I nodded. "And he won." I only hoped he could pull a repeat out in the finals.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next morning, Ramirez went in to work late so he could drop the twins off at preschool on the way. He assured me that his mother would be picking them up later and watching them that afternoon while I cheered Faux Dad on at the finale of the Celebrity Jeopardy! Tournament.
With the house to myself, I grabbed a second cup of coffee and took my time scrolling through my morning emails. Most were about my fall line, though a few were putting in early purchase orders for spring, which was a good sign that the current designs were selling. After I updated my social media with some teasers about the vintage inspired line coming soon and had fully fortified myself with caffeine, I dared to take a peek at the Informer's page to see what sort of story Tina had published.
As expected, her headline was front and center.
Secret Lover Slays Scot
Who was the mysterious last lover in Dog's life? And what did she have to do with his death?
I had to hand it to Tina, she knew how to pique a person's curiosity. Even though I already knew she had no answers to those questions, I found myself scanning the article. While it was several inches long, it was full of innuendoes and speculations, giving precious few actual details. Or, I noticed, direct accusations that could be refuted by a libelous celebrity's attorney. Tina knew how to skirt a defamation suit almost as well as she knew how to skirt the truth. Still, I was glad to see it focused on Dog's personal life and away from any mentions of my stepfather.
I was just about to go grab a third cup of coffee and see what my lunch options looked like when my doorbell rang, and I opened it to find Dana and Marco standing on my front porch.
"Hello, dahling!" Marco flounced in first wearing black leggings, a black skirt, and a sheer black blouse covered in frills.
Dana followed in a pale grey shift dress and a pair of tasteful heels. Unlike Marco's heels—which were red, chunky, and looked like they belonged attached to someone working a pole.
"Marco told me everything," Dana said. She grabbed me in a hug and crushed me to her. "You could have been killed, Maddie!"
"Ash a it amatic," I mumbled, my lips mashed against her shoulder.
"What?" she asked, pulling back.
"I said 'That's a bit dramatic,'" I repeated. "I had some car trouble, but I'm fine."
"Car trouble?" Dana shook her head. "Marco said you plowed headfirst into a taco truck when someone cut your brakes."
"We don't know for sure they were cut," I hedged. "They just kind of didn't work."
"Come on, honey," Marco said, putting a hand on his ruffled hip. "How else do you explain it?"
Honestly? I couldn't.
"I don't know." I sighed, sinking onto the sofa.
"Well I do," Dana said, sitting beside me. "Obviously we made someone nervous enough to try to warn you off Dog's murder. The killer must have followed us back to Legends and tampered with your brakes while we chatted in the car."
That cold chill crept up my back again at the thought that someone had not only tried to harm me but had also been following us the entire day. "You think?" I asked, my voice suddenly coming out shaky.
"Unless the killer is Rupert Blick," Marco reasoned. "In that case, he probably cut them after you interrogated him at the restaurant."
Which didn't make me feel any better. "Ramirez said he'd send an investigator to look at my car. I'm sure he'll find out what happened."
Dana frowned. "Did you tell him what we found out yesterday?"
I nodded. "I gave him the broad strokes."
"And?" Marco asked.
"And I'm sure he'll look into it."
Two pairs of dubious eyes stared back at me.
"Look, we should leave this to the professionals. There's nothing more we can do anyway."
"Wrong," Dana said. "We can go to Dog's memorial at the studio today. It will be the perfect chance to talk to Laura Delmoore and find out for sure if she really was seeing Dog again."
I glanced at Marco's outfit. "I'm guessing this is your idea of funeral chic?"
"What?" He glanced down. "Are the shoes too much for a wake?"
The shoes were too much for just about anything but a dumpster.
"It's just an informal memorial," Dana said, waving off his concerns. "Blick told us about it at lunch yesterday. Honestly, the whole thing is probably just for show—you know, so he doesn't seem like a coldhearted, uncaring network executive."
Too late.
"Anyway," she went on, "it's the perfect opportunity to talk to Laura. I mean, let's face it—she's much more likely to open up to us about her feelings for Dog than to an intimidating police officer, right?"
I bit the inside of my cheek. "Riiight…"
"And it's not like we'd be in any danger at the studio. I mean, they've cracked down on security. There will be lots of people around. It's broad daylight."
"All truuuuuuueeee…"
"And I know you have that little black dress with the shoulder cutouts that you got on sale last month at Nordstrom and that you've been dying to wear," she added.
Dang. She knew me so well.
"Okay, fine," I relented. "We will go attend the memorial."
Dana's eyes shone. Marco beamed. I had a bad feeling I'd just uncaged Charlotte's Angels again.
"But then we come right back here," I added. "I told Ramirez I wasn't leaving the house today."
"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind." Marco fluffed his hair in my wall mirror. "Besides, hubby's used to it."
Sad, but true.
I quickly changed, threw on a pair of heels, and amped up my makeup before we all piled into Dana's car and headed toward the studio lot.
Which was packed. Apparently everyone who was anyone had been issued an invitation to see how compassionate Rupert Blick was. After passing through security, we circled the three closest parking lots with no luck before giving up and stowing Dana's car in the structure at the farthest end of the lot, where we had to hike in a good quarter mile.
The memorial was being held on the set of In the Kitchen with Aunty Mae and the Dog, which looked very different from the last time Dana, Tina, and I had been there. Lights shone brightly for one, and the bulk of the camera equipment had been removed, making it seem like we were stepping into someone's hospitable home instead of a studio set. Trays of canapés had been set out on the dining table, and waiters in crisp white uniforms circulated among the crowd with champagne and white wine. Most of the attendees were dressed similarly to Dana and me—in muted colors and cuts that ranged from slacks and suits to cocktail dresses and jeans with tailored blazers. The vibe was subdued, conversation at a low murmur rather than a jovial roar, though I noticed very few people actually looking as though they were mourning. If I had to guess, Dana's theory had been right about the intention behind the memorial—most of the attendees were there simply for appearances. Or possibly the free food and drinks.
As I took stock of the room, Marco grabbed my arm. "Look! Alex is here," he stage-whispered loudly enough that everyone in a three-person radius heard.
Including Alex Trebek himself. He smiled modestly and nodded in our direction before resuming his conversation with the man standing next to him.
"My boss is also here, so don't freak out on me," Dana said, nodding toward the kitchen where Rupert Blick was leaning against the large marble-topped island. He was wearing a subdued expression, nodding polite greetings as he played host at the event. His wife Mae stood beside him in a grey full-length dress and dark cardigan. Though I could see a pair of pink cowgirl boots just peeking out beneath the hem as a concession to her signature color. A wide smile was pasted on her face as she laughed inappropriately loudly at something a man in front of her had said. If she had any feelings on Dog's passing, she wasn't showing them, her expression as unnaturally perky as ever as she sipped from a glass of wine.
Across the room sat a
table filled with flower arrangements and a framed photograph of Dog in a pink apron serving as a centerpiece. Laura and her son John stood near it, looking like the only true mourners at the event. Laura was nodding to an elderly couple who seemed to be offering condolences. She was dressed in a sleeveless black dress accented with one simple string of pearls, and John stood to her left with a protective arm around her shoulders. Even at this distance, I could tell that Laura's eyes were bloodshot from crying. She looked a lot more like a grieving widow to me than an ex-wife of seven years. John's expression was the same stoic one I'd come to associate with him. Clearly he was keeping his real opinions on his father to himself today, mouth shut in a grim line.
"Oh, you have got to be kidding me." Dana let out a groan, her gaze landing on a spot near the back of the room.
"What?" I asked, following her eyeline. She was staring at a group of people hovering near the dining room table, where more trays of canapés had just been laid out. As a grey-haired couple grabbed their hors d'oeuvres and moved away, they revealed another figure standing off to the side, stuffing bacon-wrapped scallops into her mouth.
Tina.
Before I had a chance to stop her, Dana was stalking purposefully across the room toward the purple-haired woman. Who'd at least had the good graces to dress for the occasion today, in a simple knee-length black dress with ¾ sleeves. She'd even forgone the combat boots in favor of black Mary Jane style flats.
Tina smiled as we approached, licking the last of her snack off her fingers. "Hey, girls," she said, addressing the three of us. "Fancy running into you here."
"What are you doing here?" Dana asked, the accusation in her tone unmistakable.
"I'm guessing much the same thing you are." She nodded toward Laura Delmoore. "Looking for an opportunity to talk to an old flame."
"I mean how did you get on the lot?" Dana asked.
Tina's smile widened, showing a flash of white teeth. "Come on. Don't you think Dana Dashel's agent would be on the list for an event like this?"
"You are not my agent," Dana said through gritted teeth.
"Wanna tell that to Mr. Blick over there?" Tina challenged.
Dana clamped her lips shut, but narrowed her eyes.
"So what did Laura say?" I asked, intervening before Dana did something she'd regret in front of her boss.
Tina turned her attention to me. "About what?"
"When you asked her if she was Dog's old flame?"
She shrugged. "Haven't had a chance yet." She nodded toward the family. "There has been a steady stream of people offering condolences since I got here."
I glanced back at Laura and her son, noting that Chloe had joined them now as well, as they chatted with a couple of men in suits that had executive written all over them.
"But," Tina said, grabbing another appetizer and popping it into her mouth, "I'm patient. And I know how to work a room for a story." She waggled her eyebrows up and down at us. "Good luck, kids," she said as she sauntered off to find some unsuspecting prey.
"That's not good," Marco noted, watching her retreating back. "If Tina gets to Laura first, there's no way she'll talk to us. She'll be on her guard already."
Dana bit her lip. "You're right. Okay, here's what we should do. Let's split up. Marco, you keep an eye on Tina and try to keep her away from Laura. Maddie, since you already have a rapport with John, see if you can get him to talk to you about his mom. He may know something about her affair with Dog. And I'll try to get a moment alone with Laura."
"I don't know…" I said, glancing toward Laura and her son again as they shook hands with the execs. "I'm not sure I really have a rapport with John. I mean, we only had the one conversation alone, and even if his mom was seeing Dog, I'm not sure she'd tell him—"
I stopped midsentence as I realized I was talking to myself. Dana and Marco had both already taken off, intent on their missions.
I sighed. There was still a good-sized crowd around Laura and her son. I watched Dana edge closer, angling toward the widow-esque woman. John excused himself, and I was about to follow him and attempt a conversation, but as he veered into the restroom, I abandoned that idea.
Instead, I glanced around the room, seeing a few more familiar faces. I recognized some of the crew from the Jeopardy! taping. A couple of actors from a sitcom my mom watched were in attendance, appearing a lot more like average people without their stage makeup. Most of the conversation around me seemed to be focused on Dog's death and how it was now being investigated as murder. Apparently Tina's column was well read.
I spotted Angela Gold, looking svelte in a dark, olive green dress as she chatted up Trebek near the exit. By the way she kept touching his arm and throwing her head back with laughter, she looked almost like she was flirting with him. As if that would help her win the tournament that night.
I accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter and perused the trays of treats for a canapé to go with it. As I grabbed a salmon roll, I noticed Mae and Rupert Blick had moved closer to the food as well, their backs to me. They seemed deep in conversation about something, their heads close together. I shifted around the table to dip my roll into a bowl of spicy red sauce, and caught a glimpse of Blick's expression—pinched and angry. Feeling just the teensiest bit intrusive, I edged closer until I was within earshot.
"Why don't you believe me?" Mae's voice was ragged, as if she'd been crying. I still couldn't see her face, but all the perk had left her.
"You know why," Rupert said hotly. He mumbled something else to her in a low tone that I couldn't hear.
Aunty Mae's shoulders shook, and a sob escaped her. "You don't mean that."
"Try me," he growled. "You obviously have no idea how far I'll go."
Mae said something I missed. Then she turned abruptly and took off in the direction of a side door marked as an exit in glowing neon lights. I moved back behind a few people who were grabbing food so as not to be noticed as Rupert stormed past. Whatever the discussion had been about, it had obviously upset him as well, as he barely stopped when Trebek—who still had Angela Gold attached to him like a parasite—hailed him.
I quickly crossed toward the exit I'd seen Mae take, but before I could get there, a soft, familiar voice spoke behind me. "Oh, I love your shoes."
I whirled around to see Chloe, John's fiancée, smiling shyly at me. "It's Maddie, right?"
"Yes. Hi, Chloe." From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the exit door closing behind Mae.
Chloe's gaze dropped to my feet. "Manolo Blahnik?"
My ego was about to burst. "No, actually, I designed these myself." They were black open toe heels in a matte satin that went with just about everything. They were extremely comfortable despite the three-inch height and had been part of my spring line last year.
"They're gorgeous," she gushed.
"Thanks." An awkward silence fell between us. "How are you and John holding up?"
She shrugged. "We're okay. I mean, John is a rock. I know he's upset, but he doesn't show it much."
I nodded. "His mom seems to be taking this very hard," I noted.
Chloe's eyes went to the ground. "Yeah. Laura's pretty broken up. Especially now. John said the police are looking at his dad's death as a possible homicide," she explained.
Which I already knew, but I nodded anyway. "How is Laura taking that?"
"Not well. Laura's barely stopped crying since she found out."
"Does she have any idea who might have wanted to hurt Dog?"
Chloe shook her head. "Not that she's voiced to me. I think she's still kinda in shock, you know?"
"From the way she spoke of him, I got the impression he meant a lot to her." I paused, wondering how far I could push. "In fact, it almost seemed as if she still had feelings for him. Was maybe even still in love with him?"
She hesitated before answering. "I-I don't know. I mean, maybe. They were together for a long time."
"What about recently? Do you know if they'd been spending time
together often?"
She pursed her lips together. "I'm not really sure. You'd have to ask John."
I nodded, wishing I had the opportunity. "When we were at her house, Laura said Dog had left her a ticket to the Jeopardy! taping, but she didn't go due to a headache."
"That's right." Chloe nodded.
"How did Laura seem when you got back?"
Chloe frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, did she still have the headache or did it go away…" What I really meant was could she have been faking it to give herself an alibi, but I didn't voice that as I watched Chloe's expression.
"I-I guess so." Her frowned deepened as she looked off to the left, obviously trying to recall. "Actually, I don't remember her mentioning it again once we got back to her and John's place. She just seemed her usual self." Chloe shrugged again. "I guess it must have just gone away."
Convenient, that.
"Anyway, it's been a long day for her," Chloe said, eyes cutting to the woman in question. "We had the reading of Dog's will this morning."
"Oh?" I asked, trying to keep the note of interest out of my voice. "How did that go?"
"About as expected. Laura cried the whole time. Especially when they got to her bequest."
"So she did inherit part of Dog's estate?"
Chloe nodded. "Some. Each of his ex-wives ended up getting a portion of his estate."
"What sort of portion?" I pressed.
"The entire estate was split equally five ways, and each of his ex-wives got a fifth."
I did some quick mental math. If what John had said about his father's net worth was correct, that meant Laura Delmoore had just inherited about four million dollars. I glanced across the room, seeing Dana approach the slender older woman in a rare moment of quiet between people. Laura could now well afford to move away from the scent of fried chicken and into something much more along the lines of Dog's standard of living.
Then again, the same could be said for both Blakely and Caitlyn too.
"You said Dog's estate was split five ways," I noted. "I don't suppose Dog changed his mind and that fifth portion went to John?"
Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 12) Page 17
