phillips,” Summer snapped.

  “Oh, oops, sorry,” he said, not looking at all repentant.

  Barney had managed Stegner’s for over forty years. His gray hair was just a fringe around his bald head, and both his jowls and his belly sagged as if gravity had a hold and wasn’t about to let go. Summer could throw whatever she wanted at hi
m, but Maggie knew Barney had been dealing with obnoxious customers since the pillbox hat had gone the way of the dinosaur. Surely, he could handle Summer.

  Summer stomped her stiletto into the industrial carpeting. “I want my shoes back.”

  “Maggie.” Barney put his hand on the back of his neck and blew out a breath, as if he really hated this part of his job. “She seems to think you’ve got some of her shoes.”

  Maggie gritted her teeth. “Really? Because she followed me into the aisle and snatched every pair I touched.”

  Summer turned up her nose as if she smelled something bad, and said, “I never.”

  “That’s obvious,” Joanne snapped. Joanne was Brooklyn born and bred, and she did not take insults to herself or her friends well. She moved to stand behind Maggie in a show of support. Both Ginger and Claire moved in as well.

  After all those years of being cornered in the locker room by Summer and her posse of chesty cheerleaders, Maggie had to acknowledge that she liked having her peeps at her back.

  “Let’s all calm down,” she said. “Now, Summer, which shoes do you think I took from you?”

  It was admittedly a trick question. Since they had all dumped their shoes into a pile, taking out only the ones for themselves so far, Summer had no way of knowing what shoes Maggie had gathered, nor could she tell which pairs Maggie had put aside for herself.

  “Why, those!” Summer said, and she reached into the pile and pulled out a pink pair of pumps by Via Spiga.

  Maggie almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

  The pumps were size eights, and had been picked up by Claire or Joanne. A quick glance at Summer’s stilettos and Maggie frowned.

  “Really? You fit into size eights? Barney, don’t her boots look to be elevens?” Maggie asked.

  “Hmm, I’d say twelves—wide,” he said. He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. “You have some sturdy feet there, ma’am.”

  Summer sucked in a breath as if she’d been slapped. The Via Spigas dropped from her hand and she growled, “How dare you?”

  “Oh, we dare,” Joanne said. “Care to make it a double dare?”

  Like any bully who finds herself outnumbered, Summer spun on her pointy heel and fled the store. Joanne led the group in knuckle pounds and the women went back to their in-depth shoe analysis.