Peril in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries Book 11)

by Gemma Halliday

  "Sorry it had to end this way," Tarrin repeated, taking a wide stance. She brought the gun up level with my head, gripping the handle with both hands.

  It was now or never. No one was going to save me. I was on my own. I took a deep breath.

  And yelled, "Bullwinkle!"

  Tarrin's face registered confusion, and she spun her head around as if expecting a cartoon moose to come charging from the trees.

  If I'd learned one thing from Tarrin's tirade it was never to let an opportunity pass me by.

  I threw myself at her, shoving as hard as I could with both hands, ignoring the explosion of pain in my head. Grunting, she stumbled backward and fell, the gun dropping from her hand. Dizziness cut my legs out from under me, and I fell on top of her. I swung at the gun, pure survival instinct driving me, and managed to make contact, knocking it away. The forest spun around us, but I refused to give in to it.

  I was fighting for my life.

  I launched myself toward the gun. Tarrin clawed at me and grabbed my leg, holding me back. My strength was waning—the trickle of blood from my scalp had become a stream, and the dizziness left me nauseous again.

  Like any predator, she seemed to sense my weakness. Her grip tightened, her strength seeming to grow as fast as mine was leaving me.

  I kicked backward, feeling my heel connect with fleshy parts. She grunted but didn't let up. I felt her body slam into mine from behind, her hands clawing toward the gun.

  I reached for it.

  But she reached just that much faster.

  And before I could even move, she'd clambered to her feet and had the gun held tightly in both hands. Once again pointed at me.

  "Time's up," she said. No smile. No mercy. No feeling.

  I clamped my lips together, steeling myself for the bullet that I knew was coming next.

  Only the sound that followed was not the crack of a gunshot but the scream of a wild animal.

  Wait—strike that. Not an animal. A man dressed like an animal.

  From seemingly nowhere, a streak of gray fur and grizzled gray hair came flying at us.

  J.R. Ravensberg.

  He was shrieking in what sounded like another language and brandishing a stick in one hand that had a chain attached, ending in a spiked head. He whipped it around in the air as he launched his skinny frame at Tarrin.

  The spiked head made a whooshing sound in the air. I watched as it flew forward, striking Tarrin in shoulder and knocking her sideways.

  Tarrin screamed.

  The gun flew into the bushes.

  Ravensberg gave a war whoop that would put any adolescent boy to shame.

  And I might have peed my pants a little.

  I breathed deeply, watching as Ravensberg stood over Tarrin, almost daring her to make another move. Which, with the spiked head still swinging around in the air as he twirled it, she was smart enough not to do. Ravensberg looked over at me, and a genuine smile broke out on his craggy face. "Good thing I always have a mace handy."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  After ascertaining that Tarrin was only incapacitated and not dead, J.R. Ravensberg called the local police with the one bar he had on his phone, and within what felt like minutes, the entire Moose Haven PD had descended on the small patch of woods. Turns out, we actually had not gone too far from the set, Tarrin having only been able to drag me about half a mile from where she'd rendered me unconscious. And it hadn't taken long before a path had been cut through the woods by several pairs of work boots traipsing from the set to the spot where Ravensberg held Tarrin at mace point and I sat shivering in a huddled mess.

  The next few hours were a blur of officers hauling Tarrin away, paramedics looking me over, and uniformed officers taking my statement numerous times. I was on the third round of detailing Tarrin's confession to a young freckled officer when a familiar face cut through the crowd.

  And had me dissolving into tears again.

  Ramirez.

  He didn't say a word, crossing the distance between us in one quick stride and scooping me up into his arms in a hug that was warm, safe, and home all in one. I don't know how long I sat burrowing into his chest, breathing in his comforting scent, before he finally pulled back and I could see the fear I'd felt earlier mirrored in his dark eyes.

  "You okay?' he asked on a breath that sounded as shaky as I felt.

  I nodded. "Peachy."

  One corner of his mouth quirked upward at my attempt at humor. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

  Not really. What I wanted was to be home in my own bed, with Ramirez at my side and my babies snuggling in my arms. But since that fantasy was a few beats away yet, I took a deep breath and relayed the entire scene for him—from thinking I'd seen Jaden in the woods to Tarrin's confession and Ravensberg's brave if slightly left-of-center rescue.

  "I'm sorry I ever doubted him," I finished. "He saved my life."

  Ramirez's eyes flashed, and that vein pulsed in his neck. I could tell he was imagining just what sort of scene the police would be combing through now if Ravensberg hadn't been in the right place at the right time with the right medieval weapon handy. "She was insane to think she'd get away with it."

  "Oh, she is definitely crazy," I agreed.

  "She tell you why she did it?"

  I hesitated. "I think it's complicated," I said. "But she wanted her big break. She thought killing Jasper Frost would give her that and would avenge all working women in Hollywood besides."

  His eyebrow lifted. "Noble." The word was laced with sarcasm.

  "Like I said, it's complicated." I glanced over as Detective Bartlett led her away. Her head was hanging, and she seemed utterly defeated. The word carrion popped into my head, sending a shudder through my whole body.

  Ramirez tightened his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. "Come on, babe. Let's get out of here."

  * * *

  "I still can't believe it was Tarrin," Dana said the next morning. "She seemed so, I don't know, harmless."

  "That harmless woman framed you for murder," I pointed out.

  "Don't remind me." She shuddered. "My back still hurts from trying to sleep on a jail cot."

  "I've got a fix for that." With a grin, her husband Ricky slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer.

  As soon as word of her arrest had reached him in Paris, he'd gotten on the first flight out, arriving in town just after they'd dropped all charges against her and released her from custody.

  And he hadn't left her side since.

  Pretty much the same way Ramirez hadn't left mine since we'd made it out of the woods alive. He'd first insisted on taking me to the closest ER, where I'd had six stitches to close the cut at my temple where Tarrin had knocked me out with the butt of her gun. As soon as I'd been released with a prescription for a painkiller and lots of rest, Ramirez had checked us out of the Big Moose and into a bungalow at the Grande Moose, where he'd been assured they had more rigorous security.

  That "rigorous security" turned out to be Irwin From the Front Office's Uncle Bernard, who regularly patrolled between the bungalows with a hunting rifle, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Uncle Bernard's rifle and Ramirez's strong arms had been enough safety to lull me into the deepest, most restful sleep I'd had in days. I hadn't awoken until well past dawn the next morning and was now enjoying a late brunch on the porch of Ricky's adjacent bungalow with the whole gang, including mimosas and everything on the Hungry Moose's takeout menu.

  Dana leaned into Ricky, smiling. "Well, we've got the next two weeks to fix my back." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively at him. Newlyweds—gotta love 'em.

  Mom buttered a piece of toast and took a bite. "Don't you have to go back to Europe?" she asked him.

  Ricky nodded. "Eventually. But the producers said they could shoot around me for the rest of the month." He glanced at Dana. "They understood I had more important things that needed me here."

  Dana made a cooing sound and leaned in to kiss him on his tanned che
ek.

  "You two remind me of me and my first husband, Ollie. We spent the first six months of our marriage in bed."

  "You were only married eight months," my mom pointed out.

  Mrs. R shrugged. "Yeah, but the first six were amazing."

  I stifled a giggle as I slathered jam on a slice of whole wheat.

  "Actually," Dana said, "I rented us a little cabin to get some alone time. The one with the retro kitchen we saw at Betsy Hough's office?" she added, turning to me. "Turns out it was empty for the next two weeks. Even got off-season rates. It'll be a perfect delayed honeymoon."

  "You're spending your honeymoon here?" my mother asked, mimosa glass halfway to her mouth. "In Moose Haven?"

  "It's kind of a charming little town," Ricky said, glancing around at the pine trees. "A nice place to get away from…well, everything."

  "This is the place to get away," Mrs. Rosenblatt agreed. "Unless you want to get away from moose. Or randy beaver sex. Or Brock's stories."

  I couldn't help a chuckle. I thought back on my own honeymoon as I slipped a glance under my lashes at Ramirez, sitting beside me in a tight black T-shirt and jeans, his hair still tousled from bed. It was a shame to waste Ramirez on Moose Haven. He definitely belonged on a tropical beach. In a Speedo.

  "Well, I can't believe Tarrin's whole platform was manufactured," Mom said. "You know, I was really empowered by her speech. I feel…duped."

  "I don't know if it was all fake," I hedged. "I think she really did believe Frost had crossed a line with Dana."

  Ricky pulled his arm a little tighter around her at the mention.

  "In the end, it was her ambition that drove her—"

  "And a little bit of wacko," Marco added.

  "—and that," I agreed. "But she's not totally wrong about Hollywood."

  Dana shrugged. "I guess that's a fair point. I mean, it's always been sort of a given to watch out for overly friendly producers at auditions or handsy directors, you know? Just part of the job and the landscape."

  "Well, that landscape is changing," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "No more bro culture."

  "Bro culture?" Mom repeated.

  "Look it up," Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "I can't help it if I'm hip."

  "Bro culture or not, Tarrin killed a man," Mom pointed out.

  "She made her choices," Marco said, nodding.

  "Now she has to live with them," my mother agreed.

  "In prison," Ricky added.

  "You know, I feel like I owe J.R. Ravensberg an apology," I said, swallowing my toast.

  Dana grinned at me. "We could always pay him a visit to say our good-byes."

  Ramirez shot me a warning glance. Not that I needed a warning. Twice was enough for that particular road trip. I was done visiting secluded cabins in the woods. "No, thanks. I'll just send him a fan letter."

  "No one uses snail mail anymore," Mrs. R. informed me. "Message him on Facebook instead."

  "Don't tell me you got yourself on Facebook now," my mother said.

  "I'm woke," Mrs. Rosenblatt replied.

  Ramirez snorted into his coffee cup but covered it quickly with a cough.

  "Speaking of social media, I don't suppose anyone saw the latest updates from the L.A. Informer this morning?" Marco asked, eyes shining with the light of gossip as he grabbed the mimosa pitcher and poured himself a glass.

  "Oh no. What have they said about me now?" Dana moaned.

  Ricky pulled his arms close around her again. A surge of warmth went through me at seeing my friend so well loved and protected.

  "Oh, honey, not about you. It's all about Frost." He gave a dramatic pause, eyes going around the table to make sure he had everyone's attention.

  Which, admittedly, he did.

  "Don't leave us hanging," Mrs. R said.

  "Well," he started, "it turns out while the rest of the reporters in town were focusing on Tarrin's arrest, Allie Quick managed to get herself an exclusive with Selma Frost, who broke down and admitted everything."

  "What everything?" I asked. "She wasn't guilty."

  "Of murder, honey. But that doesn't make her an innocent little lamb, now, does it?"

  "I don't know. You tell us," Dana said. "Like, really. Tell us."

  "Okay. Here are all the deets," Marco said quickly. "According to Selma, we all had Frost wrong. Frost was not sexually assaulting or harassing women. In fact, no one has even come forward saying he did."

  "I wondered about that," I said. "When Tarrin had me in the woods. I realized we'd only really had her say-so that Frost had victimized anyone."

  "But he did hit on Dana," Risky argued.

  Marco nodded. "He did. For appearances."

  "I'm not following," Mom said, leaning forward and setting her mimosa glass on the table. "Why would he want to appear to harass women?"

  "It's like Mrs. Rosenblatt said. Hollywood is an old boys' club. And Frost had a secret he was keeping from the rest of the old boys, that he was sure would have made him the laughingstock."

  "What secret?" Mom asked.

  "That's what Selma finally spilled. According to her, Frost had had an accident on the set of their first Fast and Dangerous movie. One that had rendered him both sterile and impotent."

  Dana frowned. "Wait—you mean he only hit on me because…"

  "Because he wanted to keep up the appearances of being a strong, virile man, sweetie," Marco finished. "I mean, not that you're not totally hit-on-able. But this time, it wasn't about you—it was about him. According to Selma, Frost thought no one would respect an impotent director. Especially the macho actors he directed in those Fast and Dangerous movies."

  "Bro culture." Mrs. R nodded sagely. "It doesn't just hurt women."

  "Frost overcompensated by hitting on pretty young starlets. The more public the better. Apparently he thought it was better to be lumped in with the sexual harassers of Hollywood than for the truth to come out. Only, like with Dana, he never actually attacked or victimized anyone. Never took things beyond an inappropriate proposition."

  "And a few choice insults," Dana mumbled.

  "And that. But Selma claimed he never actually followed through. He couldn't even if he'd wanted to."

  "And Selma played along with this?" I asked, thinking I couldn't imagine being too happy about Ramirez hitting on a bunch of young actresses—follow through or no.

  Marco nodded. "Begrudgingly. She said that's what they fought about that night at the Tipsy Moose. She saw Dana emerge from her husband's trailer and knew he'd been acting the part again. She told him he had to be careful in this new climate—that someone was going to take him seriously."

  "That was what she wasn't going to take anymore," I said.

  Marco nodded. "Sounds like it. Only, after he died, she didn't have the heart to go against his wishes. That is, until it all came out with Tarrin."

  "So, what was it I witnessed between her and Jaden Plume in the woods?"

  Marco shrugged. "Beats me. Article didn't mention Jaden."

  "I'll take that one," Ramirez said, leaning back in his chair and crossing one ankle over his knee. "Bartlett said RCMP picked Jaden Plume up a few miles outside of town this morning."

  "Picked up…as in arrested?" I asked.

  Ramirez nodded. "For blackmail."

  "I knew it!" Mrs. Rosenblatt stabbed her finger in the air triumphantly. "Didn't I know it? I knew Selma paid him off and had some blackmail evidence in her room. We would have found it too it—ow!" Mrs. Rosenblatt leaned down to rub her shin, sending an accusing glare at my mother.

  Mom just smiled and spread jam on her English muffin. "You were saying, Jack?"

  He eyed the two of them suspiciously, but if he'd learned anything in our years of marriage, it was that some things were better left unsaid. "I was saying, Bartlett had some concerns about Plume all along. Once he brought him in and charged him, Plume broke down and admitted everything."

  "That he was blackmailing Selma Frost?" Dana said.

  Ramirez nodded. "
Plume worked at a medical complex in Beverly Hills, where Frost's doctor's office was located. His urologist."

  Mental forehead thunk. "So it was Jasper Frost Jaden knew previously, not Selma?"

  "Correct. As an aspiring actor, Jaden immediately recognized Frost. He snuck a peek at Frost's medical records as he was cleaning one night and saw the diagnosis that Frost had been trying to keep hidden for years. He made a copy and decided to use it to buy himself a role in Frost's film."

  "Jaden worked for Dr. Rabino-something,"

  Ramirez gave me a funny look. "Rabinowitz. Yeah."

  "That would explain why the first Evil Prince was suddenly fired," Dana said with a slow nod. "Frost gave in to Jaden's demands."

  "The way Plume tells it, when Frost was killed, he feared the movie was going to be shut down completely, so he decided to parlay his information into cash instead. He went to Mrs. Frost, saying he'd let her husband's secret out into the world posthumously if she didn't pay up."

  "She must have really loved him if she'd been willing to pay to keep his secret even after he was gone," I mused, thinking I'd had her all wrong. Despite her lack of tears and sniffles, she really had been grieving.

  "So, why did Jaden disappear?" Mom asked. "We looked everywhere for him."

  "He said after he received the cash from Mrs. Frost, he celebrated at the Tipsy Moose that night. A little too hard."

  I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me he really was just on a bender?"

  He nodded. "One of the locals, a guy named Gus—"

  "Beaver Sex Man!" Dana shouted, pointing to me.

  I giggled into my mimosa.

  "—ended up driving Plume into the next town over, where Plume bought shots for everyone. Lots of them. Until they were so sloshed someone called the police, and Gus and Plume spent the night in the local lockup."

  "Again," I finished for him.

  He nodded. "Again."

  "So I didn't see him in the woods after all," I mused.

  Ramirez shrugged. "Well, it's possible. Jaden said he did make an appearance on the film set that day, but he was pretty hung over and late for his call time." He paused. "Then again, it could just have easily been Tarrin you saw, baiting you into the woods on purpose."