Death by High Heels
The Kim Murphy PI Series, Book #1
By Violet Ingram
Death by High Heels
Copyright © 2016 by Violet Ingram.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: May 2016
Limitless Publishing, LLC
Kailua, HI 96734
www.limitlesspublishing.com
Formatting: Limitless Publishing
ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-661-9
ISBN-10: 1-68058-661-0
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. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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 locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
I'd like to dedicate this book to my husband, children, Sarah, and Violet.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Sunday Evening
Cops hated it when you vomited all over their crime scene—a mistake I had no desire to repeat. Then again, the fact I’d just trampled all over this scene was probably a whole new mistake I should have avoided. I stared at the corpse and fought the urge to hurl. If only I hadn’t answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy.
Said dead guy was just sitting there in the chair. You would think he was asleep—if not for all the blood and guts spilled onto his lap. I tore my eyes from him and asked the question I most wanted the answer to.
“What the heck did you hit him with?”
Lindsay dropped the strand of blonde hair she’d been twirling and glanced down at the floor. “My shoe.”
“Huh?”
“I’ve already told you. Twice. I hit him with my shoe.”
“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill someone with a shoe!”
“Hello, they’re Via Spiga.”
“Ugh.” I glared. There was no way in hell she had done this kind of damage with a shoe. If she had, women would soon be saying goodbye to their much-beloved accessory. Men—even NRA members—would insist on an instant ban of the deadly yet sexy weapon.
I set my hands on my hips. “Any idea how he got this giant hole in his stomach?”
“What? No, I hit him and ran.” Lindsay’s face paled and she leaned against the doorframe.
“Come here and see if you recognize him.”
“Gross, no way. Besides, you’re the detective, you figure out who he is.”
Technically, I was a private investigator, a fact that had continually escaped my neighbor.
“Get over here!” I turned toward her and spotted Lakeview, Ohio’s oldest beat cop standing behind her, his gun drawn. It would have been scary if only he didn’t look like Santa Claus dressed as a cop for Halloween. With the beginnings of a snow white beard and a pot belly in the making.
“Ah hell,” I muttered. “Hey, Duncan.”
“Kim Murphy. Oh man, the chief’s gonna be pissed,” Officer Duncan said.
“We don’t really have to tell him, do we?”
“You don’t think he’s gonna find out his daughter got herself mixed up with another dead guy? You didn’t kill this one too, did you? Wait, don’t answer that.”
“I didn’t kill him. Jeez.”
The last time I’d been caught standing over a dead guy was because I’d shot the miserable son of a bitch. It was self-defense and besides, the guy deserved it. Thankfully there were several witnesses and the grand jury had dropped the matter. Which was why I was enjoying the comforts of my own apartment when Lindsay came banging on my door.
Duncan looked over at her. “Now who might you be, miss?”
“I’m Lindsay Pembrook.”
He glanced my way. “I guess that’s the dead guy. You sure he’s dead?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” I said, looking away from the object of our discussion.
I stepped back and took a deep breath. I regretted it immediately. Just when I thought I’d gotten used to the smell, the nausea returned. My four brothers, all cops, claimed you could will yourself not to vomit. What a load of crap. My stomach roiled in misery.
“Stay put, both of you. I need to call this in.” Duncan talked into his radio and requested a detective for the scene. Finished with his call, he walked over and stood next to me.
“Oh boy, that’s a lot of blood. Somebody gutted him open like a fish.”
My stomach rolled and I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“So, then, what happened here?” Duncan asked, turning his attention back to Lindsay.
Lindsay held up her hands. “I came home and found him sitting there. I took off my shoe, hit him in the back of the head, and then ran to Kim’s for help.”
“Did you call 9-1-1?”
“Yes, after I went next door to Kim’s. I wasn’t staying here with him.” Lindsay pointed to the dead guy as if Officer Duncan and I wouldn’t know who “him” was.
“Why’d you hang up on the dispatcher?”
“Sorry to interrupt but, uh, she’s wearing evidence,” I said.
We all looked down at Lindsay’s feet. Sure enough, she was wearing both black, two-inch heeled shoes.
Lindsay looked annoyed. “Well, of course I am.”
Duncan frowned at her. “Miss Pembrook, please remove your shoes.”
“Do you have any idea how much these cost?” she asked.
“Nope. Don’t care either. Take them off and leave them there.” He pointed to the floor near the door.
I’d had enough. “I’m waiting outside. He smells bad.”
Lindsay glanced at me. “Really? I can’t smell anything.”
“Lucky you,” I muttered.
As we waited outside, an ambulance parked in front of the apartment building. The paramedics hopped out and rushed toward us. I gave them the bad news they were much too late to help the guy inside. Being true professionals, they didn’t take my word for it and went inside anyway.
Lindsay and I sat down on a concrete bench to stay out of the way. Unfortunately for us it was a typical June evening in Lakeview, Ohio. The mosquitoes were so bad if we stayed outside for long, we would look like the idiots, I mean, contestants, on Survivor.
All the commotion brought the neighbors outside. Eager to keep the situation contained, Duncan told everyone to return to their apartments. The neighbors across the street continued to stand in their front yard and gawk.
“Are those colored contacts?” Lindsay asked.
“What? No.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I’ve never seen someone with eyes that green naturally.”
“I don’t wear contacts.” No way was I going to tell her the
thought of sticking something in my eye made me woozy. I could barely stand eye drops after a long night.
“Please, next you’ll tell me that’s your natural hair color.”
“It is.”
“Whatever. So, the fat cop said you killed someone?” Lindsay whispered, her eyes wide as she stared at me.
“Yeah, but you’re the one with a dead guy in your apartment.”
“I didn’t kill him!”
“Well, somebody did.”
Her expression crumpled. “I swear it wasn’t me. I don’t understand why this is happening.” She covered her face with her hands and began to cry.
Swell. Contrary to popular belief, just because I happened to have a uterus didn’t mean I could handle other women crying. Though I figured I was better equipped than men, I had just never been a touchy-feely kind of person.
“Lindsay, the police will find the person who did this,” I said, feeling awkward as I patted her on the shoulder. I dropped my hand and Lindsay turned her face toward me. Just freaking great, she was one of those beautiful criers. I really hated women like that. When I cried, my face turned red and blotchy. Not an attractive look.
“You’re sure?” she asked, her expression hopeful, a little wistful.
“Of course, it’s what they do.”
“Oh yes, you’re right. Thanks, Kim.”
I couldn’t believe this woman had managed to alienate all of the neighbors and yet here I was comforting her. It was pouring rain the day Lindsay moved in and parked in my spot. Thanks to the movers and her friends, they’d managed to take all the other spots. I’d had to park on the street, half a block away. With arms filled with grocery bags, an umbrella hadn’t been an option. I’d come down sick the next day.
From our places on the bench we heard Officer Duncan explaining the situation to the new arrivals. The paramedics turned and left. We were still sitting on the bench, swatting at mosquitoes, when the city’s silver-haired medical examiner, Ralph Gardner, arrived. Unfortunately, so did the newest homicide detective, Grant Tompkins.
I wasn’t sure if it was anger or lust that caused my face to flush and my heart to race. I had a sneaky suspicion it was both. The first time I’d met Grant I’d been standing over a dead body. He had taken one look at me and branded me a murderer. If he wasn’t so hot I’d have remembered to ask for my lawyer, Zachary Wellington. Which, considering our numerous sexcapades, Zach’s being there would have made the whole awkward, drooling over the cop arresting me even more humiliating, though I wasn’t sure if that was even possible.
Grant strode up the sidewalk. His head turned. Spotting me, he scowled before stepping inside.
“Kimberly, how are you? I haven’t seen you in a bit.” Doctor Gardner smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that seemed out of place in the wrinkled face.
“I’m fine, doc. How about you?”
“Good, except my knee hurts like the devil every time it rains.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Well, I’d rather be alive and complaining than dead with no complaints at all.”
I smiled, not sure what to say.
“So, where’s my dead body?”
I made a face. “Ugh, inside.”
“One of yours, is it?”
“Jeez, shoot a couple people and everyone thinks it’s your new hobby.”
He laughed. “Well, you’ve not been keepin’ me that busy, but that’s okay. Those two losers got just what they deserved. Kidnapping, drugs, murder. Lordy, what is this world comin’ to?”
“Too bad it’s not filled with more people like you,” I replied.
“Oh, I’m not so sure the world could handle more than one of me.”
Detective Tompkins walked over and stood glaring at me. “Doc, maybe you should go inside.”
“Always in a rush. It’s not like the dead are goin’ anywhere, my boy.” He winked at me before heading toward the apartment.
“Charming as always, Grant,” I said.
He sighed and shook his head. “Kim, what are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?”
Grant cleared his throat. “Well, you can go now and let the professionals handle this.”
“Ooh, that’s gonna be a problem, detective. Kim and Miss Pembrook here were inside with the body when I got here.”
“Of course,” Grant muttered. “All right, Kim, go on back to your place. When I’m done here, I’ll come get your statement.”
I knew a dismissal when I heard one. “Fine.” I stood up and walked toward my apartment. Glancing back, I watched as Lindsay flashed a one-hundred-watt smile at Grant. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but whatever it was required her to talk with her hands, which kept coming into contact with Grant’s muscular biceps. I wasn’t about to think about why that bothered me.
It seemed Lindsay had one hell of a fast recovery. I almost felt sorry for Grant. He might be a royal pain in the ass, but I wasn’t sure if he deserved my airhead neighbor sinking her claws into him. He had been so quick to assume my guilt after I killed the son of a bitch who kidnapped me.
Oh well. Grant was a big boy and could take care of himself. He was armed after all.
The news vans arrived. Oh goody, my apartment building would be on the evening news. It wouldn’t take long for the nosy reporters to make a connection to me. They were persistent, and it would take a bit of effort to dodge them and their questions. I stepped back inside my apartment and headed for the kitchen. I had been about to heat up leftovers when Lindsay banged on the door. Unfortunately, the spaghetti no longer held any appeal, resembling a little too closely what was in that poor guy’s lap. I made a turkey sandwich instead and grabbed a Diet Pepsi out of the fridge. I was just finishing up when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“I just heard. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” my dad said in way of a greeting.
“Dad, I’m fine. This has nothing to do with me.”
“You shot someone! What do you mean it doesn’t have anything to do with you?”
Even my dad had assumed I was guilty. This was really getting old.
“No, Dad. My neighbor came home and found a man in her apartment. She came over and asked for my help.”
“So you killed him to protect her? That’s fine as long as she corroborates your story.”
“Dad, I didn’t kill him. He was already dead when I got there.”
“Oh, good.” I could hear the relief in his voice. “All right, then, if you’re sure you don’t need me, I’ll get going to the city council meeting. I need to explain the budget increase.”
For a moment, I considered telling him I needed him here. After everything he did for me the least I could do was rescue him from such a horrible meeting. Sensing he wouldn’t appreciate the rescue, I told him everything was fine and I’d call him later.
Bored, anxious, and frustrated, I flipped on the TV, hoping a comedy would distract me. It didn’t. An hour later the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door I barely refrained from rolling my eyes. “Lindsay, I’m honored, twice in one day.”
My neighbor twisted her hands in front of her. “I’ll be staying at the Lakeview Inn for the next couple of days. I wanted you to know how to reach me if anything comes up,” she said, ignoring my sarcasm.
“Okay, great. Try to get some rest,” I said.
“Thanks.”
After Lindsay left, I sat back down on the couch. Half an hour later the doorbell rang again. I opened the door and let Grant inside. My heart began to race. If anyone asked, I’d lie and say it was from the upcoming interrogation, not the rush of lust I felt whenever the pain in the ass was around. He sat down in a chair across from me while I curled up on the couch. It only seemed fair that I should be comfortable while being grilled by one of Lakeview’s finest and hottest detectives.
“Start from the beginning,” Grant said, not wasting time on little things like pleasantries or manners.
“There’s not a lot to tell. Someone started banging on my door. The second I opened it, Lindsay started screaming that she thought she killed some guy in her apartment.”
His gray eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute, she confessed to killing him?”
“No. She told me that when she got home some guy was sitting in the chair. Supposedly, she took off her shoe, hit him in the back of the head, put her shoe back on, and then ran over to my place.”
“Then what happened?”
“I went inside her apartment, she stayed by the door. I was looking at the body when Officer Duncan arrived.”
“What time did she knock on your door?”
“About six thirty.”
We spent the next few minutes going over everything again. Finally, I filled out the statement and signed my name.
“I’m sorry you had to see that,” Grant said.
I thought I had managed to hide my revulsion rather well. I should have known better than to try to hide something from a homicide detective.
“Thanks,” I whispered as I handed him the paperwork.
Grant placed his hand over mine. I closed my eyes and had to remind myself to breathe.
“Oh, hell.”
I opened my eyes in time to see Grant toss the papers onto the coffee table. He leaned down and brushed his lips against mine. The simple taste wasn’t enough. Grant must have felt the same as he took full possession of my mouth with his. For months I’d wondered what he tasted like and now I had my answer, coffee and chocolate. How lucky for me those were two of my very favorite things.
I slid my hands up his arms, feeling the tightened muscles through his clothes. Grant groaned and pulled me against him. I tore my lips from his to whisper, “Upstairs.”
Grant opened his eyes and suddenly stopped his delectable assault on my mouth. His hands dropped to his sides and he sighed as he stepped away from me.
“Damn! You make me forget where I’m at.”
“Thanks.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1) Page 1
