Mayhem in High Heels (17 page)

But Dana stopped me with a hand on my arm.

"Um, actually..." She trailed off, biting her lip as she shot a look back toward the theater entrance. "It
is
kinda early to call it a night."

Uh oh. I could mentally see Miss Former Groupie and Miss Monogamy warring behind her blue eyes.

"Dana, you have a hunky gardener waiting for you at home."

She shook her head. "No, I totally know. I would never... I mean, I was just thinking of hanging out a little. To see the rest of the show. The other bands tonight look pretty good."

"Dana..."

But she'd already made up her mind, pedaling backward toward the pounding bass emanating from the Inca's stage. "I'll call you tomorrow!" she promised, disappearing inside.

I shook my head, praying she didn't ruin her first perfectly good relationship with one wild night of groupie sex as I made my way through the corridors alone.

Once outside, the cool night air hit me in sharp contrast to the muggy theater and I felt instant goose bumps rise. Hugging my arms around myself, I hailed the first cab I saw and gave him my address.

As he snaked down Hollywood Boulevard, I whipped out my cell, dialing Allie's number. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. Probably at her study group.

I hung up and dialed Felix instead.

He answered on the first ring.

"Felix Dunn."

"Hey, it's me."

"Me who?"

I narrowed my eyes at the phone. "You know who. I just found out something interesting about your girlfriend."

"I have a girlfriend?"

"Miss Hooters. Listen," I said, filling him in on what Spike had told us. When I was done, he let out a low whistle.

"That was a key bit she left out, wasn't it?"

I nodded at the phone.

"Makes me wonder what else she hasn't told us," he went on.

No kidding. I bobbed my head in agreement again.

"Still there, Maddie?"

"I'm nodding."

"I'll tell you, love, I have a hard time picturing her actually harming her mother."

"Just because she has big boobs doesn't mean she's not capable of murder."

"Oh Maddie, jealousy doesn't become you."

"I am not jealous!" I shouted.

Causing my cabbie to jump in his seat. I mouthed the word "sorry" at him in the rearview mirror.

"Look, just... watch your back with her tomorrow, okay?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were concerned about me."

"Good thing you know better."

"Good thing."

"Just call me when you have something from the phone company, okay?"

"Done. Anything else, ma'am?"

I rolled my eyes. But instead of shooting back a smart remark, I hung up.

As my yellow chariot pulled up to a stop at my place, I felt a little bubble of happiness when I saw that Ramirez's black SUV was already parked in the drive. I looked down at my watch. Only 8:30. Wow, before midnight with an open case? I fairly skipped up the steps.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," I called as I opened the door.

Ramirez stood at the kitchen counter, munching his way through a slice of leftover pizza. He paused midbite, giving my slinky outfit a slow up and down.

"Please tell me you're not wearing that."

"What, I thought you liked short skirts," I teased. I stood on tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek as I felt him up.

He did a primal growl thing in the back of his throat. "
I
like the short skirt. My mother may have a thing or two to say about it."

I frowned. "Your mother?"

"We're supposed to be at her place in half an hour."

Mental forehead smack.

"You totally forgot didn't you?" he asked, shoving the last of his pizza into his mouth.

"No!" Yes. "Give me two minutes to change," I called, already digging into my closet for a more Mom-worthy outfit.

I could feel Ramirez rolling his eyes behind me. "I promised her we'd be there for dessert."

"Two minutes," I repeated, laying hands on a navy baby-doll dress with a modest knee-length hem. I stepped out of my skirt and pulled my top over my head, throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of my hamper. (Though whether it actually made it in or not I couldn't promise.)

I stepped into the baby doll and a pair of navy wedge-heeled canvas shoes, pausing only long enough to grab a little white sweater. "Ready?"

Ramirez leaned in close, his breath warming my cheeks, and planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"I really did like the short skirt," he murmured.

Making me go warm in all the right places.

"Rain check," I promised, letting him lead me outside.

I hoped dessert was fast.

* * *

Ramirez's mother, or Mama, as she had insisted I call her the first time we'd met, lived in the sleepy little suburb of Hacienda Heights. The homes were older, ranch-style jobs that had seen generations of kids swing in the mature trees, tear up the lawn with neighborhood soccer games, and whip up and down the sidewalks on their big wheels. Aluminum siding and over-the-garage-additions abounded, as did late-model sedans and minivans with those little stick-figure families on the back windows.

Mama's house sat back from the curb, a patchy lawn surrounded by well-tended roses separating it from the sidewalk. A hula hoop, a very complicated looking Transformer action figure and a couple of dolls who'd had one too many home haircuts littered the front walk as we approached. On the front door were three big red Valentine's hearts pasted to paper doilies. Ramirez rang the bell, then pushed in without waiting for an answer.

Immediately the scents of warm cinnamon and hot chilies hit my nostrils as we headed inside. An older guy in a cowboy hat dozed in a Lay-Z-Boy under a homemade afghan in assaulting pinks and greens while the muted TV showed some old western. And every surface around him was covered in knick-knacks. Mama was a bit of a pack rat. Anything that her number of nieces, nephews, grandchildren or neighborhood kids gave her she kept and proudly displayed in her living room. Hand prints in clay, macaroni sculptures, and countless pictures in handmade Popsicle-stick frames of little brown-eyed children throughout the various decades littered the room.

"Hello?" Ramirez called. "Anyone home?"

"
Mijo
, is that you?"

Mama's round face popped out from the kitchen, lighting up when she saw Ramirez. Wiping her hands on a big white(ish) apron, she wrapped him in a hug around the middle.

I am what you'd call petite. In my wedges, I towered over Mama. She was almost as wide as she was tall, a comfortable sort of lived-in shape that made for an awesome kid-sitting lap and attested to her skills as a wonder in the kitchen.

"I was afraid you weren't going to make it, it's getting late."

"Stand up Mama? Never," he teased.

I tried not to be jealous.

"Is that our boy?"

Three more heads popped out of the kitchen, all identical to Mama. The Aunts. Swoozie, Cookie, and Kiki. Behind them came BillyJo.

BillyJo and I had gotten off on the wrong foot. It may have had something to do with the fact that the first time I had met her I'd been dressed as a hooker. Long story (involving dead guys in Dumpsters and Dana's idea of undercover investigating) but suffice to say, it hadn't endeared me to her. Over the past couple of years, I'd done my best to work my way into her good graces, but she hadn't thawed much. When she'd heard I was engaged to her brother, she'd muttered something in Spanish (eerily similar to the things Ramirez mumbled under his breath) and put on the same scowl she was wearing as she stared me down now.

I tugged at the hem of my skirt, infinitely glad that I'd changed as I gave her a wave.

She narrowed her eyes in response.

"You're late."

Ramirez kissed his sister on the cheek. "Good to see you too, sis."

"Now that you're here, Jackie," Mama said, her eyes gleaming, "you must try on the
guayabera
!"

"The what?" I asked.

Mama waved the question off. "Never you mind. Jackie, go with your aunts. Maddie can help me in the kitchen while you change."

Before either of us could protest, the aunts swooped upon Ramirez as one, rushing him off to a back bedroom with BillyJo leading the way.

"Come on," Mama said, slipping her arm through mine. "You come with me. We'll chat in the kitchen."

I followed. Partly because I had no choice. Partly because my stomach was growling again at the scents emanating from said kitchen. Did I mention how great a cook Mama was? If Mexican hadn't already been my favorite type of food, after eating from Mama's table, there would be no contest. She quickly put me to work rolling out cornmeal dough as she pulled a tray of cookies shaped like little folded envelopes from the oven and dusted them with pink sugar crystals.

"My boy's been working hard lately, no?" Mama asked. "I heard about that dead woman on the news."

I nodded. "He has."

Mama pursed her lips. "You make sure he no work too hard, yeah?"

As if I could stop him. But, instead, I nodded.

Which seemed to suffice. "Good. He's a good boy, my little Jack." She put a hand on mine, her eyes shining with pride. "You'll take good care of him, no?"

I nodded again. Truly meaning it.

"He's always been the one I worried about," she said. "Always in the fights at school. Always the broken bones, always the principal's office. Some days I wondered if he'd make it to a grown man."

I smiled, trying to imagine Ramirez as a kid.

"But now, I don't worry so much that he has you."

I felt a lump in my throat. "Thanks." I paused. Then added, "Mama."

She smiled, patting my cheek with one floury hand. Then a small look of concern flitted through her eyes. "Ah, you do know what's expected of a good wife, right?" she asked.

I paused. "Expected?" I looked around the kitchen, sorely hoping she didn't suppose I'd become Suzie homemaker after the wedding. I could heat up a frozen dinner like nobody's business, but actual cooking was, as Ramirez had pointed out, not on my list of finely honed skills.

She nodded. "There are certain... duties... a man expects of his wife."

I bit my lip. "Mrs. Ramirez, I don't mean to seem rude, but Jack can take care of himself. We're a modern couple. We do things for each other, but I'm sure he doesn't expect me to perform any 'duties.'"

Mama stared at me. Then grinned.

"I meant the sex."

I blinked. My cheeks going hot. "Oh."

"On the wedding night. He's gonna want some sex."

"Oh."

"You do know how that works, right?"

"Uh..." I glanced to the right and left, looking for an escape route, pretty sure there was no right answer here.

"Yes?" I finally decided on.

Mama nodded. "Good. 'Cause one thing about the Ramirez men. They like sex. A lot. You're gonna be busy the first few months."

Oh. God. Kill me now.

"Uh huh," I mumbled, sure my cheeks were a shade of red to rival the hearts on the front door.

"Now, it might hurt a little at first. That's normal," she said, waving a fat finger at me. "But, let me tell you, it gets better. I didn't have six kids for nothing, if you know what I mean."

She winked at me.

I felt faint, instantly trying to block out unwanted images of her and the dozing cowboy playing the horizontal mambo.

"Here comes our boy," one of the aunts said, rushing into the kitchen.

I could have kissed her.

"Oh,
mijo
, you look so handsome!" Mama clapped her hands together and ran toward Ramirez.

Relief flowing through me, I turned around.

And just that quickly the relief died.

"What is that?" I heard myself ask.

Ramirez was clad in a long, white, billowy shirt with screaming red, green and turquoise embroidery along the front. It looked like the sort of thing I'd bought on spring break in Tijuana senior year.

"My boy's
guayabera
," Mama said, pride shining in her eyes.

"It's... nice," I lied. "What's a gooberbera?"' I asked, sure I was butchering the word.

"
Guayabera
," BillyJo correct with a smirk. "It's a traditional Mexican wedding shirt."

I glanced at it again. "Wedding shirt?" Holy hell. I was going to be marrying a walking souvenir stand. "What do you mean, wedding shirt?"

"In Mexican culture the groom wears a
guayabera
at his wedding."

"But what about the tux?" I asked, my voice going squeaky. I looked from the billowing tent around his middle to Ramirez's face.

He just shrugged.

Great, lot of help he was.

"I think it's too big," I pointed out.

"No, no, it's supposed to be like that," Mama said, fussing with the hem.

Swoozie nodded. "For the guavas."

"The what?!"

BillyJo piped up. "In Mexican culture the family traditionally puts guavas in the pockets of the groom's
guayabera
for he and the bride to start their life together."

"We got a whole fridge full of 'em for you," Mama said, patting Ramirez's cheek.

I looked down at his oversized pockets. And did a loud hiccup.

"Sugar," Kiki said. "Eat a spoonful of sugar and those hiccups will disappear."

I nodded. Then hiccupped again.

"Oh, that reminds me," Mama said. "Your cousin Nico, who works at the sugar factory, he called and said he's bringing the whole family up from Mexico City. They'll all be here Wednesday. He can't wait to see his cousin married."

I felt a frown settling between my brows. "Nico? Did we send him an invitation?"

Mama waved that insignificant little detail off. "Don't worry. I invited him. We don't need fancy invitations. It's okay."

I felt a sudden knot of dread ball in my stomach. "Just Nico, right?" I let out another hiccup.

She blinked innocently at me. "And a couple other people."

I felt faint. "How many is a couple?"

"Well..." Mama tapped a finger to her chin, her eyes rolling upward as she mentally counted. "There's Nico and his family, then my cousin Amelia and her son and his two boys, and the girls from Arizona, then your father's aunt Rosa and her kids and... I don't know, maybe a hundred."