Sweetheart in High Heels Page 3

  “You’re Gage?” I guessed.

  He nodded.

  “And you were Peach’s business partner?”

  Again with the nod, but he didn’t speak. This was going to be harder than I thought.

  “So, what, exactly was the partnership?”

  Gage shrugged. “It was a 50/50 split. I’m not exactly a people person-”

  Shocker.

  “- but Peach had the personality to deal with the public. I was more behind the scenes. I did the ordering, books, inventory. Peach did all the customer service stuff. She also did some product development.”

  “Product development?” I asked, hoping I didn’t live to regret the question.

  “Peach was very creative. She came up with a few original items. Our personal massagers do very well, and her line of latex wear is selling off the charts,” he said, gesturing to the wall of rubber clothes I’d noticed the day before.

  “So, business is good, then?” Dana asked.

  He grinned wide, showing off a pair of gold teeth in front. “It’s great. The economy tanks, and people are depressed and looking for cheap fun. Can’t get any cheaper or more fun than sex, right? Sales were up 10% this month.”

  I couldn’t help being impressed. Sales had decreased 3% in the fashion industry.

  “Did Peach have any enemies?” I asked, switching gears. “Anyone you can think of that might have wanted to hurt her?”

  Gage shook his head. “Not really. Peach was the sweetest person ever. It’s got to be some random weirdo. I mean, most of our clientele was your average Joe looking to spice things up with the missus, but once in a while we did get a crazy in here.”

  “Did Peach mention any crazies in particular? Anyone giving her trouble?”

  He shook his head. “Not to me. Sorry.”

  “She was dating someone,” Dana prompted. “Vic I think his name was. Do you know where we can find him?”

  He shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t get into her personal life. But I’m sure her roommate would know.”

  “You have an address for her?” I asked.

  Gage nodded, then grabbed a Post-it from behind the counter and wrote Peach’s address down on it.

  “Thanks,” I said as he handed it over.

  “Anything else?” Gage asked. “’Cause I’ve got a ton of work to do now getting orders filled on my own.”

  “Um, just one more question,” I said slowly, trying to figure a way to word this that wouldn’t be construed as an accusation. “Uh… can you tell us where you were yesterday when she was killed?”

  He barked out a laugh. “Really? You think I killed Peach? I mean, why on earth would I do that?”

  “We’re just covering all bases,” I assured him.

  He shook his head. “Look, without Peach, I’m sunk. I gotta deal with customers, which bites, you know? I need to find a new front person fast.”

  “And now that she’s gone, who gets her 50% of the business?” Dana piped up.

  Oooo… good question! I leaned in waiting to hear how he answered it.

  Gage paused, then crossed his arms over his chest again in an unconsciously protective gesture. “I do.”

  Dana and I shot each other a look.

  “What? What was that look?” Gage asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “I didn’t kill her. Look, the business was more of an asset to me with her here. Owning 50% of a thriving business was a lot better than having to deal with the whole thing myself.”

  That made a certain sense, I supposed, but I wasn’t totally convinced. And it must have shown on my face because he added, “Look, you want to know who had issues with Peach, talk to her roommate.” He pointed to the Post-it he’d given me.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She and Peach had a big fight just last week.”

  “Really?” I asked. “About what?’

  “I don’t know the details, but Peach came in here all pissed off, ranting about how her roommate wouldn’t leave.”

  “Leave?” Dana asked. “Peach was kicking her out?”

  Gage nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Beats me. Ask the roommate.”

  Believe me, I intended to.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later we pulled up to Peach’s house. It was a small bungalow on a street lined with palm trees, small front yards, and friendly looking garden gnomes. The homes weren’t large, but were big on old Hollywood charm, and I knew the zip code carried a hefty price tag. Just blocks from prime shopping and restaurants, I could see why Peach’s roommate wouldn’t want to leave. But would she be willing to kill to stay, was the question.

  I parked my Jeep at the curb and we walked up the paved pathway to Peach’s front door. I gave a knock, and two beats later it was opened by a slim woman with jet black hair and a healthy smattering of tattoos down her sleeveless arms. Her eyes were rimmed in red like she’d been crying, and a tissue was clutched in her right hand.

  “Celia?” I asked.

  She frowned, her gaze going from Dana to me. “Who’s asking?”

  “Uh, my name is Maddie Springer, and this is Dana. She was a friend of Peach’s,” I said, stretching the truth just a little. “We were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about your roommate.”

  Celia bit her lip. “This isn’t really a good time,” she said. Then punctuated the statement with a loud sniff.

  I nodded. “Right. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

  Celia turned to Dana. “You were a friend of Peach’s?”

  “Um, yeah. We met at the shop.”

  Celia nodded. “It’s hard to believe she’s really gone, you know? I mean, it’s like some sort of bad dream or something.”

  “The police think Peach was killed deliberately,” I said. “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Peach?”

  Celia shook her head. “No. Peach was a total sweetheart. Look, why don’t you come inside.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as Dana and I stepped over the threshold into the living room.

  The bungalow was small but cozy, two big sofas taking up the bulk of the room. A fireplace sat on one wall, a bright stained-glass screen covering its dormant mouth, and the hardwood floor was covered in patterned rugs. The surfaces were free of clutter, and it looked as if someone had recently been on a cleaning binge, not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere, and a lingering scent of Windex hung the air.

  Celia sat on one of the sofas, pulling her legs up under her. Dana and I perched on the opposite seat.

  “How long had you and Peach been roommates?” I started.

  Celia pursed her lips together. “About two years. We met through a mutual friend just after I moved to L.A. She had a spare room, and I was looking. It worked out perfectly.” She paused, then looked down at her hands. “At least it did.”

  “So, Peach owned the house?”

  Celia nodded. “She inherited it from her grandmother a few years ago.”

  “It’s a nice neighborhood,” Dana said, dropping a subtle hint and leaning into gauge Celia’s reaction.

  But Celia just nodded again. “Yeah. I like it.”

  “It would be a shame to have to leave a neighborhood like this,” Dana said.

  Celia paused. She looked from me to Dana. “It would,” she hedged. “What are you getting at?”

  So much for our subtlety skills.

  “We heard that you and Peach had an argument last week,” I said. “That she was kicking you out and you didn’t want to go. Is that true?”

  “Yes and no,” she said.

  “That’s pretty vague,” I pointed out.

  “Okay, yes. Peach was talking about me moving out, but it’s not what you think.”

  “What do we think?” Dana asked.

  “We were getting along fine, there were no problems between Peach and I.”

  “But she wanted you out.”

  “Peach thought her boyfriend was about to propose. If he did
, she said they’d want some privacy here. That’s all.”

  “So, why did you two argue.”

  Celia pursed her lips together. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset Peach, but I told her I thought that was a big if.”

  “Why is that?” I asked.

  “They’d only been dating a couple months.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That’s fast,” I said, remembering the two years it took Ramirez to pop the question to me.

  Dana must have had the same thought as she leaned in and whispered, “Ricky and I have been dating for eighteen months!”

  I ignored her, turning to Celia again. “If they’d just started dating, why did Peach think he was going to propose?”

  “I guess she’d been dropping hints about settling down, and two weeks ago she saw a ring box hidden in his sock drawer. She said she didn’t open it, because she didn’t want to totally spoil the surprise, but she was sure he was going to pop the question soon.”

  “And she didn’t like hearing that you weren’t,” I said, imagining how that conversation played out.

  Celia shook her head. “Like I said, I didn’t mean to upset her, but I didn’t want her to be disappointed either, you know?”

  “So you weren’t worried about moving out?’ Dana asked.

  Celia shrugged. “If a ring was in the box, if he popped the question, and if he wanted to move in here. That’s a lot of ifs.”

  She had a good point. And, while a nice rental in L.A. was hard to come by, I had a tough time picturing the woman before me killing to stay in this one. But, just in case, I asked, “Where were you yesterday morning?”

  Celia blinked at me. “Here. Why?”

  “Alone?” Dana asked.

  “Yeah. Alone. I’d had a late night and was sleeping in.”

  Not exactly an airtight alibi, I noted.

  “This guy that Peach was seeing,” I asked, “Know where we can find him?”

  Celia nodded, then dug into her back pocket and came out with a cell. “Peach was staying there a couple nights a week, so she gave me the number for emergencies.” She rattled it off, and Dana punched it into her own cell.

  We thanked Celia for her time, then as soon as we got back in the Jeep, Dana dialed the boyfriend on speaker phone.

  Four rings in, he finally picked up.

  “Hello?” came a gravelly voice.

  “Vic? Hi, my name is Dana. I was a friend of Peach’s.”

  The guy on the other end sniffed loudly. “Oh,” he said. Then did another sniff. “It’s terrible, huh?”

  Dana nodded in the car. “Terrible. Look, I was wondering if maybe we could meet. I have a few questions I’d love to ask you about Peach.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice low. “Sure. I guess so. For Peach.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought I heard his voice crack on that last statement. If it wasn’t actual grief consuming him, he was doing a hell of an acting job.

  We agreed to meet up at a coffee place near his house, and twenty minutes later Dana and I had our second round of lattes for the day. We settled into a table near the back and a couple minutes later a tall, dark haired man walked in. His eyes were rimmed in red, and his shirt was miss-buttoned, leaving an extra hole on one side. Taking a wild guess, I hailed him over to our table.

  “Vic?” I asked as he approached.

  He nodded, then said, “Hi,” in a somber voice, shaking hands first with Dana then me.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said, feeling like a broken record.

  He nodded again. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said. His voice came out as a cross between Ross from Friends and Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. Then again, considering the circumstances, I hardly expected peppy.

  “You were friends of hers?” he asked us.

  “Dana was,” I said gesturing to her.

  “I can’t believe she’s really gone,” he said.

  “You’d known Peach a couple months?” I asked.

  “Yeah. We met at club on Sunset. I was drawn to her immediately. She was just so sweet.”

  That seemed to be the consensus. On the other hand, sweet people usually didn’t have the kind of enemies that stabbed them to death.

  “You had a good relationship?”

  “The best!”

  “So good you were going to propose, right?” Dana asked.

  Vic blinked at her, shock registering clearly on his face. “Propose? God, where did you hear that?”

  “So, you weren’t going to ask her to marry you?” I clarified.

  “No. God, no. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I totally dug Peach. But we’d only been dating a couple months. No way were we ready to get married.”

  “Peach thought you were,” Dana said. “She thought you were going to pop the question soon.”

  Vic shook his head. “Why on earth would she think that?’

  I cleared my throat. “Uh… apparently she found a ring box in your sock drawer.”

  Vic did some more blinking, then sat back in his chair. “It was an earring box. I bought her earrings for Valentine’s Day. Geeze, she really thought I was going to propose?”

  Dana leaned in and whispered to me, “I knew no man could propose in two months!”

  I ignored her, instead asking Vic, “The morning Peach died… where were you?”

  “Home, I guess.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yeah. I telecommute. Why?”

  I shrugged. “No reason. Just checking.”

  We thanked the still shocked Vic for his time, told him again how very sorry we were for his loss, and left.

  “So,” I said when we got back to the car, “we have a boyfriend who isn’t proposing, a roommate who isn’t being kicked out, and a business partner who isn’t losing money.”

  ”And a victim everyone described as super sweet,” Dana said.

  I turned to her. “Did you think she was sweet?’

  Dana bit her lip. Then nodded. “Yeah. She really was. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

  Which left us back at square one. This was proving to be a much harder Valentine’s anniversary present than I’d thought.

  Chapter Four

  Dana had to meet Ricky for a “thing in the Hills”, so I dropped her off at her place. She gave me a hug goodbye along with a reminder that tomorrow was the Viewer’s Choice Awards, and we had 9 AM appointments at Fernando’s for our hair. I promised I’d meet her there, then headed home myself. On the off chance that Ramirez might come home for food and a nap again tonight, I decided to have a nice home-cooked meal ready for him. Taking stock of the ingredients I had on hand, then searching through AllRecipes.com’s database, I came up with pot roast. I chopped, spiced, boiled, and simmered all afternoon, and by the time I heard Ramirez’s key in the lock, I had to admit, it smelled pretty good in there.

  “Hey,” he said, throwing his keys on the kitchen counter. “What smells so good?”

  “I made pot roast,” I said, beaming with domestic goddess pride.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You made it?”

  I swatted him with a dishtowel. “Watch it, buster.”

  He grinned. “All right, I give in. Hand me a plate. But, I have to make it quick. I gotta get back down town in an hour.”

  “That’s it? All you get is an hour?” I asked, doing my best to hide my disappointment as I dished him up a serving.

  “ME’s report came in on Peach. We need to get back to the CSU lab.”

  “Why?’ I asked, my ear perking up. “What was in the report?”

  “Lots.”

  “Very funny. Care to elaborate?”

  “Well, guess how she died,” he said, leaning back on his heels, a small smirk of I-know-something-you-don’t-know playing on his lips.

  “Um, stabbing? Or bleeding out or whatever you guys call that,” I guessed, stating the obvious.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Turns out the stabbings were post mortem.”

  I frowned. “Wait – post? That means she was
already dead?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why would someone stab her if she was already dead?”

  Ramirez shrugged. “That’s a great question. Could be they didn’t know she was dead. Or maybe they were trying to make the murder look like something it wasn’t. Could be they were even trying to get rid of evidence by confusing the crime scene. Hard to tell at this point.”

  I pondered this. Dana and I had been going on the theory that the murder was personal based on the stabbing. But if Peach had been killed another way, maybe someone was trying to make it look like it was more personal than it really was. Which begged the question…

  “So, how did she really die?” I asked.

  “Asphyxiation.”

  “She was strangled?”

  “Or suffocated. We didn’t find any obvious ligature marks on her neck, but the ME did say she had the telltale petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes that indicated lack of oxygen.”

  “So, someone suffocates Peach, then stabs her multiple times?” I shook my head. “Kinda seems like overkill.”

  “You’re telling me. Double the wounds, double the missing weapons, double the paperwork. Which,” he said, “is why I only have an hour to eat and get back out there.” He stabbed at a piece of beef and brought the fork to his mouth. He chewed, paused, did a kind of grimace, then slowly swallowed.

  “What do you think of the roast?” I asked hesitantly.

  He looked down, finding a piece of lint on his shirt inordinately interesting. “It’s good.”

  “You can’t look me in the eye and say that, can you?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No.” I sighed. “Go grab a burger.”

  Ramirez grinned. “And that’s why I love you.” He leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. Then he grabbed his keys and called, “Don’t wait up,” over his shoulder before shutting the front door behind him,

  Leaving me alone for the evening.

  Again.

  * * *

  While I would have liked to follow up with a couple of our suspects, the following day was, as Dana had reminded me, the Viewer’s Choice Awards, which meant a morning of visiting the hair stylist, the make-up artist, and the nail artist, and then finally squeezing ourselves into Spanx and skin tight dresses in order for our limos to be outside the Kodak Theater in Hollywood to walk the red carpet before the show started taping live for the east coast viewers at 2pm.