"Dana, is that you? What's going on?"
"I'm about to fire my party planner, is what's going on!"
I heard a gasp and a whimper. "You wouldn't dare."
"Watch me," Dana argued.
"What's wrong?" I cut in, relieved that whatever the situation was, it had nothing to do with Mom. "Where are you guys?"
"That is the problem!" Dana answered. "I'm in Watts standing in front of a warehouse called Borrow a Burro."
"Excuse me?" I asked, slightly distracted by the food fight going on in the backseat as lettuce became weaponized.
"She's being dramatic. We're only on the border of Watts," Marco said back, clearly missing the horrifying part of the last statement.
"Give me that," I heard Dana say to Marco before her voice came back to me, louder this time, as if she'd gained control of the speaker phone. "I'm standing in front of a place called Borrow a Burro, where my illustrious party planner says we're…"
"Borrowing burros?" I guessed, trying hard to hide my snicker.
"This is not funny!"
I guess I didn't try hard enough.
"Help me, Maddie!" she pleaded.
I heard scuffling, then Marco's voice as he took the phone back. "Let me explain," he said.
"Please do." I made a left onto Pico as a hunk of chicken sailed past my head.
"So we may possibly have had a slight wrinkle in Ricky's party plans."
"Slight?!" I heard Dana yell in the background.
"It all started with camels," he went on, ignoring her. "Okay, so know how Oprah had her guests taken into that hot party on the backs of camels? Oh, so Arabian Nights chic," he sighed, apparently internally swooning just thinking about a party with Oprah.
"Go on," I prompted, reaching into the backseat with one hand to take away Max's juice box, which he'd started using as a firehose on his sister.
"Well, turns out camels are against the city ordinance. Go figure! You need, like, all these permits and stuff." He huffed at the indignity of it.
"Can you believe it, Maddie?" Dana cut in. "He wants to use camels to transport Ricky's birthday party guests!"
"No, no, no," Marco said. "Are you not listening? No camels. That's the problem."
"How about the guests just walk in?" I suggested.
Marco gasped. "You're joking?"
I rolled my eyes. Luckily no one saw it but the twins.
"Anyway, I came up with the perfect solution," Marco continued, emphasizing the word.
"Let me guess," I said. "Borrowing a burro?"
"Exactly! You see, burros are small enough to skirt the need for permits. They're perfect! Genius, right?"
"My guests are not riding donkeys!" Dana cried.
"Not ride," Marco said. "Experience. It's a whole experience!"
"A stinky, dirty, experience," Dana cut in.
"Rustic. Unique." He paused. "Besides, they'll go great with the flock of peacocks I rented."
"Peacocks!" Dana yelled.
"What? You said we needed color."
"I meant flowers. Balloons."
"You should have been more specific, dahling. And we can't do balloons. They'll scare the burros."
I heard Dana make a growling sound, followed by an impassioned plea of, "Maddie, help!"
"Yes, what do you think, Maddie?" Marco pleaded.
Suddenly there was silence on the other end of the line for the first time since I'd made the mistake of taking this call.
"Oh, me? Well, gee, I don't know…" I trailed off. Honestly? The idea of burro riding was not my fave. But taking sides could only end one way—with one pouty friend.
"I know you don't want to ride a filthy donkey in a cute little party dress and heels," Dana said, trying to sway me to her side.
"Burro!" Marco corrected. "And they're in the top ten cleanest-animals-of-all-time list."
"According to whom?" Dana demanded.
"I-I read it somewhere."
"Lemme guess, the Borrow a Burro brochure?" she said, heavy on the sarcasm.
"Gee, wish I could help," I started, feeling my nose grow at the lie, "but I'm just hitting Laurel Canyon. I'm about to lose you."
"But, Maddie," Marco protested.
"Sorry, I…" I paused, hoping it sounded like my phone cutting out.
"Mads?" Dana called.
"…breaking up…call you later…gotta go…"
And I hung up.
I felt a teeny tiny bit guilty as I made a right not on Laurel Canyon to drive through the notoriously spotty cell service of the Hollywood Hills, but onto my own street in a well-appointed service area of West LA. I spun around in my seat, addressing the taco warriors in the back.
"Never lie," I told them. "Unless it's to save a friendship from a battle over burros."
Livvie giggled. Max threw the last of his cheese at me.
* * *
After bathing both twins, quickly showering the taco seasoning off myself, and thoroughly vacuuming out my car while the twins built a Duplo tower in the living room, I was just pouring myself a much needed glass of wine when I heard Ramirez's car pull into the driveway. A few beats later, his frame filled the kitchen doorway.
"Hey you," I said, raising my glass in greeting. "You're home early again."
He crossed the room and kissed me on the forehead. "Slow day at the office."
"I'm gonna take that as a good thing in this case."
He shot me a wry smile as he opened the fridge, coming out with a beer in hand. "What's that smell? Burritos?"
Guess I should have taken a little more time in the shower. "I got the twins Del Taco after school."
He raised an eyebrow my way. "Save me any?"
I nodded toward a brown paper bag on the counter. "Two chicken soft tacos with extra Del Scorcho sauce."
"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" he asked, digging in.
I grinned. "Tell me with some good news. Any developments on Carrington's murder?"
He paused mid-bite. "Developments? Yes. Good news? Not so much."
I groaned. "What happened?"
"Well, we got forensics info back today." He ripped open a packet of hot sauce with his teeth, dumping a generous amount on his taco.
"Mom's not in jail, is she?"
He grinned. "I think you would have heard by now."
I took a fortifying sip of rosé. "Okay, hit me. What is it?"
Ramirez sighed. "Prints came back on the murder weapon."
"You got prints off a pin?" I was impressed.
He nodded. "A partial on the back of the gem housing."
"And?"
"And it's a match for your mom."
"Well, of course it is," I said, gesturing in the air with my hands. "It's her hatpin."
"Hers was the only print."
"So, the killer wore gloves," I told him. "He could do that, right?"
Ramirez pinned me with a look. "Or she."
I set my glass down. "My mom did not kill Carrington."
Ramirez blew out another sigh. "I know that. And you know that."
"But Laurel and Hardy don't know that," I finished his thought.
Ramirez nodded. "Sorry, babe. But the evidence isn't looking good."
I grabbed the wineglass and took another healthy swig. "Anything else come back from forensics?"
Ramirez sipped his beer. "Just that the victim was stabbed from behind, so with the element of surprise, it wouldn't have taken much strength to kill him."
"Meaning even a woman like my mom could have done it." I felt the wine suddenly burning a hole through my stomach.
"Sorry," Ramirez said again, pulling me in for a hug.
I reveled in the warmth for a moment before I told him, "I ran into Laurel and Hardy today."
"Oh?" he stepped back, grabbing his taco again. "How did that go?"
I quickly filled him in on my day, including the trip to the auction house and the scene I'd witnessed at the antique shop. "Mina swore the antiques they sold were real
, but I've been wondering."
"That's never good." Ramirez shot me a grin.
I gave him a playful swat on the arm. "What if the anonymous tip was right? What if Carrington actually was selling fakes, and someone found out and killed him over it?"
"You're thinking a duped customer?"
"Or auction house owner," I added, thinking of Van Steinberg and his vocally low opinion of Carrington. "What if Carrington put a fake into an auction, the person who won it found out, and he came back to Van Steinberg with it?"
"I can't imagine Van Steinberg would be too happy about it."
I nodded. "No. Unhappy enough to kill even."
"Possibly," Ramirez said, playing devil's advocate. "But maybe fakes and possible anger aren't evidence, babe."
He was right. While it was a nice theory, that was all it was. It hardly stacked up against fingerprints and eyewitnesses to Mom calling Carrington every name in the book.
"There's also the clown lady," I added.
Ramirez choked on his bite of taco. "You've got a theory about a clown?"
I shook my head. "She's not a clown. She just collects them."
"That's better?"
"Barely?" I chuckled. "Anyway, it seems she was a bit of a fan of Carrington's. She showed up at the antiques shop and Carrington's auctions. She was actually behind us in line to see Carrington at the Extravaganza, so I know she had opportunity."
He nodded. "Motive?"
He had me there. "I'm working on that," I mumbled, lifting my glass to my lips.
"Don't worry, babe," he said, patting me on the back. "Look, we both know that your mom is innocent, so the evidence will point that way eventually."
I just hoped eventually came before Laurel and Hardy made an arrest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Ramirez and I had been just dating, I'd had my backside grabbed by a drunk clown at a child's birthday party, which had ended in my future husband slugging the guy, and me with a face full of birthday cake. Last year, just before the twins' first birthday, I'd had a clown set fire to my living room in a botched juggling incident that had ended in the death of Ramirez's favorite recliner. Both incidents had contributed to my dislike of clowns, and that dislike was only growing the longer I sat in Terri Voy's living room the following morning.
Display cases full of porcelain clown figurines and soft-bodied dolls lined the far wall. Paintings of sad clowns, happy clowns, and scary clowns hung on the opposite one. A sequined throw pillow with a clown's face sat on the armchair, next to a woven throw blanket adorned with an entire circus scene. On the wooden coffee table in front of me was a vase in the shape of a clown, with its hand holding the bouquet of dried flowers. Next to a coffee table book on—what else?—clowns. Everywhere I looked, a pair of inanimate eyes stared at me over a round red nose.
I licked my lips, infinitely glad I'd enlisted Dana to come as backup. If I'd been alone, I might have bolted at the door. As it was, I took a deep breath, steeled my strength, and turned to the petite woman sitting on the sofa across from me.
"Wow, this is some collection," I told her.
"Thanks." Terri Voy smiled shyly. "I adore clowns." She smiled affectionately at a small doll sitting on the sofa beside her. "They are just so lively."
If any of these started getting lively, I was out of there. "Uh-huh," I agreed.
"So, you mentioned you want to talk to me about Peter. Are you with the police?" Terri asked.
I nodded. "Sort of." Okay, that was sort of a lie. But there were all definitions of "with." I was married to a police officer, so I was kind of "with" him, right?
"And you knew Peter?" Terri asked, adjusting her glasses on her nose.
"We met briefly," I told her. "At the Antiques Extravaganza."
"Right." She nodded, her dark bob bouncing up and down as recognition dawned. "I remember you. Your mom was the one who got in that argument with Peter."
I cleared my throat. "Yes, but she feels bad about that now."
"It's okay. Peter was sometimes hard to get along with like that."
"Really?" Dana leaned forward. "There were other people he argued with recently?"
Terri blinked at me behind her large glasses. "Oh, no. I mean, I didn't mean that. It's just he was…well, appraisal is an art form. And like any artist, he had that passion in him." She picked up the doll beside her, cradling it in her lap for comfort. "Sorry. I'm still a bit in shock." Her voice broke on the last word, showing the first signs of genuine emotion at Carrington's death that I'd encountered.
"I'm sorry," I said. "Were you close?"
Terri nodded her head. "Very." She blew out a sigh and looked up again, her eyes watering behind the glass magnification. "We were in love."
That was as surprise. "You and Carrington?"
She nodded solemnly. "Yes."
I frowned, thinking back to how Mina had said Carrington was single. "How long had you been dating him?"
"Oh." Terri blushed. "No, we weren't dating. I mean, we hadn't been on a formal date. Not really. Unless you counted all the time we'd spent together at auctions and shows. But we were in love."
I was beginning to get a clearer picture. "Did Carrington know you were in love?" I asked slowly.
Her eyes shot to mine. "Of course he did! I know he loved me!" She paused, looking from me to Dana. "He-he just never got the chance to say it."
I glanced at Dana and could see my thoughts mirrored in her expression—the adoration sounded kinda one-sided.
"Look I know what you're thinking," Terri said.
Was my poker face that bad?
"What would a god like Carrington be doing with me," she supplied, the blush deepening.
"I wasn't thinking that at all," I told her honestly.
"But he loved me. And he would have told me so too. Much sooner if she hadn't come along."
"She?" Dana asked.
Terri's expression darkened. "Allison." She spit the word out like it tasted sour. "She was poisoning him."
"Poison?" Dana perked up.
"With her evil spirit."
Dana's shoulders slumped. "Oh. Right."
"I take it you weren't a fan of Allison?" I asked Terri.
"Look, everything was fine before she came along. Then as soon as he started working with her, he was suddenly cold to me. Distant. I know it was her doing!" Her voice rose, and I swore her glasses were starting to fog up.
I could easily see her going from docile fan to crazy stalker.
"Did Carrington ever say anything about her?" Dana asked.
Terri got her breath under control, shaking her head. "No, but I hadn't been able to get him alone lately."
"Is that why you were at the Extravaganza?" I asked.
She nodded and twisted the little clown doll over in her hands. "Yes. I was there to see him. Look, he was busy with the TV show lately, doing more appraisals and traveling, and it was getting harder and harder to catch him at the store. Usually it was just that awful woman and the shopgirl there. And every time I tried to talk to him at the auction house, he was busy with a client. I mean, it was almost like he was avoiding me!"
Go figure.
"Anyway, I just thought if I could get him alone for a few minutes, he'd see what a mistake he was making. He'd see how right we were for each other. How much he loved me." She paused. "And not her."
"Allison?" I asked.
"Yes." She sat the clown down hard on the sofa, as if it were the toy's fault. "She wouldn't let me talk to him. She did it on purpose! She'd just shoo me away. Like I was nothing! I wasn't nothing to Peter!"
"Did you talk to Carrington at the show?" I asked. She had been right behind us in line, so she must have gotten to him before the killer did. Assuming they were not one and the same.
Terri's eyes watered again. "Yes. But he was too busy to talk about us. He loved my clown though." Her voice broke on the last word, tears trickling down her cheeks.
"When Carrington was killed, where were you?"
I asked, liking my crazy stalker theory more and more.
Terri whipped her bob my way. "What do you mean?"
"I was just wondering if you were close enough to Peter to have seen anything helpful," I lied.
"Oh. Well, no. I guess not." She sniffed loudly. "After he looked at my clown, I decided to browse the Toys line to see if anyone had brought a Brunoro." She paused. "That's a collectible clown maker from Italy."
I nodded, as if I was noting that down.
"Anyway, I'm afraid I was on the other side of the convention floor when Peter…when it happened," she finished quietly.
Which was a convenient alibi, but without security cameras to back her up, it was just her word.
The same as Mom's.
* * *
As soon as we got back to the car, I started the engine and blasted the air conditioner.
"That place was creepy," Dana said. "Did you see all those little eyes on us?"
I nodded, looking across the street at Terri's place, almost expecting a lively doll to be staring back at us through the window. "What do we think about her story?"
"I think she's nuts," Dana said, not pulling any punches.
"The tears seemed real enough," I mused, almost feeling sorry for her.
Pft. Dana blew a disbelieving puff of air between her lips. "I can cry on cue like that."
"You really think she was faking?" I asked.
Dana shrugged. "Or not. Maybe she had a crazy love obsession thing for him, killed him when she realized he didn't love her, and now she's actually sad and missing him."
"Sounds like a Lifetime movie," I mumbled.
Dana nodded. "Yeah, I think I auditioned for that one once. Nailed the cry-on-cue part." She winked at me.
I laughed. "Okay, well, what about Allison Cash?"
"What about her?" Dana asked, popping a stick of gum into her mouth.
"Do you think she was really purposely trying to keep Terri away from Carrington?"
Dana chewed, squinting into space as she thought about that. "Maybe. Maybe it was just Terri's warped imagination."
"You're awfully hard on her," I said.
Dana shot me a look. "Did you hear her flimsy alibi?"
I had. And I agreed. "But Allison Cash lied about being at the Antiques Extravaganza. Why would an innocent person do that?"
10 Suspect in High Heels Page 7
