Homicide in High Heels (25 page)

I gingerly sipped mine. Surprisingly, it
wasn't too bad. Not an ice cream shake or anything, but palatable.
"Shoot."

"If Ratski is gay, why has he been hanging
out at the Glitter Galaxy?"

I blinked at her, my straw hovering halfway
to my lips. "That, Dana, is a fantastic question."

And one I intended to find out.

* * *

As soon as we finished our lawn in a cup,
Dana and I made tracks for the Glitter Galaxy. I texted ahead to
make sure Ling was on shift, and as we entered the dark room full
of pounding music and cigarette scented walls, I spotted her
working the lunchtime crowd. A handful of guys in suits drinking
their lunches made up the majority of the patrons. Ling was
whispering something in the ear of a particularly pudgy, pink guy,
who giggled in response like a middle school girl. She spotted us
and held up her index finger, indicating she would just be a
moment.

Dana and I sat at a table in the center of
the room, and I watched as Ling leaned down, did some more
whispering, and came back up with a couple of bills shoved in her
bra strap. She blew the pudgy guy a kiss before sauntering our
way.

"Did he just slip you a twenty?" I
asked.

Ling made a "pfft" sound through teeth and
shook her head. "Honey, that was a Benjamin. I don't make a guy
giggle like that for just twenty."

I shook off a fleeting thought of becoming a
stripper in my spare time, instead giving Ling the quick version of
my encounter with Theodore Schwimmer.

"Wait a minute," Ling said, holding up a
hand. "You trying to tell me that Ratski guy likes boys?" Her
threaded brows rose in disbelief.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," I
confirmed. "That's what Lacey had on him. Ratski was afraid that if
word got out, it would be the end of his baseball career. And Lacey
took advantage of it."

Ling shook her head. "That explains a lot
about that guy."

"What do you mean?" Dana jumped in.

"He always tip a lot, but he never grabbed
my ass," Ling said.

"Which begs the question," I continued,
"what was Ratski doing here in the first place?"

Ling's eyebrows pulled down into a frown
this time. "You know, that a really good question, blondie. We
don't have any male dancers here. Our clientele is real
specific."

"Is it possible he just wanted to be seen at
a strip club to keep up his ruse?" Dana asked. "You know, kind of
like he didn't mind being seen out with me the other night."

I pursed my lips together, running over that
thought. While it was clear now that Dana was right—Ratski had
purposely chosen a restaurant to meet her where he knew they would
both be recognized and quite likely filmed—the Ratski I'd seen
slinking into the Glitter Galaxy with his ball cap pulled low
hadn't looked like he'd been trying to be seen. In fact, no offense
to Ling and her many Benjamins, but the Galaxy wasn't exactly the
flashiest place to see nude dancers in town. There were plenty of
places Ratski could've gone in Hollywood where he'd be much more
visible. So, why drive out of his way to Industry, in dark
sunglasses and a ball cap no less, to watch nude girls dance?

"Ling, do you know if Ratski got private
dances from any other particular girls?" I grasped.

Ling pursed her lips together, her eyes
going to the ceiling, as if searching there for the info. "Well, I
told you I dance for him sometimes. But, honestly, I think Janel is
his favorite. He has a thing for redheads." She paused. "Though I
guess maybe his thing is not the thing I thought it was, huh?"

"Which one is Janel?" I asked.

Ling's eyes searched the dimly lit club
before she pointed out a girl with a tray full of drinks in hand.
She was wearing a green thong, thigh-high platform go-go boots, and
a pair of alien antennae atop a long, red wig.

"That's her," Ling said.

"Oh, Ling, Ling," the pudgy businessmen in
the corner yelled out sing-song style across the club.

Ling gave him a playful wave then turned to
us and rolled her eyes. "I gotta go. Duty calls."

I nodded my thanks to her, and Dana and I
waited until the redhead had emptied her tray before hailing her to
our table.

"Can I help you ladies with something?" she
asked, eyeing us as if trying to size up our pleasure.

"Actually, we were wondering if we could
talk to you about John Ratski?"

Janel looked from me to Dana, then back to
me again, biting her lip nervously.

"We won't take much of your time, but I just
wanted to ask you a couple of questions."

Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of
questions?"

"What was Ratski here for?" Dana asked,
getting right to the point.

The redhead's eyes ping-ponged between us
again, and I could see her trying to figure out where we fit in.
"Did Ratski send you here?" she asked. "Because he's late this
week, you know."

Dana and I shared a glance. "Yep," I lied
through my teeth. "Ratski sent us all right."

I could see the tension release from her
shoulders. "Oh, good. You know I kinda thought maybe he wasn't
coming this week. Which would totally screw me over since I already
fronted for it, you know?"

I totally didn't know. But I was certainly
hoping she could shed some light on it. "Well, we're here for him,"
I said, hoping I wasn't committing to anything too terrible.

She leaned in and whispered, "I'll be right
back. It's in my locker." With that she got up and, as quickly as
her six-inch heels would allow, crossed the club to a doorway
behind the dark curtain next to the stage.

"What you think she's going to get?" Dana
asked, whispering to me.

I shrugged. I hadn't the foggiest.

I didn't have much time to contemplate it as
Janel quickly darted back out from behind the curtain and toward
our table. She did a quick glance over her shoulder before she
leaned down and extracted something from her tall go-go boot. She
slid the item across the table to us, covering it with her
palm.

I reached out and took it, pulling it closer
to myself. I looked down. I was holding a bright green condom in a
clear cellophane wrapper. I looked back up at her.

"Okay, I give up. What is this?" I asked the
girl.

Janel's eyes darted back and forth. "It's a
Jolly Green Giant," she said. "Ratski's weekly usual."

I looked down at the condom in my hand. I
had a hard time believing he drove all the way to Industry just to
get colorful protection.

Dana took it from me, turning it over in her
hands.

"Wait, is this what I think it is?" Dana
asked. She gave Janel a pointed look.

Janel did a quick nod.

"What?" I probed.

"I've heard of this on the
Lady
Justice
set," she quickly whispered to me. "One of our interns
got busted for carrying something similar a few weeks ago. It's the
latest way to distribute designer drugs."

"Drugs?!" I asked, looking over both
shoulders. Had I just taken part in a drug deal?

"Shhh!" Janel said.

"It's pretty clever, really," Dana
continued, turning the wrapper over. "I mean, who's going to go
through the condom packets in your pocket, right? Dealers stuff the
drugs in the condoms, then stick them in these clear cellophane
packages, and distribute them as party favors all over town."

Clearly I was going to all the wrong kind of
parties. The only favors I was getting were pony poop.

"So, what's a Jolly Green Giant?" I asked
Janel, hoping like anything she said it was some sort of
amphetamine.

Janel bit her lip. "Look, a few of the girls
here take them before a set. It just gives you a little extra
pep."

I raised an eyebrow. Or a little pep to get
through a baseball inning. Or, in massive doses, enough pep to
induce a heart attack in a tanning booth.

"So, uh…" Janel cleared her throat.
"Payment?"

Uh-oh. "How much?" I asked.

"Two-fifty," she said, rising from the
table.

I blinked at her. Then I looked in my purse.
I had exactly $12.50. I looked to Dana.

"Uh, you take credit?" she asked.

Janel paused. "You're kidding, right?"

Dana shrugged. "I'm a little short right
now. Ratski didn't exactly tell us how much to bring."

"How short?" Janel said, putting her hands
on her bare hips, her eyes narrowing. I could see a bouncer near
the door tensing as her mood shifted.

"Um…" Dana dug into her shoulder bag. "I can
swing maybe…fifty bucks?"

Janel rolled her eyes in disgust, snatching
the condom back from us. "You tell Ratski to come here himself if
he wants this," she said, wagging a finger at us. Then she shoved
the wrapper back into her boot and stalked off.

"Come on," I said, glancing at the bouncer,
who was narrowing his eyes in our direction now. "Let's get out of
here."

* * *

I dropped Dana back off at her car and was
just pulling my minivan into my own drive to tell Ramirez what we'd
found when my cell rang. I grabbed it, seeing a number I didn't
recognize with a 626 area code. Curiosity won over, and I swiped my
finger across the screen.

"Hello?" I asked

"Maddie?" A vaguely familiar female voice
came across the line.

"Yes?"

"Oh, good. This is Beth. Beth Ratski," my
caller said.

I raised my eyebrow at the phone. After what
had transpired in his publicist's office, Ratski's wife was
probably the last person I expected to hear from.

But before I could question her motives Beth
continued on, "Look, my husband told me what happened in
Schwimmer's office earlier today."

"Oh?" I asked, highly suspect that Ratski
had told her
everything
that had transpired in his publicist
office.

"Yes," she said. "He told me that his temper
got the best of him, and, Maddie, I just want to tell you how sorry
I am. John knows he overreacted at seeing you there. He's just been
under so much stress lately with all of these tabloid rumors
swirling around. Of course I told him he shouldn't worry, since
none of them have a shred of truth to them, but he just got so
nervous when he saw you talking to his publicist, that he sort of
lost it."

Well it was an interesting story, I'd say
that for Ratski. Of course I guess he had to tell his wife
something when he came home with newly-blackened eyes. "No need to
apologize, Beth," I told her, feeling suddenly somehow like
Ratski's slimy accomplice in lying to his wife about their sham of
a marriage.

"Maddie, you are too kind," Beth said. "But
really, John and I both wanted to make it up to you."

"Make it up to me?" I wondered just how
worried Ratski was about the conversation I'd had with Schwimmer.
While I know I had no intention of either going to the press or
blackmailing him, clearly Ratski wasn't confident in that fact.
Schwimmer must've told him that he'd spilled the beans to me. I
suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable. The last woman who had
learned Ratski's secret ended up dead.

"Really, Beth, that's not necessary," I
assured her.

"Please, Maddie, I insist. At least please
take our box at the Stars game this evening?"

It was on the tip of my tongue to reject her
offer once again. But while Janel might not be star-witness
material to Ratski's illegal dealings, the truth was Ratski had to
be hiding his stash of Jolly Green Giants somewhere. Chances were
good that somewhere was at the stadium, and if I could find it,
that would be proof that even Laurel and Hardy couldn't
overlook.

However going into the shark tank alone
didn't seem like it was the smartest idea.

"Would you mind if I bring a plus-one?" I
asked. "My husband is the biggest Stars fan ever."

"I have died and gone to heaven. This is
frickin' amazing." Ramirez stared down through the large glass
window at tiers of seating beneath us in the Stars Stadium.

As if there'd been any question in my mind,
Ramirez had jumped at the chance to attend tonight's game,
especially from a player's private box. We dropped the kids off at
Mama's house and arrived at the stadium just before the game
started. I had to admit the box was impressive. Plush recliner
style seats looked out of the glass window with a perfect bird's
eye view of the action. From our angle, we could not only see the
players on the field, but we also had a pretty good view of the
dugout, the bull-pen, and the stands as well. The Jumbotron was
right across from our box, almost as if it was our own private
big-screen television. I had a feeling that when Ramirez said he
was in heaven, he wasn't exaggerating much.

"That's it, you need to hang out with Beth
Ratski more often."

I rolled my eyes. "You do realize that she's
possibly married to a murderer, right?"

Ramirez waved me off. "Hey, nobody's
perfect."

I gave him a punch in the arm.

One of the stadium wait staff came into the
box, looking for an order of food and drinks. Which, after they
assured us it would be comped by the Stars Stadium, we put in for a
couple of beers and a plate of wings.

The staff left, and an announcer called out
the name of a former
American Idol
contestant who took the
field to sing the national anthem. Some cities might have high
school students sing, but former
American Idol
contestants
were Hollywood's version of amateurs. After a heartfelt, if
slightly pitchy rendition, the first honorary pitch was thrown and
the away team, the San Francisco Giants, took their turn at bat. My
husband leaned forward in his seat, intent on the action below
me.

Me? I was a little more intent on
snooping.

I walked over to the far right wall which
was lined with shelves and cabinetry. The shelves mostly displayed
sports paraphernalia and mementos from the franchise's long
history. Signed photos of retired players', game balls behind
glass, plaques commending various players for various things. While
they were all interesting, none screamed "killer."