Danger in High Heels Read online

  I sighed. (Though the sound was swallowed up by Max's howls.) My husband was detective Jack Ramirez, L.A.P.D. Homicide. And, while we had both agreed that I, and not my husband, would be the one taking a hiatus from work when the twins arrived, I hadn't realized at the time that it meant I'd basically be a single mom most nights. Not that it was his fault. A notoriously unpredictable work schedule kinda came with the territory. I mean, it was hard to convince people to get killed just between the hours of nine and five.

  I looked down at the twins. "Well, I guess it's just you and me again tonight, noisemakers."

  * * *

  The next morning found the twins in a much better mood, my husband gone again before dawn, and me sipping a cup of very strong coffee across the living room floor from my best friend, Dana.

  "You didn't sleep again last night, did you?" Dana asked, stealing a glance at me over the rim of her coffee cup. Organic with soy milk and Stevia sweetener.

  "Does it show?" I responded, checking my eyes for lower lid bags in the fun-house style mirror attached to the twins' playmat.

  "Just a little," Dana said. "But I have some concealer samples that will do wonders."

  I sipped at my coffee (non-fat, no-calorie sweetener, sugar-free vanilla syrup) while I watched Dana dig into her purse.

  I first met Dana Dashel when we'd both attended John Adams Middle School in Reseda. She'd been the only other girl in seventh grade who understood the power of tasteful eye make-up. Her hair was a light strawberry blonde, her eyes a bright blue, and she was at least five inches taller than I was, bringing her within a breath of supermodel height. And her addiction to the gym was almost as strong as my addiction to junk food. (Or maybe I should say my pre-baby-weight addiction to junk food. I was currently at three months sugar-free and hating every minute of my glucose sobriety.)

  Dana was an actress who, in addition to landing several hot supporting roles lately, was the face of the Lover Girl cosmetics commercials. Which meant she always had free samples.

  I gratefully took the proffered concealer, applying a generous helping in the baby mirror.

  "Last night wasn't as bad as some," I told her. "I did get a solid three hour stretch at one point."

  "You should get out of the house," Dana told me. "Maybe some fresh air would wear them out."

  "Fresh air like at the mall?" I asked, warming to the idea.

  "Actually, I was thinking of visiting Ricky on set."

  Ricky Montgomery was Dana's boyfriend, a movie star, and had abs you could do laundry on. He and Dana were rivaling George Clooney and whatshername as the top celebrity couple in TMZ's latest polls. Ricky's current gig was on a reality show called Dancing with Celebrities. Ten celebrities from various walks of Hollywood life paired up with professional ballroom dancers to compete for the ultimate title of Celebrity Dance Champion. Each week they engaged in tricky tangos and wild waltzes for the viewing public, who then voted off their least favorite dancer/celebrity combo. They were only in week three of live competitions, but so far Ricky and his partner, Irina Sokolov, had been fan favorites. Not surprising since the show's demographic was mostly female, and Ricky was currently being touted as "Hollywood's most eligible bachelor" (according to People). Possibly one reason Dana was a frequent visitor on the set.

  "I wish I could," I said, sincerely meaning it. The costumes looked to die for on TV; I could only imagine the fabulosity in person. "But I'm not sure they'd be welcome," I added, gesturing to the pudgy pair of babies currently blowing raspberries at each other.

  "Are you kidding? They're so cute, I'm sure no one would mind them."

  "Right, no one would mind me bringing a pair of screaming infants to a closed set. And their huge diaper bag. And their milk, their changing pads, their playmobiles, their-"

  "Okay, okay, I get the point," Dana said holding her hands up.

  "Sorry, but I'm kinda homebound at the moment," I said, sipping my coffee again.

  Dana sighed, letting Max grab her finger with his chubby fist. "I want one of these."

  I raised an eyebrow at her. "I'll sell you one cheap."

  She grinned, elbowing me in the ribs. "No, I'm serious. I mean, I've always thought of myself as the motherly type."

  I raised the other eyebrow. "Really?" Honestly this was the first I'd heard of it. Dana had always been more of the film-opening type than the diaper-genie type.

  "Well, okay, maybe not always," she admitted, "but I can feel it ticking, you know. The 'biological clock,'" she said, rolling her eyes and doing air quotes. "I have a bad feeling its alarm may go off soon."

  I shook my head. "Honey, you have plenty of time." Dana was my age. I refused to think of any clock running out on either of us anytime soon.

  But Dana shook her head. "No. I don't. Not really. I mean, even if Ricky were to pop the question today, we'd need at least eighteen months to plan the wedding, then we'd want to go on an extended honeymoon, and we always said we'd like to travel a little before bringing kids into the picture, so we're looking at three years down the line before I even get pregnant. Then another nine months on top of that, and if we want him to have a sibling that could be another two years before baby number two comes along and then... boom! Too late. Hot flash city and I'm all barren."

  I blinked at her. "Wow. You've really thought this through."

  Dana sighed. "Well, I've had a lot of time to think about it. You realize that Ricky and I have been dating for almost three years now, and he's not so much as breathed a whisper of a ring."

  "I'm sorry," I said, laying a hand on her arm. "I didn't realize it's been that long."

  "It has." She tickled Max under his chin, resulting in a smile full of spit bubbles. "At this rate, I may never get one of these."

  "Well, listen, you are free to borrow mine any time you like."

  She smiled. "Thanks."

  "Hey, doesn't Dancing with Celebrities air on UBN?" I asked Dana, trying to steer the conversation back to more comfortable subjects than barrenness and blaring biological alarm clocks.

  Dana nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

  "Well, I just saw Felix yesterday..."

  Dana raised an eyebrow at me. "Tabloid Boy? What's he up to?"

  "The usual. He wanted to know about a schoolmate of mine who is working wardrobe for the network. He has a source who says someone is stealing clothes."

  "Ooooo, naughty. So, what did he want you to do? Go undercover? Investigate?" She asked.

  I frowned. "No. That's just it. He just wanted to know about her character. He didn't want me to do anything."

  Dana scrunched up her nose. "Why not? You're like totally good at finding things out."

  "I know, right?" I agreed. "He's got Allie Quick on it instead."

  Dana scrunched her forehead up to match her nose, making a face that would produce Botox-proof wrinkles if she wasn't careful. "You're way better at investigating than Allie."

  I shot her a grateful look. "Thanks."

  "Hey, you know what?" she said.

  I bit. "What?"

  "I bet Ricky could get us into wardrobe at UBN with no problem."

  "Really?" I asked.

  "Sure. I mean, he's there all the time. I bet he totally has access."

  I sucked in the side of my cheek. What harm would there be in just visiting the set, checking out the wardrobe department, and chatting with an old friend?

  "Ricky wouldn't mind?" I asked. "I mean, I don't want to cut into his rehearsal time."

  Dana waved me off. "Are you kidding? He's usually dying for an excuse to take a break. That Irina is a slave driver."

  I pursed my lips. In that case, it was almost irresponsible of me not to look into Felix's theft story. I sort of even owed it to Felix to help him out, right? I mean, I'm sure if I thought hard enough I could think of a time in the past when he'd helped me out. At the very least, he'd bought me two pomegranate margs at lunch. I really should return the favor.

  "An insider's view is something that Allie wou
ld never be able to get," I mused out loud, knowing that the network had a strict no-paparazzi policy. It did not, on the other hand, have a no-friends-of-the-girlfriends-of-its-stars policy.

  Dana nodded. "Totally. We'd be way inside."

  I looked down at the twins gurgling a little spit bubble symphony. "You know, if we could get them to nap in the car, maybe they'd be quiet on set after all."

  Chapter Three

  Only a scant forty-five minutes later I had the diaper bag packed, the bottles made, the extra outfits picked out and shoved in the bottom of my purse, baby toys, baby wipes, baby blankets, and two clean, semi-happy children strapped into car seats in the back of my Honda Odyssey.

  Yes, it's true. I now drove a minivan. With a "Baby on Board" sign suctioned to the back window. Commence laughing at me.

  When I'd first found out I was pregnant, I'd been hesitant about the ability of my little red Jeep to hold my new precious cargo. Sure it was awesome for buzzing around town with the top down on a sunny day, but it wasn't exactly the quintessential mom-mobile. But when I'd found out I was not having just one, but two little bundles of joy, I knew I was going to need a new car. I had resisted the minivan at first, looking at every four-door sedan and SUV on the market. But the truth was, the minivan was so easy. The doors opened on their own, the seats were big enough for two car seats plus all the baby gear, and there was even a built in TV in the back of each headrest for when the kids got old enough to stare at Elmo. So, I'd relented. Hanging my head in shame, I had bought a minivan.

  But I hadn't been able to completely let go of my first baby - my Jeep. It was still tucked away in the garage, just waiting for a time when a top-down, carefree day might come my way again. (Even if that didn't look likely for at least another eighteen years.)

  Thankfully the twins didn't mind car rides and did, in fact, sleep most of the way to the UBN Studios. Dana gave her name to the guard at the gates, which, of course, was on the list, and we were quickly ushered into a lot to our right where we parked and pulled out the twins' huge double stroller, ever so carefully attaching their car seats to the top to keep them asleep as we transferred them.

  The United Broadcasting Network was a fairly new network, cropping up on basic cable and vying for valuable Nielsen airtime with the big boys of NBC, CBS, and ABC. They started out filling the prime-time sitcom void with fresh premises and out-of-the-box humor, then graduated to the mother lode of ratings grabbers with a string of reality shows. They had a show about an aging rock star's crazy teenage kids, a weight loss show featuring flab to fab results of former child stars, and, of course, Dancing with Celebrities, which, thanks to featuring an eclectic cast including a Teen Mom whose fifteen minutes of fame should have ended hours ago, a former NFL player turned tranny, and heart-throb Ricky, this season had launched the network into the front-runner of the ratings race. Personally, I was addicted and voted for Ricky every week.

  The network studios themselves looked shockingly like any other office building complex in Los Angeles. Squat, stucco buildings with brown clay-tiled roofs were arranged around a central courtyard with a bubbling fountain and tasteful landscaping. Behind the offices sat a row of warehouses that housed sets for the various TV shows currently shooting. Interspersed between the warehouses were white trailers, holding mobile wardrobe racks, props, and designer coffee drinks. Dana and I pushed the monster stroller down an alleyway lined with white trailers stopping at studio 3B, where a bright orange sign above the door proclaimed it was home to Dancing with Celebrities.

  Dana and I walked through the large doors that reminded me of the ones on our garage at home, immediately assaulted by the sounds of the rumba being blasted at top volume. The cameras were absent today, but a dozen guys in cargo shorts and T-shirts reading "crew" laid cables, arranged microphones, and adjusted lights, getting positions ready to capture the dance from all angles once they went live. To our right sat a set of bleachers, empty now but ready to hold the live studio audience once shooting began on Wednesday. To the left was a bandstand, though the rumba we currently heard was not being shouted out by a live horn section but by speakers hidden in the ceiling somewhere. And in the center of the room was a polished, hardwood stage, bathed in bright spotlights, where Ricky and Irina were dancing their hearts out in sparkly, sequined outfits. Ricky's was a tuxedo style pantsuit, and Irina's a skin-tight, red dress that ended just below her butt.

  Dana took one look at the barely-there skirt, and a frown settled between her brows. Her jaw clenched, and her lips set in a grim, tight line, jealousy radiating off of her.

  I put a hand on her arm in a show of support as I watched Ricky and Irina finish their rumba, seriously impressed at Ricky's moves. While the sweat on his forehead indicated that he was working hard to keep up with Irina, the fact that just two months ago he'd never even heard of the rumba, let alone attempted the ballroom dance, was pretty amazing. I had a feeling he might even be in the running to win the whole competition.

  The music finally ended with Ricky and Irina striking a stunning pose as he held her high off the dance floor. As soon as he set her down, Ricky spotted us and sauntered over, pausing only long enough to grab a water bottle from the Craft Service table.

  "Hey, babe," he said, coming in to give Dana a kiss.

  "Eww, you're all sweaty," she giggled, though I noticed she didn't move away as his lips hit her cheek.

  "What are you ladies doing here?" he asked.

  "Oh, we just thought you could use a visit," Dana replied.

  He grinned at her. "You just can't stay away, can you?"

  "You know you love the attention," she teased.

  His grinned widened as he looked past her. "And I see you brought babies with you."

  "Don't worry," I quickly reassured him. "I'm outta here if they start screaming."

  Ricky waved me off. "Who, these little guys? I can't imagine them causing any trouble," he said. Though, he did look slightly relieved. "So what do you think of my rumba?" he asked, gesturing to the dance floor.

  "Awesome!" I said, the fan girl in me coming out. "Ohmigod, you and Irina are amazing together."

  Dana's tight frown returned.

  "I mean, you dance amazingly together," I quickly backpedaled.

  "Thanks," Ricky said, chugging his water. "I swear the football workouts I did in high school were nowhere near this hard. These dancer chicks are hard core."

  As much as I was enjoying talking dance, I knew I was on borrowed time before the munchkins started screaming again. I figured I'd better get to the point of the visit.

  "Hey, do you happen to know where wardrobe is?" I asked.

  Ricky shrugged. "For which show?"

  Good question. "Actually, I'm looking for Lana Paulson. She's head of wardrobe for the network."

  Recognition dawned in Ricky's eyes. "Sure. She's in the big, white building at the back of the lot."

  "Awesome." I paused. "Do you happen to know her?" I asked.

  He nodded. "She does all our costumes."

  I cocked my head to the side. "I would have thought she had assistants doing the actual costuming."

  "She does," he agreed. "For most shows. But DWC is like the granddaddy of costume shows, you know? She said she's waited her whole life for a gig like this."

  I suddenly felt bad for her. If she had waited her whole life, then someone was stealing her creations and ruining that one chance, she was in trouble.

  "There's a rumor going around that someone is stealing items from her," I told him.

  Ricky paused a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. "That would explain a lot."

  "Explain what?" I asked, jumping on the phrase.

  "Well, last week they had to shut down production for a day," he said, echoing the story Felix had told me. "We were supposed to be doing a dress rehearsal, and Lana couldn't find the sequined gown Shaniqua was supposed to wear for her tango."

  "Shaniqua – the football player turned…" I paused, searching for t
he appropriately PC term.

  "Turned chick," Ricky supplied for me, clearly not as concerned with PC as I was. "She used to be Shawn Jones. She's actually really cool. I'd offer to introduce you, but she's rehearsing next door right now."

  "So, the gown. It was stolen?" I asked.

  He shook his head. "No, just misplaced. But the director was pissed. He was shouting at Lana so loudly she was crying. I kinda felt bad for her. I mean, we all misplace stuff sometimes, you know?"

  "So it wasn't stolen?" I asked. I'll admit it, stolen gowns were the most excitement I'd seen in months. I was kind of disappointed to see it slipping away as nothing more than an absentminded wardrobe woman trying to save her job.

  "No. She did eventually find it. It was stuck in the wrong wardrobe rack. We all just figured she forgot where she put it."

  "What about the other items?" I asked him. "I heard there were two other items missing before the gown. Were they ever found?"

  Ricky shrugged. "Sorry. This is the first I've heard of it. You'd have to ask Lana, I guess."

  "Any idea who has access to wardrobe?" I asked.

  Ricky squinted past me. "Well, it's housed in the wardrobe building overnight and locked up pretty tight. But during the day, they bring it all on set. Some goes in our dressing rooms, some stays in the trailer. It's honestly all over. Anyone could grab an item unnoticed, really."

  Which was good and bad for Felix's story. It proved that theft was possible, but it didn't narrow down a field of suspects any.

  "Ricky, Irina's ready to go over the footwork again," a guy in a black crew shirt yelled from across the room.

  "Sorry. Duty calls," Ricky said. Then he gave Dana a quick peck on the cheek before running over to stand in the spotlight. Irina appeared again on set to join him, lifting her head high, elongating her dancer's neck, as she took Ricky's hands in hers, standing frozen in their first pose as they waited for the music to start.

  Max stirred in his stroller, and I held my breath, hoping he kept quiet long enough to watch. I did some stroller jiggling as the music started.