Alibi in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  "Maddie, you missed a great show," Dana said.

  "I'll bet," I mumbled, avoiding eye contact with Ryan.

  "Ryan, this is Maddie, the girl I was telling you about."

  "Hi," he said. Then cocked his head to the side. "Say, have we met before?"

  I shook my head. Nope, I was fairly certain this guy I would have remembered.

  He was tall, at least six feet, with pale blond hair and bright blue eyes. Now that he was fairly vertical it was obvious he had a lean, muscular model's physique. I could easily envision him strutting down a runway in Calvin Kleins. I put his age in his late twenties to early thirties, probably a little old for the runway circuit now. Which might explain his latest place of employment.

  "You sure?" he asked. "You look very familiar."

  I shook my head. "Nope."

  Then recognition dawned in his blue yes. "Wait, you're that designer that stabbed Gisella!"

  "I didn't stab her. I swear. It's just a tabloid rumor."

  He narrowed his eyes at me, not totally convinced.

  "I swear, I would never hurt anyone!" I looked up at his collar. "Uh, I mean, I guess not that hurting someone is a bad thing. If they want to be hurt. Which clearly, you do. I mean, did. I mean, if you like that sort of thing. But I don't. I mean, I didn't. And definitely not Gisella and definitely not with a stiletto heel."

  Ryan just looked at me.

  I cleared my throat. "Um, do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Gisella?"

  I could tell he still had his reservations about me, but he nodded.

  "Rumor has it you two were dating?"

  "We were."

  "How long?"

  "About three months."

  "And you went to Paris with her for Fashion Week?"

  Again, he nodded again. "Yes. I thought it would be a good opportunity to make some new contacts. Since hitting thirty, things have dried up a little for me. I flew in with her last Friday and stayed until..." he trailed off, looking down at his hands.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I know this must be hard on you." When he didn't say anything, I plowed ahead. "Can I ask, when was the last time you saw Gisella?"

  He bit a lip, his eyes focusing on a point just beyond my head. "Four nights ago? At her agent's party."

  I frowned. Angelica said she'd heard a male voiced the night after that. "Are you sure? You didn't see her the following night?" I prompted.

  He shook his head, a sad, faraway look in his eyes. "No. The party was the last time I saw her. She broke it off with me."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did she say why?"

  He did a little humorless laugh. "She'd met someone new. Someone higher up in the food chain. She brought him to the party. Can you believe that? First she invites me to Fashion Week, then she shoves this guy in my face. What kind of woman does that?"

  Ryan's volume climbed as he talked, his earlier grief quickly being replaced with anger. I wondered just how angry he'd been at the party. Angry enough to kill Gisella the following night?

  "Gisella was wearing a necklace at the party," Dana piped up. "Did you see it?"

  I leaned in, squinting through the dim light to gauge his reaction.

  "Yes," he said without hesitation.

  If he'd known Gisella had taken the necklace, he didn't let on.

  "She said it was from Lord Ackerman's private collection," he said.

  "It was stolen," I said.

  His only reaction was to raise an eyebrow. "Really? Who took it?"

  I hesitated to share our model-turned-jewel thief theory with him. But on the other hand, if he'd been working with her, it wouldn't be news to him. And if he was an innocent bystander in all this, what did we have to lose?

  "We think Gisella did. We think she may have even been stealing jewelry from other designers' shows as well."

  He shook his head, eyes on that faraway point again. "Wow. I had no idea. I'm not surprised, though. Like I said, she wasn't the most scrupulous person I've ever met."

  "We think she may have had a partner. Someone who sold the stolen items for her," Dana said. "Any idea who that could be?"

  He shrugged. "Sorry, I don't know. She didn't have any real close friends. Her agent and me were the only people she really spent much time with."

  "What about the new guy?" I asked. "Is it possible he was helping her?"

  Again he shrugged.

  "You said you met him?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. At the party."

  "Did you happen to catch his name?"

  He did a wry grin that held little humor. "Oh yeah. She made sure everyone at the party knew who she was there with. That wanker was a real feather in her cap, if you know what I mean."

  "Who was it?" I asked.

  He snorted again. "Lord Ackerman."

  Chapter Ten

  Felix? I think my heart stopped beating, the dark, tinted room swirling before my vision. Felix and Gisella?!

  It had to be a mistake. She had to have been lying. Felix wouldn't go for a girl like that. Felix's type was... well it wasn't her.

  I thought back. We'd been in her room together, we'd been searching for evidence of a boyfriend. And he hadn't told me he was it! I tried to remember our conversation, but all my brain could focus on was the fact that Felix has been sleeping with a supermodel.

  For some odd reason, that stomach flu hit me full force again.

  "Excuse me," I said, bolting up from the sofa. I made for the front doors as quickly as I could. Air. I needed air. I'm pretty sure I knocked into at least three people, spilling one woman's drink all over her corset in my mad rush to get outside.

  Once there, I doubled over, leaning on my crutches as I took in big lungfuls of night air that smelled like car exhaust and rotting vegetables.

  In a moment, Dana was at my side.

  "Hey, you okay?" she asked, putting a hand on my back.

  "Yeah. Sure. Fine."

  "You're a terrible liar."

  Unlike some people.

  Okay, so I guess I hadn't ever asked Felix point blank if he'd been sleeping with the victim, but that was a hell of an omission. What else had he failed to mention?

  Then one terrible thought occurred to me. He'd been the one to find the diamond necklace in Gisella's room. Had he known where it was all along? Had he been in on it with her? He had said it was insured. Collect once from the insurance company, a second time when he sold them on the black market? Would Felix stoop that low?

  Problem was, I didn't really know Felix's stooping limit. Granted, his paper was single handedly to blame for ruining more than one celebrity marriage with their rumor mill, but that was a far cry from sticking a shoe in someone's neck.

  My shoe.

  My stomach lurched again and I leaned over, fully expecting a repeat appearance by my ham and cheese.

  "Do you really think this could have been Felix?" Dana asked, voicing my thoughts.

  I shook my head. "I don't know." I paused. "Maybe." Another pause. "No, definitely not." I bit my lip. "Probably not?"

  He'd been in Paris the night of her murder, in the same hotel. The victim was his girlfriend, presumably stealing his jewels.

  "I've got to talk to Felix." I pulled my cell out of my purse, dialing his number, my hands shaking harder than the Northridge quake. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. Shit. I flipped it shut and threw it in my purse, taking my anxiety out on my Motorola.

  "Hey," I said, addressing Mathew, who was fully engrossed in an article in the World News section.

  He waited a beat before looking up. When he did he blinked at me as if seeing me for the first time. He looked back to his paper. Then to me again.

  "It's you!"

  I looked down at the Times in his lap. Sure enough, there was my mug smiling back at me. Okay, so I wasn't totally smiling. It was a candid shot taken outside the Plaza Athenee as I'd tried to muscle my way through the paparazzi. From the look on my face, it was probably when one of the cameramen had knocked into
Wonder Boot. I looked either constipated, pissed off, or in pain.

  Or, as Mathew had interpreted it, dangerous.

  "It's not me."

  He looked from the paper to me and back again. "It sure looks like you."

  I rolled my eyes. "Okay, yes, the picture is me. But I'm not the killer. I didn't do it. I'm innocent. Which is why I'm here trying to clear my name."

  Mathew looked wary. "You sure?"

  "Yes, of course I'm sure! Do I look like I could hurt someone?"

  Mathew looked me up and down. Then behind me at the S&M club he'd just taken me to.

  "I didn't do it," I said again.

  Finally he shrugged. "All right, if you say so. But if I hear of any dead bodies showin' up at that there club tomorrow, I'm turning' you in to the police, Missy." He wagged a knobby finger at me.

  "Fair enough. Listen, do you happen to know where a Lord Ackerman lives?"

  He hunched his bushy eyebrows down. "Can't say's I do. He have a place around here?"

  My turn to shrug. The problem was I had no idea where Felix stayed when he was in England. I knew he had an impressive home up in the Hollywood Hills, but as it was becoming clearly apparent, beyond the basics I didn't know much about Felix's life at all.

  "Any idea where we could find an address for him?"

  He shook his head. "Google?"

  Luckily, I just happened to know a pair of Googling fiends.

  I whipped out my cell, dialing Mom's number. She picked up on the third ring and I could hear loud music in the background.

  "Hello?" she shouted.

  I held the phone away from my ear.

  "Mom, it's Maddie."

  "Hey, hon. Say, where are you? Ramirez has been tearing this place apart looking for you."

  I cringed. I was so gonna be on his shit list when I got back. But, if it got me off the front page, I'd say it was worth it.

  "Dana and I are following a lead. Listen, I was wondering if you could do something for me?"

  I heard a sound like a war whooping in the background. "What?" Mom yelled.

  I resisted the urge to cover my ear. "Where are you?"

  "Mrs. Rosenblatt and I dragged Pierre out to a champagne bar. Mrs. Rosenblatt's on her second bottle and dancing the Cancan."

  I had a sudden unwelcome vision of Mrs. R's muumuu hiked up to her knees, her thunder thighs kicking heavenward. I shuddered.

  "Listen, could you do something for me when you get back to the hotel?" I yelled into the phone.

  "Sure. Shoot, Mads."

  "I need Felix's address." I filled her on in all I'd learned at the club. (Okay, maybe not all I'd learned. I left out the parts about the leashes and paddles.)

  "Okay," she said when I finished. "We'll hit the business center as soon as we get back."

  I thanked her (though I wasn't entirely sure she heard me over Mrs. Rosenblatt's hollering) and hung up.

  "Now what?" Dana asked.

  It was late, I was tired and my stomach still felt wobbly thinking about Felix and the massive fast one he'd pulled over on me. "Let's get a room somewhere."

  We piled back in the cab, and asked Mathew to take us to a hotel nearby, preferably one that wouldn't make my Visa wince. Jean Luc had taken care of the travel expenses for the Paris trip, but they didn't cover a detour into London. And, with my designs in police custody, I wasn't entirely sure my bank account had any hope of growing beyond Hamburger Helper size in the near future.

  I leaned my head back on the vinyl seat, watching the dark London streets whiz past the window at a rate that sent nausea washing through me again. The more I thought about it, the more foolish I felt for ever trusting a guy like Felix. I'd been the one pleading with Ramirez to get him out of jail. What if it turned out he belonged there? I knew Felix had a moral compass that pointed just this side of North, but had he really offed his girlfriend? Even worse, would he have framed me for it?

  I had to admit at that part my stomach clenched the worst. Not that I'd thought I meant anything to Felix. I didn't. And he meant nothing to me. We weren't even friends. More like acquaintances that sometimes bumped into each other.

  Lips first.

  I closed my eyes, willing myself not to think about it.

  Mathew pulled us up in front of the Queen's Cozy Inn and let us out. He gave me one backward glance in his rearview mirror, eyes still wary, before collecting his fare and pulling away from the curb. I had a bad feeling that if Dana and I didn't find the real killer soon, that was the kind of look I was doomed to for life.

  After handing over my credit card to the frizzy haired girl on duty behind the desk, Dana and I were shown to a room on the second floor. The bed was standard issue, the duvet a pastel floral print. A scarred dresser sat at one end, a tiny bathroom the other. A television set with rabbit ears sat on the dresser and above that hung a framed lithograph of Queen Elizabeth. The Ritz, it was not. But I didn't care. All I wanted was sleep. Hopefully in the morning things would make more sense.

  * * *

  The room was dark. A single lamp gave off a dim red glow, bathing the room in a light eerily reminiscent of blood. I held my breath, searching through the darkness for him. I wasn't sure who I was looking for, but I knew I had to find him. People were everywhere, bumping up against me, crowding in from all angles. Then I heard the crowd cheering, yelling, hollering. I fought my way through them, pushing and shoving, straining on tip-toe to see around them. He had to be here somewhere. I fought my way through the growing crowd to the front. And, there in the center of the room, standing under a bright red spotlight, was Mrs. Rosenblatt, wearing a leather corset and wielding a long, leather riding crop.

  "Hey, Mads, wanna play?" she asked, flicking her wrist, the crop doing a menacing snap in the air. The crowd cheered again.

  I turned, ready to run from the room.

  When I saw him.

  I froze. Unable to look away. Felix. He was watching me from the other side of the room. Staring me down.

  Suddenly Mrs. Rosenblatt and the rest of the crowd disappeared. It was just Felix and me. Eyes locked on each other. I tried to speak, but it was like I'd eaten too much peanut butter, my mouth sticky, refusing to open.

  Felix closed the distance between us, his eyes intent on mine, a little half smile playing on his lips like he knew a secret that I didn't. He was coming closer, almost floating across the room in slow motion. I tried to speak, tried to move, but my feet were glued to the spot, my limbs too heavy to lift.

  Suddenly he was so close he was almost on top of me. "Maddie," he whispered.

  He reached and grabbed my arm with on hand, the other lifting above his head, wielding a black stiletto heel.

  Then I really did scream.

  * * *

  I sat up straight in bed, sweat pouring down my back, my breath coming out in German shepard pants. My eyes whipped around the room, searching for any remnants of the red light, the crowd, the black high heel. Nothing, just a TV, scarred dresser and photo of the queen. And Dana snoring beside me.

  I slowly laid back, adrenalin coursing through my limbs, and closed my eyes. It was just a dream.

  One that, in light of yesterday's revelations, seemed all too real. That was it. I had to talk to Felix.

  I rolled over and looked at the clock. 7:15. With a groan, I slid out of bed and hopped into a lukewarm shower. I turned my panties inside out and redressed in yesterday's clothes, digging in my purse for mascara and lip gloss. Since the hair dryer in the bathroom didn't work, I twisted my wet hair into a French braid and figured I was halfway passable.

  I emerged from the bathroom to find Dana yawing, flipping through channels on the television set.

  "You were on channel two," she informed me.

  "Swell." I plopped down on the bed.

  "And Jean Luc called. He said he needs me for a fitting at one. Sorry, Maddie, this Angel has to get back."

  I nodded. "I understand." Not everyone's career was in the toilet. "I'll drop you at the
airport. Oh, and by the way," I added as she made for the bathroom, "there's no hot water."

  I flipped off the TV as Dana shut the bathroom door and I heard water start to run. The last thing I wanted to encounter this early in the morning was another candid shot of myself.

  Instead, I grabbed my cell and tried Felix's number again. As before, it went straight to voicemail. I bit my lip, trying to tell my stomach to shut up.

  Instead, I bit the bullet and dialed Ramirez's cell. I prayed hard to the saint of forgiving boyfriends as I listened to it ring once, then twice. On the third ring he picked up.

  "That was a dirty trick," he said, his voice hard.

  "Sorry?" Only it came out more of a question.

  "Where the hell are you, Maddie?"

  "Um..." I looked around the room. The Queen stared back at me. "I'm safe."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "Listen, I just wanted to call to tell you that I'm okay, not to worry, and I'll be back soon."

  "Where. Are. You."

  "I'm following a lead."

  There was silence. Then he muttered a curse in Spanish. "Maddie, detectives follow leads. The police follow leads. Fashion designers draw fluffy little shoes. What the hell are you doing?"

  "I have to clear my name, Jack. Do you know I was in the London Times yesterday?"

  "London?"

  Oops. I slapped a hand over my mouth. "Or so I heard," I added feebly.

  "Maddie, listen, you've go to have a little faith in the system. Moreau will get to the bottom of this. But you running around following your so called leads is just going to make things worse. This disappearing act doesn't exactly make you look innocent."

  As much as I loved him, it was the "so-called" thing that put me over the edge.

  "I'll be back tonight," I said. Then hung up, cutting Ramirez off mid curse.

  Ramirez might have faith in Moreau, but the way he'd interrogated me, I certainly didn't. And if I didn't do it, someone else had. Someone that, as of right now, was not only ruining my life, but also getting away with murder.