"How did the damage control go?" I asked.
Ramirez pinned me with a look that said he was not in the mood to talk about it.
"You okay?" I asked, taking a careful step into the room.
"No. I am far from okay," he said, swallowing. "I'm not home for lunch. I'm just home."
I bit my lip. "Just home as in…"
"I'm suspended."
I froze, letting that information sink in. "You're joking?"
He shot me a hard look. "Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked. Though he didn't wait for an answer. Instead he turned to the refrigerator, reached in, grabbed a beer, and popped the top before downing half of it in one gulp.
"Wait, what do you mean suspended? They can't just do that, can they?"
He nodded. "Oh, yeah. They can. Apparently Ratski complained about my 'excessive force' to the manager of the team, who complained to the mayor, who complained to the captain. The entire chain of command is gunning for my head now. I'm off the case."
"That's ridiculous," I said, shaking my head. "The whole thing was Ratski's fault anyway."
Ramirez just grunted. "It doesn't matter. I'm out of it." He paused to swig more beer.
"That's so not fair," I said, feeling a little niggle of guilt that maybe I was as much at fault as Ratski.
"So where have you been?" Ramirez asked.
"Huh?"
He shot me a suspicious look, his brows forming a "V" over his dark eyes. "Maddie, please tell me you were shopping?"
I bit my lip. "Sorta."
"Sort meaning…?"
"Meaning not at all. I was out with Dana having lunch," I confessed
He shrugged, his expression relaxing. "Oh."
"With the Baseball Wives."
The eyebrows fell back down. "The Baseball Wives?"
"The wives of the Stars players. You know they have that reality show?"
He gave me a blank look. Not that I expected him to have seen it. If it wasn't on the Discovery Channel or ESPN, it wasn't on his radar.
"Anyway, we…Dana and I…we thought maybe it would be helpful if we heard what kind of gossip they had on Bucky and Lacey. You know. If they had any."
He paused. "And did they?"
"Some. Beth said she'd seen Bucky and Lacey arguing, but she didn't know why. Mostly they just hated Lacey."
"Any particular reason?"
"The usual. She was younger, prettier, her boyfriend was hitting more balls."
Ramirez sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sadly, you've still gotten further today than I have."
I crossed the room and rubbed his back. "I'm sorry. I feel so bad about this"
He shook his head. "No. It's not your fault. I hit the guy."
"Well, don't take too much blame," I told him. "After a couple of mimosas, Beth let out that Ratski has a really short temper. Liz, the right fielder's wife, said he even got into a fist-fight with another player last year when they wanted to bench him before the playoffs."
"Wow, you really got those ladies to talk," Ramirez said.
I shrugged. "Dana had a lot do with it. But you know, we're good at girl talk. It's kind of our thing." I sent him a grin.
"Huh." He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair again. "Look, I know this might be asking a lot, but there's something I need you to do for me," he said, a look I couldn't read suddenly running through his eyes.
"Of course," I agreed.
Then my husband turned to me and uttered the words I never thought I would hear him say.
"Maddie, I need you to investigate a murder for me."
CHAPTER FIVE
I blinked, not quite sure I'd heard him right. "I'm sorry, you want what?"
Ramirez took a long swig of beer, his features pinched as if it pained him to say it. "I want your help."
I couldn't suppress the goofy grin spreading across my face. Since we'd met, I'd had the misfortune to get involved in several of Ramirez's cases. While it had always been through no fault of my own, Ramirez had fought me every step of the way—asking me to back off, demanding I back off, even pleading once or twice that I leave his cases alone. So to hear him actually asking for my help was like I'd entered a parallel universe.
One I was going to enjoy as long as it lasted.
"Wipe that goofy grin off your face, Springer," he told me.
"Sorry." I tried, suppressing it to a mild smirk.
"Look, while I'm on suspension, I've been warned away from any contact with anyone who even remotely has ties to the Stars ball club."
"But I'm sure the captain has other detectives on the case, right?" I asked.
Ramirez sighed again, doing more hair mussing. "Right. Laurel and Hardy."
"Oh, they can't be that bad."
"No, those are their names. Laurel McMartin and John Hardy."
"Oh," I said suppressing that grin again.
"And the trouble is they are that bad. They're lazy, and they're total yes-men." He paused. "Or a yes-man and yes-woman. But the point is the Stars want this to be a random killing of some sort, quickly swept under the rug and stuck in a cold case file somewhere and forgotten. The city depends on Stars income, and the police depend on the city. Everyone is looking to make this swift, sweet, and tidy."
"But you don't think it's that simple."
He shot me a hard look. "No. I don't."
I nodded. "I don't either. People don't randomly poison other people by spray tan." I paused. "Especially at Fernando's." While a random killing might be good for the Stars, it would be the worst for Faux Dad's salon. No one would ever feel safe going into his tanning booths again, for fear the Tanning Salon Killer would strike again. It would ruin him.
"Exactly," Ramirez agreed. "Which is why I can't just sit here looking like a jackass while Laurel and Hardy let the perp slip through their fingers."
"So…what exactly are you proposing?" I hedged.
"I need you to be my eyes and ears. I need you to do the legwork I can't."
I bit my lip. While I'd helped Ramirez on cases before, I was the first to admit I wasn't exactly LAPD detective material. Truth be told, I accidentally stumbled on the truth as often as I happened to stumble on dead bodies. "Like, what kind of legwork?" I asked.
"Like the lunch you just had with the players' wives. Look, you and Dana have an in that Laurel and Hardy don't. I trust that they'll process any evidence that presents itself, but I also trust they'll avoid asking any hard questions that may lead to ruffled feathers. Or paperwork," he added.
"What about the babies?" I asked, gesturing to the twins, currently playing with colorful foam blocks.
"I'll watch them."
I froze. "Really? You're going to play stay-at-home-dad while I go investigate a murder?" The universe really had turned on its head.
Ramirez shrugged. "It'll be fun. I haven't gotten to spend enough time with them lately, anyway. We need some bonding."
"You sure? I mean, they can be a handful…"
Ramirez shot me a look. "I think I can manage watching my own kids, Maddie."
I was sure he could, too. For about an hour. Which was the absolute longest he'd been alone with both babies at once since they were born. It wasn't that Ramirez was a bad father by any stretch. But I was 100% sure he had no idea what he was in for.
On the other hand, it might not be a bad thing if he found out.
"Okay," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "When do I start, boss?"
The tension in Ramirez's jaw relaxed for the first time since I'd walked into the kitchen. "Tonight. The team management is throwing a memorial event for Lacey at the Marchmont Hotel. All the players should be attending. I need you to get Gabriel Blanco alone."
"The pitcher?" I asked. "Kendra's husband?"
Ramirez nodded. "Bucky says he was with Ratski and Blanco the morning Lacey was killed. But Bucky and these guys are tight."
"So you're thinking they might be lying for him?"
Ramirez shrugged. "It's a distinc
t possibility. Ratski isn't saying anything, so I'd like to know what Blanco says." He paused. "And more importantly, how he says it. If it's a rehearsed sounding story, we'll know he's full of it"
"On it," I promised.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as Livvie threw a block at Max's head, causing a chain reaction of block tossing and crying. I moved to intervene, but Ramirez stopped me with a hand on my arm.
"I'll take this one."
I cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Hey, they might as well get used to me being in charge around here," he reasoned.
I stepped back, letting him step between the babies. I was more than happy to pass the referee baton to him.
Besides, if I was going to be playing detective tonight, I was going to need to call in backup.
I grabbed my cell, scrolled through my numbers, and waited while it rang on the other end. Two rings in, Dana picked up.
"Hey," I told her. "Want to crash a memorial service with me tonight?"
* * *
The Marchmont Hotel was located in the heart of Orange County. While Hollywood is the glamour capital of the west coast, the money to finance that glamour comes from Orange County. Originally a suburb for commuters, it had quickly grown to be known as the ritzier, cleaner, swankier cousin to L.A. Even the freeways here were clean. If you took the 5 south, the second you entered Orange County the graffiti and battered medians immediately gave way to wide, smooth pavement, art deco carvings on the walls, and litter-free emergency lanes.
Dana and I valeted my mini-van and stepped into the hotel lobby, where we were greeted immediately by the scent of fresh flowers and the low hum of tasteful jazz music being pumped in through hidden speakers. We took the gold elevator to the third floor, where the Pacific Blue Ballroom was located, opening up into a room that looked more decked out for a wedding reception than a memorial service. A large bar extended down one side of the room, a small stage area of sorts on the other end, where posters of the team and the Stars insignia mingled with flower arrangements and photos of Lacey. Though I noticed that all of the photos looked recent, and all had been taken at the ballpark. There didn't seem to be any hint of Lacey's life outside the Stars franchise.
The room was filled with players, managers, and behind the scenes guys in suits and women in cocktail dresses in tasteful muted colors. I fit right in, even if I did say so myself, in a simple grey shift dress, embellished with a ruby, teardrop pendant and a pair of black pumps in a snakeskin pattern. Dana had gone with a black, floor length dress with an Angelina Jolie worthy slit up one side that already had a couple of the guys at the bar leering.
"So, which one is Blanco?" Dana asked, grabbing a glass of white wine from a passing tray.
I followed her lead, grabbing one as well as I let my eyes scan the room. Before I'd left the house, Ramirez had pulled up the team's website, making me memorize the faces of all the key players. Though, out of their uniforms, I was having a hard time matching them up. I guess I could only be thankful he hadn't made me memorize their stats, too.
"Dark hair in a buzz cut," I said, calling up the picture in my mind. "Six-foot-two, slim. He's from Argentina."
Dana nodded, craning her neck to scan the crowd.
"Dana?" a voice sounded behind us.
We spun as one to find Kendra, a small frown pulling at her cherry-red mouth. (Though I noticed that the Botox prevented it from actually extending to her forehead.) "I didn't know you were attending tonight?"
Dana and I did the appropriate air-kiss greetings before pulling back.
"We felt it only right," Dana said, quickly covering. "You know, here to represent the network and all."
Kendra nodded, as if she perfectly understood the etiquette. "Of course. Well, I'm so glad you could make it. I'm sure Bucky will be touched."
"Is he here?" I asked. While Ramirez had sent me on a mission to get the alibi from Blanco, I figured it wouldn't hurt to take the initiative and have a few words with Suspect Number One.
Kendra nodded. "By the bar. He hasn't detached himself from the tequila all night. Poor kid."
I glanced in the direction she indicated, seeing a fair-haired guy in his twenties hunched over a glass. While I could clearly tell it was Bucky, he had lost all of the swagger I'd seen from him on the field. It was as if in this setting he looked just like what he was—a young guy from the Midwest completely out of his element in a glamorous OC ballroom. And, at the moment, he was either completely grief stricken or doing a very good job of acting it.
"Would you mind if I excused myself to give my condolences?" I asked.
"Of course," Kendra agreed, grabbing Dana by the arm and steering her toward the two E's, parked at a table near the windows.
I threaded my way through the growing crowd toward Bucky. I was a couple of barstools away when I saw a tall, pot-bellied frame coming toward the bar, empty glass in hand. Ratski.
Immediately I ducked my head, turning my back to him. While the Glitter Galaxy had been dark, I was pretty sure he'd have no trouble recognizing me here. And not be overly thrilled to see me. I feigned interest in a potted palm while Ratski ordered a scotch, neat, downed it, and then had the bartender pour him another before weaving his way back into the crowd.
Unfortunately, by the time I thought it was safe to turn around again, Bucky's seat was empty.
I frantically scanned the room for him and felt my heart sink as I saw him taking the stage, chatting with a couple of white haired guys in expensive suits. From their age, I could only guess they represented the team's management, not players.
Damn. So much for my initiative.
I was just about to concede that my skills in no way measured up to Ramirez's faith in them, when I spotted a dark haired, tanned guy with a buzz cut standing near the French doors to the balcony. Bingo. Gabriel Blanco.
As I made my way toward him, a voice came over the PA system. "Everyone, may I have your attention please?"
All eyes shot to the front of the room, where a paunchy, white haired man was talking into a microphone.
"I'd like to thank you all for coming tonight. It is heartwarming to see all of the support for our Bucky. I can only imagine how hard this is for him," the man said, glancing toward his star player.
Bucky's face was a blank slate, though his eyes held dark circles beneath them, his skin a shade paler than when I'd last seen it on the Jumbotron.
"But I'm sure that seeing all of your friendly faces will help him get through these trying times."
I only vaguely paid attention as the guy went on about how special Lacey was, keeping my eyes instead on Blanco. I made it to his side just as Bucky stepped up to the mike to say a few words.
"Thank you all for coming," he said, his voice tight. "It means more than you know." Then he stepped back again, relinquishing the mike to the white haired guy. Clearly Bucky was not one for long speeches.
"Thank you all, again," the older man said. "We will be donating a portion of the proceeds of the next home game to the pediatric wing of Cedar-Sinai Hospital in Lacey's name. If you'd like to add a contribution, please see Kendra Blanco for more information."
With that, the crowd immediately went back to murmuring amongst themselves and mingling, as if to cover the awkwardness of thinking about a dead girl who none of them had really known well.
I watched as Blanco looked down at his glass, noticed that it was empty, and started to turn toward the bar.
I jumped before he could. "Gabriel Blanco?"
He turned my way, a pair of startling blue eyes peering out at me from his tanned face. "Yes?"
"Hi. I'm Maddie," I said, sticking a hand his way. "I, ah, I'm a friend of your wife's," I added, stretching the truth just a little.
He nodded, shaking my hand. "Nice to meet you."
"I'm so sorry about the loss. Were you and Lacey close?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Bucky and I are."
"This must be very difficult for him."
&nb
sp; He shrugged again. "It's not easy, that's for sure."
"Were you with him?" I asked. "When he found out about Lacey?"
Blanco shook his head. "No. We were at the gym together earlier that day, but I'd gone home by then."
"Oh, how horrible," I said, putting a hand to my mouth. "You mean you were actually together while she was…being killed?" I did a stage whisper for effect.
Blanco shifted from foot to foot, looking down at his empty glass again as if he really wished something would materialize there. "Yeah. I guess."
"Then you're his alibi?"
"Bucky doesn't need an alibi," he quickly shot back. "He'd never hurt anyone."
"Oh, right, of course," I backpedaled. "I didn't mean to imply he would. Obviously he wouldn't hurt her. I mean, he couldn't have. He was with you the whole time."
Blanco nodded vigorously. "Right."
"At the gym, you said?"
"That's right," he agreed again.
"So, you two worked out together the whole time. Like, side by side?"
His dark eyebrows drew together. "Well, no, not the whole time. I mean, he didn't follow me to the john or anything. It's not like we were joined at the hip."
"So, you didn't have eyes on him the whole time?" I pounced, wondering just how far from the salon this gym was.
He spun on me, frowning again. "Look, we arrived together, we worked out, we left together. That was good enough for the cops, so I'm not sure what you're implying."
I bit my lip. Ramirez was right about Laurel and Hardy. They obviously hadn't dug too deeply into Bucky's alibi. "I'm not implying a thing," I said, pulling out my most charming smile. "Except that Bucky is lucky to have friends like you at such a trying time."
Blanco grunted a noncommittal response, but the frown eased some. "I need a drink," he said, pushing past me toward the bar.
I watched him slip away and sipped at my own glass, mingling through the crowd, trying to catch any little snippets of conversation I could that pertained to Bucky, Lacey, or her death. Though mostly I just heard people murmuring polite condolences, admitting they hadn't known the deceased very well and expressing sympathy for Bucky.
Homicide in High Heels Page 5
