Danger in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  As soon as the elevator doors opened on the second floor, I was assaulted by the sounds of keyboards clacking, phones ringing, and a dozen voices all shouting over each other about exclusives and candid shots. The large space was divided with cubicle half-walls, which everyone seemed to ignore, shouting over the tops of them. In the center of the room sat one office, walled in with glass, and in the center of that sat Felix, his back to me, Bluetooth in one ear, arms waving madly. I charged toward him, ignoring the looks from curious cube-dwellers as I did. One thing I'll say for tabloid reporters - they didn't miss much.

  "I don't care how private it is, I want wedding shots," I heard Felix shout into his headpiece as I entered his office.

  He spun at the sound of my footsteps, nodding and waving me in.

  "So hire our own helicopter," he shouted. "I don't care what it costs. (pause) Wait, it'll cost what?! (pause) Good God, I don't want to buy the helicopter, just rent it. (pause) Never mind. Pay off a guest with a cell instead. We don't need pro quality shots, just shots. I need that dress on the front page, understood?" he said, then punctuated it by hitting the off button and pulling the piece from his ear.

  "Maddie, love, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, coming in for a quick hug.

  "Hi, Felix," I greeted him, returning it.

  "Three times in one week, now," he said. "I'm beginning to think you can't stay away from me." He gave me a playful wink.

  Despite the joking tone of his voice, I felt my cheeks warm. "Yes, well, I hate to bother you, but I need some help."

  "Help with...?"

  "Information about a celeb."

  His eyebrows turned inward in a frown. "Which one?"

  "Irina Sokolov."

  The name did nothing to alleviate his wrinkle inducing expression. "May I ask why?"

  "If I say 'no' will you still help me?"

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "Not likely."

  I sighed. "Okay. Look, Allie has an informant on the set of DWC. The informant knows something about Irina that may help Ricky's case. I need to speak to him. Or her," I amended.

  "Allie's on assignment today. She's not here," Felix informed me.

  "Perfect. Then you can tell me everything without her knowing."

  He shot me a look. "I'm sorry, but Allie's informant is Allie's informant."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning I haven't the slightest clue who it is."

  I opened my mouth to protest that he must have the slightest clue, but he cut me off before I had the chance.

  "And even if I did, I wouldn't share it with you."

  I shut my mouth with a click. "You wouldn't?" Despite any past we might have shared, he was making his current allegiance very clear.

  "No. Look, I do value our friendship, Maddie," he said, obviously sensing my disappointment. "But it's journalism 1-0-1 to keep your informants' identities private."

  I cocked my head to the side. "Seriously? Felix, you work at a tabloid. Nothing is private around you people. I think you printed a photo of Brad Pitt coming out of a public restroom last week."

  "Yes, and you'll notice we didn't print who told us that Brad was at that particular restroom," he pointed out. "Whoever Allie is getting her information from, that's between her and them. And," he added, "I trust Allie to follow up on that information. She knows her job, and she's good at it."

  That I didn't doubt. What I doubted was that Allie shared the same concern about Ricky that I did. She might find the truth, but I knew for a fact that she'd happily make headline road-kill out of my friend with it.

  "So you're really not going to help me?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "I wish I could, Maddie."

  As much as I hated his stonewalling, the soft look in his eyes almost had me believing he did.

  "Fine," I said, then turned on heel and stalked to the elevator again. I glanced back at him over my shoulder as I hit the down button. He was on the phone again, back turned to me, not looking the least bit guilty at letting Ricky hang out to dry.

  "Hey."

  I spun to my right and came face to face with a woman in a black leather skirt, black tights, black combat boots, and a hot pink baby-doll T-shirt with a silkscreened image of Donald Duck on it. Her eyes were lined in dark make-up, and her hair was darkened with purple tips.

  Tina Bender.

  "Hey," I returned the greeting.

  "I overheard you and Felix," she said, nodding toward the glass walled office. "Bummer."

  I nodded. "Yeah, I can't imagine why he's suddenly so hot on journalistic integrity."

  Tina shook her head. "Oh, he's not. He's just afraid of scaring off Allie's source." She paused. "However if Allie's source were to get scared off, it would certainly make it harder for her to print the story before I did."

  I raised an eyebrow her way. "What are you proposing, Bender?"

  "The interview with Ricky that you promised Allie?"

  "I said I'd try to get her an interview," I clarified.

  But Tina waved me off. "Whatever. Look, I want one, too. If I give you Allie's source, you hook me up with Ricky. Deal?"

  I blinked. "Wait - you know who her source is?"

  Tina grinned. "I make it my policy to hack Allie's cell whenever she hits the ladies' room. I get some of my best leads that way."

  My turn to grin. "Okay, deal. I'll talk to Ricky about an interview." I cringed, wondering if we'd still be friends after I told him he owed interviews to two tabloid reporters now. "So spill it. Who's the press leak?"

  Tina handed me a Post-It with a phone number written on it. "This number showed up in Allie's call log right before she posted the news of Irina's death, and it showed up again yesterday right before I overheard her telling Felix she had big news to share about Irina."

  I raised an eyebrow her way. "You 'overhear' a lot."

  She shrugged. "Eavesdropping is a gossip columnist's best skill. Anyway, I'd bet money that number belongs to whoever is feeding Allie stories."

  "Bender!" Felix called from his office door.

  We both spun around to find him frowning our way.

  "Yeah, boss?" she asked, innocently.

  "You got that column on Miley's new hair color done yet?"

  "On your desk in five," she promised, heading back to her cube.

  I shoved the Post-It into my purse and quickly stepped into the elevators, ignoring the blue-eyed stare I could feel searing into my back from Felix's glass-walled office.

  The doors shut, the elevator spit me back out on the ground floor, and as soon as I hit the parking lot I pulled the Post-It out again, dialing on my cell.

  Four rings in, it was answered with a familiar, "'Sup bitches?"

  Bingo. I had my leak.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two freeways later, we were camped out on the Dancing with Celebrities set, which looked surprisingly like it had the first day that Dana and I arrived to watch Ricky practice. Clearly they were following Hollywood's number one motto: the show must go on. Grips and PA's scattered around the warehouse, pulling cables, setting lights, shouting to one another from across the cavernous room. Director types sat behind monitors, lining up shots, and dancers twirled, lifted, and stretched in every corner. The only noticeable difference was that instead of the spotlight being trained on Ricky and Irina, it was now trained on Kaylie, her multi-colored hair swishing around her face as her partner, Sven, twirled her in a wild swing number.

  I had to admit as I watched her glide across the dance floor, she actually had a good chance of taking the title now that Irina and Ricky were out of the running. She was cute, looked good in the little sequined numbers, and actually had some rhythm.

  And I suspected had Allie on speed dial as well.

  The music ended, and Sven finished off their routine with a lift that had him grunting and Kaylie soaring above his head. He dropped her back down on the ground, mumbled a few notes to her about her footwork, then the director yelled that they were taking five
and resetting to rehearse again.

  I took that as my cue to move.

  "Kaylie," I called, pushing toward her with the twins in Gargantu-stroller as quickly as we could navigate the narrow walkways between the stages.

  Kaylie spun around, recognition taking a moment to dawn in her eyes as she watched us approach. "Oh. Hey. The GF and the BFF," she said, nodding to both Dana and me.

  "Right. We have a few questions for you."

  "Yeah, well, I'm kinda, like, busy now. We're totally behind with rehearsals," she said, pointing to the stage she'd just vacated. "You know. What with the death and all," she added, making it sound about as inconvenient as slow traffic on the 101.

  "That's what we wanted to talk to you about," I told her.

  "Me? Why? I don't know anything about it."

  "You certainly know enough to give Allie Quick an earful," Dana jumped in.

  I watched Kaylie's reaction carefully. Her over-plucked brows pulled together. "Who?"

  "Don't bother playing dumb blonde with us," Dana told her. "We're dumb blonde experts."

  Hmm. I wasn't sure that totally came out the right way.

  "What she means is, we know you've been funneling information to Allie at the Informer," I added.

  Kaylie bit her lip, crimson lipstick flaking off onto her teeth. "Nuh-uh," she said, though it was a weak protest.

  "I think you have," I pressed. "I think you told her about the wardrobe pieces going missing, about Irina's murder, and about the argument between Irina and her sister."

  Kaylie looked left then right, as if for an escape route. But with Gargantu-stroller pinning her in, there was none. Max let out a cry from his seat, as if to hammer home the point.

  "Okay, fine," Kaylie said, lowering her voice. "I might have called the Informer once or twice."

  "Ha!" Dana cried in triumph.

  "Shh," Kaylie said, putting a finger to her lips. "Look, no one can know, okay?" She glanced around the crowded soundstage, quickly pointing us in the direction of her dressing room. "I signed a non-disclosure before coming on the show. Anyone finds out I've been ratting, they're gonna pull my contract."

  "So why risk it?" I asked, following her into the privacy of her dressing room. As soon as I navigated the stroller in, she shut the door behind us.

  "I needed the cash. I'm almost twenty," she said.

  "And?" Dana asked.

  "And I'm not a Teen Mom anymore. They're dropping me from the show after this season."

  "And Allie offered you cash for information," I added.

  Kaylie nodded. "It was an offer I couldn't refuse. I mean, you know how much that pink house set me back? My new Mercedes? Dude, just my pool alone is like way crazy to maintain. I never knew being rich was, like, so expensive."

  Oh, brother. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

  "Did you just roll your eyes at me?" Kaylie asked.

  Okay, I almost resisted.

  "What exactly did you tell Allie?" I asked.

  "Well," she said, biting her lipstick off again. "At first I just thought told her that wardrobe was being stolen."

  "But then Irina was killed."

  Kaylie nodded again. "Right. Totally way more interesting than a few missing clothes, right? At least, I thought it might be to Allie."

  "And then you told her about seeing Irina argue with her twin sister."

  Kaylie nodded again. "I didn't think anything of it at the time. I mean, Irina argued with everyone, so I didn't think it that weird that she'd argue with a sister, too, right?"

  "Until she died," Dana added.

  "Right, until then. Which got me thinking,"

  "That maybe the sister killed her?" I suggested.

  Kaylie shook her head. "That maybe I could capitalize on anything I'd ever seen Irina do. Holy cow, you know how much Allie was paying me for each little detail about Irina's last movements I sent her? Like, tons. I figured I'd milk that Allie chick for all she was worth."

  Suddenly, I almost felt sorry for Allie. "Okay, so tell us about the sister. Katrina," I prompted.

  "Well, it was last week. Just before the last show aired. I walked past Irina's dressing room, and the door was open just a little. I heard Irina's voice first. She was yelling in Russian about something. Kinda par for the course with Irina."

  "And then?"

  "Well, then I heard a second voice. So naturally I was curious."

  "Naturally."

  "Anyway, I kinda peeked in and saw this woman who was, like, Irina's total mirror image. I figured it had to be her sister. I mean, they were like twins or something."

  "What exactly did she look like?" Dana asked.

  Kaylie blinked at her. "I just told you. She looked like Irina."

  "What was she wearing?" I probed.

  Kaylie scrunched up her face. "Tight stuff. Leopard print. Looked kinda cheap to me."

  I raised an eyebrow. If it looked cheap to Kaylie, it had to be darn near free.

  "What else? Hair color? Eye color? Anything?"

  Kaylie shrugged. "Like I said, she just looked like Irina."

  "What did you hear them say?" I asked.

  "Sorry. It was all in Russian. I caught the sister's name, but that was it."

  "Can you remember anything they said? Anything at all?" Dana pleaded, desperation lacing her voice.

  Kaylie did more lipstick eating. "They did keep saying one word over and over." She paused, eyes staring off into space as she recalled it. "Zing-ya."

  "What does that mean?"

  She shrugged again. "Beats me."

  "Anything else you can tell us?"

  "Sorry. That's all I know. For reals." She paused. "Look, you won't tell the producers about this, will you?"

  I shook my head. "On one condition?"

  "Anything," she promised.

  "Call me before you call Allie next time."

  * * *

  Kaylie skittered back to the sound stage to reset for another rehearsal just as Max started to yell again in his seat. I picked him up, jiggling him while Dana fished out her cell and pulled up a Russian-to-English translation page. She typed in the word "Zing-ya". Nothing. She tried a slightly different spelling. Still nada. After several tries, and several bytes into her data plan, she finally found a site where the phonetic version of the word transformed into the print word: деньги. Which, after plugging that into a translation page, she found out translated into the word "money".

  "So Irina and her sister were arguing about money," Dana mused, looking down at the readout.

  I nodded. "And depending on how much 'zing-ya' they were talking about, it might make for reasonable motive for murder."

  "We need to find that sister," Dana said.

  We both looked down the hallway toward Irina's dressing room.

  While yellow crime scene tape still sealed Ricky's door shut, Irina's was free of barricades. I looked over both shoulders. A couple of wardrobe people were hanging out in a doorway three down, and a PA was running through the hall with a clipboard in hand. None paid any attention to us. I slowly made my way down the hall to Irina's door, trying to look like I had every right to be there. I grabbed the door handle and gingerly turned. It twisted in my han,d and the door easily popped open.

  If that wasn't an invitation to snoop, I didn't know what was.

  With one more quick over-the-shoulder, I pushed forward, and Dana and I slipped into the room, Gargantu-stroller and all.

  I jiggled Max up and down, praying he stayed silent in my arms as I quickly surveyed the room. A vanity sat on one side, flanked by lights. On the other was a wardrobe rack, filled with a dozen glittery dresses and a couple pairs of street clothes. Empty coffee cups sat on a table near the wall, along with make-up, hair pins, and various other personal items. It looked like no one had cleaned out the room since Irina had been here.

  Lucky for us.

  "What are we looking for?" Dana whispered, as I started opening drawers in the vanity.

  I shrugged
. "I don't know. Anything that could lead us to the sister."

  Dana nodded, opening a closet and finding more costumes and several pairs of shoes.

  I scooped up the contents of Irina's wastebasket, coming up with receipts for lunch, a couple of cocktail napkins, and several used tissues full of stage make-up. I looked through the cosmetics in a bag on the vanity, finding nothing more incriminating than the fact that Irina bought supermarket brand eyeliner. I moved to the wardrobe rack, finding custom garments that had me drooling and dying to try them on. But nothing that screamed sister or secret killer.

  "Man, she had a lot of dancing shoes," Dana said, gesturing to the line of footwear in the closet.

  I paused, checking them out. She was right. Several ballroom dancing shoes in colors ranging from hot pink to nude to jet black lined the closet floor. Most of them were soft, supple, and made for movement. The heels were three inches or lower, flat across the back.

  Most of them.

  One pair of leopard print platforms near the back of the closet was decidedly not dancing shoes.

  I kneeled down and picked them up.

  Dana raised an eyebrow. "Leopard? Seriously? God, what a slut." She paused. "Is it wrong to call the dead a slut?"

  I shook my head. "Not if she was sleeping with your boyfriend."

  "Thanks." She paused. "I think."

  "But these aren't Irina's shoes," I pointed out.

  Dana cocked her head at me. "Okay, I give. How do you know that?"

  "Look at the other ones."

  Dana did. Then she looked back at the ones in my hands. Then back to the row in the closet. Finally I saw the light bulb go off behind her eyes. "They're the wrong size!"

  I nodded. "They're close, but these are eights, and I'd bet those are nines."

  Dana picked up a pair of nude dancing shoes and checked the inside tag. She nodded. "You're right. Nine, wide." She paused. "Is it wrong of me to be glad she had fat feet?"

  I shook my head. "There's no way a nine wide would fit in this eight."

  Dana took the other leopard shoe in her hand. "So, you think these belong to her sister?" she asked.

  I shrugged. "Well, they're not Irina's, and it didn't sound like she was close enough with anyone on set that she'd be sharing closet space."