"And that's when you realized she was stealing it."
Lana nodded again, her eyes starting to tear. "She was hiding it in the back of Ricky's closet. She wasn't stupid. She knew her dressing room was the first place anyone would look for it, but if she hid it in his room, she could come back for it at the end of the day and easily smuggle it off set."
I nodded, remembering what Kaylie had told me about seeing Irina sneak into Ricky's dressing room before that. Had it been to hide the shoes her sister had sold me?
"Did you confront her?" I asked.
"Of course. I flat out asked her what she was doing."
"And what did she say?" I asked, one eye on the windows. The street was oddly empty now. The one time I was dying for foot traffic, shoppers were totally absent. I felt desperation start to bubble in my throat. I could only keep Lana talking for so long. I was running out of time.
"She denied it at first," Lana said. "But I'd caught her red-handed and she knew it. Finally she confessed. Said it was her taking wardrobe items all along, then selling them. That she needed the money." Lana laughed, a short bark of a thing. "Can you believe the nerve? She was ruining my career and wanted my sympathy?"
"Shocking," I agreed. Not that I cared at that point. What I cared about was more time. My eyes scanned the room for anything I could use as a weapon. Skirts, dresses, pants. All flowy and blousy, annoyingly loose and soft. Not even a belt in sight!
"I told her she had to stop," Lana continued. "That I was going to the producers."
"And what did she say?"
She shook her head, an almost sad look in her eyes. "She laughed at me. She said she'd deny it. Who would they believe: the show's star or some 'little wardrobe woman.'"
"And that's when you killed her," I said slowly.
Lana's eyes turned on me, flashing fire again. "I had no choice! She was going to ruin me. She was taking away all I had worked for."
"So you took off your heavy shoe and hit her with it." Death by ugly clog. No matter what she'd done, I had to feel some measure of sympathy for Irina about that.
"I didn't mean to kill her," Lana said, shaking her head again. "I just wanted her to stop. If she had only put the damned dress back on and promised to stop stealing, I wouldn't have had to do anything."
"That's why Irina was found naked," I said, putting it together. "You caught her in the middle of changing. Ricky was telling the truth all along."
"I honestly didn't mean to create trouble for Ricky," she said. "But when the police starting thinking he did it, well, you see why I had to let them think that."
"Which is why you told me you saw Ricky going into the dressing room."
"And I did!" Lana protested. She paused. "Just not right before Irina died. It was earlier. I saw him leave first. Then I went in."
"He could have gone to jail," I told her, unable to keep the edge of anger on my friend's behalf out of my voice.
Lana's curls bounced as she shook her head again. "No. He has money. He's famous. His lawyer would have gotten him off."
"And you would have gotten away with it."
"I will get away with it," Lana said slowly. "There was no way I was letting Irina derail all I had worked for." She paused, her head cocking to the side, sadness returning to her eyes. "And I'm sorry, but there's no way I'm letting you either, Maddie."
Uh-oh.
I gulped, feeling a lump form in my throat. "You don't have to do this, Lana. You can turn yourself in."
"Ha!" she laughed, though there was zero joy in the sound. "And what? Spend twenty-to-life in San Quentin? No thanks, Maddie."
"Please, Lana, don't do this," I pleaded, hearing the fear in my own voice. My eyes whipped wildly to the right and left. No one was outside, there was nothing I could use as a weapon within reach, and that gun was held steady in her hand, trained right on my torso, her finger gripping the trigger tightly.
"I'm sorry, Maddie," she said, her voice holding a note of actual regret. "I'm so sorry it has to be this way."
"You won't get away with it," I told her, switching tactics. "Too many people know I'm here. They know I came to see you. They'll find me and arrest you."
Lana nodded. "Oh they will find you. Shot dead on the floor. The register will be empty, the window broken, and I'll be in the back, looking like I've been beaten up. A robbery gone wrong," she said. "A horrible tragedy."
I swallowed. Damned. She's really thought this through. Kudos to her for thinking on her feet.
I, on the other hand, was drawing a blank on mine. In fact, all I could think of was that despite my love of shopping in life, the last place I wanted to die was a trendy boutique on Melrose.
I watched Lana take a step closer, gun straight-armed in front of her. Her eyes clouded over with tears, but her aim never waivered.
I bit my lip. I felt my insides turn to jelly, my breath come fast, my fight or flight response kicking in overtime. But I couldn't think of a single way to either fight or flee that didn't involve Lana pulling the trigger before I could do more than move an inch.
I felt warm tears on my face as visions of Ramirez, my Mom, Dana, and my sweet little babies flashed through my mind like a slideshow.
"I'm sorry." I saw Lana mouth the words as her finger closed in around the trigger.
I closed my eyes, cringing as I braced for the hot burn of a bullet.
Then I heard it. The shot echoed in the small boutique, the sound ringing in my ears, accompanied by glass shattering in every direction, spraying my back and shoulders with dozens of tiny shards.
I held my breath. And it took me a second to realize I had breath. I was still alive.
I slowly blinked my eyes back open.
Then stifled a gasp as I saw Lana sprawled out on the floor in front of me, a tiny, red hole in the center of her chest, sticky liquid quickly spreading across her sheer top.
I whipped my head around, eyes focusing on a figure standing on the sidewalk, just outside the now shattered window.
Blonde hair, D-cups almost spilling from her tight tank, mini skirt riding high on her tanned thighs, and the cutest pink gun you ever saw held in a pair of manicured hands, the tip smoking in the sunshine, still aimed right at the spot where Lana had been.
Allie blinked at me, seemingly almost as shocked at what had just happened as I was.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice shaky.
I nodded. "Nice timing, Quick."
The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "The scarf still had the security tag on it. I was bringing it back when I saw the gun in the window. Didn't take a genius to figure out you needed backup."
Allie might be perky enough to annoy a hummingbird, but I'd take her kind of back-up any day.
Chapter Twenty-One
"What was it like knowing that everyone thought you were guilty?" Allie Quick leaned in, her eyes intent on Ricky as she asked the question.
Ricky cheated his face toward the camera over Allie's left shoulder like a pro, making sure the light hit his jaw at just the right angle before he answered.
"It was rough, I'm not going to lie," he told her.
"But through it all, one person believed in you, didn't she?" Allie prompted.
Ricky nodded, his eyes turning to the chair beside him where Dana sat, holding his hand. "Yes, she did. Dana's my rock," he said.
Dana smiled at him, squeezing his hand a little tighter.
"And how long have you two been dating now?" Tina Bender cut in, sitting in a chair just beside Allie.
While I'd made the promised call to set up the interview with Ricky for Allie (Hey, she had saved my life after all.), I had promised an interview to Tina as well. After listening to the two paparazzo's fight it out over who got the interview first, Ricky finally proposed that they could interview him in tandem. As much as Allie wasn't 100% thrilled with sharing, Felix had been ecstatic that the Informer would be the only tabloid in town with the exclusive.
I watched the two women jockey for alpha-dog position in the
interview from my chair just outside of camera range. I silently sipped my venti mocha Frappuccino as I waited for Dana's answer. (If almost getting shot had taught me anything, it was that life was way too short to spend it dieting.)
"We've been together for three years," Dana replied.
"And there's never been anyone but her in those three years," Ricky cut in. He turned to Dana. "I mean, look at her. Why would I ever want anyone else?"
Dana blushed, the color of her cheeks perfectly complementing her Lover Girl passion pink lipstick.
"There's still one thing our readers would like to know," Allie said, taking over the interview again. "Ricky, you refused to give an alibi when you were arrested. Why?"
I bit my lip. Honestly? I kind of wanted to know that, too. All along I'd had the feeling Ricky was hiding something. While I'd been sure it was cheating on Dana at the time, Lana's version of events had backed up Ricky's story completely. So, if he hadn't been cheating on her, what had he been hiding from Dana?
Ricky took a deep breath, his eyes cutting to Dana as he let go of her hand. "Right. My alibi. Well, I wasn't lying when I said I was on the UBN lot at the time."
Dana sighed in relief.
"But I was lying when I said I was alone."
The relief disappeared in a flash. I saw Dana suck in a breath, her spine straighten, her hands clench in her lap.
"I was actually meeting with someone else," Ricky confessed. "Someone I didn't want anyone to know about."
Dana began breathing hard. I chewed my lip and prepared to pull her off of him if need be.
Allie and Tina leaned forward as one, practically salivating.
"And that person was?" Tina asked.
Ricky took a deep breath. "Neil Lane."
Allie's brow puckered, mirroring the collective curiosity in the room. "Wait - the jewelry designer?"
Ricky nodded. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, velvet-covered box.
I sucked in a breath, recognizing the size and shape immediately.
Dana gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
Allie and Tina practically vibrated with excitement in their seats as Ricky knelt down on the floor, still careful to keep his face cheated toward the camera, and took Dana's left hand in his.
"I am so sorry for any pain I put you through," he started, his eyes sincere and intent on hers. "You mean the world to me, and I would never intentionally hurt you."
Dana swallowed hard, nodding. "Uh-huh?" she prompted.
"You are everything I've ever wanted in a woman. Kind, smart, sweet, beautiful inside and out," he continued.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Dana said, nodding, her eyes intent on the velvet box.
"All my life I've been searching for someone like you, and I can't imagine what I ever did to deserve a woman as kind and smart and sweet and-"
"I love you, too," Dana said, cutting him off. "But for the love of God, open that box!"
Ricky grinned. "Did I mention how much I love your feistiness, too?"
Dana bit her lip, the anticipation coming off of her in waves.
Ricky cleared his throat. "Okay, here goes." He flipped open the lid on the velvet box, exposing a diamond so bright I suddenly needed sunglasses. "Dana Dashel, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife-"
"Yes!" Dana cried, jumping up from her seat and throwing her arms around Ricky's neck with such force that it knocked him backward into his chair again.
Ricky and Dana engaged in a lip lock that I'm sure was going to be tweeted a million times before the end of the day. Allie and Tina gave each other a high-five and did a couple of fist bumps at breaking the celebrity news of the year.
And I couldn't help the ear-to-ear grin on my face.
My babies were safe at home with their loving grandmother, my husband was hard at work making the streets of L.A. safe for us all, I was slowly getting back to doing what I loved in the fashion world, the tabloids were printing good news for a change, and my best friend was now wearing a custom designed rock the size of a golf ball. Life was good.
And pretty soon, if we didn't watch out, Dana and I were going to be a pair of old, married women.
Of course, that didn't mean we couldn't still get into just a little trouble now and then.
* * *
About the Author
Gemma Halliday is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the High Heels Mysteries, the Hollywood Headlines Mysteries, and the Deadly Cool series of young adult books, as well as several other works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.
To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com
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OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY
High Heels Mysteries:
Spying in High Heels
Killer in High Heels
Undercover in High Heels
Christmas in High Heels (short story)
Alibi in High Heels
Mayhem in High Heels
Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)
Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)
Fearless in High Heels
Danger in High Heels
Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:
Hollywood Scandals
Hollywood Secrets
Hollywood Confessions
Jamie Bond Mysteries:
Unbreakable Bond
Young Adult Books:
Deadly Cool
Social Suicide
Other Works:
Play Nice
Viva Las Vegas
A High Heels Haunting (novella)
Watching You (short story)
Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)
Special 75% Off Offer
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Catch up for 75% off the cover price of books #1-6!
Just follow this link to my website where you'll find coupon codes for 75% off of books #1-6 in ebook format for all ereaders on Smashwords.com:
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Offer only valid through January 31, 2013.
SNEAK PEEK
of the first
Hollywood Headlines Mystery
by Gemma Halliday:
HOLLYWOOD SCANDALS
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
TEEN SENSATION ON MORAL VACATION
LAST NIGHT THE INFORMER CAUGHT EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TEEN ACTRESS, JENNIFER WOOD, AT THE HOLLYWOOD MARTINI ROOM WITH A MEMBER OF A BOY BAND IN ONE HAND AND MARY JANE IN THE OTHER -
“Shit!”
“Tina!”
I swiveled in my chair to face my boss, Felix Dunn, standing in the doorway to his office, hands on hips.
“What?”
“Swear Pig.”
I pursed my lips. “That doesn’t count.”
“I just heard you say ‘shit.’”
“It was computer related. Everyone knows computer-related swearing doesn’t count.”
He narrowed his eyes. Clearly my argument wasn’t cutting it.
“It’s your own fault, you know,” I protested, changing tactics. I’d been typing up a juicy tidbit about the It teen actress, who’d been caught with a joint in her hand at last night’s after-party, when my backspace button stuck, taking out one very cleverly worded line, even if I did say so myself. “I mean, how many centuries old are these things anyway?” I went on. “Would it kill you to buy some new hardware once in a awhile?”
He shook his head. “Swear Pig, Bender,” he repeated, then disappeared
back into his office.
“Shit.”
“I heard that!”
I stuck my tongue out at his door and dropped two quarters into the purple piggy bank on my desk. Somehow our newly appointed editor in chief was under the impression that yours truly swore too much. I have no fucking idea where he got that impression. But he’d set up the Swear Pig as a way to break my bad habit. Personally, I was fine with my bad habit. It’s not like I was shooting heroin or anything.
Which brought me back to my story.
I swiveled around, pushing my glasses back up onto my nose and put my fingers to keyboard, recreating my perfect line.
IT MAY BE ONE JOINT TODAY FOR OUR FAVORITE FAIR-HAIRED TEENY-BOPPER, BUT WITH THE WAY HER LIFE IS SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL, CAN COCAINE, METH, OR EVEN HEROIN BE FAR BEHIND? HOW MANY BLONDES DOES IT TAKE TO SPELL “REHAB?”
I sat back in my chair, surveying my work. Okay, so it was a little mean. And the truth was Wood claimed someone had thrust the “stinky cigarette” into her hand just before the paparazzi flashbulbs went off, after which she’d promptly threw it out. But, seriously, she played the perky “Pippi Mississippi” in a tween cable show. This was tabloid gold.
I hit “send” letting my daily gossip column zip through the L.A. Infomer’s network to Felix’s inbox, then gave my knuckles a satisfying crack.
I glanced at the clock. Quitting time. And somewhere there was a big beefy burrito dinner with my name on it. I grabbed my Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox that doubled as my purse and made for the exit.
Unfortunately, not before Eagle Eyes Dunn could catch me.
“Bender?”
I thought a dirty word and turned around to find him leaning against his office doorframe. “Did you want something, chief?”
Danger in High Heels Page 18
