Mayhem in High Heels (22 page)

Nothing.

I opened the door a teeny bit farther.

And saw Ramirez's black boots step in to the room.

Yikes! I jumped back, closing the door again ever so stealthily. I hoped.

I watched through the tiny crack between the door and frame as Ramirez did a thorough sweep of the room. His jaw was clenched, his menacing gun pointed straight in front of him. He was no fool. An unlocked front door and a disabled alarm system raised red flags. Especially considering the home's occupant was six feet under.

I breathed low and shallow, an acute sense of deja vu washing over me as I watched Ramirez look under the bed (good thing I didn't hide there after all!) and behind the curtains (ditto). The first time I'd encountered Ramirez I'd been in exactly this same position - hiding in a closet, watching him and his sleek black gun sweep through a bedroom. Only the last time it had been my ex-boyfriend's bedroom and I'd been pretty sure it was Ramirez that had been doing the breaking and entering.

Now I was the guilty one.

A thought that made me cower just a little closer to the plastic shoe rack filled with pointy-toed pumps.

Ramirez crossed the room, slowly circling the bed. I could see his entire body tense, on alert, ready to pounce at any second. His trigger finger the only part of him relaxed. Deceptively so, considering I knew he could shoot the balls off a fruit fly at fifty yards. Ramirez was nothing if not good at his job.

Which was why, of course, he turned toward the closet next.

Trying not to crinkle the shoe caddy, I turned to slip behind it, covering my legs with a beige sweater in loose cable knit. I closed my eyes, doing a silent "please, please, please" that he opened the opposite door of the closet, the one not currently hiding a cowering blonde.

The last time we'd played out this scene, Ramirez had taken one look at the closet and found what he wanted, leaving me thankfully obscured.

Apparently I'd used up all my luck then.

He threw open the door right in front of me, thrusting me nose to nose with a threatening black gun barrel.

I'm not sure, but I think I may have peed my pants a little.

Ramirez immediately lowered his weapon to his side, his shoulders slumping, his entire body releasing pent up adrenalin.

"Jesus, Maddie!"

I gave him a half-hearted smile and a one-finger wave. "Hi, honey?"

"What the hell are you doing in there?" he yelled. Then offered a hand, which I gratefully took, as he hauled me out of the clothing and to my feet again.

"Um, well, see..."

He held up his free hand. "Wait. I don't want to know."

"You don't?"

He clenched his teeth together. "No. Because if I do, I'm probably gonna have to handcuff you and take you downtown."

I bit my lip. "Um. Thanks. For not arresting me."

He grunted. Then ran a hand through his hair and let out a few choice curses in Spanish.

"Sorry," I said.

He paused. And shook his head at me. "You always are."

Ouch.

"Yeah, but this time I'm really,
really
sorry."

He narrowed his eyes, that vein in the side of his neck starting to pulsate.

"But," I added, "you did say I could investigate. That was the deal, remember?"

"Without breaking the law."

"Technically, I said I wouldn't impersonate any more officers. I never said anything about not breaking the law."

His vein bulged, his eyes went dark, and a deep growl rose in the back of the throat. I was not making a convincing case.

"Okay, fine." I held up one hand. "I, Madison Louise Springer, do solemnly swear not to break any more laws during the course of this investigation."

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"I want to make sure your fingers aren't crossed. Turn around."

I rolled my eyes. But did a slow spin for him, holding up both hands, all digits spread wide.

"Satisfied?"

He didn't answer. But he didn't growl again either. Which I took to be a good sign.

I stole a glance at the window as Ramirez holstered his gun and thought I caught the tail end of a blue Dodge Neon burning rubber down the circular drive. Deserter!

"So, what are you doing here?" I asked.

Ramirez spun around, hitting me with the evil eye.

"What? I'm just asking. You know, if some new lead brought you to Gigi's to look for anything in particular. Just... kind of wondering."

His cop face slowly broke, a wicked smile sliding across his features. "Sorry, Springer. You don't get any help. That would be cheating now, wouldn't it?"

I narrowed my eyes. Then retaliated with, "And how are the shoes coming along?"

It might have been my imagination, but I swear I saw his smile falter just the slightest bit.

"Fine. They'll be done tomorrow."

"Good."

"How's your
investigation
going?"

"Fine."

"Good."

"Good."

Wes stood there in a silent standoff. Both of us pretty sure the other was completely full of bullshit.

Finally I was the one to break it, glancing out the window again. "Um, so... would you mind giving me a ride home?"

His eyebrows hunkered down. "How did you get here if... Wait! Never mind. I don't want to know." Ramirez shook his head. "Damn, you're a lot of trouble, girl."

I grinned. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"Most days." He shot me a teasing wink. Then he grabbed my hand in his and led me down the stairs. I'd like to think the gesture was a peace offering.

But I was pretty sure it was to make sure I didn't grab any evidence on the way out.

* * *

Forty minutes later I was back at my car and Ramirez's SUV was headed back onto the freeway for parts unknown. At least to me. I still thought it was a little unfair he wasn't sharing
any
information with me. Okay, fine, I hadn't exactly been sharing with him either. What can I say? I
really
wanted to win. Not that I needed him to do that. I had plenty to investigate all on my own.

I grabbed my cell, dialing Felix's number, then waited while it rang twice on the other end.

"Felix Dunn," he answered.

"Hey, it's me."

"Me who?"

"You know who it is!"

"Mum? Is that you, love?"

I gave my phone the finger. "Very funny, Tabloid Boy."

"I do try."

"By the way, thanks for ditching me at Gigi's."

I could almost hear Felix's grin through the phone. "I figured you'd provide a little cover for me."

"So you were banking on me getting caught?" It was official, I hated him.

"Now, don't get all surly on me. If you do, I won't share Gigi's text records with you."

"You're in already?" I asked, trying to keep the admiration out of my voice.

"I know, I'm good."

Apparently I failed.

"Okay, spill it. Who texted her on Friday?"

"She had two outgoing that afternoon. One in the morning to Hollywood Florist saying the tulips should be red. One to an 818 number saying she was terribly sorry, but she'd have to cancel their meeting."

"Mitsy," I interjected. "How about right before that. Any incoming?"

"Five minutes before. From a Kaufman. Said he could meet with her ASAP to draw up the paperwork."

"Paperwork? What kind?"

"Didn't say in the text. But the number it came from is local." He rattled it off.

"I'm on it." I hung up, immediately dialing the number Felix had given me. I waited while it rang on the other end, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.

Three rings. Four.

Finally a perky voice answered on the other end. "Johnson, Levy, and Kaufman, attorneys at law. How may I direct your call?"

"Uh... Kaufman, please," I answered. Attorneys, huh? My mind whirled at the kind of paperwork an attorney might have ready for Gigi. Lawsuit? Contracts? A will?

"Kaufman." A man's voice came on the line, deep, baritone and gravely, indicating the owner was no spring chicken.

"Uh, hi. My name's Maddie Springer. Gigi gave me your number," I lied.

"Oh." He paused. "Yes, tragic. I was so sorry to hear about her passing."

"Did you know her well?" I asked.

"We'd been acquainted for some time," he said.

Hmm. Typical lawyer - evade a direct answer at all costs. I tried another angle.

"She was very happy with the work you did for her."

"I only wish I could have done more."

Right. More what?

I bit my lip, trying to figure out what the magic password to this puzzle might be.

"Well, you came highly recommended. Especially regarding the current work you were doing for her," I tried.

"Well, it was long overdue."

"Right."

"So, what can I do for you Ms. Springer?"

"I..." I closed my eyes, taking a stab in the dark. "I wanted to have a will made up?"

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry, but that's not really my area of expertise."

Okay, cross will off the list.

"Oh, right. I mean, I wanted to draw up a will because... I'm suing someone and I want to make sure my assets are taken care of. But the lawsuit is what I really wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" he asked. "Are you suing a former spouse?"

"Spouse? No. Why?"

"Listen, Ms. Springer, I'm sorry if Gigi led you astray, but I'm not really sure I can help you with your problem."

"Wait, you didn't let me finish," I said, wheels clicking into place. "I meant I wanted to talk to you about the lawsuit because it reminded me that I need a... prenup?" I mentally crossed my fingers.

"I see," Kaufman said. "Well, I'd be happy to discuss a prenuptial agreement with you."

Eureka! Divorce attorney.

"What sort of assets are you looking to protect?" he asked.

"Oh, uh..." I racked my brain. Did a plastic ficus tree count as an asset? Then my eyes slid down, settling on my shoes, and I remembered the conversation I'd had with Dana. "My designs! I'm a fashion designer and I need to protect my work."

"Excellent idea. I highly recommend doing so."

I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Listen, I'm sorry to cut this short," he said, "but I've got a client coming in. However, if you'll make an appointment with my receptionist, I'd be happy to help you with this matter."

"Thanks. That'd be great," I said as musak came through the receiver, signaling I was being transferred. Once back with the perky voice, I set up an appointment for the next day. (Hey, while I trusted Ramirez completely, protecting my assets might not be such a bad idea after all. I was pretty sure I owned at five figures in shoes alone. I mean, I should at least see what the lawyer had to say, right?)

As soon as I was done, I called Felix back and filled him in on my conversation.

"So, why do we think Gigi was visiting a divorce attorney?"

I mulled that thought over. "Could it be for the same reason I'd pretended to? If she was planning to accept Spike's proposal, it stood to reason that she'd want a prenup."

"That's one scenario," Felix agreed. "On the other hand, maybe it had something to do with her ex. Some alimony she was due?"

I shook my head at my empty Jeep. "Not possible. Summerville said she didn't get a dime from him after they split. They had a prenup, too."

"Alright, let's go with option number one then."

"What if Spike wasn't too happy at the idea of losing his sugar mama? What if he argued the need for a prenup? Maybe it got heated and he killed her?"

"You're forgetting one thing."

"What?"

"The alibi. Spike was in Topeka."

"Probably," I hedged. "Dana's checking on that."

"Hmm."

"Okay," I conceded, "so let's look at it this way - who doesn't have an alibi for the time of her death?"

Papers rustled on the other end as Felix flipped through his notes. "Summerville was on a conference call. Allie said she had class that morning. Spike was in Kansas."

"What about Fauston?" I asked.

More paper rustling. "No idea where he was."

"He was the last one to see her alive," I pointed out. "And it was his knife used to kill her. What if he lied? What if he really delivered the cake sample to Gigi at 10:32, then offed her before heading back to the bakery?"

"I don't know. What's the motive?"

"I'm not sure. But if Allie was telling the truth, and if he does have some sort of history with Gigi, maybe he still had a thing for her. And if Gigi was going to say yes to Spike, maybe it set him off."

"That's a lot of 'if's."

I countered with the best argument I could come up with. "You have a better idea?"

Felix sighed. "Okay, more cake it is."

* * *

Anne was at the bakery case arranging stacks of heart-shaped Valentine's cookies when we walked in. Immediately my stomach growled as if it had some sort of Pavlovian thing going on with this place.

I gave my appetite a mental "down, girl" as Anne looked up.

"Oh, hey." Her forehead puckered. "Is there a problem with the cake?"

"No, I'm sure the wedding cake is perfect." Felix shot her a smile that was all teeth and put his arm around my shoulders.

Oh brother.

"We actually wanted to speak to your uncle. Is he available?" I asked.

Anne shook her head. "Nope. Sorry. He's doing a wedding in the valley today. What do you need?" she asked again.

Reluctant to totally tip my hand to the girl, I verbally tiptoed around our reason for visiting. "We were just wondering about that morning when Paul dropped the cake off at L'Amore."

"Oh. Right. Well, he'll be back later tonight, I guess."

"He didn't happen to mention what he did after he left Gigi's, did he?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Not specifically. But I know he had deliveries all morning. Three more after Gigi's."

"And he made them all?" I asked, my prime non-alibied suspect quickly slipping away.

She nodded, her eyes serious. "Yep. Every one. I've got the logs right here." She pulled a big black book out from behind the counter, flipping to a page of delivery receipts.

I glanced down, noting the times and signatures on the receipts from the morning Gigi died. At exactly 10:35 an Annabelle Campbell signed for receipt of a chocolate anniversary cake. Damn.