“Okay, then,” he said, the mischievous look undaunted. “How about this: I win and you promise never, and I mean never, to stick your cute little nose into one of my cases again.”
“But-” I protested.
But he ran right over me. “No more following witnesses, no more questioning suspects, no more Lucy, Ethel, Cagney or Lacey.”
I bit my lip. Those were high stakes. But this little game of chicken had escalated beyond Gigi and worrying about the wedding. It had become apparent that if I ever wanted him to take me seriously, there was only one answer to his question. I clenched my jaw and thrust my chin toward the ceiling, trying to stretch an extra inch out of my 5’ 1 1/2” height.
“Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine.”
Surprise flickered across his features. As if he hadn’t expected me to woman-up to the challenge. I felt a little lift of pride already. Ha! Take that pal. You’re playing with the big girls, now.
“Good,” he said. “Then you don’t mind if we up the stakes a little.”
Oh swell. “As in?”
“As in I not only design a pair of shoes, but you have to wear them to the wedding.”
I felt my face drain of color. “My wedding shoes?”
He nodded, that self-satisfied smirk returning. “Yep.”
“But I already picked out a pair.” They were a simple white satin with a cross cut woven pattern along the top. Elegant and stylish all in one three-inch package.
Ramirez shrugged. “Okay, then all bets are off. And you stay the hell away from the Van Doren case.”
He turned back to his abandoned bowl of cereal.
“Wait!” Dammit. I scrunched my eyes shut, sucked up every last ounce of pride I had, and said a silent good-bye to my perfect wedding outfit. “Fine. You can design my wedding shoes.”
I opened my eyes and crossed the room, sticking my hand out at him. “Do we have a deal or what, Ramirez?”
For half a second I thought he might back out. Common sense and the thought of having his cases Maddie-free on into eternity warring behind his dark eyes.
Finally he shoved his palm into mine.
“Deal.”
I shook on it, silently gulping down a little voice telling me I was going to live to regret this.
Chapter Nine
The next morning I awoke to the sound of jackhammers digging away up the street. I rolled over to see that I was once again alone.
Feeling just the teeniest bit abandoned I got up and trudged to the coffee maker. Another yellow post-it was stuck to the side.
Took sketch book to work. Will call your manufacturer this morning. Happy hunting.
XOXO
R
I stuck my tongue out at it. But since he had made coffee again, I couldn’t hate him too much. Instead, I showered, dressed in a cute pair of capris, peep-toe sandals and a white cashmere sweater, and, with renewed energy, picked up where I’d left off with my suspect list yesterday.
Paul Fauston, the baker.
I took Santa Monica east, past the 405 and into Beverly Hills. I was just veering into the left lane to avoid a pickup with Playgirl bunnies on the mud flaps when I spotted a flash of blue in the rearview mirror.
I narrowed my eyes.
He wouldn’t.
I accelerated, pulling two car lengths ahead and moving back over into the right lane. Two beats later a blue Dodge Neon followed my lead, tucking itself behind a silver SUV filled with kids who kept sticking their hands out the window.
That bastard. He was.
Thinking really bad thoughts, I wove in and out of traffic past Wilshire, trying to lose him. But since I was a blonde in a conspicuous red Jeep and he was a guy who was used to dealing on the shady side of life, by the time I pulled off at Beverly he was right on my bumper, not even attempting to be sneaky now.
I pulled my car up to the curb in front of Fauston’s Bakery and got out, slamming the door behind me.
Felix unfolded himself from his little Neon and shot me a smile that I supposed was meant to be charming.
“Good morning, Maddie.”
“You’re following me.”
He rocked back on his heels, his eyes twinkling. “My, my, we are a clever detective, aren’t we?”
If looks could kill, he’d be in the morgue.
“What do you want, Felix?”
“I told you. A story. If you won’t give me one, I’ll just trot around after you until I catch one myself.”
I pursed my lips together. “What makes you think I’ll lead you to a story?”
Felix threw his head back and laughed. “You’re joking, right? Wherever Maddie goes, trouble follows. It’s only a matter of time, love.”
I bit back a nasty retort on the tip of my tongue. Mostly because he was right.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said gesturing to the bakery, “but I’m simply tasting a wedding cake today.”
Felix glanced from the building to me, his eyes narrowing.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Great, I’m starved.”
And before I could stop him, he’d pushed through the front doors to Fauston’s.
That’s it. I seriously needed to get new friends.
I contemplated turning around, getting back in my car, and driving off. But the thought of Felix questioning Fauston without me shut that idea down. Instead, I followed a beat behind him, listening to a bell chime over the door as we entered the store.
A long bakery counter took up most of the room, running in an L shape along the walls. Inside sat a variety of chocolates, cookies, and tarts that had my mouth instantly watering. Layer cakes, tortes, brownies, and cupcakes taunted my diet from behind their gleaming glass case. The air was filled with the sweet scents of sugar and creamy icing, and I closed my eyes and just inhaled for a moment, getting a kind of sugar rush contact high. My stomach growled out loud in response.
“May I help you?”
I opened my eyes to find a young brunette emerging from the backroom, wiping her hands on the starched white apron tied around her waist. I put her in her midtwenties, just a hair younger than I was (okay, fine, a very thick hair), with dark, serious eyes beneath brows that would make Brooke Shields jealous. She wasn’t a whole lot taller than I was, but I’d venture to guess she was at least twenty pounds lighter – a virtual stick figure. I instantly wondered how someone could possibly be so thin surrounded by such heavenly foods all day. Me, I’d be downing half the inventory for lunch.
“Hi, I’m Maddie Springer,” I said, offering a hand to the girl.
She shook it in a grip that was deceptively firm for such a slim thing, as her eyes flickered with a spark of recognition. “Oh, right. You’re the Valentine’s wedding this Saturday?”
I nodded, the nearness of the event hitting me full force. Could it really be this Saturday?
I did a loud hiccup that echoed off the glass cases.
Stifling a laugh, Felix stepped forward. “Felix Dunn,” he said, offering his hand to the woman.
“Hi. I’m Anne. Paul’s niece. So, you’re the groom?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, but only another hiccup came out. Damn these things!
“That’s me,” Felix answered. He threw one arm around my shoulder, pulling me close to him.
I did another hiccup. Then plugged my nose, holding my breath and counting to five Mississippi as I shot him another death look.
“The little lady and I,” Felix went on, giving me a wink, “were so disappointed we never got to taste the other sample you made for us.”
“Oh, riiight,” Anne said, nodding. “Wow, so sad about Gigi, wasn’t it? Almost surreal.”
“Almost.”
“Um, yeah, let me go tell my uncle you’re here.”
“That would be much appreciated, love,” Felix answered, giving me another squeeze.
Anne returned to the back room, and I let out the breath I was hold
ing with an unladylike heave as air rushed back into my lungs.
I turned on Felix, shoving his arm from my shoulder. “My groom?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well tell her I’m the tabloid reporter who’s been following you around all morning, could I?”
“I swear to God, I’m going to-” But didn’t get a chance to finish that threat as Anne emerged again, this time with a tall, older man in tow.
Paul Fauston looked to be in his mid- to late forties, though his height and broad shoulders gave him that timeless Carey Grant sort of appeal. His forearms were dusted with just the finest sprinkling of light hairs, well muscled from years of manipulating dough. He wore a crisp apron as well, only his was layered over a pair of white trousers and a white button-down shirt, giving him a monochrome look that even carried to the pale white/blonde color of his hair. A pair of watery blue eyes stared back from a face that was angular to a fault, a long slim nose, sharp cheekbones and a jaw that time had yet to work its gravitational pull on.
“I’m Paul Fauston,” he said, offering his hand. I shook, noting the firmness in his grip. I saw where his niece got it from. “Pleasure to meet you, both. Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”
I nodded, mumbling a subdued, “Same here.”
Instead of returning to the backroom, Anne moved to the bakery case, rearranging a display of fudge squares while pretending (badly) not to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Such a tragedy about Gigi,” Fauston went on. “I really can’t get over it.”
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Felix responded. “Maddie finding her in your cake like that?”
I jabbed him with an elbow. I could already see him mentally concocting a juicy headline: Fatal Feasts from Fauston’s Bakery.
But Fauston just nodded, a solemn look on his sharp features. “We often worked with Gigi. I delivered that particular sample earlier that morning.”
“Oh?” I asked.
“Yes. And I have the new sample ready if you’d like to follow me,” he said, gesturing toward the backroom.
I followed his apron-clad form around the counter and into the kitchen, trying to ignore the feel of “my groom’s” hand at the small of my back as he steered me through the pair of swinging doors.
Fauston’s kitchen was a vision in white. White tiled floors, white marble countertops, and a fine dusting of white flour and powdered sugar covering it all. The only relief in the polar look were the gleaming stainless appliances and cakes and pastries in various states of dress. The scent of baked goods was even stronger back here, and my stomach growled again as I spied a chocolate torte in the corner just waiting for the final fudge icing.
Fauston led us to a counter where a miniature, one-layer version of my wedding cake sat. A simple, delicate white frosting, surrounded by tiny pink rosettes. In the center were the porcelain little man and wife toppers Gigi had helped me pick out. I noticed Fauston frown as his eyes flickered from the dark haired miniature groom to the blond man whose hand was currently straying precariously closer to my tush.
“It looks lovely,” I said, wiggling from Felix’s grasp.
“Well, it’s just a mockup,” Fautson said, cutting the tiny cake in two and handing a slice to each of us.
I took a bite. And sighed out loud. Raspberry filling, light fluffy angel food cake, creamy frosting with just the slightest hint of vanilla. Heaven.
“Mm, delicious,” Felix said, licking a dab of frosting off his lower lip. “Snookums, this is the perfect cake.”
I swallowed a snort. Snookums?
“Thank you,” Fauston replied, clasping his long fingers in front of his apron. “I’m glad you like it. Gigi told me you wanted something simple and traditional.”
I nodded, feeling a little ball well in my throat at the fact Gigi had really listened to me after all. “Did you know Gigi well?” I asked, taking another bite of cake to help swallow down the emotion.
Fauston’s pale eyebrow drew together as if he were searching for just the right wording. “We’ve known each other for a number of years.”
“Intimately?” Felix asked.
I kicked him in the shin.
“Ow!”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re implying,” Fauston said. But by the way his ears went bright red, I was pretty sure he did.
“He just meant we’re sorry you lost such a close friend,” I said as Felix bent down to rub his leg.
“Er, right. Sorry,” Felix offered. “British to American translations aren’t always clear.” He shot Fauston a smile that was all charm.
“Oh.” Fauston clasped and unclasped his hands. “Well, yes, we were good friends.”
“What time did you say you delivered the cake that morning?” I asked.
“Ten. Why?”
I perked up. If Gigi had died at 10:32, Fauston was likely the last person to have seen her alive.
“I guess that makes you the last person to see her alive,” Felix remarked, echoing my thoughts.
Paul went a shade paler. Then, slowly and deliberately said, “No, the last person to see her would have been the monster who did this to her.”
He had a good point. But it didn’t escape my notice just how strongly he was making it. Me thinks he doth protest too much?
“Where did you go after Gigi’s?” I asked.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m not sure I feel comfortable answering that question.”
Felix stepped in, throwing an arm around me again. “Sorry, the little lady has a tendency to be a bit nosey. I keep telling her, curiosity killed the cat, darling.”
I gritted my teeth together. “I think it’s time we were going, darling.”
“Well, if this is all right, I’ll have the cake delivered Saturday, then?” Fauston asked, gesturing to our plates.
I was surprised to see mine was empty, though my stomach was growling considerably less. I glanced at Felix’s. He’d barely tasted it. I resisted the urge to finish it off for him.
“Yes, please. It’s perfect,” I answered.
“Good. Well, if you’ll excuse me then, I have an order waiting…” Fauston trailed off, gesturing back toward the front of the store.
Taking the cue, Felix and I pushed through the swinging doors back into the store.
Nearly colliding with Anne.
She quickly stepped away and began rolling out a mound of cookie dough on the counter as if she hadn’t just been caught eavesdropping red-handed. “How’d you like the cake?” she asked, averting her eyes.
“Delicious.” Felix showed off his pearly whites, waving a good-bye to Anne as he steered me out the door.
Once we were out of earshot, I turned on him.
“‘The little lady’?”
He grinned. “I thought we made a cute couple in there.”
“We made a disastrous couple, Felix.”
Something flickered behind his charming smile.
“I meant in there,” I quickly added, remembering just how close to a real couple we might have been under different circumstance. “Just now. You know, with Fauston.”
“I’m aware of the place we just came from, Maddie.”
“Right.” I ducked my head, awkwardness suddenly hanging like a thick fog in the air between us. “Yeah, of course you are.”
“So, what do we think of Fauston?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
I was happy to comply. “I think he’s a bit shifty.”
“Agreed.” Felix nodded his head. “But I’m not sure he’s our killer. I still like that Mitsy character better. Really we have only her word that she fired Gigi at all.”
“That’s what I was thinking. But I’m not sure she-” I paused midsentence. “Wait. What do you mean ‘that Mitsy character’? Were you following me yesterday, too?”
A big toothy grin was my only answer.
“I hate you.”
“Sticks and stones, love.”
“That’s it, I’m leaving.
”
“Off to where?” he asked, leaning on my passenger side door.
“None of your business.”
“Now, don’t be that way.” And before I could stop him, he had the Jeep door open and slid his bony butt onto my passenger seat.
I gave him a look that could freeze a penguin. “Out.”
“Come on, love, you know I’ll just follow you anyway.”
“Then follow me, but get out.”
“This way saves me gas.”
“No!”
“Now, what will Anne think if she sees you throwing your fiancée out, huh, love?”
I ground my teeth together in a way that would make my dentist shudder as I threw a glance at the bakery. Sure enough, Anne was at the window watching our every move while pretending to roll out cookie dough. I hated it when Felix was right.
“Stop calling me love,” I hissed.
“You prefer snookums?”
“I-” I started, but the sound of my phone trilling from the depths of my purse halted that thought. Still shooting mental daggers at Felix I flipped it open.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s me,” came Dana’s voice. “Listen, I talked to my old roommate.”
“Smokes Dope All Day Guy?”
“Yep. He says the Symmetric Zebras are the warm-up act tonight at the Inca Theater. Seven o’clock. He’s got passes waiting for us at will call.”
“Dana, you rock.”
“Yeah, I know. Hey, listen, Marco and I need your opinion on something.”
“Shoot.”
“Um, well, you see there’s this one thing that we can’t agree on.”
“Okay…”
I heard Marco pipe up in the background. “You know I’m right. It’s just too tacky.”
Oh great. If Marco thought it was tacky, we were in real trouble.
“What is it that you disagree about?” I asked.
“Well, I think you should come look for yourself.”
“You’re worrying me.”
“No, it’s no biggie,” she said. Only the forced lightness in her voice didn’t make me feel any better.
“It’s a very big biggie,” Marco yelled in the background.
“Dana…”
“Listen, just meet us here in an hour,” she said, rattling off an address. I grabbed a pen from the glove box and quickly wrote it down on my hand. “We’ll show you everything then,” she promised, “and you can make a decision. K?”
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 111
