Danger in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  "What's that?"

  "How did Vlad get onto the Dancing with Celebrities set?" I asked.

  Ramirez gave me a blank look. "What do you mean?"

  "To kill Irina. He had to get onto the UBN studio lot. And, trust me, it isn't easy to get past that guy at the security guard house."

  Ramirez shot me another look.

  "Okay, gloss over how I know that. But still, how did he get in?"

  My husband shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he lied to the guard, maybe he had someone bring him on as a guest, maybe Irina let him in."

  I felt that frown dig in deeper. "Maybe," I hedged. Though I didn't see any of those scenarios as very likely. Irina and he were already at odds, and she knew it. I didn't see her inviting him in to kill her.

  "Anyway," Ramirez said, "with Vlad dead, we probably won't ever know."

  A truth that did nothing to alleviate the ridge between my eyebrows.

  Ramirez grinned at me again, a lopsided thing that showed off the dimple in his left cheek.

  "What?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Nothing. It's just, you're kinda cute when you're all deep in thought like that."

  I felt the frown melting away. "Just kinda cute?"

  "Pretty dammed cute," he amended

  "So, you're not mad at me?" I asked.

  Ramirez held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. "Just this much."

  "Tell you what? I promise I can make it up to you."

  "Oh really?" He raised an eyebrow, putting an arm around me. "And how would that be, Springer?"

  I shrugged. "I could make lasagna tomorrow night for dinner?"

  He nodded, leaning in just that much closer. "That would be nice. But I'm not sure it entirely makes up for lying to me."

  "I could follow it up with cake?"

  "Ooo," he said, his eyebrows drawing together as his mouth puckered. "I like cake." He paused, moving in closer. "But there's something I like even more than cake."

  I felt my knees go weak, my spine melting into the chair as he leaned in so close his lips were just inches from mine.

  "Oh yeah?" I asked. "And what would that be?"

  Ramirez's eyes went dark and dangerous, melting into two pools of delicious chocolate. "Guess," he whispered. Then he kissed me.

  Oh, boy, did he kiss me.

  * * *

  It was a miracle. The twins actually slept a full six hours each that night, and even five of those were at the same time. I woke up feeling like a new person. Granted, it was a bit of a sore person, the fight with Katrina having taken its toll on me, but I only required two strong cups of coffee to get my brain into gear.

  I quickly showered and dressed and checked my phone messages. I had twenty texts and half a dozen voicemails. Three were from Mom in various states of excitement as she saw my face on not only the six o'clock news, but also the ten o'clock and eleven o'clock versions as well.

  One voicemail was dated this morning from Dana saying she was going to the courthouse to pick up Ricky, as he was officially released.

  Ramirez texted saying he was processing Katrina today, but would be home for lasagna come hell or high water.

  Marco texted to say ohmigod u ok dahling? and that he was spending the day with his new BFF, Ling, helping her plan a birthday party to end all birthday parties.

  And, after deleting them all, I decided I was going to spend some serious quality Dora the Explorer time with my babies today.

  But, I just had one little thing I wanted to do first.

  While I was pretty sure Lana had seen the news this morning telling her just who had been stealing her wardrobe items, I felt I owed it to my old friend to give her the details in person. (And, there was the issue of the gorgeous blue scarf I'd seen in her shop. Call me crazy, but it seemed like the perfect we-solved-the-case splurge.)

  I texted Mom to come watch the twins, which was she was only too happy to do. In fact, she was so happy that as soon as she arrived her cooing and gurgling at the twins was infectious, instantly transforming them from pooping monsters into little laughing angels. I watched the trio doing baby-talk at each other, perfectly content to tune me out.

  "Okay, I give up. What's the trick?" I asked Mom.

  Mom blinked at me. "Trick?"

  "How do you do that? Make them immediately stop crying? Are you doing some baby-whisperer thing? Do you slip them Prozac? What?"

  Mom smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, honey. There's no trick."

  "Then what am I doing wrong?" I asked, throwing my hands in the air.

  Mom put an arm around me. "You're not doing anything wrong. You're a new mother. You haven't slept, you're tired, and you're overwhelmed."

  "Yes, yes, and yes," I agreed.

  "On the other hand," Mom went on, "I get to swoop in, be fun grandma for a couple of hours, then go home and recuperate. It's easy to be the baby whisperer when you're only on duty in short shifts."

  "That's it?" I asked, relief washing over me. "You mean, they don't prefer you to me?"

  Mom grinned. "Honey, you just need a break from each other every now and then. Trust me, if they had to be with me all the time, they'd be wailing bloody murder."

  I looked down at Livvie and Max. Their little dark eyes blinked innocently up at me.

  "They do love it when you visit though," I told Mom.

  "I love it, too."

  "Okay, I have a proposal to make," I decided.

  Mom raised an eyebrow at me. "A proposal?"

  "Since they seem to enjoy the break with Grandma so much. In small doses," I added. "How would you like to come watch them on a regular basis. Say, a couple of hours every morning while I get back to designing?"

  Mom's eyes lit up. "Oh, that would be wonderful!" She clapped her hands. "You hear that babies, Grandma's gonna be your babysitter," she told them.

  Max and Livvie cooed back, and I swear I even saw Max start to giggle with delight.

  I'll admit, I felt a little delighted too. The idea of actually designing again was exciting. And knowing that the little break from each other was good for all of us meant I could do it guilt-free.

  Pleased with the new arrangement, I left Mom and the babies making little googly faces at each other as I hopped into my minivan and hit traffic.

  I parked my car in the garage on Melrose, walked the two blocks to The Sunshine State, and pushed through the front doors, hearing the little bell chime above the door.

  And the first thing I saw was Allie Quick. What's worse, she was purchasing my blue scarf from the pink-haired girl at the register.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  "Allie," I said.

  She spun around at the sound of my voice. "Maddie."

  We stood there staring at each other in a silent standoff, each daring the other to start first.

  Finally I cracked.

  "Nice scarf," I managed.

  Allie looked down at her bag. "Oh. Yeah, I saw this super cute thing last time I was here, and I just had to come back and get it."

  I hated how much we were alike in that moment.

  Allie pursed her lips, smearing her pale pink lipstick. "So, did you see the story I printed about Dana and Ricky this morning?"

  Honestly? In all that had happened, checking the Informer website had been low on my priority list. I shook my head in the negative. "What did it say?" I asked, dread building in my gut.

  "It said that you and Dana cracked the case wide open. That you single-handedly caught Irina's killer. And that Ricky was innocent all along." She paused. "And there were some really cute pics of Dana in that silver gown."

  I bit my lip. Okay, maybe Allie wasn't all bad. "Thanks," I said. "She could use the good press right now."

  Allie looked down at her feet. "Look, I know you hate me."

  I opened my mouth to protest, but she ran right over me.

  "It's okay. I get it. I've got big boobs, a not terribly low I.Q., and I'm damned good at my job. A lot of people hate me," she
said, an emotion flitting behind her eyes that told me she wasn't as okay with the fact as she was trying to pretend to be. "But honestly? I kind of admire you, Maddie."

  "Me?" I said, not able to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  She nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you've got a great guy, a great career, two great kids." She paused and did a lopsided grin. "Plus you have this uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth. It's not many women that have it all like you do."

  Wow. She thought I had it all. I didn't burst her bubble that I'd spent the better part of the last two weeks with at least half of that "all" hanging by a tenuous thread. My babies were overwhelming, I almost never slept, my husband was gone more often than not, and my career had been on hold for so many months now that I feared I might not remember how to hold a sketching pencil.

  But instead of setting her straight, I just said, "Thanks."

  "You're welcome."

  For once she looked so sincere, that I couldn't stop myself before words started tumbling from my mouth. "Hey, Ricky's going home today. How about I try to set up that interview for you with him tomorrow?"

  "Really?" Allie's eyes lit up like a tween at a Justin Bieber concert. "Ohmigod, that would be, like, totally awesome."

  I couldn't help grinning back. "Cool. I'll call you tomorrow with the details," I promised.

  "You're the best, Maddie!" she called after me, practically skipping out of the store.

  I watched her, wondering if maybe I'd judged Allie a little too harshly. I mean, she did have great taste in clothes. Maybe there was hope for her after all.

  "Maddie!"

  I turned to see Lana emerging from the back room. She was dressed today in a pair of flowing, wrap pants in a tribal print, a long-sleeved shirt in sheer nude that looked amazing against her pale skin, and the same pair of heavy, wooden clogs I'd seen on her the last time I'd been in. "Hi, Lana."

  "I heard all about you on the news last night. Are you okay?"

  I nodded. "I am. Mostly," I amended, my hand unconsciously going to my nose where the skin was just starting to grow in again. "Thanks for asking."

  "So it's all true. That horrible smuggler guy killed Irina?" she asked me.

  I nodded, filling her in on all the gory details, including how her wardrobe items had gone missing.

  When I finished, she was shaking her head, her black curls bouncing along her shoulders. "Wow. I never would have thought Irina would do such a thing."

  "I guess anyone can get a little crazy in a desperate situation," I said.

  "Well thank God it's all cleared up now," Lana said. "Hopefully we can all get on with our lives. The show must go on. And the actors must look fabulous, right?" she said, giving me a wink.

  "Speaking of fabulous," I said. "I was wondering if you happen to have any more of those blue, silk scarves?" I asked, pointing to the counter where Allie had swiped the last one.

  "I might have another in the back," Lana told me. "Tell you what: for clearing up the whole mystery of the missing wardrobe, it's on the house."

  "Oh, I couldn't," I protested. Though, I'll admit, I didn't protest very hard. With the amount I'd shelled out on eBay for shoes that were now evidence, my bank account was starting to squeak again.

  "I insist," Lana said. "Just wait here a minute, and I'll be right back."

  She turned and made for the back room, her wooden clogs clomping on the tile floor as she did.

  And that's when I saw it.

  I froze, my entire body going stiff as I watched Lana lift one foot then the other, toward the back room. On the back of the custom, one-of-a-kind shoes that she'd designed, carved into the heel, was a distinct crosshatch pattern in a triangle shape.

  Just like the weapon that had killed Irina.

  Chapter Twenty

  I looked from Lana's retreating back to the pink-haired girl on duty at the counter to the front doors and the deceptively optimistic sunshine beyond. I was completely frozen to the spot, my mind going a million miles a minute, trying to decide what to do.

  Finally I pulled out my cell and dialed Ramirez, my fingers trembling as I punched the buttons. It rang on the other end, then again. "Please pick up," I chanted. Prompting the pink-haired girl to turn my way. I gave her what I'm sure was the most forced smile ever and turned away, retreating to the far side of the store, behind a rack of summer shawls.

  Four rings in, the call bounced to voicemail. I hung up, dialed again, and listened to it ring four more times before hitting voicemail again.

  "It's me," I whispered into the phone. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but Vlad did not kill Irina. I know who did. And I have the murder weapon." I paused. "Well, at least, I know what the murder weapon was and where it is, and I'm pretty sure I know who used it now. It was-"

  "Hang up, Maddie."

  I froze, feeling something hard and cold suddenly pressing up against my rib cage. I glanced down, and fear lodged in my throat as I saw the barrel of a small, shiny handgun, tickling my side. My gaze traveled slowly upward to a hand, a sheer, nude sleeve, and a mass of black curls, framing the now pale, pinched face of my former friend.

  I swallowed hard. Then I did as instructed, hitting the end button on the phone.

  "Amy," Lana called over her shoulder to the pink-haired girl. "Why don't you take your break now. I'll watch the counter for a bit."

  My eyes darted to the girl, blissfully unaware of what her employer was holding behind the clothing rack.

  "'K," Amy said, then grabbed a purse from beneath the counter and headed for the front door.

  I silently pleaded with her to turn around, notice what was going on, run for help, call the police, anything!

  But Amy walked out the front door, popped a piece of gum into her mouth and strolled toward the parking garage.

  I thought a really bad word, feeling my hope slip away with her.

  "Now, lock the door," Lana said, her voice a flat monotone. Gone was the happy-go-lucky woman of a moment ago, and in her place was a stone poker face that left no hint of any emotion behind it.

  "Lana, don't do this," I said, hearing my voice come out as a shaky whisper. "Please. How long have we known each other?"

  Her eyes softened some, though I noticed her grip on the gun was still firm. "I'm sorry, Maddie," she said, "but I have no choice." She gestured toward the glass at the front of the shop. "The door," she prompted again.

  I slowly inched in the direction she indicated. "Why?" I asked, my eyes cutting to the street outside the glass. If I could just get someone's attention outside, maybe they could call for help. "Why did you do it?"

  "Why?" she repeated. "The same reason I do anything. For fashion," she said, her chin lifting. "Fashion is my life."

  "I don't understand," I prompted.

  "I have sacrificed everything to get where I am," she said, the words coming out in a rapid stream. "Everything, you understand? No family, no life outside of the studios and the shop. How many times have we gone out since we graduated?"

  "Uh, none?" I said, truthfully.

  "Exactly! I have nothing but fashion." Her eyes blazed, suddenly taking on a feverish look. "And she was going to take that away from me."

  "'She,' meaning Irina?" I made it to the door and scanned the street beyond. There was a coffee shop across from us where a couple was sitting outside, drinking from steaming paper cups. Next to that was a jewelry store. On either side of us were other clothing boutiques. A woman with a small dog in her purse entered the one on the left, a teenager wearing earbuds exiting the one on the right. But none of them was paying attention to what was going on inside The Sunshine State.

  "Yes, Irina!" Lana spat out, drawing my attention back to her. "She was going to ruin everything. Don't you see, I couldn't have that?"

  I nodded, figuring it was better to agree than not when being held at gunpoint.

  "Turn the lock," Lana said, indicating a metal catch on the glass door.

  I did, hearing my own fate seal with the
click.

  "Now step away." She waved the gun toward a rack of wide-leg pants just outside the window's line of sight.

  I slowly stepped to the left, my eyes scanning the window again for any last hope. The couple outside the coffee shop tossed their cups into the trash and left. A woman with grey hair emerged from the store beside us, walking right past the window. I bit down the urge to wave my hands and madly signal for help as she turned her back to me.

  No one was paying attention. Which meant I had to stall, keep Lana talking. Keep her engaged until I could somehow signal for help.

  "Irina was the star of your show," I said. "Why kill her?"

  Lana shook her head. "Don't you understand Maddie? She was ruining me. The producers thought I was being careless with wardrobe items. They blamed me!"

  "And then when the story of the missing pieces leaked to the Informer, the press blamed you, too."

  "Yes!" she said, nodding. "She was going to kill my career. Everything I had worked for had led up to this point. This show was everything. I was in the running for a costuming Emmy with this show. But after that damned gown of Shaniqua's went missing, the producers were furious. They were talking about replacing me!"

  "I didn't know that," I told her honestly.

  Lana nodded, her curls bouncing wildly. "Oh, they were. I heard the rumblings. I had to do something. I was desperate."

  "And desperate people do crazy things," I said, repeating the all-too true statement from earlier.

  "I didn't mean to," she said, almost as if she were pleading with me to understand. "I really didn't. But when I saw her there that day, I knew what she was doing. It all suddenly clicked."

  "You saw her in Ricky's dressing room," I said, the pieces clicking finally for me, too.

  Lana nodded. "I was bringing him his waltz outfit to try on for next week. I was just going to hang it in his closet, but when I opened the door to his dressing room, I saw Irina. She was stripping off her red dress and shoving it into a bag. Her bag," she emphasized.