Danger in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  "And your source saw them together before Irina died?" Felix asked.

  I saw Allie nod, her blonde bangs bobbing up and down. "Right before she... said to the captain that I could use the overtime anyway - earth to Maddie?"

  "What?" I snapped my attention back to my husband, realizing he'd been talking.

  "Are you even listening to me?" Ramirez asked, frowning.

  "What? Yes. Of course."

  "Oh really?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "What was I saying then?"

  "You were saying.... something about your captain..." I bit my lip. Then I crossed my arms over my chest. "You know what? It's just insulting that you're even questioning my ability to listen to you."

  Ramirez's eyes took on that dark, dangerous, staring-down-a-perp-in-a-holding-cell look again. "Okay, that's it. What's really going on here?"

  "What's going on," I said, trying to hold onto my mock indignity for all it was worth, "is that I'm trying to have a lovely date night with my husband who has clearly been spending too much time at work because he's all suspicion and narrowy eyes," I said, gesturing to the eyes in question. Which, by the way, did not let up any.

  "Furthermore-" I went on.

  Ramirez raised an eyebrow my way. "'Furthermore?' What are you a PBS character?"

  My turn to narrow my eyes. "Furthermore, I will not sit here and be accused of... well, whatever it is you're accusing me of."

  Ramirez arms were still crossed, but I could see the hint of a smile curving the corner of his mouth. "You done, Springer?"

  "Yes." I paused, watching Allie get up from her table and head toward the back of the restaurant. "I mean, no. I... have to pee. And when I get back, I hope we can have a nice, adult meal without any more accusations." I punctuated the last bit by throwing my napkin down and grabbing my purse as I hightailed it after Allie.

  I didn't dare look back. I was 100% sure Ramirez was staring after me. And only 50% sure he'd believed my performance.

  I quickly rounded the corner of the dining room, making my way down a short hallway that lead to the restrooms. I pushed into the sanctuary of the ladies' room and spotted Allie's stilettos peeking out from under one of the stalls.

  I waited for her at the mirror, pulling out a tube of lip-gloss, reapplying my Raspberry Perfection. Finally I heard a tell-tale flush, the stall door opened, and Allie walked out, making for the sink beside me.

  "Okay, what's the deal, Maddie?" she asked as she washed her hands. "What are you doing here?"

  "Just touching up my make-up," I answered.

  "I mean at the restaurant," she said, turning on me. "You knew I was going to be here with Felix. What are you trying to do?"

  "Fine," I relented. "I want to know what you know about Irina's death."

  Allie stared me down. "So why not just ask me?"

  "Okay. What do you know about Irina's death?"

  "Lots." She grinned. "And you can read all about it in the Informer next week."

  I gritted my teeth. "Look, Ricky is a friend of mine. A good friend. I know he didn't do this."

  Allie paused. "A good friend, huh?"

  I nodded. "Very."

  She grinned, a big, wicked Cheshire cat thing. "Okay then, I'll make you a deal."

  Uh-oh. I had a bad feeling making a deal with Allie was like making a deal with the devil's perkier little sister. "What kind of deal?"

  "I'll share what I know about Irina."

  "I like it so far," I hedged.

  "In exchange for an interview with Ricky."

  "Ha!" The expletive blasted from me before I could stop it. "No way would Ricky go for that. You called him Dancing Death."

  "Oh come on! You know I couldn't ignore a headline story like that."

  "And you featured Dana as the Fashion Victim of the Day!"

  "Okay, she brought that on herself. She was wearing Crocs. In public."

  I had to agree with her there. "Be that as it may, you're not exactly Ricky's favorite person at the moment."

  "But you're very good friends with him, right? You could persuade him to be a little more friendly toward me."

  "There's persuade, then there's move mountains."

  A tiny frown settled between Allie's brows. "Fine," she said. "Then you're on your own."

  She flipped her blonde hair over one shoulder and turned back to her reflection in the mirror, making a big show of ignoring me as she pulled out a tube of ruby red lipstick.

  I scrunched my nose up. I bit my lip. I closed my eyes.

  "Fine."

  Allie's head whipped around faster than a tilt-a-whirl. "Fine?"

  "Fine, I'll talk to Ricky."

  Her face lit up like Christmas, and she emitted a squeal only small Chihuahuas could hear.

  "But I can't promise anything," I warned. "Like I said, Ricky pretty much hates your guts."

  "But you'll talk to him?" Allie asked, her eyes shining. "You'll persuade him to do an interview?"

  I bit my lip. "I'll do my best."

  She giggled and clapped like a twelve-year-old.

  "Okay, so spill it," I demanded. "What do you know about Irina?"

  "Irina was seen with a woman named Katrina last week on the Dancing with Celebrities set," Allie told me.

  I shrugged. "So? Who's Katrina?"

  "According to sources, she's someone who looks exactly like Irina."

  "Exactly as in..."

  "Twins."

  "So, Irina has a sister," I mused, the information opening up new possibilities.

  "Not only that," Allie said, "but they were arguing."

  I raised one eyebrow her way. "Arguing as in you-borrowed-my-fav-shoes-without-asking or as in I'm-gonna-bludgeon-you-to-death?"

  Allie shrugged. "All I know is it was heated and just days before Irina died."

  "How do you know all this?"

  Allie shrugged. "A little birdie told me."

  "The same little birdie who's also been leaking you stories about theft, murder, and Ricky's whereabouts," I confirmed. "Who is it?"

  But Allie wagged a finger at me. "Ah, ah, ah. A good reporter never reveals her sources."

  While the jury was still out on the type of human being Allie was, she was, admittedly, a good reporter.

  "Fine. What else can you tell me?"

  Allie shook her head. "Sorry, that's it." She puckered doing a kissy face at herself in the mirror.

  "What about an address for Katrina? Where can I find her?"

  "When you get Ricky to agree to the interview, maybe I can share more."

  I narrowed my eyes at her. I wasn't sure how much she was bluffing or how much more she really did know, but if she was holding out on me...

  "This isn't a game, Allie," I warned her.

  "No kidding," she agreed. "Which is why you should leave the investigating to the real investigators."

  "You're a tabloid reporter," I pointed out.

  "Investigative reporter," she corrected. "Which qualifies me to run with this case a lot more than someone who used to be a fashion designer."

  I narrowed my eyes at her. "I am a fashion designer."

  "Oh yeah? When was the last time you actually designed a shoe?"

  I opened my mouth to respond, but realized I had no good answer for that. Mostly because I couldn't remember.

  "Trust me, I will get to the truth," Allie assured me. "And the best way you can help is to get me that interview with Ricky." She capped her lipstick and made another kissy-face in the mirror at herself. "Enjoy your meal," she called as she skipped out of the bathroom.

  * * *

  Instead of enjoying my meal, I spent the rest of it deep in thought, wondering what the argument between the sisters had been about, whether it had anything to do with one of them turning up dead, and where our mystery man with the diamond earring fit into all of it. And then if maybe everyone was right and I should just stay home with the twins and leave the investigating to the investigators. I mean, Allie had found out a lot more about Irina t
han I had. And Ramirez did have more resources than I did. And Ricky did have the best lawyer money could buy. Did he really even need me?

  I was so distracted by those thoughts that I even accidentally ordered fried ice cream for dessert. (Yes it was a total accident, not my willpower crapping out on me. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.) Unfortunately, by the time we got home and saw Dana off, I was no closer to coming to any conclusions about anything.

  "So how was our favorite tabloid reporter tonight?" Ramirez asked, reaching for a bottle of wine from the rack by the fridge.

  "Hmm?" I asked, shaking myself out of my thoughts.

  "Allie. You two did have a girl's moment in the restroom, right?"

  "Uh…" I paused, wondering just how much of our "girl's moment" he might have guessed at. "Sort of?" I said, ending the statement in a distinct question mark.

  Ramirez's eyes softened. "Look, I understand now why you wanted to go to that restaurant and talk to Allie."

  I froze, wineglass halfway to my lips. "You do?"

  "Sure. Dana's your friend. I'd be pissed if someone printed a pic of a friend looking like hell, too."

  "Wait – you read the Informer?"

  Ramirez grinned. "Someone left the screen open this afternoon."

  "Right." I took a sip. Mostly to cover my relief that Ramirez thought my reason for confronting Allie was purely press related and not having to do with any investigating that I was not doing.

  "Anyway," he said. "I hope you set her straight."

  I nodded noncommittally, taking another covering sip. "Sorry I used date night as a cover to see her," I said, honestly meaning it.

  Ramirez grinned, his eyes going dark and devilish. "Tell you what. I can think of one way you can make it up to me," he took a step toward me.

  "You can, huh?"

  "Uh-huh." He put his arms around me, his lips grazing my neck.

  I immediately went warm in all the right places. "You know, we've got at least an hour before Livvie wakes up for her midnight feeding," I pointed out.

  Ramirez leaned in close, his breath warm and tingly on my ear. "Then I say we make the most of it."

  * * *

  I awoke to the sound of loud screeching in the vicinity of my nightstand. I fumbled with the baby monitor, my eyes blinking open to take in faint pre-dawn light filtering through the windows. It took me a moment to realize the high-pitched sound was not a twin but coming from my cell phone.

  I grabbed it, stabbing the on button.

  "Hello?" I croaked. Between the wine, the late night, my husband's talents (and, boy, did he have a lot of them), and two twin awakenings, I think I'd slept a total of two hours. And my voice sounded like it.

  "Maddie!" I heard a voice on the other end shout.

  "Dana?" I asked, recognition peeking through my sleepy haze.

  "Ohmigod, it's a nightmare," her voice trembled.

  I sat up, adrenaline kicking in. "What's a nightmare? What's going on? Are you okay?"

  "Yes. No. Maybe. I don't know," she wailed. "I fell asleep with the TV on last night, and this morning I woke up and there it was."

  "There what was?" I asked, reaching into my nightstand for the TV remote. I flipped it on, watching as the early morning crew on Channel Six filled the screen.

  "Ricky," Dana said, even as the image of her boyfriend filled my screen, too. "Maddie, they've arrested him for murder!"

  Chapter Ten

  "How could you," I asked, swatting my husband on the arm.

  "Uhn," he grunted, rolling over in bed as his eyes flickered open. "How could I what?"

  "Arrest Ricky!" I yelled, gesturing to the TV screen where the movie star's image was being led away in handcuffs.

  "Oh." He yawned loudly. "That."

  I swatted him again. "Yes, that."

  Ramirez sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. I clenched my jaw, refusing to let the sight of the sheets slipping down his toned, bare torso distract me. "That was low, Jack."

  "Look, it wasn't my call," he said.

  "But you could have said something! Warned me. Given Dana the heads-up so she didn't have to find out from Channel Six. You knew they were arresting him this morning, didn't you?"

  Ramirez sighed again. Then nodded. "Yeah, I knew."

  "Then whey didn't you warn me?"

  "Because you would have warned Dana, and she would have warned Ricky," he continued. "And we couldn't risk him fleeing."

  "Ricky would not flee. Ricky's innocent," I pointed out, not for the first time.

  Ramirez shook his head at me. "I hate to break it to you, but it's not just guilty people who get scared and run."

  I opened my mouth to protest that he would never do that to Dana, but I realized I wasn't 100% sure on that score. I mean, he had run off to Malibu to hide out. He had been with Irina just before she died. And it looked very much like he had cheated with her.

  "Look," Ramirez said, "if Ricky is innocent-"

  "He is innocent," I emphasized, ignoring the small wavering doubt whispering in the back of my mind.

  "Sure." He nodded. Though I could tell by the look in his eyes that his wavering doubt had a distinctly louder voice than mine. "And if that's the case, the evidence will clear him."

  I pursed my lips together. While Ramirez had less faith in our friend than I did, he had way more faith in the justice system than I did. With the number of celebrities that had gotten away with murder in this town, I had no doubt the cops would delight in making an example of Ricky.

  Which meant we were now on borrowed time to get to the truth about Irina's death.

  * * *

  Two hours, four cups of coffee, and one aspirin later Ramirez was at the station processing Ricky, and Dana was at my front door, processing a venti mocha latte with extra whip and caramel syrup.

  I was absolutely dying to join her, but I held onto my willpower in a two fisted death grip as I sipped my own coffee. Minus the cream. And sweetener. And flavor.

  "I need chocolate," she said by way of greeting as she pushed through the front door, making a dash for my kitchen.

  "You okay?" I asked.

  "No. But I will be once I get a Hershey's bar." She opened a cupboard and scrunched up her nose at the contents. "God, all you have is diet food."

  "I'm on a diet," I said weakly, sipping my bitter coffee.

  She slumped into a kitchen chair. "I don't know what to do. I mean, should I visit him in jail? Should I stay away? Should I break up with him? Do you think he did it?"

  "Killed Irina?" I asked, jumping on the easiest question first. "No." I was 90% sure.

  "Do you think he cheated?"

  I bit my lip, remembering the way he'd kept averting his eyes when I'd questioned him. "You want the honest answer or the comforting one."

  She paused. "Honest."

  "I think he-"

  "No, wait! Comforting!" she cried.

  I put an arm around her. "I think you need to lay off the junk food," I told her. Then I poured myself another cup of flavorless caffeine and I told her about my conversation the night before with Allie.

  "So, you think maybe Katrina killed her sister?" Dana asked when I was done.

  "I think the argument is certainly worth looking into."

  "Agreed," Dana said.

  Which left only one dilemma - what to do with the babies.

  I texted my usual go-to babysitters. Unfortunately, Mom sent me a text back saying she was getting a facial that morning. Ramirez's mom was doing a bake sale for the church. And Auntie Marco was busy putting together a party for an A-lister whose name he couldn't say. Though he dropped the hint that it started with a "Kar" and rhymed with "smashy-in".

  I looked down at Livvie and Max as I hung up the phone on my last resort.

  "It looks like we might have to take them with us," I said, throwing Dana an apologetic look.

  But she just shrugged. "Fine. But let's hit the In-N-Out drive-thru first. I need a milkshake." She paused. "And a cheese
burger."

  * * *

  While I navigated the drive-thru, Dana pulled up Google on her phone and looked up the name "Katrina Sokolov".

  As she read off the results to me (between mouthfuls of decadent burger that had my black-coffee digesting stomach growling like a caged tiger) one thing became instantly clear. According to the best Google had to offer, there was no Katrina Sokolov. In fact, there was no mention of Irina having a sister anywhere. Which was, in itself, suspicious. Irina must have worked hard to keep her off the press's radar.

  From everything we could tell, it looked like there was just one person who even had knowledge of the existence of a twin sister.

  Allie's informant.

  I flipped a U-turn on Santa Monica, pointing the minivan toward the Informer's offices.

  The L.A. Informer was located in Hollywood, just two blocks east of the trendy part where tourists flocked to the Walk of Fame and two blocks west of the scary part where gangs would shoot you for wearing the wrong team jersey. It was housed on the second story of an old, stucco building that had a faded awning shading the front doors and a rusted fire escape clinging to the side for dear life. If anyone actually had to use it to escape, I feared it would disintegrate.

  I parked the minivan in the lot around back and turned to peek at the twins. Both were sound asleep in their seats.

  "You go," Dana whispered, gesturing to the building. "I'll stay here and watch them."

  "You sure?" I asked.

  She nodded. "It's probably safer that way."

  She had a point. A celeb walking into the Informer offices was like a minnow swimming into a shark's den. Certain death. Or at least front page headlines. And considering Dana was wearing the dark circles of one who had slept almost as little as I had, and she had opted for another pair of comfy sweats today (though she'd thankfully upgraded to a pair of sparkly, wedged Mary-Jane sneakers), staying off the front page was probably in her best interest. So I left her with the sleeping beauties as I prepared to face the paparazzi on my own.