Homicide in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  Dana sighed. "I guess. But are we sure that Ratski is even the one who killed Lacey? I mean, if these performance enhancers are so easy to get, it could be any one of the players?"

  I slurped at my Jamba, sucking extra hard to get a large piece of peach up the straw. "Okay, let's play devil's advocate for a moment and say that Lacey was killed by someone else."

  "Someone she was blackmailing over something," Dana added before pounding back her wheatgrass shot. Amazingly she didn't even shudder.

  "How about this," I started. "What if Lacey found out one of the other players was using PEDs and threatened to go public with that info."

  Dana nodded. "That would be some dirty laundry you wouldn't want to air on network television."

  "It's also great blackmail fodder."

  "Okay, so how would Lacey find out?" Dana asked.

  I pursed my lips together. "Through Bucky?"

  "I don't know," Dana said. "It seems like those guys are all pretty tight. I can't imagine him sharing that kind of pillow talk."

  "Well maybe it wasn't pillow talk that got her the information. More like girl talk."

  Dana raised an eyebrow. "You think one of the wives told Lacey her husband was doping?"

  "Not necessarily. But Lacey worked for Liz, and she was at a lot of the same events as the wives. It's possible she overheard them talking about it."

  Dana nodded. She looked down at her watch. "I've got an hour before I have to be on set. Plenty of time to catch up on some girl talk of our own."

  * * *

  While Baseball Wives was a "reality" TV show, Dana found out through a few well-placed calls that they were actually shooting on the Sunset Studios lot today. According to her agent's assistant's assistant who was dating a PA on the show, several of the Baseball Wives favorite haunts were actually located inside studio walls for convenience purposes. Kendra's elegantly furnished parlor where she hosted intimate get-togethers, which often turned into knock-down, drag-out cat fights, was actually a re-purposed sitcom set. The gourmet kitchen where Beth was known to mix up the girls' night cocktails, famous for loosening the ladies' lips, did double duty as a celebrity cooking show set. And today the wives were on the set of Liz's Bellissima boutique…only this version was not on Melrose. Apparently filming in the actual location required such a number of permits, not to mention extra security and local police efforts to control curious tourists, that it had been more cost effective for the producers to build an exact replica of the boutique within the studio walls.

  After Dana showed her credentials at the guardhouse, we swapped out my minivan for a golf cart—the studio lot's preferred means of conveyance. We quickly made our way to Studio 4B, home of Bellissima 2, and slipped in the warehouse doors, unnoticed among the myriad of sound guys, PAs, wardrobe consultants, and makeup artists rushing around like an underpaid yet fabulously dressed army. In the center of the commotion was Liz DeCicco, being simultaneously powdered by a makeup artist, sprayed by a hairstylist, and miked by a sound guy.

  Beside her stood two unfortunately familiar figures in cheap, public-servant salary suits that stuck out like polyester thumbs.

  "Oh, great," I groaned.

  "What?" Dana asked.

  I gestured to Laurel and Hardy. "The gruesome twosome beat us here." I quickly explained who they were as a PA settled the pair of detectives onto two giant X's made with electrical tape on the floor.

  "Can we get makeup over here?" one asked, eyeing Laurel's shiny forehead. The woman powdering Liz immediately abandoned her subject and descended on Laurel.

  "Am I okay here?" Hardy asked a guy sitting behind a bank of monitors. "You can see me okay, right? I mean, maybe I need to cheat toward the light more?"

  "Is this guy for real?" Dana mumbled to me.

  "Unfortunately."

  "And we're rolling in ten," the guy behind the monitors said.

  Hair and makeup abandoned the people on set, and a pair of cameraman replaced them, one moving in close on Liz, the other taking an opposite stance in front of the pair of LAPD homicide detectives turned reality TV subjects.

  "Marker. Speed. And…action," someone shouted.

  The director pointed at Hardy.

  Hardy blinked at the camera. "Oh, me? Are we…are we ready? I wasn't sure when I should start."

  I thought I saw the guy behind the monitors roll his eyes

  Hardy cleared his throat and danced a bit from foot to foot, trying to "get in character."

  "So, Elizabeth DeCicco, is it?" Hardy asked, intonating like he was in a school play.

  "Yes, Detective," Liz said without missing a beat.

  "We need to ask you some questions about your whereabouts on the day Lacey Desta was killed." Hardy pulled out a small, spiral notebook. I'd bet my favorite Via Spigas it was a blank prop.

  He elbowed Laurel. "Your line," he whispered.

  "Right!" Laurel cleared her throat loudly, her forehead starting to shine again despite the copious powdering. "Uh, where. Were you. On the day. Of the murder." Her words came out in a painful staccato like a stage-frightened kid at her first grade spelling bee.

  But again, Liz answered like a pro, almost sounding like she was genuinely surprised at the questions. "Well, I started the morning here at my boutique." She waved her arms around her.

  "And what time would that be?" Hardy jumped in.

  "It was early. I was preparing for the semiannual clearance sale we have scheduled for Labor Day. All of our jewelry and apparel is buy-one, get-one-half-off. We expect a very large crowd, so if you're in the market for a new look, Detective McMartin, I would suggest you come in early." Liz sent a wink in Laurel's direction.

  The mousey detective's cheeks pinked.

  "The time we're most interested in is between ten AM and eleven-thirty, Mrs. DeCicco," Hardy said, still booming in a theater voice.

  "I was filming. We all were. My fellow Baseball Wives and I were doing a promotional piece for the Network. I only have the entire cast and crew of the show to alibi me out." She did another knowing wink at Laurel. "If you were implying I needed one, Detective."

  "Just routine questions, Ma'am," Hardy assured her, sounding laughingly like a Dragnet character.

  I looked around the set. People were milling in every dark nook and cranny of the sound stage. PA's, makeup artists, hairstylists, directors, catering, and, of course, the wives themselves. How anyone could tell where everyone was at any particular moment was beyond me. Fernando's salon was only fifteen minutes from the studios, give or take for traffic. I wondered how hard it would be for someone to slip away unnoticed for a half hour?

  But Hardy seemed perfectly satisfied with Liz's response. "I'm sure your alibi—needless as it may be—is sound," he assured her.

  "Can you think. Of anyone who would. Want Lacey dead?" Laurel asked in her unnatural staccato again

  Liz's eyes went big and round. "Why I can't imagine. Lacey was such a sweet—"

  "Cut," yelled the director behind the monitors. "You're blocking Liz's light!" He pointed at Hardy

  Hardy glanced around at the lighting techs. "Oh, sorry. I just thought you'd want to have my good side to the camera. Should I be standing more over here?" He shuffled a couple of steps to his left. "Maybe I need one of those spotlight things of my own."

  "Take it again from Laurel's last line," the director said, ignoring the prima donna detective.

  Laurel licked her lips and nodded, looking like a deer in the spotlights.

  "And…action!" the director said, pointing at Laurel.

  She blinked and took a deep breath. "Can you think of anyone who would want Lacey dead?" she asked again

  Again Liz did the big, innocent eyes. "Why I can't imagine. Lacey was such a sweet girl. I can't imagine anyone wanting to harm her."

  "Thank you very much for your time," Hardy said shutting his notebook.

  "And…cut," yelled the director.

  If I rolled my eyes any farther I'd be staring at my roots. This
was Laurel and Hardy's idea of questioning a suspect? Ramirez was right. There was zero chance of these two figuring out what really happened to Lacey.

  Dana and I hung back while the cameraman and lighting crew dispersed. Liz called again for hair and makeup, and I spied Kendra and Beth come onto set, presumably to take their turn under the rain of Laurel and Hardy's hard-hitting questions.

  I nudged Dana. "Let's talk to Kendra before the dorknamic duo gets to her."

  Dana nodded, leading the way to where to the craft services table was set up. Kendra grabbed a bottle of water, and Beth looked longingly at the plate of glazed donuts.

  "Dana?" Kendra said, a note of surprise in her voice as she looked up and saw us approaching. "And Maddie. You found your sweater, I trust?"

  "Uh, yeah. Thanks, Kendra," I said, ducking my head to avoid the words "liar, liar, pants on fire" being written across my guilty features.

  "I'm shooting Lady Justice in a bit, so we thought we'd stop by and see how you're holding up," Dana answered coolly, clearly much better at improv than I was. "I see the police are here." She gestured to where Laurel was being re-powdered.

  Kendra snorted. "Trust me, they are no match for our producers." She grinned, a wicked thing that confirmed my suspicions—no one was asking the wives any questions they didn't want to answer.

  "Have the detectives questioned you yet?" I asked the two. And, yes, I died a little inside using the term "detectives" when it applied to Laurel and Hardy.

  "No, they're shooting my interrogation tomorrow afternoon," Beth told me.

  "I'm up next," Kendra said, adjusting the top of her blue silk blouse that perfectly matched the color of her eyes. She'd matched it with a simple gray pencil skirt and a pair of white pumps that looked like they'd never seen the grime of a real L.A. sidewalk.

  "The police seem to be asking some deep questions," I lied. "They just asked Liz if she knew who would want Lacey dead."

  Kendra snorted. "I can't imagine it's a short list."

  "Did she talk about her life outside of baseball? Mention anyone who stands out to you?" What I really wanted to ask was did the wives talk about their lives, but that felt like a subject I had to tiptoe into lightly.

  Kendra just shrugged. "It's not like she was my bestie, you know."

  "Sure, but you must have spent a fair amount of time together at baseball events," Dana pressed.

  Kendra nodded. "I suppose."

  Then Beth cut in, "God, she was always around. It was almost like she was stalking us. Doing everything she could to become one of us, you know?"

  Kendra shot her a look. "We all attended functions together," she enunciated quite clearly.

  Beth looked down, a guilty look spreading across her face.

  I jumped on it. "That must have been so annoying," I sympathized. "I mean, having an outsider always tagging along with you, trying to join you, listening in on your private conversations…"

  "Just what are you implying?" Kendra asked, her eyes narrowing.

  "Nothing. Just that everyone has things they don't want a stranger to overhear. Things they don't want the press to get hold of, right?"

  "Well, that's why we have the producers. To screen what the press hears," Beth said.

  If Kendra could have smacked her across the face with a look she would have. "My life is an open book," she said pointedly. "That's why I agreed to do this reality show."

  "Oh, so is mine," Beth amended quickly. "I mean it's not like I have secrets or anything."

  Riiiight. I was beginning to like the theory that Lacey had gained some blackmail fodder from the wives more and more. Clearly these two were hiding something.

  "Well, I guess now that Lacey's out of the picture, you won't have to worry about your tagalong anymore," Dana said, a wide, innocent smile on her face that said it was all fine and dandy to talk ill of the dead among girlfriends.

  But as good of an actress as Dana was, Kendra wasn't buying it. Her eyes narrowed again, turning into fine, mascara rimed slits. "Look, I don't know who killed Lacey or why, but I assure you it had nothing to do with us."

  "Kendra!" a guy with a headset hailed her from the center of the action in the fake boutique. "They're ready for you on the set."

  Laurel was freshly powdered, and Hardy was standing on his X adjusting his microphone.

  "I'll be right there," Kendra said. Then she turned to Dana and me. "I don't know what your fascination with Lacey is. She was a nobody in life, and she's a nobody in death. Give it five minutes, and this whole thing will blow over. So I suggest dropping it, okay?"

  Why did I have a feeling I was not going to get on her guest list to the stadium again?

  I watched as she stomped to the set on her spiky heels. Lacey might've been a nobody in Kendra's book, but she certainly wasn't going to hurt the Baseball Wives ratings any. I suddenly felt very sorry for Lacey. I'm sure she hadn't envisioned getting her part on the show this way. All she'd wanted to do was be in the wives club.

  Then again, I was pretty sure she'd been blackmailing her way in.

  "You'll have to excuse Kendra," Beth said coming up behind us. "This has all been very difficult on her."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Difficult on her?"

  "Oh, yes," Beth said nodding. "I probably shouldn't say anything, but…"

  I leaned in. Those words always preceded something juicy.

  "…but I guess Lacey's death has actually been something of a relief to Kendra."

  "Really?" I asked. While there was clearly no love lost between the two, "relief" implied something a little more sinister.

  "Well, you know Bucky is her husband's catcher, so you can imagine…" she trailed off.

  Unfortunately, knowing about as much about baseball as Ramirez knew about the spring Prada collection, I couldn't imagine.

  "Sorry, I'm not super baseball savvy," Dana piped up beside me. "How does her husband being a pitcher make this difficult?"

  "Oh, sorry," Beth stammered. "I forget not everybody's life revolves around the diamond." She sent us a shy smile through her curls. "What I meant to say was when Bucky's game is off, so is Blanco's. Bucky's his catcher, so it's up to him to call the right pitches at the right time to Blanco."

  "I see," I said, nodding alongside Dana.

  "Kendra's just been beside herself all season. Ever since Lacey came into the picture, Bucky's been, well, distracted while he's behind the plate. It's like his mind just isn't on his work, you know?"

  "And this has been affecting Blanco's game?" I asked.

  Beth nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing up and down on her head. "Unfortunately, yes it has. His season started out with a bang, but then his game started being hit-and-miss. I honestly think Kendra's dreaming if she thinks he's still in the running for MVP. And now that Bucky's mourning Lacey…well the whole situation has everyone turning into a bundle of nerves, wondering how the distraction is going to affect the team. Especially Kendra. Her husband is up for a new contract this year, you know?"

  I quirked an eyebrow her away. "No I didn't know that." I wondered just how badly Kendra had wanted Bucky's distraction out of the picture. I glanced back at Kendra in the middle of her interview with Laurel and Hardy, suddenly seeing a motive standing in those gleaming white pumps.

  "When is their next game?" Dana asked.

  "Tomorrow," Beth said. "The team management is hoping they clear everyone by then." She cocked her head at Laurel and Hardy. "It's not good for anyone to play under a cloud of suspicion, you know?"

  All the more reason for Laurel and Hardy to wrap it up quickly. A situation that did not bode well for justice for Lacey…but greatly favored her killer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "So it looks like Kendra had a big fat motive for wanting Lacey dead," Dana said, as we made our way back to our golf cart.

  I nodded. "Agreed. What I want to know is if she has a big fat alibi."

  "You think she did it?" Dana asked.

  I pursed my lips together. "I'
m not sure. There's still the issue of the blackmail. Did Lacey have anything on Kendra?"

  Dana shrugged. "Maybe. But just because Lacey was blackmailing someone doesn't necessarily mean that person was the one who killed her."

  "Good point." No matter where I turned it seemed Lacey had made more fast enemies than good friends. Which meant that there were just as many motives floating around as there were shaky alibis.

  "Well promise to keep me posted," Dana said as we pulled up to Studio 6D, where she was filming that afternoon. "Justice calls!" She hopped out of the cart with a little wave.

  "Will do!" I promised. Then I navigated the golf cart back to the front of the studio parking lot where my minivan awaited me.

  I checked my cell. No calls or text from Ramirez. I resisted the urge to call home to see how things were going. Partly because I didn't want to hear that he had just put the children down for a nap, cleaned the entire house, pressed and folded the laundry, and baked a loaf of bread from scratch. Not that a worry Ramirez made a better mom than I did was niggling at the back of my head or anything.

  Instead, I decided to indulge the niggling in my stomach, reminding me that I'd skipped lunch. I navigated my way through the noon traffic-clogged streets around the studios, avoiding the trendy delis and hotspots. Instead I pulled up to one of my favorite out-of-the-way burger joints, Chubby Burger, ordering a double bacon cheeseburger with curly fries, onion rings, and a thick chocolate milkshake. Hey, being an investigator burned a lot of calories, right?

  I was halfway through my meal when my cell trilled to life in my purse. Wiping my fingers on a napkin to blot out most of the grease, I picked it up and saw Marco's name flash across the screen.

  "Hello?" I said, swiping it on.

  "Madds, darling, where are you?" Marco's voice came over the speakerphone

  "At lunch."

  "Fabulous. Where?"

  "Uh…" I looked around myself. "New place. Trendy. I'm sure you've never heard of it. Anyway, what's up?" I asked, glancing guiltily at my pile of calorie laden onion rings.