I was just about to find Dana and call this the bad idea it was when I heard a scream from the back room.
“Maddie!” Dana yelled. “Come quick!”
As much as seeing what the back room held terrified my faux worldly self, the panic in Dana’s voice had me charging through the doorway full force. So fast that I ran smack into Dana’s back as she stood transfixed in the center of the storeroom.
“Dana, are you okay-” I started to ask. But I never quite finished that statement because, as I looked past her, I saw what had had her screaming bloody murder.
It was, in fact, bloody murder.
Or, to be more precise, the body of a woman, laying twisted on the floor, the front of her T-shirt soaked in blood.
Chapter Two
Several screams, “ohmigod”s and one 911 call later, Dana and I were huddled on the curb outside the Pleasure Den while policemen and crime scene techs swarmed the store. It had been immediately apparent that Peach was dead, and, at the risk of contaminating the crime scene, Dana and I had bolted outside and not gone back in since police arrived. At least, that’s what we told the first officer on scene. The truth? We’d been so squicked out by the dead body we’d both bolted for the door before the words “crime scene” even entered our minds.
“Ms. Springer?” one of the uniformed officers asked, approaching us.
I swallowed, clearing my still-too-dry throat. “Yes?”
“A detective would like to talk to you.”
I looked past the uniform and saw a dark haired guy in a leather jacket getting out of an SUV. Uh oh. I knew that detective well.
“Uh, are you sure maybe you couldn’t take my statement instead?”
The uniform gave me a funny look. “I think it would be better if the detective took it.”
“Oh, I think it would be worse.” Much worse.
But, since he had the gun and I didn’t, I didn’t protest (much) as he helped me up off the curb.
I shifted from foot to foot as I watched Ramirez stop to exchange a few words with the responding officer. The guy pointed my way, and Ramirez looked over. Very slowly I could see him raising an eyebrow at me.
Oh boy.
He sauntered over, cocked his head at me. His face was unreadable cop through and through.
I did a little one finger wave. “Hi.”
“Hi.” His voice was flat, monotone. Total Bad Cop mode. “Officer Patterson tells me you found the body?”
“Well, technically, Dana found it first,” I said, gesturing to my best friend.
Ramirez looked from me to her, giving her the same blank poker-faced stare.
“Hi,” Dana said. She waved, too, though it didn’t have much more affect than mine had.
Ramirez did a deep sigh through his nose, then turned back to me. “And what, exactly, were you two doing here?”
I bit my lip. “Um… buying you a Valentine’s anniversary present.”
Both of his eyebrows went north this time. “Here?”
I nodded. “Um… yeah?” Only it sounded more like a question. “You see, I was pretty sure you didn’t want a love poem, because I don’t really like boxing, so I figured you’d be more into something like a game. Only the game said if you lose the whipped cream penalty challenge you have to endure the hot wax kisses, which I wasn’t sure you were really into, but at least it was better than the latex fetish wear hanging on the wall, but then Dana did this really big scream and I-“
“Enough!” Ramirez put his hands up.
I clamped my lips shut and did a zipping-them-closed motion.
Ramirez did another deep breathing exercise, and I wasn’t sure, but I thought I could feel him mentally counting to ten.
“Where was the body when you found it?”
“Store room.”
“And she was already dead then?”
“She was covered in blood and her eyes were staring at the ceiling,” I said, cringing as I relived the scene. “We didn’t check for a pulse, but I’m pretty sure she was dead.”
Dana nodded in agreement behind me. “Poor Peach.”
“Did you touch anything?” Ramirez asked.
I shook my head in the negative. “No. We were very careful to leave quickly so we didn’t contaminate the crime scene.”
“Plus, we were scared shitless,” Dana added.
“That, too,” I agreed.
“You should have been,” Ramirez said. “Jesus, Maddie, what if the killer was still in there?”
I felt my face pale. “Was he?”
Ramiro paused a moment, then shook his head. “No. It looks like she’s been dead at least a couple hours.”
“How did she…” I trailed off, even talking about dead bodies kinda squicking me out again. “…expire?” I finally settled on.
Ramirez let his gaze stray to the front door. “The ME will have to examine the body back at the lab for official results, but I can tell you that she was stabbed. Several times,” he added.
I swallowed. “Any idea who by?”
Ramirez shook his head. “Someone angry, that’s for sure.”
“A crime of passion?” Dana piped up.
Which sounded a little melodramatic to me, but Ramirez nodded. “I guess you could put it that way. Stabbings tend to be very personal”
“So not robbery then?” I asked.
Ramirez shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. The register was intact and nothing obvious is missing. We’ll have to check what’s in the store against the inventory to be sure, but it looks like whoever did this was only after Peach.”
Which chilled me to goosebumps even standing in the warm, California sun.
* * *
After taking our official statements, Dana and I were released, and she dropped me off at home before racing to Ricky’s to tell him about the “Sex Shop Murder”, as she’d already started calling it.
I tried to block out the image of poor Peach’s body by jumping into the sketches I was working on for a pair of boots for my fall line, but my heart wasn’t in it. Instead, I flipped on the TV, watching for a sign of Peach on the news as I made myself a dinner of macaroni and cheese from a box with diced green chilies. (After years as a single girl, I was slowly easing into this whole domestic goddess role. I’d mastered doing my make-up while sharing the one bathroom mirror with Ramirez as he shaved, but cooking was something I’d yet to conquer.)
I was halfway through a bowl of over cooked macaroni (I wasn’t kidding about the no-cooking thing), when Ramirez walked through the front door.
I paused mid bite. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he said, throwing his jacket onto a chair. “What’s for dinner?”
I looked down into my bowl. “I wasn’t expecting you home.”
“I’m not home.”
I raised an eyebrow his way.
“I’m just grabbing a quick bite and a nap before heading back out.”
I frowned. “You didn’t sleep last night, either.”
“No time.” He sniffed at the pot of my Kraft creation on the stove. He took a bite, shrugged, added another handful of chilies and spooned some into a bowl. “I gotta work the case while it’s still hot.”
How many times had I heard that before?
“Right,” I said, doing my best Understanding Wife. “I guess as long as you still have Saturday night off, I can wait until then to see you.”
Ramirez paused, a forkful of macaroni halfway to his mouth. “Saturday?”
I felt a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. “Valentine’s Day. Our anniversary.”
Ramirez cleared his throat, shifted on his feet, looked down into his bowl. “Um, yeah. About that…”
“Oh no. No, no, no, no. Don’t you dare!”
“Maddie…”
“Don’t you dare cancel on me. Not this time. Jack, it’s our anniversary,” I said, instantly dropping Understanding Wife and breaking out my whiney toddler impersonation again.
“I know,” he said. �
�But I have this case.”
“You always have a case!”
“Yes, and I always have to work them. It’s kind of my job.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah? And I’m kind of your wife, though you wouldn’t know it.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means we never spend any time together.”
“We’re together now.”
My turn to narrow my eyes. “This is our anniversary we’re talking about, Jack. Our first anniversary. Not to mention Valentine’s Day! Surely you can get some time off?”
“I had time off planned, Maddie, but the first forty-eight hours are the most important in any case. I can’t just drop Peach because it’s some made up holiday.”
I clenched my jaw. “Some ‘made up holiday?’ You think Valentine’s Day is some joke? That celebrating our love doesn’t matter?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Fine,” I yelled, really gaining steam now. “Fine, you know what? If this day means so little to you, I don’t want to spend it with you anyway.”
“Jesus,” Ramirez mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Look, I have to work, okay? We can celebrate some other day.”
“Right. Like last night.”
Ramirez gave me a blank look.
“Do you even know what we were supposed to be celebrating last night?”
He pursed his lips together. “If I say no, you’re going to be mad right?”
“Wrong. I’m already mad.”
“Swell.”
“And it was my birthday. We were supposed to be celebrating my birthday last night.”
Ramirez frowned. “Your birthday was in October.”
“Exactly!” I threw my hands up. “You had a case then, and we had to cancel. We’ve had to cancel three times since then. It’s February and I’m still waiting for my October birthday dinner. At this rate, we’ll be celebrating our first anniversary when we’re ninety.”
“Exaggeration, much?” he countered.
I clenched my jaw. “Sleeping on the couch, much?”
Ramirez threw his hands up. “Look, Maddie, there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry. But unless this case solves itself in the next two days, my hands are tied.”
“Fine.” I picked up my macaroni bowl and stalked to the bedroom. “Enjoy your nap,” I threw back at him. Then added, “On the couch!” and slammed the door behind me.
* * *
I’d like to say that I slept the long, satisfied sleep of those who have had the last word. But, the truth was, having the last word isn’t nearly as satisfying as having your husband cuddled up beside you. In fact, getting the last word, much like being married to a cop, isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. I spent the entire night tossing and turning, feeling guilty for yelling at him. The more I didn’t sleep, the more I realized how unfair I was being. It wasn’t as if Ramirez chose to work on our anniversary. He was right; there wasn’t much he could do about it. And it wasn’t fair to Peach’s family to put her murder on a backburner just because we had plans. As much as the demands of his job were unreasonable, so, I realized, were my expectations.
By the time the sun finally peeked through the bedroom curtains, I felt like a regular heel. I stumbled out of bed and toward the scent of coffee in the kitchen. I blinked at the full coffee pot. Even after our fight, Ramirez had made me coffee before he left for work. That’s it, I was officially the worst wife ever.
But, I had an idea how I could make it up to him.
Something he’d said last night had stuck with me, and I suddenly knew exactly what I was going to get Ramirez for our Valentine’s anniversary.
I grabbed the phone and dialed Dana’s number.
Three rings into it, I heard a groggy, “Hello?”
“Hey. It’s me.”
There was pause. “What time is it?”
I glanced up at the clock over the sink. “Seven.”
Dana groaned. “Way too early.”
“Sorry. Late night?” I asked.
“Film premier. We didn’t get in until three.”
“Ouch.”
“Tell me about it. My feet are killing me, my head hurts, and I feel like a squirrel has been nesting in my mouth all night. You know, being the girlfriend of a movie star isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”
“You too, huh?” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Never mind. Listen, want to meet me for coffee? Say, half an hour?”
I heard rustling on the other end as Dana pulled herself out of bed. “If there’s caffeine involved, I’m so there.”
* * *
Forty minutes later I was showered, dressed in a pair of jeans, my favorite pink blouse with white pinstripes down the front, and a pair of silver, sequined pumps, sitting at a table at Starbucks as Dana sipped her non-fat, no-sugar, soy decaf latte across from me, listening to my brilliant plan.
“I know what to get Ramirez for our Valentine’s anniversary,” I told her.
“What?” Dana asked, licking latte off her lips.
“A day off.”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “And how are you going to do that?”
“Simple. I’m going to solve this case for him.”
Dana barked out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Simple.”
“Okay, maybe ‘simple’ isn’t exactly the right word,” I conceded, “but I’m sure we can do it.”
The truth was, I had helped Ramirez on cases before. In fact, there had been at least one time when I’d actually cracked the case wide open for him. Not that I was a Sherlock Holmes by any means, but, at least in this case, I did have one advantage.
“You knew Peach,” I pointed out to Dana. “That’s a distinct advantage to us.”
Dana bit her lip. “I didn’t know her that well. I mean, she was kinda more of an acquaintance than a good friend.”
“But you know enough about her life to have some clue as to who could have wanted her dead?”
Again with the lip biting. “Maybe?” Dana said. Though she didn’t sound quite as confident as I might have hoped.
“Okay, let’s go at this in an organized way.” I grabbed notebook and pen from my purse. I wrote the word ‘suspects’ at the top of the page. “Ramirez said the crime felt personal to him.”
“Right!” Dana agreed. “A crime of passion.”
“So we should start with those closest to Peach. Did she have a boyfriend?” I asked.
Dana nodded. “Yes!” she said triumphantly. “I met him at the store once. Vic something.”
“Perfect!” I said. I wrote ‘Vic Something’ on the paper. “What about family?”
Dana shook her head. “Sorry. No idea.”
“Okay, well, what if her death was business related? Who else works at the store?”
“There’s Gage. He’s her business partner. Peach ran the place, but Gage came in to do the books and inventory and stuff like that.”
I wrote the name down. “Anyone else Peach spent time with?”
“Oh! Celia!”
“And she is?” I asked, writing the name down.
“Her roommate. Peach told me they shared a place in Echo Park.”
I wrote ‘roommate’ next to Celia’s name. “Got an address?”
Dana frowned and shook her head. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” I said looking down at the list. “This is a good start. So, who do we question first?”
Dana shrugged. “I say the boyfriend. Crime of passion and all.”
I nodded. “Suspects, here we come!”
Chapter Three
Unfortunately, our enthusiasm proved to be greater than our actual knowledge about the suspects. Without Vic’s last name or number or anything about him, it was a little hard to track him down for an intense interrogation. Instead, we decided to go back to the Pleasure Den and see what we could find out about the boyfriend there.
As I pulled my little red Jeep up to the curb outside the shop, we could see crime scene tape still lying on the ground just outside the doors. The neon ‘open’ sign was shut off, but I could see movement inside the shop. Dana and I knocked on the glass door, and a minute later a guy wearing an earring in his eyebrow and a flannel shirt that looked stained in at least three different places came to the door.
“We’re closed,” he yelled through the glass.
“I know. We wanted to talk to you about Peach,” I shouted back.
“What?” He put a hand to his ear.
“We want to talk about Peach!”
He shook his head. “I can’t hear you!”
“PEACH!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
The guy jumped back. “Oh.” He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling it open a crack. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Hi. I’m Maddie Springer and this is my friend, Dana. Um, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Peach.”
He frowned. “Why? Are you reporters?”
“No,” Dana said, shaking her head. “We’re helping the police with the investigation.”
I elbowed her in the ribs. “Uh, sort of. We’re…”
“She’s married to the detective in charge,” Dana said, pointing at me.
I shrugged and did a feeble little laugh. “Uh, yeah, anyway, we just wanted to ask a couple questions about Peach if you don’t mind.”
He bit his lip, probably trying to figure out what sort of official capacity the wife of a police detective had, but finally nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. Come on in.” He opened the door, letting Dana and I through before locking it behind us again.
The place looked much the same as it had yesterday, the only difference the faint dusting of black powder on several of the surfaces near the cash register. Apparently CSU had covered all robbery bases after all.
“What do you want to know about Peach?” the guy asked, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a wide, defensive stance.
Sweetheart in High Heels Page 2
