Danger in High Heels (5 page)

"Sorry," I said, rubbing her shoulders.

Just then Livvie started whining and squirming in her seat. I picked her up, and a certain odor wafted up to my nostrils.

"Uh-oh. Nature calls."

"Go ahead," Dana waved at me. "I'll be fine."

"I'll be right back," I assured her, turning the stroller in the direction of the lounge again.

Dana nodded, her eyes still on Ricky. "God, the
Informer
is going to crucify him, aren't they?"

I bit my lip. I had a bad feeling that if Bad Cop's scowl was any indication, the media was going to be the least of Ricky's problems.

*  *  *

Predictably, it was late when Ramirez finally got home that night. I'd already dropped Dana off at home, fed the babies again, microwaved a Lean Cuisine for myself (baby weight, thou art my mortal enemy!), and put the little ones down for the night, settling myself in front of a DVR-ed episode of
Project Runway
by the time he made an appearance at the front door.

He looked tired, hungry, and like he needed a hug. I started with the third one.

"Long day at the office?" I asked when I finally broke the embrace.

He grinned down at me. "You could say that. Ever take the statements of nine different media-hungry celebrities in one day? I swear they gave the term 'drama queen' new meaning."

I couldn't help but smile. "There's a cold six-pack in the fridge."

Ramirez raised an eyebrow at me. "You're not trying to butter me up for something are you?"

"Who me?" I asked, blinking innocently. "Of course not. I just thought you might like a cool drink while you tell me what happened to Irina today."

Ramirez paused, one hand on the refrigerator door. "Uh-huh. I knew the six-pack came with a price."

"Oh, come on." I swatted him on the shoulder. "She was found in Ricky's dressing room. That's my friend we're talking about. You can't keep me in the dark."

Ramirez twisted the top off a bottle of beer and took a long swallow before answering. "Okay. I can tell you the basics."

I leaned my elbows on the kitchen counter, giving him my full attention. "How did she die?" I asked.

"Subdural hematoma."

"Bump on the head?" I asked, translating.

He nodded. "A big one." He paused, examining the refrigerator contents. "You eaten?"

"I had a Lean Cuisine."

"So, that's a no?"

I shot him a look. "Unless you want a wife with a butt the size of the Hollywood Bowl, you're on your own for dinner."

He stole a glance at my back end. "Looks good to me."

"You," I responded, reaching up on my tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek, "are a very wise man. But you're still on your own for dinner."

He shrugged, grabbing some lunch meat and a jar of pickles.

"So, someone hit Irina on the head hard enough to kill her," I said steering the conversation back on track.

Ramirez nodded. "Uh-huh. Back of the head. She would have been out cold instantly. Probably never even saw it coming." He grabbed a pickle from the jar and munched down on it.

"Hit with what?" I asked.

Ramirez shrugged. "M.E. hasn't determined the murder weapon yet. Nothing obvious was left at the scene."

"So the murderer took the weapon with him," I mused out loud.

Ramirez paused, pickle dangling in mid air. "Oh, no."

"What?"

"No way, Springer. I know that look in your eyes."

"What? What look?" I asked innocently, stealing a sip of his beer to cover any unwanted "look".

"The 'I'm thinking about sticking my nose in my husband's murder case' look. Not this time. You're supposed to be on maternity leave, being a stay-at-home mom, enjoying our babies, and relaxing."

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!"