Undercover in High Heels (20 page)

“Dana, I know this might be a good career move, but—”

“Good? It’s the best thing that’s happened to me since I got that walk-on part in the Brad Pitt movie. I’ll be a permanent member of the cast, Maddie. This is huge!”

So was the feeling of dread slowly building up in the pit of my stomach. “Dana, please—”

“Holy crap! Is it really seven o’clock? Wow, I’ve got to go.” She stifled another yawn. “Gotta be on set by
eight. They can’t start blocking scenes without a stand-in. Wish me luck, Mads!”

“Dana, wait!” I called into the receiver. But she was already gone.

I stared at my cell, my heart racing, my stomach churning. Probably Dana would be fine. Probably I was overreacting. Probably the police presence on set was huge, and whoever the killer was, he wouldn’t be able to get within ten feet of Dana.

Probably.

“So, I’m your mother now?” Felix asked, folding his paper.

“What? Oh, sorry. I had to tell her something.”

“And you didn’t want to tell her you came begging at my doorstep in the dead of night?”

“I wasn’t begging.” Much. “And ten o’clock is hardly the dead of night.”

Felix shrugged. “Hey, that’s okay. If you want to keep our torrid affair a secret from your friends, be my guest.”

I opened my mouth to protest (it was an accident!), when I saw the teasing twinkle in Felix’s blue eyes.

“Jerk.”

“Sticks and stones, love. Sticks and stones.”

Felix downed the rest of his coffee. “I’ve got to go check in with my editor. There are clean towels in the guest bath, ” he called over his shoulder as he sauntered out of the room.

I swirled the dregs of coffee in my cup, that ball of dread still sitting like a lead weight in my stomach. By taking the stand-in job, my best friend had just effectively labeled herself killer bait. If someone was really intent on going after Mia, that meant anyone close to her was in harm’s way. It wasn’t like this guy was
picky; he’d already gotten rid of two innocent victims. I paused. Well, okay, maybe if Veronika had been blackmailing someone, she wasn’t entirely innocent, but I was pretty sure she didn’t deserve death by control tops.

Any way you looked at it, Dana was throwing herself right into the thick of it.

Alone.

I set my cup down on the counter. Right next to Felix’s keys and wallet. The wallet was leather and looked expensive. The keys were attached to a ring that had a ninety-nine-cent plastic fish dangling from it. Total Felix.

I reached out and slid one finger down the soft leather siding of the wallet.
Hmm
…I wondered…

With a quick glance over my shoulder, I flicked it open. Yep, right there, stuck into the billfold, was Felix’s press pass. His golden ticket that could get him in just about anywhere.

Even the
Magnolia Lane
set.

I bit my lip. I glanced over my shoulder again. I could faintly hear Felix on the phone with his editor, arguing about word count and column placement.

I took a deep breath, then hopped off the stool, grabbing my purse with one hand and Felix’s wallet and keys with the other.

That was it. He was so never letting me sleep over again.

My hands were shaking as I stuck the keys in Felix’s battered Dodge Neon. I turned the ignition, wincing at the loud sound erupting though the quiet morning. I glanced at the front door, expecting to see an irate Felix come running from it any second. Nothing. I
quickly backed out and pulled down the street, my eyes glued to the rearview mirror. Nothing. I did a small sigh of relief. Maddie: 1. Tabloid Boy: 0.

I know, I was a terrible person for stealing Felix’s car, especially after he made me cappuccino and let me stay over. I consoled my guilty conscience by telling myself I’d make it up to him, that I’d feed him the exclusive of the century once I made sure Dana was safe.

And, by the time I came down out of the Hills, I had formed the beginnings of a plan to do just that. To not only get Dana out of harm’s way, but to get a killer behind bars, as well. Step number one was to get inside the studios.

While I hadn’t officially been fired as wardrobe assistant, I had a feeling that after the whole carrying-a-gun-onto-studio-property thing, my name was on Bug-eyed Billy’s “do not allow entry” list. (Not to mention the fact that if Ramirez caught me on set he’d likely throw me in the back of a squad car faster than you could say “purple Prada pumps”.) Luckily, I knew for a fact that Felix’s name
was
on Billy’s list. All I had to do was convince Bug-eyed Billy and Queen Latifah that I was not the crazy blonde with the habit of setting off their metal detector, but a crack tabloid journalist with the
L.A. Informer
. Which meant I needed to change my look, and I needed it quick.

There was only one person I knew who carried a virtual wardrobe around in his trunk, not to mention a fully stocked makeup kit. I floored the accelerator as I pointed my stolen car in the direction of Fernando’s.

“Maddie, dahling!” Marco dropped the fishing net he was draping over the reception desk and attacked me
with air kisses as I walked through the doors of the salon.

Followed closely by Pablo’s greeting. “Squawk! Oops, I did it again. Squawk!”

Marco shot the bird a dirty look. “No Britney. That’s the rule. I told you, no Britney.”

I’m not sure, but I thought I saw the bird spit in Marco’s direction.

I tippy-toed over to his desk, doing a pseudo-whisper. “Is Mom here?”

Marco shook his head. “Nope. Your mama isn’t due until three, when she has a bikini wax scheduled for Mrs. R.”

I shuddered. “And Ralph?”

“
Fernando
, ” Marco chided, “is doing a cut and color for Mrs. Lohan.” He leaned in close. “Lind-say’s mom.”

I nodded, looking to the back of the salon, where I saw Faux Dad running his scissors through the wet locks of a slim, forty-something blonde.

“Good. Because I need a favor.”

Marco clapped his hands together. “Are we on a case?” His eyes twinkled with that same
Charlie’s Angels
look I was coming to know and dread. But considering it was Dana’s tush on the line, I plowed ahead, explaining my need for anonymity.

“Oh, dahling, I’ve got just the thing! Follow me!”

Marco skipped out from behind the whitewashed desk, motioning to one of the nail girls to cover for him. I followed him into the back, giving Faux Dad a cursory wave as I passed his station.

As I made my way through the rich and not-so-famous clients, I could have sworn I saw a woman point at my shoes and whisper behind her hand to the
lady in the next beehive dryer over. I couldn’t help a little swell of pride. The first Maddie originals and already people were talking.

I followed Marco into one of the back rooms, where he pulled out a black duffel bag. “I’m going clubbing later with this adorable boy I met in NoHo last weekend. Lucky for you, I brought a couple of outfits to choose from.”

And, lucky for me, Marco and I were approximately the same size. Unluckily, his taste tended toward leather, leather, and more leather (studded with gold, of course). He held up a pair of black leather pants and a red leather jacket to match. I cringed.

“Um, don’t you have anything a little less conspicuous?”

Marco looked pained. “Dahling, I don’t dress to blend!”

As well I knew. “Okay, okay. What else do you have?”

He rummaged around and pulled out a see-through mesh shirt in hot pink and a pair of white stretch pants.

“I’ll take the leather.”

I stuffed myself into the extremely nonbreathable leather outfit, topping it off with a white T-shirt that read, F
ERNANDO
’S B
EVERLY
H
ILLS
, a pair of big black sunglasses and, thanks to a quick rinse, brown hair.

And my pink heels. (There was no way I was fitting into Marco’s size-twelve loafers.)

I looked in the full-length mirror hanging at the front of the salon.

“Well, what do you think?” I asked.

“Exquisite, ” Marco said, clasping his hands together.

“Not bad, ” the nail girl agreed.

“Squawk! Hit me, baby, one more time!”

By the time I arrived at the studio, the line to get through security had diminished to something slightly less than a Monday morning at Starbucks. I waited impatiently, tapping my foot as I inched forward, all the while keeping my head down and trying to look small and inconspicuous.

Finally I made it to the front, watching Queen Latifah take inordinate pleasure in wanding an overweight PA.

Bug-eyed Billy looked up from his clipboard.

“Name?” he asked, eyeing me carefully.

I nervously cleared my throat and held my breath as I handed over my stolen press pass.

He glanced at it. Then up at me. Then back at the pass.

“Felix Dunn?” he asked, narrowing his eyes behind his Coke-bottle glasses. “You’re Felix?”

I nodded. “Uh-huh. That’s me!” My voice suddenly sounded helium laced. I cleared my throat again.

“Felix sounds like a man’s name, ” Billy said, glancing back at the pass.

“It’s, uh…French. It’s pronounced ‘Fe-lay.’ ”

He narrowed his eyes again. “Fe-lay?”

I nodded, mentally crossing my fingers. “Yep.”

“Like a Fe-lay-o’-fish?”

“Uh…yeah.” I nervously glanced from side to side, sure that at any moment someone would stand up and yell, “Fake!”

“And you’re with the
L.A. Informer
?”

“Yes?” Which might have been more convincing if I hadn’t phrased it as a question. I bit my lip, tasting Raspberry Perfection lip gloss as I nervously shifted from one pink-pump-clad foot to the other.

Billy grunted. “Hmph.” He flipped through his list, his myopic squint searching for a “Fe-lay.” I held my breath, resisting the urge to peek over his shoulder.

Finally he checked off an entry and handed the press pass back to me. “Okay, you’re cleared. Go on through.”

I did an internal sigh of relief so loud it echoed inside my brain. I took off my earrings and belt and pulled my stolen keys out of my pocket, depositing them all in a plastic tub to ride through the X-ray machine. I did a silent prayer to the gods of false disguises and stepped through the plastic archway.

Beep
.

Oh, hell! I froze. What, what, what? I chewed my lip again, sure that panic was written all over my face.

Latifah glanced down. I think I heard her stifle a snicker. “Those your shoes?”

I looked down at my pink heels. “Yes, why?”

No disguising the snicker this time. “Nothin’.”

“Yeah, I know they clash with the red jacket.”

“Uh-huh. Well, maybe you wanna put them on the belt, there, honey. You know…take ’em off. Take ’em
all
off.” She snorted again and glanced at Billy. He was grinning, too.

“Uh…o-kay.” I slipped my shoes off and threw them into a plastic tub to ride through the machine.

I stepped back through again.

Silence. Blessed silence!

I gave Latifah a little wave, keeping my head low, and grabbed my belongings, just barely resisting the urge to sprint through the lot.

Step one accomplished.

On to phase two.

Ten minutes later I was slinking around the corner of stage 6G, carefully watching for any sign of a) Stein-man (lest he draft me for wardrobe duty), b) Ramirez (lest he notice me on wardrobe duty and slap a pair of handcuffs on me), or c) Dana (whom I desperately needed to get to before either a or b happened).

I entered the warehouse, keeping close to the walls and hoping I blended into the background as I slunk toward the soundstage. I picked my way over wires and ropes duct taped to the ground, thinking inconspicuous thoughts as I passed the Craft services area. Luckily, no one tried to stop me, though I did notice a couple of PAs looking at my shoes as I scuttled past. I think one even snickered, “Hot stuff, ” as I walked by. Okay, now I was starting to get a little self-conscious. Yes, they clash. I get it!

I was almost to the soundstage when a familiar voice hailed me from the wings.

“Hey, Maddie.”

I had a mini heart attack, spinning around so fast I feared whiplash. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who it was.

“Hi, Ricky.”

“What are you doing here? That big cop said you weren’t allowed on the set anymore.”

I cringed. Oh yeah, handcuffs were definitely in my future.

“I’m just here to see Dana. Know where she is?”

“Sure. She’s blocking out the next scene. Ashley and Chad are having makeup sex today. Apparently he doesn’t care who the baby’s daddy is after all.”

The wonders of television.

“Thanks, ” I said, turning to go.

“Hey, did that woman ever find you?” Ricky called.

I paused. “What woman?”

“There was this woman looking for you earlier. She didn’t leave her name but she had, like, really long black hair. And she seemed a little high-strung.”

Oh. Crap.

Isabel.

“She was here?” I squeaked out, sounding way too much like Minnie Mouse for my liking. I had no idea how she got onto the lot, but knowing she was anywhere in the vicinity of my person made my skin instantly break out in goose bumps.

Ricky nodded. “Yeah. Hey, you okay? You look kinda pale.”

I gulped down a dry lump in my throat. “Yeah, sure, fine. When was she here? What did she say?”

Ricky scrunched up his face as if he were thinking really hard. “Um, it was earlier this morning, right af
ter I got in. I told her I wasn’t sure you’d be here, but

she just said she’d hang around and ‘catch up to you.’ ”

Oh boy.

I mentally added one more name to the list of people whom I so did not want to run into today. In fact, I moved her name right up to the tippy-top of the list. I debated calling Ramirez and telling him that Isabel was lurking somewhere on studio property. But that would mean telling him
I
was lurking on studio property, and me in the back of his squad car wasn’t going to help Dana any.

So, instead I mumbled, “Thanks, ” to Ricky and made a beeline for the soundstage.

I spotted Dana right away. She was lying in Ashley Culver’s bed, dressed in a peach-colored tube top and tight briefs that almost exactly matched her skin tone. Unless you squinted, it looked like she was in the buff. Which, it seemed, was the idea, as Steinman directed her though a series of seductive poses, all the while shouting about the white balance and backlighting.

Long extensions had been added to her hair, so that Ashley’s curly blonde locks now fell over Dana’s shoulders. Her makeup was done to perfectly match Mia’s skin tone, and I think she was even wearing green contacts. The dread I’d been feeling all morning kicked up a notch. Even I might have mistaken Dana for Mia.

Then again, it was perfect for what I was planning.

I waited behind an unused camera crane while Steinman blocked out the rest of the scene, Dana beaming and making kissy-faces at the camera the entire time. Never mind that the cameras weren’t on; Dana was milking her fifteen minutes for all it was worth.

Finally Steinman signaled one of the PAs in a headset to go get Mia for the real deal.

Dana slipped on a pair of flip-flops and a robe before stepping off the soundstage. I grabbed her arm almost immediately, dragging her into the shadows.

“What the—” she started.

I did an instant shushing motion, holding an index finger up to my lips.

“Maddie!” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” She scrunched up her nose. “And what’s with the hair?” she asked, fingering my newly brown tresses.

“It’s a disguise.”

“Totally good idea, ” she said, nodding sagely. “ ’Cause if Ramirez catches you here, you’re toast.”

“You’ve seen him?” There was Minnie Mouse again.

Dana nodded. “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure he used the words
arrest
and
blonde
in the same sentence. He gave me the total third degree about where you were. I told him that you were at your mom’s, and I think he’s on his way over there now.”

I cringed as an image of Ramirez interrogating Mom popped into my head. Though I wasn’t sure which one I felt sorrier for.

On the upside, having Ramirez out of the way for a couple of hours made things that much easier.

“Listen, I’ve got a plan, ” I said, dragging Dana behind the crane as a pair of grips walked by. I quickly filled her in on the idea that had been cooking in the back of my head all morning. And, yes, I’ll admit it was just a wee bit on the “harebrained” side, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t work.

All I needed to implement it was one more person.

Mia.

I realized that Mia was the key to all of this and the only person on the set whom I hadn’t talked to yet. And unfortunately, I needed her help if we were going to pull this off. I know Mia wasn’t exactly known around the set as the helpful type, but I had a feeling that if anyone was eager to get rid of Mr. Poisoned Pen, it was her.

Dana and I watched from the wings while Mia and Ricky wiggled under the sheets of Ashley’s bed, pausing every few minutes for Mia to complain about Ricky’s hands skimming inappropriate places or the camera not zooming in on her good side. Finally Steinman was satisfied (or fed up) and yelled, “Scene, ” breaking for lunch. Poor Ricky looked infinitely relieved.

Dana and I gave Mia a three-count head start to her trailer before slipping out the back.

I was happy to see that Ramirez was still nowhere in sight (thank you, Mom!) as we tippy-toed between the corrugated-metal trailers, passing Ricky’s, Blake’s, and the one marked TALENT before coming to Mia’s. Dana rapped two knuckles on the metal door.

“Yes?” came the sharp reply from inside.

“Wardrobe, ” I called.

“Oh for God’s sake, ” I heard her respond, her voice growing louder as she moved toward the door. “We just finished the last scene.” The door popped open and Mia stood glaring at me. She was wrapped up in a red silk robe that contrasted sharply with her pale skin. Her lips were painted red to match, as if lipstick were the first thing she’d thought of putting on when she returned to her trailer. Her feet were bare,
and her enviable blonde curls framed a face that was etched in a deep scowl.

“Who are you?” she demanded. “I have my own wardrobe person, you know?”

“Right. Um, listen, could we come in for just a minute?”

She put both hands on her slim hips, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why?”

I glanced nervously over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long Mom could keep Ramirez occupied, but I had a feeling even she had her limits. “I need to talk to you about your stalker.”

Mia blew a short puff of air through her ruby red lips. “What, you trying to sell a story to the tabloids? Think you can get a quote from me or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I…” I paused, not sure how to voice my idea without sounding like a bad
Scooby-Doo
episode.

But Dana jumped right in. “She has a plan to catch the killer.”

Gee, thanks, Shaggy.

Mia arched one slim, professionally shaped eyebrow at me. “So you’re a wardrobe assistant
and
a detective?”

“Look, can I please just come in for a minute to talk?”

I could tell she still had her doubts, but luckily her curiosity won out over skepticism. She stepped aside, silently allowing us entry. We navigated the two metal steps and quickly shut the door behind us.

“So?” Mia sank down into one of her velvet-covered sofas, arms draped casually over the back in a practiced pose straight out of a Marlene Dietrich movie. “What do you want from me?”

I gingerly perched on the sofa opposite, glancing out the brocade-covered windows to make sure the coast was still clear. Just a couple of grips smoking cigarettes. So far, no Bad Cop.

So far.

“Maddie has been helping the police investigate the murders, ” Dana started.

“Really?” Mia eyes roved my person, taking in the leather and clashing heels. “
You’re
working with the police?”

“Uh, well, sort of.” I shot Dana a look. “Loosely.”

“We’ve already questioned tons of suspects and narrowed it down to someone on the set, ” Dana continued.

“I’m not surprised.” Mia snorted. “They’re all jealous of me. Any one of them could want me out of the picture.”

“So you think the killer really is after you?” I asked.

“Of course! Veronika was just a stand-in. Who’d bother with her?”

I paused, wondering if I should mention Veronika’s extracurricular activities on the set. But I figured at this point, what did I have to lose?

“We think Veronika may have had a little side business going on. Blackmail.”

Mia raised both eyebrows and gasped out loud. “Blackmail? Who on earth was she blackmailing?”

I shrugged. “We’re not sure.”

“But we’ll find out, ” Dana piped up beside me. “Maddie’s a totally good detective.”

Mia turned to me. “Oh?”

“Um, well…”

“Don’t be so modest.” Dana chucked me on the shoulder. “She’s helped the police lots of times before. And we always get our man. Right?”

Mia’s lips quirked up; she seemed truly amused at this. “Just like the Mounties, huh?”

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, we have a small favor to ask. We think we might be able to find the identity of your stalker if we catch him in the act, so to speak.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“In the act of trying to harm you, ” Dana supplied.

“You want to use me as bait?” Mia’s voice rose to a level of shrill just slightly below dog whistle.

“No, no, ” I reassured her. “He’ll only think it’s you.”

“I’m the bait, ” Dana said proudly.

Mia gave her a slow up-and-down and made a face. “You seriously think someone would mistake you for me?”

“They mistook Veronika for you, ” I reminded her.

She sucked in her cheeks, thinking this over. “What do you need me to do?”

I felt my stomach lurch—maybe at the relief of getting her cooperation (no small hurdle, as the last week had taught me), or maybe at the thought that we were actually going to go through with this Lucy-and-Ethel scheme.

“All we need you to do is stay away from your trailer tonight.”

Mia frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll pretend I’m you, ” Dana chimed in, “and after we wrap, I’ll go into the trailer, seemingly alone. Only Maddie will be watching from the bushes, ready to call for help as soon as the killer appears. But if he sees two of us, well, he’ll know I’m a fake. So we need you to stay out of sight.”