Homicide in High Heels (14 page)

"On the upside, I did get some super cute
outfits for the twins' for the birthday party," I told him.

He shot me a look. "Yeah, speaking of the
birthday party…"

Uh-oh. What had Marco done now?

"…take a look in the backyard," Ramirez
directed me.

I walked to the back door and peered out the
sliding glass. While our bungalow was what could be described as
cozy-sized, the upside of being in an older home was that we were
one of the lucky few in Los Angeles to still have a yard. Ours was
a decent size, bordered by a high fence, with a couple of mature
trees and some low maintenance hedges flanking the perimeter. In
the center was a lawn that Ramirez had hinted on more than one
occasion would be ideal for a swing set in a year or two.

At the moment, however, it was occupied by a
giant inflatable waterslide, a five-foot ball pit, and a grass
covered tiki bar.

I turned to Ramirez. "What is this?"

He shrugged. "They told me Marco ordered
them."

Mental forehead smack. "No wonder he was
keeping me busy at the mall today," I mumbled.

"Crafty fellow," Ramirez said, though I
noticed the vein was going down and the twinkle was returning to
his eye.

"Well at least there will be alcohol," I
said pointing to the tiki bar

Ramirez's face broke into a grin. "Let's
hope there's lots of it."

After I'd practically consumed my weight in
tamales (which, by the way, was rapidly climbing after the
cheeseburger luncheon and a decadent dinner) all I wanted to do was
snuggle on the couch with my husband and watch DVRed episodes of
American Idol
. Unfortunately, Dana and I had a date with
Ratski.

"You sure this is a good idea?" Ramirez
asked, his eyebrows furrowing together when I told him about
it.

I shrugged. "No, but it's the only idea I
got."

The brows furrowed further, my candor
clearly not upping his confidence in his "eyes and ears."

"Look, we'll be perfectly safe," I assured
him. "Dana is meeting him in a public place, and she's only there
to get him to spill the kind of info one might let slip to a hot
movie star and not the LAPD."

Eyebrows were joined by a downturn of his
mouth. Clearly my reference to Ratski not talking to the LAPD was
also not doing much to lighten his mood.

I cleared my throat, trying again. "It'll
just be a couple of drinks, maybe an appetizer. Dana will pump him
for information, then we'll head home."

"And what if Ratski recognizes you?" Ramirez
asked.

I perked up. "Trust me, I've got that
covered." While out shopping with Marco and Ling earlier I'd had
the forethought to pick up a very sneaky disguise. I'd be going to
La Pastaria Italian restaurant in a sliming, navy blue Donna Karan
dress, a brand-new pair of grey Grecian style platform heels, and a
cute little brunette bobbed wig. After I added some smoky eye
makeup and a few fake lashes, there'd be no way Ratski would
recognize me.

While I could tell my husband wasn't 100%
convinced of our plan's success, it was, as I'd mentioned, the only
plan we had. So twenty minutes later I was parked in front of La
Pastaria, adjusting my adorable (even if I did say so) bob and
watching in my rearview mirror as Dana emerged from her sleek
little black sports car and handed her keys to the valet. I wasted
no time, locking my own car and following her through the front
doors.

La Pastaria was one of those trendy little
restaurants that seem to pop into the L.A. nightlife scene and pop
out just as quickly. It had a tiny little storefront featuring lots
of sleek chrome glass and natural woods, a menu with very few
choices, servers who were incredibly slow, and prices that were
incredibly high. It was no wonder it was currently one of the
hottest spots in L.A. Though, in six months, the space would
probably be a Chipotle Grill.

I spotted Dana giving her name at the
hostess stand and watched as she was quickly led to a table near
the back where Ratski was already waiting. If the empty glass in
front of him was any indication, he'd gotten there early. Good.
Liquor loosens lips, and loose lips were all we were banking
on.

Ratski stood and kissed Dana on the cheek as
she approached. I credited her great acting skills to the fact she
hardly even cringed.

As soon as the hostess returned to the
stand, I slipped her a twenty and asked her to please seat me near
the baseball player.

She shot me a look. "You're not a reporter
or something, are you?"

"Do I look like I'm with a tabloid?" I
asked.

She narrowed her eyes at me, doing an up and
down.

"It's Donna Karan," I told her.

More eye narrowing.

"Look, I'm just a really big baseball
fan."

"We value our customers' privacy," she
said.

"I'm not going to disturb him. I just want
to sit near him."

The hostess looked down at the twenty in her
hand. "I don't know if we have any empty tables near him…" She
trailed off, staring pointedly at the lonely bill.

I rolled my eyes and slipped her another
one.

"Right this way, ma'am," she said.

I followed her to a
clearly
empty
table two over from Ratski and Dana. While it might have cost me,
it was perfect. I was close enough to hear them but far enough away
that I was pretty sure Ratski wasn't going to notice me.

Though in all honesty, I had a feeling he
wouldn't be taking his eyes off of Dana at all. She'd arrived in a
silver sequined mini dress with a racer back tank that showed off
her broad gym-built shoulders. At a good six inches taller than I
was, she'd accentuated her long legs with four-inch heels that had
her almost eye-to-eye with Ratski when she stood. She was playing
pure movie star tonight, and if the look on his face was any
indication, Ratski was loving it.

"Well don't you look nice tonight?" Dana
said, arranging a napkin on her lap.

He leaned back in his chair, a slightly
buzzed grin snaking across his face. "I could say the same for you,
doll."

Dana shot him a wide smile. "It was so
fortunate running into you earlier. All I was hoping to get was an
autograph, and now here I am with the opportunity to learn
all
about you."

"I guess it's your lucky day that my wife
had a book club meeting, isn't it," Ratski said, his grin
widening.

I cringed, picturing poor Beth. Even though
she was still on my list of snarky Baseball Wife suspects, nobody
deserved to be saddled with a guy like this.

Luckily the server arrived at that moment
with a bottle of wine, so Dana didn't have to come up with a witty
reply to a married man bringing up his wife on a clandestine date.
Instead, she snuck me an eye roll as Ratski inspected the
bottle.

I turned my head away, stifling a laugh.

"I've been reading about the team's troubles
online," Dana said, clearly eager to cut to this evening's
chase.

"Troubles?" Ratski's eyes glazed as he
swirled wine in his glass. Then he took a big sip followed by a
hiccup.

Geez, we needed to make this quick before he
got too drunk to give us any information.

"Yes," Dana said, clearing her throat again.
"You know, the death of that poor girl Lacey."

I watched Ratski's face. At least he had the
decency to wipe the grin off of it as he responded. "Yeah, it
sucks. Totally distracting to the team. We got killed yesterday.
Total shutout."

His concern was touching.

"How terribly upsetting for you." Dana
reached across the table and laid a hand on Ratski's.

"Yeah, upsetting." Ratski furled his
eyebrows as if trying to create the appropriately "upset"
expression.

"Is your game suffering too badly?" Dana
asked.

Ratski shrugged. "We'll recover. We got a
lot of season left to play."

Dana shot him a fake smile. "Sure, but
doesn't the
distraction
kill your momentum? Make it harder
to perform on the field?"

"Nah." Ratski drained his glass and refilled
it from the bottle on the table. "Not much fazes me."

Dana bit her lip. I could tell she was
running out of polite ways to hint at Ratski's need for performance
enhancers. "I heard you guys are playing a doubleheader tomorrow.
That must get tiring. That's, what, six hours of play? How do you
guys have enough energy to do that?"

"
Oh, I got
stamina, baby," Ratski leered.

Ick.

"Don't you ever need a little energy boost
or something?" Dana pressed.

"Yeahlikewhat?" Ratski said, his words
slurring together as he downed another gulp.

Dana shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, you
naughty baseball boys must have
some
clever way to pep up
before a big game." She gave him a knowing wink.

"Riiiight," he agreed, drawing out the word
as the grin returned to his face. "You have a thing for the naughty
boys?"

"Maybe I do," Dana persisted, leaning
forward so that just a bit more of that cleavage showed beneath her
sparkly dress.

Ratski leaned in on his elbows (or elbow,
singular…The other slipped out from under him, almost crashing into
his plate with intoxicated grace.). "Well, let me tell you a little
secret then, Miss Dana…"

"Good evening, ma'am, my name is David."

"Shhh!" I shushed the server beside me on
instinct.

The poor guy jumped.

"Uh, what I mean is, I'm not quite ready to
order," I quickly amended, sending him a smile.

He gave me a funny look but thankfully
walked away. I tuned in again to the conversation two tables
over.

"…I had no idea," I heard Dana say.

Damn. I'd missed something juicy. I closed
my eyes trying to hone in on only their voices over the myriad of
conversation happening around me. The other tables nearby had
quickly filled, and the conversation was starting to roar as the
trendy nine o'clock hour approached.

"Yeah, well, what can you do, right?" Ratski
shrugged, sitting back in his seat and downing the rest of his
drink.

"So what did Bucky do then?" Dana asked.

Double damn. Whatever Ratski had told her
must have involved Bucky. Was he the one popping PEDs?

"Nothing. The coach might have been all over
him, but management knows he's the golden boy. They'd only be
screwing themselves if they took him out of the game."

"Hmm," Dana said. "You know, it was Bucky's
girlfriend who was killed, wasn't it?"

Ratski nodded, drinking again.

"I wonder…" she trailed off thoughtfully.
"Oh, but of course I remember reading that Bucky has an alibi,
right?"

Ratski grinned. "Don't we all."

Dana shifted showing a bit more cleavage.
"Whatever do you mean by that, naughty boy?"

"Well, Bucky and I—"

"Are you ready yet, ma'am?"

I closed my eyes and thought a really dirty
word directed at one overly-vigilant server standing by my table
yet again.

"Martini," I shot out, hoping the drink
order would keep him busy for a few minutes.

"Very good ma'am. And would you like that
shaken or stirred?"

"Shaken," I spat back, leaning in to try to
catch the end of the conversation two tables over.

"Perfect. And would you like olive or
onion?"

I ground my teeth together. "Neither."

"Wonderful. Now, would you like to hear
about the specials—"

"No!" I said. Clearly a little too loudly as
heads at the neighboring tables turned my way. Including,
unfortunately, Dana and Ratski's. I quickly ducked my head toward
the server hoping to avoid recognition. "What I mean is, I've
already decided I'll have the…" I glanced at the menu finding the
first thing my eyes landed on. "…roasted chicken in mushroom
sauce."

"Very good, ma'am." The server scribbled my
order and thankfully walked away from the table.

I heaved a small sigh of relief, then
furtively glanced through my brunette locks toward Dana's table
again. They were giving their order to another server. Crap. I'd
missed the juicy stuff again. I sincerely hoped Dana was taking
great notes.

I waited while Dana ordered an arugula and
watercress salad and Ratski ordered fried calamari and another
bottle of wine.

As soon as the server walked away Dana
leaned forward again. "So you and Bucky are close, then?"

"Sure. We all are. We're one big happy
team," Ratski drawled, his eyelids looking decidedly heavy.

"
Everyone
is tight
all
the
time?" Dana probed.

Ratski shrugged. "You know, we have our
moments."

"Like what?"

He paused, looking over his glass at her.
"Why?"

"Oh, you know, we girls just love a little
gossip." Dana sent him another flirtatious wink.

Ratski chuckled, taking another sip.
"Alright, you like juicy stuff? I've got gossip for ya."

I was leaning so far toward their table my
right butt cheek was halfway off the chair, and I was precariously
close to toppling to the floor.

"Oh, do tell," Dana crooned.

Ratski opened his mouth to speak.

Unfortunately, he never got the chance as I
heard a faint clicking sound from the table just behind Ratski and
Dana. They must've heard it too as the pair immediately turned
their eyes on the culprit. A young guy in slacks and Converse held
a cell phone up toward the couple, rapidly firing off shots like a
great amateur paparazzi.

"Uh, I'm wondering if this was such a great
idea," Dana stammered, her eyes glued to the phone. She'd been in
show business long enough to know that those pics could either be
someone's bragging material at their next dinner party or the
headliner for TMZ tomorrow.

"It's just a couple of photos," Ratski
drawled, shrugging his shoulders. "No biggie."