By the time my hand had been treated and bandaged, the lump on Dana's head had been examined, and Lottie had been escorted to the hospital, handcuffed to a gurney, the sky was dark and my body was limp with exhaustion. Ramirez had one of the officers drive Dana home and another follow them in her car before bundling me into the passenger seat of his SUV.
I must have dozed off a bit on the ride home, as it seemed instantaneous. I jolted awake as his engine cut out in our driveway. I let Ramirez open my door and lead me inside, where nothing but quiet greeted us.
"Where are the kids?" I asked, the silence a foreign sound in our home.
"As soon as I got the call, I dropped them off at your mom's."
I raised an eyebrow his way. "Visits to two different grandmas in one day?"
"I know. They're going to be spoiled beyond belief when we finally get them home."
"Maybe we could hold that eventuality off a little bit longer?" I said.
Ramirez grinned down at me as I stepped into his open arms, feeling warmth radiate off him in calming, familiar waves that instantly rejuvenated me. "What did you have in mind?" he murmured seductively into my hair.
"A hot bath and a soft bed."
He chuckled, the deep rumble vibrating through me as he held me close, sending heat through my body.
"And maybe a little adult snuggling," I added.
He pulled back just enough for me to see the wicked gleam in his deep brown eyes. "You had me at bed."
* * *
I had to hand it to him—Marco had outdone himself. And that was saying a lot, considering it was Marco we were talking about.
From the moment I stepped into the large outdoor patio of the venue Marco had rented out for Ricky's birthday party, my eyes hadn't known where to land—glitz and glamour practically dripping from every detail. And yes, I did walk into the party. No burros. I guessed Dana had finally won that battle. There were, however, live peacocks strutting around the party guests, their bright plumes elegant against the backdrop of little black dresses and dark colored suits. Hundreds of tiny fairy lights danced above us in a large canopy, almost like little stars in the sky. Tables were covered in tasteful silk cloths, a quartet played soft jazz music in the corner, and outdoor heaters provided a warm ambiance to stave off the crisp breeze that had decide to blow in just for the occasion, signaling the end of our Southern California heat wave.
"Looks like the kid pulled it off," Ramirez remarked beside me, accepting a glass of champagne from a passing tray.
I nodded in agreement. "Who knew he could do tasteful?"
Ramirez chuckled into his glass as I grabbed myself a champagne glass too. Though, I declined the passing tray of appetizers. Something dipped in chocolate, but until I was 100% sure it didn't have six legs, I was sticking with sparkling wine.
Ramirez guided me toward the jazz quartet with a hand at the small of my back. I'd dressed in a lavender colored satin spaghetti strap dress in a simple mid-calf length that showed off my silver stilettos, and his hand was warm through the thin fabric. We joined the rest of the partygoers, whom Marco had corralled into place for the big reveal when Dana approached with Ricky.
Ricky's secretly invited guests mingled near the lawn, as well as Mrs. Rosenblatt, who sported a fancy muumuu made with two sided sequins that kept changing color as her arms brushed her sides. Mom and Faux Dad stood just to her left, Mom in a floral dress that looked like it was from the Laura Ashley catalogue of 1989, and Faux Dad in an outfit I halfway suspected he stole from Liberace's closet.
"Shhh," Mom told me in a giddy whisper as we approached. "They'll be here any minute." She shot me a wide grin rimmed in matte baby pink lipstick, and I didn't have the heart to tell her Ricky was already in on the surprise. I was glad, though, to see her back to her old happy self.
As promised, all charges against her had been dropped as soon as Laurel and Hardy had returned to the station. I'd never known those two to do paperwork so fast, but I understood why—Ramirez's Bad Cop face was a mighty influencer in that department. While Mom's hatpin had to remain in evidence, at least through Lottie LaMore's trial, she had felt some vindication that, with all the media attention after Lottie's arrest, Van Steinberg had contacted her to tell her he recognized the gems in the murder weapon as part of Josephine Bonaparte's private collection…and it was worth quite a bit more than just the price of the silver.
Van Steinberg's interest in the media might not have been idle curiosity, as in the wake of Carrington's death, the Antiques Extravaganza had called him to fill in their recent vacancy for on-air talent. Word was he'd be the newest resident appraiser as their show took to the road in the new season. Apparently he didn't mind those flea-market-Sally groupies quite so much if they were to be grouping around him.
The other venture left in the lurch at the demise of both Carrington and Cash was Yesterday's Treasures. Mina had called me when the news broke of the arrest, and filled me in on Allison Cash's cousin, who'd flown in to decide the fate of the shop. Though, when he'd seen the number of customers who'd been flocking in since the media attention, he'd decided to not only keep the doors open but also appoint Mina as a partner to run the shop for a share of profits. Something she'd been more than happy to do—though this time she'd make sure the profits on the shops' books were put there the right way.
According to Mina, one of the many antiquers who had flocked to the shop in the wake of the press was Johan Burdorf, the famous German maker of dolls—and clowns. Terri Voy had been so starstruck to meet him that she'd even got him to appraise her jewel buttoned, harlequin dressed porcelain clown she'd taken to the Extravaganza. Mina said poor Johan made the mistake of asking to see the rest of Terri's collection. I had a feeling the German clown maker would be seeing a lot more of Terri, as the new object of her affection—or obsession, as the case may be.
As it turned out, Benton had been blissfully innocent in the murders and the fake antique scheme, as he'd told Cameron Dakota, in an exclusive interview for the L.A. Informer, he'd "always suspected" something was a bit off with the provenance he'd received with items originating from Carrington. Benton's familiar good looks had helped the interview video go viral, and Benton's phone had been ringing off the hook with business so much since that he'd raised his commission rates. Much to Felix's chagrin, as he'd bemoaned to me later, deciding that the stock market might be less volatile than the antiques market after all.
"Places, everyone! They're valeting the car!" Marco said, running in from the entrance in a pale pink tuxedo and waving his arms in the air.
All murmured conversation ceased as we stood as quiet as a hundred people in evening dress could, all eyes on the entrance. A couple of beats later, conversation floated to us from the pathway as Dana and Ricky approached.
"…not sure why you chose this place, but it sounds lively," I heard Ricky tell Dana.
"Oh, it is!" she said. "Just right through here…"
The couple came into view—Ricky in a smart looking navy suit and Dana in a long white cap sleeve dress—and the room erupted as one.
"Surprise!!"
Ricky blinked, grinning wide as he put a hand to his heart in mock shock.
Dana beamed, looking like she'd just pulled off the moment of the decade. "Happy birthday! Did you have any idea?"
Ricky shook his head. "No clue. Wow, you really pulled it off!" Though, as he gave Dana a hug, he winked at me behind her back.
I raised a glass in acknowledgment, relieved I could stop pretending to everyone about not knowing anything.
As the night went on, I drank more champagne than I had intended and ended up thoroughly enjoying some of Marco's flamboyant touches throughout the evening. The West African dancers were actually spectacular, putting on a colorful, lively show that got the whole crowd up on the dance floor. The Asian street fair food was delicious, and I gorged myself on mango sticky rice and curried prawn. And while I did hear one waiter describing cricket-dusted chicken skewers to a gue
st, most of the canapés were insect free. And only one plate was delivered by drone…the guest of honor's personal cake. The crowd was properly impressed as it flew down from the heavens in a bright ball of fiery candles, which Ricky blew out with a wink at Dana and a coy joke that he hoped his wish would come true that night.
Dessert was just winding down as Ricky stood and clinked his fork against his champagne glass to get everyone's attention.
He cleared his throat before continuing. "First off, I want to thank you for being here. I'm deeply humbled and honored that you're all here to celebrate my birthday."
This earned him a round of applause from the crowd.
"And," he went on, "I want to thank Dana for all the hard work—"
"And secrecy!" she interjected, laughing.
"—and secrecy," Ricky agreed, "she had to keep up in order to pull this off. Thank you, honey." He pulled her close and gave her a sweet kiss on the lips that had everyone erupting into applause again.
Once he pulled back, he addressed the room again. "However, I've actually been engaging in some secrecy myself."
Dana frowned at him.
"And I have a little something for you, Dana."
"M-me?" she said, clearly taken aback.
Ricky nodded, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
"But it's your birthday," she protested. Her eyes cut to me in a questioning gaze.
I shrugged. Honestly, I had no idea what Ricky had up his sleeve. Thankfully, for once, I was out of the loop.
"I know, I know," Ricky said. "But, there's something I've been promising you for some time now. And I want to make good on that promise." He held up her left hand, letting her engagement ring catch the light.
"As many of you know," Ricky said to the crowd, "Dana and I have been engaged for quite some time. And some might even say I've been dragging my feet when it comes to setting a wedding date."
"I'll say!" someone in the crowd shouted. Which caused a ripple of laughter again.
Ricky grinned in response and nodded. "But no more dragging," he told us.
Dana blinked at him. "You're setting a wedding date?" she asked. I could hear the lift of hope in her voice.
Ricky's grin grew wider as he turned to face her and nodded slowly. "Yes. Which is why I wanted all of your friends and family to be here."
Dana did a squeal and clapped. The crowd clapped along with her.
"Okay, lay it on me. When do we tie the knot?" she asked Ricky.
I swore if his grin grew any wider, he'd need another set of teeth as he answered, "Right now."
Dana blinked at him. "N-now?"
"Now."
Out of nowhere, someone handed Dana a bridal bouquet. The quartet suddenly started playing the wedding march. Lights at the adjacent patio went on, illuminating a makeshift altar swathed in flowers that I swore had appeared out of thin air. Or maybe more accurately, out of Marco's devious little party planning book.
Speaking of which, Marco stood at the altar, a book opened in his hands, looking ready to officiate.
"Dana," Ricky said, suddenly bending to one knee. "Will you marry me right now?"
I had to admit, I was probably wearing a huge grin myself right about then. As Dana tearfully nodded yes, the crowd cheered.
Dana's dad appeared from the sidelines, taking her by the arm as he walked her through the crowd, who'd parted to create a makeshift aisle. I watched Dana and Ricky stare at each other like two lovestruck teenagers throughout the short but sweet ceremony, until Marco finally pronounced them husband and wife. They sealed the deal with a kiss, and I felt myself tearing up.
"Tell me you didn't know about this?" Ramirez said, clapping beside me to celebrate the newlywed couple.
I shook my head. "Scouts honor, I had no idea." But I did know one thing—Marco had pulled off the best surprise Dana could have hoped for.
"They're kinda cute together," Ramirez added.
I glanced up to see his eyes misting as he took in the happy couple. "Jackson Wyoming Ramirez, you're not crying, are you?"
He grinned at me. "God, no. What do you think I am, a softy?"
I couldn't help grinning right back. "Shut up and kiss me, you old softy."
"With pleasure, Ms. Springer."
And he did.
Oh boy, did he.
* * * * *
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* * * * *
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gemma Halliday is the #1 Amazon, New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of several mystery series, suspense novels, and young adult books. Gemma's books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Reader's Choice awards, three RITA nominations, and a RONE award for best mystery. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her large, loud, and loving family.
To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at http://www.gemmahalliday.com
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http://www.facebook.com/gemmahallidayauthor
* * * * *
BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY
Wine & Dine Mysteries:
A Sip Before Dying
Chocolate Covered Death
Victim in the Vineyard
Marriage, Merlot & Murder
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
Homicide in High Heels
Deadly in High Heels
Suspect in High Heels
Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:
Hollywood Scandals
Hollywood Secrets
Hollywood Confessions
Hollywood Holiday (short story)
Hollywood Deception
Hollywood Homicide
Hollywood Revenge
Jamie Bond Mysteries:
Unbreakable Bond
Secret Bond
Lethal Bond
Bond Bombshell (short story)
Dangerous Bond
Bond Ambition (short story)
Fatal Bond
Marty Hudson Mysteries:
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Brash Blonde
Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Disappearing Diva
Tahoe Tessie Mysteries:
Luck Be A Lady
Hey Big Spender
Baby It's Cold Outside (short story)
Anna Smith & Nick Dade Thrillers:
Play Dead
Dead to Rights
Young Adult Books:
Deadly Cool
Social Suicide
Other Works:
Viva Las Vegas
A High Heels Haunting (novella)
Watching You (short story)
Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)
The Missing Laughing Leprechaun (short story in the Pushing Up Daisies collection)
* * * * *
SNEAK PEEK
of the first
Wine & Dine Mystery
A SIP BEFORE DYING
by
GEMMA HALLIDAY
CHAPTER ONE
My best friend was waiting for me outside Silver Girl, her jewelry boutique in downtown Sonoma, when I pulled up in my Jeep. Ava Barnett: blonde, bubbly, and as perpetually optimistic as a woman who worked the tourist trade could be. She was dressed today in a flowy floral dress that just skirted her perfectly tanned ankles above boho-style sandals and pink painted toenails. We were both about a size eight, though Ava was on the lithe, athletic side of eight, and I was on the
generous, enjoys-her-chocolate side of eight. She floated into my passenger seat on a cloud of peachy lotion and patchouli incense, and I instantly felt my spirits lift as I tried to downplay how rotten that Friday had turned out for me.
"How's things?" she asked, chucking her overnight bag into the back seat of the Wrangler.
I shrugged, tucking some of my flyaways back into my ponytail. While Ava's hair shone, humidity or cloudless sky, my own blonde locks were a fickle bunch. I had my good days, but depending on the weather, they could kink up like Shirley Temple or frizz like Bozo the Clown. Today they were somewhere at a half-Bozo, hence the ponytail to rein them in. "Things are fine," I answered, determined to put on a happy face.
She grinned at me, showing off a row of white teeth with an endearingly chic gap between the front two. "Liar."
I couldn't help the corners of my mouth turning up as well. Joined at the hip since high school, we were more like sisters than best friends. Ava knew me well enough to see through any attempt at downplay.
"Okay, honestly? Things kinda sucked today," I told her.
"Really?" Her big brown eyes turned sympathetic.
I nodded. "Like a Hoover."
"Is it your mom?" she asked.
I bit my lip, feeling a whole new wave of suckatude wash over me at the mention of my mother. But I shut off that emotional faucet before it could completely ruin our planned girls' night. I shook my head. "No, today it was Gene. He was pulling his seesaw act again."
Ava had already heard on multiple occasions how Gene Schulz, my financial consultant, played seesaw with his left and right hands, swinging them up and down alternately as he pictured my winery's financial health. The left hand represented debt, and it always ended up at the highest point when the seesaw gesture stopped. Today's game had ended with the right hand falling even lower than in the past. That was the hand that represented assets—in other words, Oak Valley Vineyard and everything I held dear in this world. All I had inherited after my father passed and Mom's beautiful personality had begun to disintegrate.
10 Suspect in High Heels Page 18
