Danger in High Heels Read online

  I shot him a look. "Relaxing? Seriously? Have you met our children? I think it's been three months since I've peed alone."

  He grinned. "But they're cute, aren't they?"

  "Very," I agreed. "And worth every sleepless, demanding moment, which is why I'm going to ignore the sexist undertones in their father's statement. However, what about Ricky?"

  "What about him?"

  "Those cops were looking at him like he was a suspect."

  "Look, leave Ricky's well-being to me."

  I narrowed my eyes. "So you'll make sure they know that Ricky did not kill that girl?"

  "I will make sure that all evidence is processed, all leads are followed, and the guilty party goes to jail."

  "You didn't mention Ricky's innocence in there."

  "No. I didn't." He grabbed a couple slices of ham and tossed them in his mouth.

  "You don't think he actually had anything to do with this, do you?" I asked.

  "Off the record?" he asked, around his mouthful. "No. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I let personal feelings interfere with an investigation."

  "Hmm," I responded, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Ramirez paused again. "I give. What does 'Hmm' mean?"

  I shrugged. "Nothing."

  "Maddie..."

  "Nothing. I trust you to do your job."

  He narrowed his eyes at me. "Hmm," he said, mimicking my unconvincing sound.

  I grinned and couldn't help leaning in for a kiss. "You're cute when you're trying to be all stern and commanding."

  Ramirez shook his head at me, though I could tell my "cute" comment softened the look in his eyes some. "Leave this one alone, Maddie. Ricky's under a lot of scrutiny right now. If you go nosing around, you may end up causing him more harm than help."

  I bit my lip. I hated to admit it, but he did have a point. I had a bad feeling that while Ricky was no killer, he almost certainly was guilty of stepping out on Dana. A story the press would be dying to run with. The last thing I wanted to do was uncover undeniable evidence for them of Ricky and Irina doing the horizontal mambo (in addition to the vertical one).

  I took a deep breath. "Okay, you're right."

  Ramirez froze. Then he slowly raised one eyebrow at me. "Can I get that in writing? Preferably on a plaque that I can mount above our bed. 'My husband is right,'" he quoted.

  I punched his shoulder. "Very funny, big guy."

  He grinned, taking my hand. "You just enjoy the little ones while they're little and leave the murders to me. Trust me, Ricky will be fine."

  I nodded. Hoping like heck he was right as he pulled me in for another deliciously beer-flavored kiss.

  "Speaking of little ones... are they both asleep?" he murmured onto my lips.

  I nodded. "Uh-huh."

  A wicked gleam hit his eyes. "In that case, I've got six whole hours before I have to be back at the station," he said, his voice low and husky. "Let's make good use of them."

  Chapter Five

  "It was horrible, Maddie. I've never yelled so much in my life," Dana said, her voice hoarse in a way that spoke to the truth of her statement.

  "So, The Fight continued at home, huh?" I asked, handing her a cup of coffee in my kitchen the next morning.

  She nodded, her eyes red and puffy. She looked like she'd gotten even less sleep than I had and needed even more concealer. "All night."

  "What did Ricky say?"

  "That there was nothing going on between him and Irina. That he had no idea why she was in his dressing room." She paused. "Naked." Her face puckered as if in pain as she said the word.

  "But you don't believe him."

  Her lower lip quivered, adding to her pained look. "No! I mean, it would be one thing if he could give me a reason why she might be there. Any reason! But all he said was 'I dunno.'"

  I had to admit, it wasn't the most convincing argument.

  Dana slowly shook her head. "It was like he was incapable of giving me a straight answer."

  "I'm so sorry," I said meaning it.

  She nodded, sipping at her coffee. "Thanks." She paused. "Did you see the Informer this morning?"

  I shook my head. "Bad?"

  "Horrible. Allie called Ricky 'Dancing Death.'"

  "Ouch," I agreed.

  "The entire world thinks he's a killer now, Maddie." She buried her head in her arms on my kitchen counter. "Am I being naive?" she mumbled. "Am I being that blind blonde on CSI who can't see past her boyfriend's good looks to the cheating killer he is?"

  I shook my head. "No. Honestly, I can't see Ricky hurting anyone either." I didn't speak to the cheating part. Truth was, he was looking guiltier on that score by the minute.

  Dana lifted her head and took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do, Mads."

  "Get him a lawyer."

  "Oh, he has a lawyer," she informed me. "He called one last night when he got tired of fighting."

  "And?"

  "And there's nothing he can do. Unless Ricky is formally charged with something, the lawyer is useless. They're still going to crucify him in the media, and there's nothing anyone can do." She paused again, turning her big, blue eyes my way. "Until he's proven innocent."

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, a bad feeling brewing in my stomach that had nothing to do with the strong coffee on an empty stomach.

  "Come on, Maddie. He needs our help."

  "Our help?"

  "We're all he has, Maddie. No one else believes he's innocent. Honestly, I don't even think his lawyer believes him."

  "I don't know. I mean, maybe we should leave this one to the authorities…" I trailed off, repeating Ramirez's warning from the night before.

  "Please!" Dana clasped her hands in front of her face in a pleading motion. "We're Ricky's only hope. We have to find the real truth."

  The real truth was exactly what I was afraid of.

  "Ramirez promised me he'd find Irina's real killer and clear Ricky," I told her.

  "So the cops have other suspects?" she asked, a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

  I paused, coffee cup halfway to my lips. "Not exactly."

  She collapsed her head back onto my counter. "I knew it. He's doomed."

  I bit my lip. I hated that as much as I had faith in Ramirez, I was worried she may be right. Ramirez was not a one man show. If evidence started pointing Ricky's way, I knew that no matter how Ramirez might personally feel about our friend, it wasn't enough to convince the entire LAPD to keep him out of jail. Which, as much as I hated the idea of Ricky's cheating coming out in the press, was a way worse alternative.

  I took a deep breath.

  "Okay."

  She lifted her head. "Okay?"

  "Okay, we'll help Ricky."

  She did a high-pitched squeal that might have spoken to dolphins and hugged me.

  "But," I said, holding up a hand. "This is strictly an undercover operation. Meaning, we're just asking a few questions, and no one can know we're investigating."

  While I hadn't actually technically promised Ramirez I'd stay away from the case, I had a bad feeling that beer-flavored kisses would be a thing of the past if he found out I rescinded my "you're right" plaque in favor of conducting a little investigation of my own.

  Dana did a cross-her-heart thing. "Totally in the vault," she promised.

  "Okay, then just let me make one phone call first," I said, grabbing my cell and hitting number three on my speed dial.

  * * *

  "Ohmigod, Mads, I was so super excited when you called me!" Marco squealed on my front porch half an hour later.

  Marco was a part-time party planner to the stars and part-time receptionist at my stepfather's salon in Beverly Hills. He was slim, Hispanic, and gayer than a 1940's musical. One dash Marc Anthony and one dash JLo, Marco marched to the beat of his own fabulous drummer. Who mostly played Lady Gaga songs. Today he was dressed in a hot-pink leopard print top that looked painted onto his slim frame and a pair of black, leather pants that
ended just below his calves. On his feet were pink espadrilles, and he'd tinted the ends of his spiky black hair hot pink to match.

  "I'm so glad you were free today," I told him.

  "For you? Of course," he said, air kissing me and flouncing into my living room. "So, tell me, where do we start investigating?"

  I cleared my throat. "Uh, actually you start here."

  Marco blinked heavily lined lashes at me. "What do you mean, doll-face?"

  "I, uh, I actually called you here to babysit the twins so that Dana and I could go do some questioning."

  Marco's face fell faster than the Dow Jones. "Noooooooo! But I wanna come tooooooo!"

  "Please, Marco," I pleaded over his high-pitched whine, clasping my hands in front of myself. "They've already been fed, burped, changed and powdered. All you have to do is sit here and watch them play. And chances are they'll nap soon!"

  Marco pouted, looking at the babies in question, laying on their backs on their play mat, both enamored with the tiny jungle animals dangling just above their reach.

  "Pretty please," Dana chimed in. "I mean, we can't very well intimidate suspects with two babies in tow."

  I frowned. Intimidate wasn't exactly on my to-do list. I was thinking more along the lines of polite questions of possible witnesses. But Dana was right about us going sans droolers. On the off chances that one of the people we talked to really was the one who had killed Irina, the last thing I wanted to do was expose my babies to a murderer.

  "You know how much the babies love their Auntie Marco," I said, appealing to his maternal side.

  Which seemed to soften him some, the pout turning into a nose-scrunch instead.

  "It would mean so much to me," Dana said. Then added, "And to Ricky."

  That did it. While every teen girl in the country had posters of Ricky on their walls, sixty percent of all gay men did as well. Including Marco.

  "Would it mean enough for an autographed eight-by-ten?" he asked.

  "Absolutely!" she promised.

  "Fiiiine," Marco said, letting the word out on a sigh. "I'll watch Max and Livvie. Just don't be long. You know I don't do diapers," he added, scrunching his nose up again at the very thought of human feces.

  "You are a prince," I said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and grabbing my purse before he could change his mind.

  "And I want a full report when you come back!" he shouted over his shoulder as Dana and I made for the door.

  "Fuller than a Texas beauty queen's bouffant," I promised. Then I hightailed it to my minivan before the bottle I'd just fed Livvie made it's way out the back end and toward Auntie Marco's delicate nose.

  * * *

  As any good crime drama addict knows, the first suspects on anyone's list are those closest to the victim. Ignoring the fact that she was found naked in Ricky's dressing room (which both Dana and I were doing with such fabulous denial that we should be in the running for Oscars), the next closest people to Irina were the ones she was with every day – her co-stars on Dancing with Celebrities. While ten celebrity and professional dancer pairs were part of the cast, only two others had been on the set the day Irina had died. Kaylie, the Teen Mom, and her partner, Sven, and Shaniqua, the tranny ex-football player and her partner, Joc. While I had a hard time seeing either star whacking Irina over the head to win DWC, it was at least a place to start.

  Unfortunately, losing their star had temporarily shut down the DWC set. Meaning we had to find our suspects elsewhere.

  Shaniqua, as it turned out, kept a surprisingly low social media profile. There was little info we could glean about her through our trusty friend Google. The expected news reports, pictures of her in drag, and about a dozen photos of her in the sequined number she'd danced the mambo in last week. No info about where she lived or how to contact her.

  Luckily, the same couldn't be said for her co-star, Kaylie. She regularly tweeted photos of her place in Toluca Lake, and with a little more googling, Dana and I found an address posted on a virtual celebrities homes tour. I plugged it into my GPS, and twenty minutes later we were parked in front of a three-story McMansion flanked by palm trees, brick pavers, and a pair of large, stone gargoyles.

  I looked to my left. Her neighbor had an RV parked in the drive of his modest, fifties-style ranch house. To the right was a tract home with a mid-sized sedan parked in the drive. Clearly one of these houses was not like the others.

  Dana and I got out and followed the brick pathway along a circular drive to an ornate front door that looked more like it belonged on the entrance to a dungeon than a So. Cal residence.

  I leaned on the doorbell, listening to it echo inside. A moment later the door was opened by a guy in a pair of neon yellow swim trunks and nothing else. He held a bong in one hand and a pink, plastic margarita glass in the shape of a cactus in the other.

  "S'up," he said. Though I wasn't sure if it was a greeting or a question.

  "Uh, hi. We're looking for Kaylie?" I asked.

  "You the pizza guy?" he asked, squinting at me through half-baked eyes.

  I put my hand on my hips. "Do I look like a pizza guy?" I countered. Personally, I thought the black stretch pants and red baby-doll top I'd paired with my favorite black wedges was a pretty stylish outfit. Granted, the pants were a size or two larger than my normal clothes, but they were certainly a cut above a Dominos uniform.

  But the guy just shrugged. "Bummer. Kaylie's by the pool." He gestured vaguely somewhere behind him, which I took as an invitation to enter.

  Dana followed me into a foyer featuring pink marble tiles, a huge chandelier dripping with pink crystals, and walls covered in velvet flocked wallpaper in hues of… you guessed it… pink. The entire effect had the feel of walking into a life-sized Disney princess dollhouse.

  Down a hallway just ahead of us I spotted a pair of French doors leading out to the backyard. I led Dana through, leaving Kaylie's greeter to wait for his pizza as we stepped outside onto a large patio. At the edge was a swimming pool filled with inflatable floaties. A brunette in a bikini occupied one while two more guys in swim trunks splashed each other in the deep end of the pool. Sitting near the steps, wearing a hot pink bikini and sipping from another cactus shaped glass, sat Kaylie. She had platinum hair, accented with pink streaks, dark eyes rimmed in even darker eyeliner, and hot pink lipstick on her lips that I noticed were just a shade plumper than last season. As were her boobs. Apparently consenting to have her questionable parenting skills televised had paid off.

  Sitting beside her in the shallow end was her golden ticket – her two-year-old son Brady. He was wearing a pair of Spiderman water wings and blowing bubbles in the water.

  "Kaylie?" I asked as we approached.

  She looked up, shading her eyes with one manicured hand as she squinted my way.

  "You the new nanny?" she asked.

  That's it. I was totally going shopping for a new outfit tomorrow.

  "No. We're friends of Ricky's," Dana said.

  Kaylie's gaze shifted to Dana. "Oh. Right. 'Sup, bitches."

  I was about to take offense, when I realized by the expectant look on her face that it was just her version of a friendly greeting.

  "Uh, s'up," I responded back.

  "You're, like, Ricky's GF or something, right?" Kaylie said, addressing Dana.

  "GF?" I asked.

  "Girlfriend," Dana supplied, apparently more well-versed in Teen Speak than I was. "And, yeah, I am."

  "Bummer. Sorry," Kaylie told her. "What a TCA, right?"

  "TCA?" I looked to Dana to translate.

  "Total Cheating Asshole," Dana said, her face scrunching up, eyes tearing.

  "Ah. Anyway," I said, quickly changing the subject, "we were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about Irina."

  "Oh, yeah. Totally sad about that." Kaylie pursed her lips and nodded. "I hear production is going to be shut down for, like, the whole week."

  "Did you know Irina well?" I asked.

  Kaylie s
hrugged. "Not really. She kinda kept to herself. Ricky was really the only person she talked to, you know?" She paused, then turned to Dana. "Sorry."

  Dana did the scrunched face thing again.

  "What about the other dancers," I asked. "Was she close with any of them?"

  Kaylie shook her head, hair falling in front of her eyes like a highlighted sheepdog. "Not that I noticed. I mean, we hardly ever saw the other contestants." She paused, turning to me. "We all rehearsed on set on different days. Shaniqua, me and Ricky were all on the same day, but the rest of the cast was split up on other days," she explained.

  "And she didn't seem particularly close to anyone from your day?" I asked.

  She shook her head. "Irina was Russian, and Sven and Joc are both from Norway. The language barrier was, like, way hard. I don't think she really hung out with anyone else. You know, except for Ricky."

  "What about-" I started.

  But I didn't get to finish as Dana blurted out, "Was Ricky cheating on me?"

  I cringed, not wanting to hear the answer to that.

  But Kaylie just shrugged again. "I dunno. I mean, it wasn't like they made out on set or anything."

  I did an internal sigh of relief.

  Dana did an audible one.

  "But I did see her going into his dressing room last week."

  Dana sucked in a breath beside me. "You did?" she squeaked out, eyes pooling again.

  "Uh-huh. She was totally cagey about it, too. Like, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was watching and stuff."

  "Was Ricky with her?" Dana asked.

  "No. I figured he was inside waiting for her or something."

  "Ohmigod…" Dana trailed off in a high-pitched squeak.

  "Back to yesterday," I quickly said, trying to re-direct the conversation again. "Did you notice anything odd on the set? Or anything out of the ordinary with Irina?"

  Kaylie shrugged again. I was beginning to think it was her signature move. "What's out of the ordinary? Irina was, like, such a W-O."