Sweetheart in High Heels Read online

  Here’s what critics are saying about the

  High Heels Mysteries:

  "A saucy combination of romance and suspense that is simply irresistible."

  - Chicago Tribune

  "Stylish... nonstop action...guaranteed to keep chick lit and mystery fans happy!"

  - Publishers’ Weekly, starred review

  "Blending romance and humor, Maddie and her madcap friends are an enjoyable treat."

  - Parkersburg Sentinel

  "It's rare to find a romantic mystery that's so funny, but this is certainly one of them. Maddie Springer (is) a ‘Versace’ Nancy Drew everyone can appreciate."

  - Press & Sun Bulletin

  "Maddie Springer is like a cross between Paris Hilton and Stephanie Plum, only better. The dialogue is snappy and the suspense beautifully interwoven with Ms. Halliday’s unique humor. This is one HIGH HEEL you’ll want to try on again and again "

  - Romance Junkies

  OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  Viva Las Vegas

  High Heels Mysteries:

  Spying in High Heels

  Killer in High Heels

  Undercover in High Heels

  Alibi in High Heels

  Mayhem in High Heels

  Christmas in High Heels (short story)

  Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)

  Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

  Scandal Sheet

  The Perfect Shot

  Deadline (coming soon!)

  SHORT STORIES & NOVELLAS

  BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

  Haunted (novella)

  Watching You (short story)

  Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)

  * * * * *

  SWEETHEART IN HIGH HEELS

  by

  GEMMA HALLIDAY

  * * * * *

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2011 by Gemma Halliday

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Kindle Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  * * * * *

  SWEETHEART IN HIGH HEELS

  * * * * *

  Chapter One

  Being the wife of a cop isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Take now, for instance. I was supposed to be having a nice, romantic dinner with my husband at our favorite Italian restaurant. The ambiance was perfect – drippy candles, couples holding hands at tables for two, soft music, dim lighting, and me in a brand new black, strapless dress that perfectly matched the new slingbacks on my freshly pedicured feet. The only thing missing from my romantic evening?

  The man.

  I was sitting at the table alone, enjoying my third helping of bread as I waited for my husband who was now… I looked down at the readout on my cell phone… officially twenty minutes late.

  Not that I wasn’t used to Ramirez showing up late. It had actually become kind of a theme in our marriage so far. My husband was Detective Jack Ramirez, L.A.P.D. homicide division. To say his work schedule was unpredictable would be the understatement of the century. Most of the time, I tried not to let it bother me. I was, after all, self-employed as a high-end footware designer, so it wasn’t hard to set my own work hours around his. Sure, it meant some late nights alone and some early mornings listening to his cell go off as the captain called him into investigate another dead body abandoned on their precinct’s turf. But usually I could let those minor annoyances roll off me as par for the course being a cop’s wife.

  Usually.

  Tonight had been a special night. One we’d planned weeks in advance. I’d checked and double checked to make sure he was scheduled to have the night off. I’d even reminded him that morning about our seven o’-clock reservation.

  And yet, here I was. Alone.

  Again.

  Some days, I wished I’d married a nice reliable plumber.

  My cell rang in the sparkly silver purse I’d picked out to match my slingbacks, and I checked the readout. Ramirez.

  “Hey,” I said, hitting the on button. “Where are you?” I silently prayed he’d say on the 405, stuck in traffic on his way to meet me.

  “Maddie, I’m so sorry,” he started.

  Damn. No good news ever began that way.

  “Sorry for being just a few minutes late to dinner?” I asked hopefully.

  Ramirez sighed on the other end. “Look, I’m really, really sorry, but I’m not going to be able to make dinner tonight after all.”

  I felt my hope melt faster than the romantic candle in the center of my table for one. “Great.”

  “I wish I could be there,” Ramirez quickly added.

  “Who is it this time?” I asked.

  “Who?”

  “The dead body. I am assuming you’re standing me up for a dead body, right?”

  I could hear a pause on the other end. “I’m really sorry. But, yeah, we’ve got a body in Chatsworth.”

  It took a certain kind of girl to keep from taking it personally that her husband routinely chose dead bodies over her.

  Too bad I wasn’t that kind of girl.

  “Again?” I moaned, unable to keep the whiney toddler out of my voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Ramirez repeated for the umpteenth time. “Look, I gotta go.”

  “Will I see you later?” I asked, signaling the server for our bill. Which, hopefully, would be small considering all I’d had was bread and water.

  I could hear Ramirez shaking his head in response on the other end. “I doubt it. Looks like it’s going to be a late night. It sounds like it’s a real mess over here.” Even as he said it, I could hear sirens in the background, signaling he was approaching the scene.

  “Fine,” I said, not even trying to keep the sulk out of my voice. “I guess I’ll see you… sometime.”

  “Sorry, Maddie,” Ramirez said again. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

  Then he hung up.

  I looked across the restaurant at a couple in the corner, holding hands, smiling at each other, sharing a bottle of the same wine Ramirez and I had planned on ordering.

  What did you want to bet he was a plumber?

  * * *

  “He left you alone at Giseppi’s?” My best friend, Dana, stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes as she cranked her elliptical up to nine.

  I nodded. “Yes. Again,” I added for emphasis. I took a long sip from my water bottle. Even though my machine was only on four, I was sweating twice as hard as Dana. To say I was a regular at the gym would be a bigger exaggeration than calling Snookie a celebrity. Usually it took an act of God or a too tight favorite pair of jeans to get me here. B
ut when Dana had called me that morning, I’d been in the mood to blow off a little steam, and the gym seemed like as a good a place as any to do that. So, I’d relented. A decision I was having serious second thoughts about now as I sweated a river.

  “Geeze, Maddie, I’m so sorry. I know you were looking forward to a night out finally.”

  “And you know what’s even worse?” I added.

  “It gets worse?”

  “He didn’t even come home last night. Called from the station around midnight saying he was pulling another all-nighter. That’s three this week. I swear I fall asleep to Conan more than I sleep with my husband.”

  “Dude. Sucks,” Dana said, shaking her head in sympathy as she ratcheted her machine up another notch.

  “Tell me about it,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, hey! I know what will cheer you up,” Dana said.

  “What?”

  “Shopping. You picked out your awards dress yet?’ she asked.

  Last year I had been lucky enough to land a gig as the shoe designer for a period film that was nominated for a Viewer’s Choice Award for best picture. Not that I, as the lowly shoe designer, would get an award if we won, but it had garnered me an invitation to the red carpet event – my very first.

  I nodded. “Yep. I decided to go with the vintage Versace.”

  “The black one?”

  “With the rhinestones.”

  “So pretty,” Dana cooed.

  “And, I designed the perfect shoes to go with them. They just arrived yesterday. Gorgeous.”

  Dana let out a girlie “eek!” and scrunched up her shoulders. “I can’t wait to see them!”

  “Okay, enough about me,” I said, the thought of red caret fashion pulling me out of my pity-party for one. “Tell me about your night out with Ricky.”

  Dana rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Where to even begin?”

  “That good, huh?”

  “Well, Ricky had this thing to go to on Wilshire. Some big shot producer’s birthday party. But the paparazzi must have got wind of it somehow, because they chased us all the way from his place in Hollywood to the event. It was like we had our own parade with flash bulbs going off all over the place.”

  Dana was dating Ricky Montgomery, the movie star. He’d started his career on the primetime drama Magnolia Lane, playing a gardener so hunky that every desperate housewife on the street lusted after him. But three seasons in, his character had been killed in a Homeowner’s Association riot, and Ricky had moved on to film roles, the latest of which had just launched him from supporting actor to full-fledged leading man status. On the up side, he’d been able to pull some strings and get Dana a part playing opposite him, meaning that my actress slash aerobics instructor best friend had finally been able to drop the slash aerobics instructor part of her job description. On the downside, she’d been featured on TMZ twice already with less-than-flattering photos of her leaving Ricky’s place early in the morning, post-party and pre-coffee. Living in the public eye had its price. (Even if that price was in the millions per picture.)

  “But was the party good?” I asked, huffing as I lowered my machine down a level.

  Dana shrugged. “I guess. I mean, it was all business, you know? Schmoozing with the right agents, rubbing elbows with the right producers. I never thought partying would be so much work. But at least Ricky made it up to me when we got back to his place.”

  She grinned. But then must have seen the look on envy my face, as she quickly said. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. Look, I’m sure Ramirez will make it up to you soon, too.”

  “That’s what he keeps promising,” I agreed, though I had my doubts about his ability to make good on that promise before his captain called him in again.

  “Well, what about Valentine’s Day?” Dana asked. “Surely you guys have something special planned?”

  I nodded. “Definitely.”

  Not only was this coming Saturday our first Valentine’s Day together as a married couple, but it was also our first anniversary. Yes, we’d gotten married on the most romantic holiday of all. And I was determined that our first anniversary would top it.

  “I rented us a room at the Beverly Hilton Hotel. The honeymoon suite. Complete with champagne, caviar, and a hot tub for two.”

  “Ooooo,” Dana said. “Very romantic.”

  “The only problem,” I told her, “is that I have no idea what to get Ramirez for a Valentine’s anniversary gift.”

  “Lingerie?” she suggested.

  “That’s more for me, isn’t it?”

  “Not if it’s the right lingerie,” Dana said waggling her eyebrows up and down.

  I grinned. “Point taken. But I was hoping to come up with something a little more personal.”

  “How about a personal love poem?”

  I actually snorted at that suggestion. Out loud. (Though, in my defense, I’d been working out for over an hour. I was lucky I could produce breath at all, let alone a snort.) Ramirez was a cop. A tall, broad shouldered cop with a scar over one eyebrow and a tattoo of a panther running down his arm. Tough Guy didn’t even begin to describe Ramirez. Not that he didn’t have feelings. I’m sure he did. In fact, I knew he did, or I never would have married him. But I was pretty sure he did love poems about the same way I did boxing… with one eye shut and cringing the whole time.

  “No. Love poem is out.”

  Dana pursed her lips together, thinking. “Okay, well what about something sexy. Like… handcuffs?”

  “He’s a cop. He already has handcuffs.”

  “Fur lined ones?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Vetoed.”

  “Okay, maybe not handcuffs. But I know this place that has all kinds of sexy stuff like that.”

  “I don’t know…” I hedged.

  “Trust me, it will be fun.”

  “What’s the place called?”

  “Peach’s Pleasure Den.”

  “It sounds like a sex shop.”

  “It’s very classy.”

  “A classy sex shop?”

  “Come on, Maddie,” Dana said, turning to me and shutting off her machine. “A couple sensual toys might be just what you need to keep Ramirez sleeping at home more often, you know what I mean?”

  Honestly? It had been so long I almost didn’t know what she meant.

  Which, even though I still had my reservations, prompted me to nod in agreement. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go look.”

  Dana grinned. A big, wicked thing that instantly had me second guessing my decision.

  “Look!” I emphasized. “Just look.”

  * * *

  Peach’s Pleasure Den was located two blocks south of Laurel Canyon in Studio City, right between a dry cleaner and production company with the NBC logo emblazoned on the side of the building. In the windows of the Pleasure Den were mannequins dressed in bright red lingerie with little pink feathers and hearts placed in strategic places. The sign above the door flashed “open” in pink neon, and the sign to the right of the window said to ask about their latest latex fetish gear.

  I was having serious second (and third, and fourth) thoughts.

  “You know, I’m not sure this is really Ramirez’s kind of place.”

  “Trust me, Maddie,” Dana said, grabbing me by the arm and steering me inside. “This is every man’s kind of place.”

  The second we stepped through the doors, I felt a blush hit my cheeks.

  To our right was a tall counter holding a cash register and an assortment of condoms in bright colors and, if the sign beside them was to be believed, “tantalizing flavors”. To our left was a rack of shelves displaying various facsimiles of the male anatomy made out of rubber and plastic– most in sizes I was pretty sure real guys never came in. Behind the rack was a wall of leather collars, whips, and straps that I’d bet my favorite stilettos would leave Ramirez even more speechless than a love poem. And on the far wall was what looked like rubber clothing in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes, all studded with thick metal zippers.<
br />
  “You know what?” I said, taking it all in. “Maybe some nice lingerie would do the trick after all. I hear Victoria’s Secret is having a sale. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed Dana’s arm, but she shook me off.

  “Relax, Maddie. I’m sure Peach can suggest something that’s just your speed.”

  I hoped she wasn’t talking literally as I eyed the display of “super powered vibrating friends”.

  “Peach?’ Dana called out, rounding the counter that held the register. A doorway behind it led to what I’d guess was a stockroom or office. “You here, Peach?” Dana called through the open doorway.

  No one answered.

  “She’s probably in the back,” Dana decided. “Wait here, and I’ll go get her.”

  “You’re leaving me alone?” I asked, my voice going higher than I’d have liked.

  Dana grinned. “Geeze, Maddie. They’re just toys. They don’t bite.” She paused. “Well, most of them. I’d stay away from the vampire fetish section if I were you.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but before I had the chance, she’d disappeared.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, somehow feeling unnerved being surrounded by all the… sex. Which of course, was ridiculous. I was a grown woman. I was a married woman. So some people liked a little plastic in the mix while they had sex. Big deal, right?

  Once I had myself halfway convinced that I was handling this new experience like a worldly adult, I dared to venture toward a shelf labeled, “Romantic Games.” I was looking for romantic. And I liked monopoly. Maybe a game was the thing.

  I picked one up called “Truth or Dare”. I’d played a version of that at junior high sleepovers. Maybe this would be fun. Maybe Dana was right – Ramirez might get a kick out of this. I turned the box over and read the rules. I only got halfway down – between the hot wax card and the whipped cream penalty - when I realized this was not monopoly. I set the box back on the shelf.