Homicide in High Heels (4 page)

Oh, boy. Why did I have a feeling I'd just
aligned myself with Tweedle Diva and Tweedle Devious?

Once Marco and Ling left, I still had a few
hours to kill before my strip club appearance and felt obligated to
play domestic goddess. I did a round of dishes, loaded the washing
machine, and even pulled the vacuum out of the closet. Luckily I
was saved from actually using it when my cell rang, displaying my
best friend, Dana's, number.

"Ohmigod, Maddie," she yelled in my ear as
soon as I picked up. "I just saw it on the news. What
happened?"

I quickly filled her in on all I knew,
ending with my plans to question Ratski at the Glitter Galaxy later
that afternoon.

"So you think the boyfriend did it?" she
asked when I'd finished.

"I don't know," I told her honestly. "But
there are only two possibilities. One—it's a total random
killing."

Dana sucked in a breath.

"Or, two—someone close to her wanted her
dead. Someone who knew her tanning schedule."

"Too creepy. I'm never going to look at a
spray booth the same."

I'd ditto that. I just hoped Fernando's
clients didn't feel the same way.

"Well, I wish I could go with you," Dana
continued, "but I'm shooting until three."

"How's it going?" I asked, tucking my phone
in the crook of my neck as I intervened between the twins. Livvie
had grabbed Max's toy duck, causing tiny screams of protest. I
picked up my little thief, hoisting her onto my hip.

"It's flippin' freezing here. They have me
in a bathing suit on the Golden Gate Bridge. Can you believe? It's
fog city."

"How many more days do you have?"

"Hopefully this is it. If we can get the sun
to peek out enough to get the shots today."

"Well, good luck," I told her.

"Thanks. Hey, by the way, I got the
invitation."

"What invitation?" I asked, switching the
phone to the other ear as I deposited Livvie into her high chair
along with another handful of Cheerios.

"To the twins' birthday party. It was
adorable. Where did you get it?"

I groaned. "I haven't actually seen them.
This is all Marco's doing."

"Oh, they're beautiful. Linen and gold
embossed, with a light tissue overlay. Cute but super classy."

I felt myself mentally adding up the cost of
that classiness as the guest of honor tried to stick a Cheerio up
her nose.

"Anyway, I'll be there for sure," Dana told
me.

I didn't have the heart to tell her I was
still a maybe.

* * *

After I had fed, changed, burped, then
re-changed the twins, I packed them and their diaper bag into my
minivan and drove them to my mom's house. Mom had graciously agreed
to watch them while I "took care of some business." I let her
believe it had to do with my shoe designing business and not
investigating business. I didn't want to get her, or Faux Dad's,
hopes up that this trek to the strip club was going to yield any
results. Personally, I still thought it was a leap to assume the
boyfriend was guilty, and an even bigger leap to assume he might
have purged his guilty conscience to his best friend.

"How are my babies?" Mom squealed as soon as
I walked in the front door, attacking Livvie and Max in a round of
perfume scented hugs.

"Fed and mostly clean," I answered for
them.

"Oh, wait until you see what Grammy bought
for you-oooo," Mom sing-songed.

I tried to hide my dread. While I loved my
mother with all my heart, her sense of fashion had peaked somewhere
around 1985 and stalled there like a Volvo with a car phone. She
was the only person in the entire L.A. basin who still wore acid
washed jeans with high-top sneakers. Today she'd paired them with a
sweater featuring a koala in a shade of purple that exactly matched
the heavy eye shadow extending from her eyelids clear up to her
plucked brows.

"Oh, gee, Mom, you shouldn't have," I said,
fully meaning it as she grabbed a bag from her kitchen counter.

"Oh, now, you know I love to spoil my
babies," she protested. I watched as she pulled out two little
rompers: one in blue, the other in pink. She held them up to her
chest so I could see the silk-screen design on the front. They both
said "I'm 1," with a spotted giraffe contorting himself into the
shape of the number.

While they weren't haute couture, it could
have been worse. "Cute," I said, nodding my approval.

"Aren't they? They'll be perfect for the
party."

I heard myself groan before I could rein it
in. "Marco sent you an invitation, too?"

Mom nodded. "They were gorgeous, honey, but
don't you think they were a bit much for a
child's
party? I
mean, you can't just go throwing money around like that, Mads."

I opened my mouth to protest that it was
someone else
throwing
my
money, but before I could
get it out, the front door opened again.

"Yoo-hoo? Anyone home?" a voice called. A
beat later the woman who went with it appeared in the doorway,
Mom's best friend, Mrs. Rosenblatt.

Mrs. Rosenblatt was a three-hundred pound
Jewish psychic who looked like the Pillsbury dough boy had a love
child with Lady Gaga. Her make-up was loud, her muumuus bright, and
her ex-husbands numbering almost as high as her cholesterol count.
She and my mother had become fast friends after a particularly
enlightening reading Mrs. R had given my mom on the Venice
Boardwalk one afternoon, saying she would meet a tall, dark
stranger soon. Two days later, a chocolate lab had wagged his tail
into Mom's life, and she'd been a believer ever since.

"Oy,
bubbee
," Mrs. R said, her eyes
immediately going to me. "Come here."

I took a step closer as she squinted at me.
"You got something right there," she said, waving her hand in the
region of my forehead.

"Where?" I went crossed-eyed trying to
see.

"There." She pointed.

"What is it?" I asked, swiping with my hand.
"Baby food? Spit up? Smudged mascara?"

Mrs. R shook her head.
"Nope. Aura flares."

Mental
face palm.
"Aura flares?"

"Maddie, your aura is a hot mess. You got
any stress in your life?"

I thought of the pole dancer and the queen
waiting for me at a strip club to interrogate a murder suspect.
"Nope. None I can think of."

"Well, you gotta relax. Get some fresh air.
Maybe a long, meditative walk."

A long walk sounded like heaven. It also
sounded like someone else's life. The last time I had time for a
walk, it was from my refrigerator to the babies' crib in the middle
of the night with two fresh bottles.

"Listen, I'll be back at six by the latest,"
I told my mom. Then I planted a kiss on each of the twins' heads
and slipped out the door before Mom and Mrs. R had a chance to
interrogate me about my interrogation.

* * *

Glitter Galaxy was located in the City of
Industry on Main, sandwiched between a John Deere wholesaler and a
warehouse with the words "China-Co" printed on the sign. By six on
a payday, it would be packed. Right now, the parking lot was mostly
empty, only a smattering of late model sedans near the entrance.
The building itself was a squat, one story affair that looked like
any of the other warehouses in this part of town. Only this one had
a ten foot tall naked woman rimmed in neon standing on its
roof.

I spotted Ling and Marco in Marco's Fiat at
the far side of the lot, and I pulled into the slot beside them.
Marco scrunched his nose up as he got out of the car, studiously
avoiding looking at the giant yellow nipples flashing above us.
"This place always gives me the creeps."

Ling punched him in the arm. "Toughen up,
Nancy."

"Ow," Marco said, rubbing his bicep.

"Look, let's just get in, get the interview,
and get out," I said, not a huge fan of the place myself. While I
was no prude about the human form in all its naked glory, something
about men sitting with their hands under the tables threw my squick
radar to a ten.

Ling led the way inside, pausing to wave to
a girl on stage in alien antennae, pointy flashing neon ears, and
nothing else. She had her leg wrapped around the top of the pole,
hanging upside down and arching her back in a pose that clearly
screamed "double jointed." Very impressive. I had a hard time
tearing my eyes off her as I followed Ling through the club, which
was dark, smelled like stale beer, and perpetually felt like last
call. No windows, lots of walled off areas for private dances, and
music so loud my feet were getting a massage through my
slingbacks.

"He's not here yet," Ling shouted to me. She
pointed to a booth near the back of the club which was currently
empty. "That's his favorite spot."

"So what do we do?"

Ling shrugged. "I'm gonna make some tips
while we wait. You do whatever you want."

Knowing what Ling cleared, I was tempted to
join her. But instead Marco and I opted to take a seat at a table
near the door. As soon as we did, a Princess Leia in Jabba servant
clothes came up and asked if we'd like a drink. What the heck? It
was almost five, and the kids were elsewhere. Marco and I ordered a
pair of cosmos.

As soon as she arrived with them, I turned
to Marco. "I heard that you sent out invitations to the twins'
birthday?"

Marco nodded, beaming. "I did. And they were
fab!"

"Fab as in expensive?"

Marco shook his head at me. "Maddie, how can
you put a price—"

"—on my kids. I know, I know. Humor me for a
moment and say I can. Would that price have one zero after it or
two?"

Marco made a tsking sound between his lips.
"Honey, those were custom designer label invitations."

"Which means?"

"Three zeros."

I grabbed my cosmo, taking a long swig as I
pictured just how many pairs of shoes I'd have to design to pay for
this "priceless" party.

"Trust me, everyone has loved them so far,"
Marco assured me. "I've had tons of RSVPs already."

I paused. "Tons? Exactly how many people
have you invited to this party?"

"Now that number only has two zeros."

I downed the rest of my drink, thinking what
bad form it would be to wring his neck and spend my children's
first birthday in jail.

Luckily for Marco's safety, the front door
opened, blasting the interior with a bright light. Once it subsided
again, I caught a tall, dark haired guy in jeans and a polo shirt
standing near it. He wore at least a day's worth of growth on his
chin, a six pack worth of beer belly hanging over his belt, and a
ball cap pulled low over his ears as if hoping no one recognized
him. Just like Ling said, he took a seat at the booth in the back,
sliding low in his seat and signaling Princess Leia for a
drink.

Ling must have spotted him too, as she
quickly left the group of guys in cheap suits she'd been working
and made her way to the back booth.

Ratski's eyes lit up as she approached, and
I watched Ling lean in, whisper something in his ear, then giggle
flirtatiously as the waitress returned with his draft beer.

"What did she say to him?" Marco asked,
leaning in.

I shrugged. "Got me."

"Come on. We're missing the
interrogation."

"
Talk
. We're just here to talk," I
hissed back. Even though I knew it was a lost cause. Marco loved to
play Nancy Drew like I loved a good sale at DSW.

I followed him as he slipped from our table,
taking a spot instead at the booth next to Ratski. The backs were
high enough that he couldn't see us, but we were close enough to
overhear every word.

I put my finger to my lips as I heard Ling's
voice float over the top of the booth to us.

"You must be so tense. I heard all about
that dead girl on the news last night."

A grunt was the only response she got.

"You know her?" Ling pressed. "Lacey
something?"

"Desta," Ratski responded, his voice low and
raspy. "Lacey Desta."

"Yeah, that the one! She died terrible,
no?"

Ling was laying the accent on thick. I
figured it was her version of "playing blonde," a trick I'd admit
to using myself once or twice. The less a person thought you knew,
the more apt they were to tell you everything
they
knew.

"Terrible," Ratski agreed, and I heard him
pause for a sip of beer.

"That boyfriend of hers must be pretty
upset."

"Yeah."

"They close? The boyfriend and the dead
girl?"

I cringed. It wasn't the most finessed
questioning.

"Of course," Ratski responded, a defensive
edge to his voice now.

"No fighting?"

"No."

"They weren't having any relationship
problems?"

"No!"

"You sure?"

"Look what is this?" he asked, and I heard
him get up from the booth.

What it was, was a very poorly conducted
talk
on our part.

I slid out of my own seat just in time to
see Ling pop up in front of him, her
barely-taller-than-a-third-grader frame barring his way.

"You know what this is," she said, hands on
her hips, eyes narrowed. "The boyfriend always guilty. So, fess up.
He do it?"

"What the hell?" Ratski said, pushing past
her.

I sighed. So much for her and Ratski being
"good friends." This was going downhill fast.

And then it went into downhill in
speed-skater mode.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door
to the Glitter Galaxy open, blinding sunlight reflecting off a gold
badge as a cop held it up to the doorman.

Oh, no.

The light faded, and as my eyes re-adjusted
to the dark, I saw my husband and two other plainclothes detectives
enter the Galaxy.