Death By High Heels (The Kim Murphy PI Series Book 1)

by Violet Ingram

  What the hell did that mean?

  “I’ve got to go or the chief will have my head.”

  My dad was a tough but fair man. However, if he discovered one of his detectives was too busy pawing his daughter to get his work done, there was no telling what punishment my dad would dole out.

  “Well, I’ll be in touch if I need you for anything else.”

  A sigh escaped my lips. “You know where to find me.”

  “Yeah, I do.” He lifted his hand toward me and dropped it back at his side. “Good night.” He closed the door behind him.

  I curled up on the couch and grabbed the remote. Half a dozen channels later I settled on a Last Cake Standing marathon. A knock on the door made for the fourth rude interruption of the day. Worse, I was going to miss the teams moving their cakes to the judging area. At the door, I peeked through the peephole. With the front porch light on I recognized the local news station’s reporter, Mr. Abraham, who, along with several others, had been relentless six months ago. I had never been especially fond of reporters, sticking their microphones in peoples’ faces and asking them how they felt. There had to be a more useless job somewhere in the world but I just had no earthly idea where or what that would be. I did know the next one who got in my face was going to get a lot worse than a few nasty words flung their way. Careful not to make any sound, I crept back to the couch. On the show, one team was applying butter cream frosting—one of man’s greatest inventions. Now that should be on an episode of Modern Marvels. There was one more round of knocking and then silence. A few minutes later the phone began to ring.

  Choosing to ignore the phone, I went back to watching TV. The downside was these kinds of shows always made me hungry. I suffered for an hour before going into the kitchen in search of a chocolate fix. Several minutes of frantic searching and I came to the horrible conclusion that there wasn’t even a crumb of chocolate. This was a crisis, not of biblical proportions, but more like it was the week before my period and there was no chocolate. This was so not good for someone who carried a gun.

  After the day I’d had, the smart thing would have been to go to bed. My need for chocolate would almost always win over the need for sleep. I grabbed my purse and headed out before I came to my senses. Fat chance that would happen.

  There was street parking in the front, but most of us preferred our assigned spots in the lot behind the building. Each apartment received one assigned space. Carports were available for an additional sixty bucks a month. I lived on a budget and it so wasn’t worth the money. Besides, the snow still managed to get inside and cover the cars anyway.

  I got into my 2010 black BMW. The car had been a tight squeeze with my income but it had been a necessary expense. My job took me to some fancy neighborhoods. I needed a car that would blend in. Housekeepers would report a suspicious vehicle if I parked on the street in a twelve-year-old Honda Accord, my previous vehicle.

  My apartment was only three minutes away from a pharmacy open twenty-four hours. Once inside, I grabbed a basket and went straight for the candy aisle. For some reason I always found it necessary to scope out every item even though I always bought my favorites: Reese’s Cups, Hershey’s Bars, and 3 Musketeers. After dumping a couple of each into my basket, I made my way to the book and magazine aisle where I added a People magazine and three Harlequin Blaze romance books.

  The pimply twenty-something boy behind the register asked if I needed anything else. I was tempted to ask for a pack of Capri Menthol cigarettes. Instead, I paid for my purchases then glared at him when he was dumb enough to ask if I needed a bag. No, I thought I’d juggle the stuff back to my car. With a sigh, he stuffed my items into a plastic bag and muttered for me to have a good day.

  Back home, I parked in my space and started to cross the parking lot. Everything looked normal, lights on and doors closed, until I glanced at the back of Lindsay’s apartment. A sliver of light peaked through the sliding doors. I veered toward her apartment. As I got closer I could see the light was escaping the open door.

  “Teenagers,” I muttered.

  Our apartment building backed up to one of the city’s many parks. There was a playground, a soccer field, and a baseball diamond. Police patrolled the area looking for teenagers determined to get into all sorts of mischief. My guest bedroom had a view of the picnic tables and the bathrooms.

  I used the bag to slide the door open several inches and gasped. Couch cushions were sliced open and an end table lay on its side. Paintings had been taken off the wall and ripped from their frames. It was hard to believe how just a few hours earlier the place had been spotless, well, except for the chair with the dead guy in it. The police certainly hadn’t done this and I didn’t believe teenagers had either.

  I reached into my purse for my cell phone and cried out at a sharp pain to the back of my head.

  Chapter Two

  After several attempts, I finally managed to get my eyes open. At least I thought I had. It was so dark, who could tell. I moved around and regretted it immediately. I could have sworn some teenager was using the back of my head as a set of drums.

  I sat up slowly and checked the rest of my body for injuries. Finding none, I sighed in relief at the realization I was fully clothed. I stood up and waited. Nothing bad happened so I started my search for a wall and a light switch. I took five steps and promptly fell forward, landing with a thud.

  “Ouch!” Where the heck was I? The palms of my hands burned from what I assumed were about a billion tiny shards of glass. Okay, it was probably closer to a hundred, but dang it hurt.

  Crawling, trying to avoid more obstacles, my hand brushed against what I sincerely hoped was my purse. I reached inside, searching for my cell phone. What I found was a flashlight. I flipped it on and looked around. Evidently, whoever attacked me had dragged me into Lindsay’s apartment. Swell, I had just inadvertently gotten my DNA all over Grant’s crime scene.

  Using the flashlight, I looked in my purse for my cell phone. Of course I had to get past a can of mace, a hairbrush, and my checkbook before my hands closed around my phone.

  The blood made dialing difficult but I finally managed to make my call.

  “Hello,” a sleepy voice answered.

  “Grant, it’s Kim.”

  “Look, Kim, if you remembered something or wanted to confess, you could have waited until the morning to call.”

  “I thought you’d want to know your crime scene’s been tampered with, but if you’re not interested…good night.”

  “Wait a minute. What the hell are you talking about?” Grant shouted into the phone.

  “Lindsay’s back door was open and the tape was off.” For my own safety I didn’t mention the destruction inside or the damage I’d done. He was a smart guy, he’d figure it out for himself.

  “Did you call this in to the station?”

  “No, I thought you’d want to know first.”

  “Fine,” he said before hanging up on me.

  “You’re welcome,” I muttered.

  Deciding I’d done enough damage, I tried to stay as still as possible while I waited for Grant.

  “Freeze, hands up!”

  I didn’t recognize the patrol officer who showed up a few minutes later. “Really, do I look like I’m moving?”

  “Oh jeez, you’re bleeding.”

  Wow, the guy was a genius. I was going to have to talk to my dad about the hiring requirements. He grabbed his radio and mumbled into it. Lucky me, he was probably inviting more people to the party.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Grant demanded.

  I couldn’t believe he showed up dressed in a suit and had even managed to put on a tie. The guy must sleep in his clothes. Actually, a guy like Grant probably slept naked. I looked him up and down and stifled a groan. I was positive that under the suit and tie was a rock hard body I’d love to get my hands on. Now was not the time to be considering Grant’s sleeping habits, or any other kind of habits, as I tore my eyes from his crotch.r />
  “It’s nice to see you too,” I said.

  “Detective, she was sitting there on the floor.”

  “Go outside and secure the perimeter. I don’t want any reporters getting their cameras in here.”

  “Yes, sir.” The poor guy practically ran out of the apartment. I guessed getting yelled at by a detective wasn’t his idea of a fun evening. It was a shame I couldn’t make the same fast exit.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Your concern for my well-being is somewhat lacking. Don’t you think?”

  “Sorry. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “Could you hurry up? I have plans.”

  He didn’t need to know my plans involved reading a romance novel and consuming more chocolate in one sitting than a human should in a week.

  Grant returned with a camera in one hand and a towel in the other. He gently wrapped the towel around my hands. I sat in the middle of the carnage while he snapped away, getting every angle he could. These pictures would definitely not be making it into the family photo album.

  Flash, flash, flash. “Kim, hold still.”

  “Sorry. I’m just glad my being attacked hasn’t interfered with you doing your job.”

  Flash. “Attacked? What do you mean attacked?” he asked, the camera down at his side.

  “As in someone assaulted me. Didn’t they teach you about that before you made detective?”

  “Shit! Kim, I’m sorry. I thought…”

  “What? Go on say it.”

  “Look, it’s not my fault. You’ve been at too many crime scenes lately. I thought you were at it again.”

  “At what again?” I asked.

  “Snooping.”

  “Snooping? You are such an—”

  “Ass, yeah, I know.” Grant tossed the camera strap over his neck then leaned down. He grabbed my arms and pulled me gently to my feet. We stood mere inches apart.

  “I’m sorry. I should have known you wouldn’t—”

  “Detective, what the devil is going on here?”

  Grant dropped his hands and stepped back.

  “Chief, I was just helping her up.”

  “Kimberly, what happened to you?”

  “Dad, I’m fine, really, just some cuts and a bump on the head.”

  For a moment, Sean Murphy stopped acting like the tough but fair police chief and became the worried, loving father that was his other job.

  I walked over to where he stood just inside the doorway. Concern etched lines in his strong, weathered face. A face I had always been able to depend on. The last thing I wanted to see was disappointment. “Dad, I swear I didn’t do this.”

  He looked around the room. “Of course you didn’t. Your mother and I raised you better than that.” He turned toward Grant. “Get the paramedics here now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Grant walked past us and stepped outside.

  “Dad, I’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, you will, because you’re going to the hospital,” he said in a voice I knew from past experience would not tolerate any argument.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. While we wait, can you tell me what happened here?”

  “I came home from running an errand and noticed one side of the police tape wasn’t attached. I could also see light coming through the door. I figured it was kids, but when I got closer I realized the sliding door was open.”

  “Then what?”

  “I got hit in the back of the head. When I woke up I was on the floor. I got up to find a way out and tripped over the mess on the floor.”

  “That’s how you got the cuts on your hands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn,” Grant muttered.

  I glanced over and saw him standing in the doorway.

  My father sighed. “Is there any way I can talk you into quitting this job, getting married, and giving me grandchildren to spoil?”

  There it was. What he wanted for all of his children, but most especially for his daughters. My sister, Brenna, was doing her part to populate the Earth, so why wasn’t I? He probably wondered where he and my mother had gone wrong.

  “Dad, this had nothing to do with my job.”

  “Well, I suppose…”

  Grant cleared his throat. “Chief, the paramedics are here.”

  “About time,” my dad muttered.

  I was forced into the back of the ambulance. Grant’s frowning face was the last thing I saw before the doors were closed and I was whisked away to Lakeview Hospital North. I’d always found the name choice odd since there wasn’t a Lakeview Hospital South, East, or West.

  After several shots to numb the pain, a cute doctor with a wedding band plucked every piece of glass out of my skin. Only a few were deep enough to require stitches. Luckily, the bump on my head didn’t require any. My parents and brothers arrived just in time to hear the news that I had suffered a mild concussion. My mother looked ready to nurture. If my dad hadn’t been holding her hand, she probably would have tossed the hospital staff out of my room so she could take over my care.

  I became less thrilled with the doctor’s medical expertise when he announced I’d be spending the night for observation. A female officer arrived and stayed in the room while I removed my clothes. She placed the bloody mess into a bag and sealed it shut. Instead of being stuck in a hospital gown, I was able to change into clothes my mom brought with her.

  Over the next hour, half the female staff must have come in to check my vitals, see if I had enough pillows, or to make sure I was warm enough. It would have been appreciated if their motive had been dedication to their patient instead of lusting over my twin brothers, Justin and Jason, who had both arrived at the hospital in their SWAT uniforms.

  It was nice having so much of my family there, but when my mom finally kicked everyone out, I was grateful for the quiet. After watching her dispose of the hot and bothered nursing staff, I was pretty confident my mom could get a job as a bouncer at even the roughest bar in Dayton.

  My dad left promising to return in the morning. My mom made herself comfortable in the empty bed next to mine. I closed my eyes and tried to keep the tossing and turning to a minimum so as not to disturb her.

  I must have drifted off because I awoke to something moving across my forehead. As I suffered from an acute fear of anything creepy, crawly, or slithery, I jerked up and barely missed bashing my head into Grant’s face. “What the hell!”

  “Quiet. You’ll wake up your mom.”

  I glanced over and she was on her side, facing me with her eyes closed.

  “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

  “I wanted to see for myself that you were all right.”

  “Thanks, but I’d feel better if I were at home in my own bed.”

  Grant cleared his throat and looked away.

  “What?” I asked, placing my hand on top of his.

  “Just thinking something I shouldn’t.”

  “Well, now you have to tell me.”

  Grant leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Taking you home to bed. You’re smart. I’m sure you can figure out just exactly what I’d like to do to you.”

  A groan escaped my lips. Grant placed his hand on the side of my face and turned me toward him.

  “Sir, visiting hours are over.”

  We turned and found one of the horny nurses from earlier standing in the doorway, her hand on her hip.

  Grant sighed. “I was just leaving.” He placed a chaste kiss on my cheek then walked quietly past the rude intruder and out of my room.

  “Lord, you have more handsome men visiting you than a girl has a right to.”

  “Just family and friends.”

  “Uh-huh. That man was looking at you like you were on the menu.”

  I sighed.

  “No more visitors tonight. You need your sleep.”

  Chapter Three

  Monday

  It was still dark when I was released from the hospital. Back home, thanks to a lift
from my dad, I stripped out of my clothes then crawled under the covers. It was one o’clock the next time my eyes opened. A growling stomach led me down the stairs and into the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee then stepped outside to retrieve the newspaper. On my way back to the kitchen I noticed the flashing number four on the answering machine.

  “Stupid reporters.”

  Each message turned out to be from the jerk from last night. I took immense pleasure deleting each and every one before heading into the kitchen in search of something to eat. I had a tough decision to make—breakfast or lunch? Out of cereal and only one egg left, I settled on a bologna sandwich, a dill pickle, and a handful of potato chips. I sat in the kitchen and ate my lunch with several cups of coffee.

  With lunch over, the idea of crawling back under the covers held great appeal. Sadly, that option didn’t get the bills paid. I ran upstairs; I took a quick shower, got dressed, and headed out. My office, like all the others on the south side of Wilmington Way, was a former ranch house converted into office spaces. On the other side of the street sat a grocery store, a gas station, a strip mall, and several fast food restaurants. A used bookstore and a library finished out the block. All the things a woman, well, this woman anyway, could want conveniently located.

  When most people imagined a private investigator’s office, it was safe to assume, my office didn’t come to mind with its pink flowered wallpaper from the eighties and the mint green carpet. It reminded me of my grandparents’ old house. It was ugly as sin but the rent was cheap and the utilities were included.

  By the front door was a reception area just big enough for a small desk and chair. Since my income was only enough to support me, barely, it sat empty. I walked through the building, flipping on lights as I went. More out of habit than need, I made a pot of coffee.

  Sitting at my desk, I had absolutely no interest in getting anything accomplished. Tempted to call my friends, I looked at the clock. They were either busy at work or, in Melissa Richie’s case, still in bed sleeping. Melissa was a romance writer and she claimed her muse worked the night shift. Any of her friends suffering a crisis better be considerate enough to schedule it for early evening.