"Dana?" I said. "She said she was with me today, right? Like, shoe shopping or getting a pedicure or something?"
Ricky chuckled softly on the other end. "Actually she said she was taking you to the gym."
"And she expected you to buy that?" I asked with a laugh. Dana had long ago given up on me doing anything that resembled exercise. While she was as dedicated to her workouts as I was to coffee, my idea of cardio was power shopping in three inch heels.
"Actually, I was calling to ask you a favor," Ricky went on.
"Me?" I asked. "Okay, shoot."
"I have a little surprise of my own planned for Dana. I'm going to spring it on her at the party."
"Wait—you have a surprise planned for Dana at your surprise party?" I wasn't sure she was going to like this. "What kind of thing are we springing on her?"
"I can't tell you."
"Why not?"
"Because you're a terrible liar, and Dana will find out."
I rolled my eyes in the empty living room. "Fine. So what's the favor?"
"I have a couple people I want to make sure are on her guest list. But I don't know how to contact them. I was hoping you had their addresses?"
"Who?"
Ricky rattled off a few names, including Dana's aunt in Palm Springs and one of our mutual friends from junior high.
I frowned at the phone. "You want these people at your birthday party?" I asked.
"It's important that they be there for the surprise I have for Dana."
I shrugged. "I guess I can dig up that info."
"Great! Just text it over to me, and I'll take it from there."
I agreed, hoping I wasn't getting in over my head as I hung up.
* * *
The twins woke up from their naps early, and feeling like I'd been an absentee parent lately (and just a little guilty for involving them in our interrogation), I took them for a walk to the neighborhood park before setting them up with a tub of blocks in the living room and contemplating dinner options. Chinese takeout was sounding like a viable one, as Ramirez walked in the front door.
"Hey," he said, only pausing for a quick kiss on my cheek before making for the fridge and a bottle of beer.
"That kind of day, huh?" I asked, leaning against the counter.
He grunted in response, sipping deeply.
"Couldn't have been worse than my mom's," I told him.
He paused mid-sip. "How is she?"
"Rattled."
He shrugged. "Laurel and Hardy have that effect."
"Please tell me you were able to run interference."
He sighed. "Honestly, babe? I've been trying all day. Carpet fibers are with the lab, though I doubt they'll get much." He paused. "Sorry you got my voicemail. I was with forensics when you called."
I raised an eyebrow his way. "And?"
"And what?"
"And what did you learn at forensics? It was about Carrington's case, right?"
He narrowed his eyes, clearly debating how much to tell me.
"Come on. You can't leave me hanging." I paused. "I'll pick up moo shu pork for dinner," I said, trying on bribery.
"Done." The corner of his mouth quirked upward. "Report came back on the type of weapon used to kill Allison Cash."
"And the weird casings?"
Ramirez nodded. "Hardy was right. They were weird. Antique, to be exact."
"Antique!" My mind immediately went to Yesterday's Treasures and the glass case filled with antique weapons I'd seen when I'd first visited. "Any idea what kind of antique weapon they're from?"
"Very good idea," Ramirez said, nodding. "Smith & Wesson single-action revolver."
"Is that one of the weapons at Carrington and Cash's antique shop?"
"Not sure yet. Forensics just published the report, so if Laurel and Hardy are doing their jobs—"
"That's a big if," I mumbled.
"—they should be checking any weaponry either victim owned."
"Wouldn't the gun be registered?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No need to register weapons made before 1899. They're considered historical pieces, not firearms."
"Even if they still shoot real bullets," I mused.
He nodded. "ME found two in Allison Cash."
I cringed. While everything I'd learned about the woman so far had been less than flattering, no one deserved that.
"Mom does not own a Smith & Wesson," I said.
Ramirez set down his beer. "Which is the first piece of good news we've had yet." He paused. "Shall we celebrate by ordering that moo shu?"
* * *
I was sitting in a dark room, and I could just barely hear someone calling my name. It was like a far off whisper, and as much as I strained to hear it more clearly, it eluded me. I blinked my eyes, trying to adjust to the absence of light, but blackness was all I saw. Then I felt a chill. Cold enveloped me, wrapping around my arms like an icy embrace.
"Who's there?" I called out in to the dank, dark nothingness. But only the whisper came back, still calling my name. It was as if someone was trying to tell me something, trying to reveal themselves to me. It was someone I knew. But recognition was just beyond on my grasp.
"Who are you?" I yelled, feeling frustration grow inside of me.
But the only thing I heard back was the soft voice calling, "Maddie? Maddie?"
It was like it was taunting me, purposely staying just outside my reach.
Suddenly a sound broke through the quiet. Loud music, jarring, shaking me.
I blinked, sunlight suddenly pouring into my consciousness as I realized I'd been dreaming. And the loud music that had awakened me was my phone, calling irritatingly from my nightstand.
I fumbled, glancing at the time as I moved to silence the ringtone. 6:15 a.m. Way too early.
"Hello?" I croaked at whoever had the nerve to call me this early.
"Mads, it's me." Faux Dad's voice came over the line.
I blinked sleep out of my eyes, as the urgency in his tone jolted me awake. "Ralph? Is everything okay?"
"No, Maddie, it's not."
Ramirez stirred beside me. "What's going on?" he murmured.
I shrugged. "Ralph, what's going on?" I was fully awake now.
"The police showed up again," he said, his voice cracking. "Only this time they didn't just ask questions. They arrested your mom for murder!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
By the time I had thrown on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and shoved my bed head under a baseball cap, Ramirez was up, making coffee and calling his captain to find out exactly what had happened. Several swear words were thrown around as he got the details that Laurel and Hardy had arrested Mom based on the carpet fibers in her car being a match for those found under Allison Cash's fingernails. Which meant that, like Mom, the killer had driven a Toyota with beige carpeting. Along with thousands of other people in LA. It was hardly a smoking gun, and apparently Laurel and Hardy had known that, as they'd waited until the night judge was on to get the warrant signed. Possibly even exaggerating a few of the details of the case in the process. And waiting until Ramirez was off duty to execute the warrant. With the way Ramirez's eyes were flashing as he relayed that part, I almost felt sorry for the two.
Almost. They had arrested my mom.
Ramirez promised to drop the kids off at his mom's before going in to the station, and I jumped in my minivan and took off for the county jail, where Mom had been booked.
I found Faux Dad in a sad waiting room full of plastic chairs, crackling fluorescent lights, and other worried looking family members awaiting arraignments for their loved ones. Faux Dad looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and his eyes were red and wet with tears. I held his hand as we waited for Mom's case to come up, and after arranging bail via a bond for which Faux Dad bravely put up Fernando's as collateral, we waited what felt like another eternity for Mom to be released.
Her normally fluffy feathered bangs drooped in unwashed strands across her forehead, her eyeliner was smudged, and it lo
oked like she'd cried off most of her mascara. Instead of looking cheery, her hot pink T-shirt and stonewashed jeans looked rumpled and too bright to compete with the slump to her shoulders and dirt smeared across the top of her white Keds.
I bit back tears and hugged her fiercely. If Laurel and Hardy had been anywhere near me in that moment, I would have been the one Mom and Faux Dad would have needed to bail out of jail.
"Are you okay?" I asked, the question sounding ridiculous given the circumstances.
Mom sniffed and nodded bravely. "I met some very interesting people this evening."
I barked out a laugh through my tears. "I bet you did."
I followed Mom and Faux Dad home, seething the entire way, and made sure Mom was tucked into her bed with a warm cup of tea, a soft blanket, and about a million reassurances that Ramirez was doing damage control and would take care of everything.
Reassurances that sounded hollow even to my own ears but, along with a Valium, they seemed to put Mom's fears to rest at least long enough for her to get a nap in.
I was leaving her place when my phone rang with Marco's face on the screen.
"Honey, Ralph left a message he's not coming in to the salon today. What happened?" he cried as soon as I picked up.
"They arrested Mom last night." The words felt like lead in my throat.
"No! Not Betty!" Marco gasped on the other end. "Is she okay?"
I nodded into the phone as I got back in my car. "She's sleeping now. But she's been through it." I felt that anger rising again as I filled Marco in on the details.
"So what do we do now?" Marco asked when I'd finished.
"She's out on bail, and Ramirez is looking at what he can do to refute the so-called evidence."
"Well, that's great, but what I meant is, what can we do?" Marco clarified.
"We?"
"Honey, I don't know about you, but I'm not just gonna sit on my gorgeous behind while your mom is being carted off to jail!"
Despite the morning I'd had, I couldn't help grinning at his loyalty. "Thanks." I paused. "And you know what? You're right."
"Dahling, I'm always right."
I glanced at the time on my dash clock. Bailing Mom out had taken most of the morning. "I've got to pick up my check at Van Steinberg's Auction House this afternoon," I told him. "But I have a couple of hours to kill before then."
"I say we kill them interrogating that shopgirl about the fake antiques."
"Mina?" I frowned.
"Uh-huh. Look, the only other two people who handled the items at Yesterday's Treasures are dead. If something funny was going on at that shop, she must have known about it."
"I guess it's worth a try," I decided.
"Great! I'll meet you there!" Marco promised.
I was about to tell him I could handle it on my own, when he added, "Oh, and I have the invitations."
"What invitations?"
"The ones for the people on Ricky's invite list. He said you'd have addresses for them?"
Mental forehead thunk. "So you know that Ricky knows about the party too?"
Marco tsked on the other end. "Honey, when will you learn that Auntie Marco knows all?"
"Okay, so tell me—what's this surprise within a surprise that Ricky has set up for Dana?"
"Sorry, doll, no can do. Ricky has sworn me to secrecy."
"Please?" I pleaded.
"No way. It's against the party planners' code to squeal."
"You do not have a code."
"Maddie, if I tell you, Dana will know the second you open your mouth. You are a terrible liar."
"I am not a—"
"What is that?" Marco cut in. "Mads, you're breaking up… "
"I'm not breaking up. I can hear you fine."
"You must be going over Laurel Canyon again. I can hardly hear you."
"I'm not going over—"
"I'll meet you at the antique shop," Marco sang into the phone, then hung up on me.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later I pulled up outside Yesterday's Treasures. I took a minute to assess my reflection in the rearview mirror. Unshowered and not totally rocking the casual chic look, I took off the ballcap and tried to fluff my hair a little while I waited for Marco. I quickly threw on some mascara, eyeliner, and lip gloss, hoping to detract from the small stain I now noticed on the white T-shirt I'd thrown on in my haste to leave the house. I was just capping my tube of Raspberry Perfection when Marco's mint green MINI Cooper pulled up behind me and he waved in the mirror.
As I got out of the car, Marco gave me a quick head to toe and clucked his tongue. "Honey, we can do better than this."
"I left the house in a hurry," I mumbled, tucking my hair behind an ear.
He cocked an eyebrow at me. "I have never been in that much of a hurry."
I took in his pink denim short shorts, rainbow colored cap sleeve T-shirt, and purple platform shoes. "I think you're fashion enough for both of us."
He tossed nonexistent hair over one shoulder. "I know."
I resisted an eye roll and led the way into the antique shop, listening to the bell chime above the door as we pushed inside.
As with my previous visits, the amount of interested clientele had once again grown with the shop's notoriety. Several people browsed among the goods, while others took selfies and whispered in hushed tones about murders.
Mina stood near the register, deep in conversion with another patron. At the sound of our approach, both turned, and I realized I knew the patron—Terri Voy, our Clown Lady.
Terri blinked at me behind her large glasses. "W-what are you doing here?" she demanded. "Are you stalking me?"
I couldn't help the laugh that escaped me. People who lived in glass houses shouldn't throw clowns.
"Terri, this is Maddie Springer," Mina said.
"I know who she is. She was at my house yesterday. And the day before." Terri crossed her arms over her chest. "And I'm starting to think you're not with the police."
Smart cookie. "I'm helping them"—sort of—"looking into the deaths of Peter Carrington and Allison Cash."
Mina's eyes immediately hit the floor at the mention of her two deceased employers. "I can't believe Allison is gone too. Terri and I were just talking about that when you came in."
"Oh?"
Terri nodded. "Tragedy."
Though I noticed no signs of the grief she'd displayed at Carrington's passing in her eyes now that it was Allison's dead body we were discussing. She glanced past me, eyes resting on Marco.
"Are you with the police too?" she asked, skepticism clear in her voice.
"Only the fashion police, dahling. I'm Marco," my companion said, sticking his hand out toward Terri. "Charmed, I'm sure."
Terri shook his hand lightly, as if slightly blinded by the outfit. I didn't blame her. It could probably be seen from space.
"Was there something I could help you with?" Mina asked.
"Actually there was," I said, shifting my attention to her. I decided to be blunt and lay it all out on the line. "I wanted to know about the fake art deco bracelet that Carrington auctioned off at Van Steinberg's."
I watched Mina's reaction carefully, but if she knew anything about the fake, she didn't let on. Instead, her eyebrows drew together in a deep frown. "Fake bracelet? No." Mina shook her head. "No. Like I told the police, everything I've seen here is authentic. I'm sorry, but you must be mistaken. Mr. Carrington would never do that."
I turned to Terri, who had become distinctly quiet during our little exchange. "Am I mistaken?" I asked her pointedly.
Terri's magnified eyes went from me to Mina. "I-uh…"
"You told me you saw him appraise it, here in the shop."
Terri's mouth opened and closed a few times, as if trying on different answers before finally settling on the right one. "Y-yes. I did."
Mina sucked in a breath. "What did he say? When was this?" she demanded.
Terri licked her lips. "A couple months ago. You were on a lunch
break, and this woman came in. Peter looked at the bracelet and said it was a reproduction."
"And he offered to buy it from her?" I asked.
Terri nodded. "Yes. But just as costume jewelry. I think it was something like a hundred dollars."
"Well, then it must have been a reproduction," Mina decided. "Mr. Carrington didn't make mistakes."
"So how come it sold for two thousand dollars in an auction just a couple of weeks later?" Marco cut in.
"N-no. No, it must have been a different bracelet," Mina protested.
I looked to Terri again.
"Sorry, Mina," she said in a quiet voice. "But it was the same one. I'd swear it. Silver and jade. I didn't want it to be true either. But it is."
Mina frowned again. "I don't believe it." But this time some of the fight had gone out of her words. I watched her, confusion and disappointment warring on her features. If she was acting, she was doing a bang-up job of it.
Then again, this was Hollywood.
"You didn't know anything about this?" I pressed her.
"No!" she said hotly. "Of course not."
"And Allison Cash?" Marco cut in.
"What about her?" Mina asked. Her posture had gone decidedly defensive since we'd walked in the door.
"Did Allison know Carrington was selling fakes?" I asked.
Mina shook her head, her hair whipping back and forth. But she paused a couple of shakes in and bit her lower lip. "I-I don't know. I would never have guessed Carrington would do such a thing, but…I honestly just don't know anymore."
"What about records?" I asked. "Would Carrington have recorded his purchase of the bracelet? Or the sale?"
Mina nodded. "Sure. But Allison usually handled all the paperwork."
"Do you have access to it?" I asked.
She nodded. "Allison's cousin called this morning. He said he'll be flying in to take over the shop next week. He gave me all the passwords and everything to keep it up and running until then."
"Any chance you could look for the records of the bracelet? It was made by Damien Courtland."
Mina nodded again, all fight having left her. "I'll just be a minute," she said, and disappeared into the back.
I glanced over at Terri, who I noticed had gone quiet again at the mention of records. Though, she didn't look in a hurry to leave as we stood at the glass case waiting for Mina to come back. She wandered over to the shelf of antique dolls, running her hand over one's hair, straightening the pinafore on another.
10 Suspect in High Heels Page 14
