"Maddie Springer," I said. "I'm a friend of Ricky's. Can you please tell him I'm here?" I asked the unseen security guard.
I heard a beep and a buzz, which I hoped was the guard signing off to go find Ricky.
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling the intense stares of the paparazzi grow more interested the longer I stood there. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to look as self-conscious as I felt.
I waited a full five minutes, before I spotted a sleek, black car coming down the drive toward the gates.
The paparazzi jumped to attention, flashes going off like fireworks. The car stopped at the gate and a guy in a black suit, sunglasses, and an earpiece that looked like it had been swiped from the Secret Service got out. The flashes immediately ceased, a collective groan from the media signaling their disappointment that it wasn't Ricky.
Secret Service Guy opened the gate and motioned me through, giving dirty looks to the paparazzi outside. I slipped past him and got into the passenger seat of the car, riding in silence as the bodyguard drove me up to the main house. As soon as we arrived, the guard ushered me through the front door and into a wide hall. "Ricky's in there," he grunted, gesturing to a room at my right.
I walked through a pair of French double doors, taking in the décor as I did.
While Dana had invited me several times to the place she and Ricky shared in the Hollywood Hills, I'd actually never been to the Malibu getaway. Cool white marble tiled the floors, and white walls with pale wood accents gave the home a modern feel. Bright paintings done by some famous artist lined the walls, but it was the scenery stretching outside of the oversized windows that had me catching my breath. Turquoise blue sea, rugged green cliff sides, and soft, sandy beaches.
"Cool, huh?" Ricky said, getting up from a chair in the corner as I approached.
I nodded. "Very cool. To die for," I added. Then silently cursed my poor choice of words. "How are you holding up?"
Ricky shrugged, doing a small, self-deprecating smile. "Been better, but I'll be okay."
He was unshaven, barefoot, and wearing a rumpled t-shirt and basketball shorts. It was a far cry from the Red Carpet Ricky his fans knew.
"Dana's not with you, huh?" he asked, his eyes darting behind me.
I shook my head and thought I saw his shoulders slump in response. "Sorry."
"Have a seat," he said, gesturing to a white leather sofa.
I did. "She's pretty upset, Ricky," I told him.
He nodded. "I know. And I'm so, so sorry. You have to believe that I never meant to hurt her."
"Give it to me straight," I told him. "What was going on between you and Irina?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. A little too quickly.
"Ricky, she was seen going into your dressing room. More than once," I added, remembering both Kaylie's and Lana's accounts.
"We were friends."
"That's it?"
"That's it. I swear."
I bit my lip. As much as I wanted to believe him, it was clear that he was holding something back. "Ricky, Lana saw you going into your dressing room with Irina just before she was found dead."
His skin paled beneath his five o-clock shadow. He leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him as if in an unconscious pleading motion. "Maddie, I did not kill her."
"So what were you two doing in there?"
"Talking," he said, his eyes suddenly avoiding mine.
For such a great actor, he was a terrible liar.
"Ricky, she was naked."
He shook his head. "No, she was clothed when she was with me. I swear it. I went into my dressing room with her. We... talked... then I left."
"You left her in your dressing room?"
He bit his lip, looking past me out toward the ocean as if it held the correct answer. Finally he nodded. "I was coming right back. I just had to... to get something."
"What something?"
"I... it was... look, that doesn't matter," he said, shaking his head. "What matters is she was alive and fully clothed when I left her."
Oh, yeah. He was definitely hiding something. I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out what. "What time was that?" I asked.
"I... I don't remember. It wasn't like I was looking at my watch."
"Where did you go?"
His eyes ducked down, avoiding mine again. "Around. On the set."
"That's about the worst alibi I've ever heard."
"I'm not guilty," he shot back. "I wasn't planning on needing an alibi."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes," he said, eyes shifting downward.
"And no one saw you leave the dressing room?"
"No."
"Or saw Irina alive after you left her?"
"No." He paused. "Except the real killer."
"You do realize how O.J. that sounds, right?" I asked him.
"Look, I didn't kill her, Maddie," he said, eyes pleading with me. "You have to believe me."
"Did Irina ever mention a Russian guy?" I asked him, switching gears. "Average height, dark hair, wears a diamond earring in one ear?"
Ricky frowned. "No. Not that I remember. Why? Who is he?"
"I wish I knew. Shaniqua says she overheard Irina plotting with this man to buy votes for the show."
Ricky's eyes went wide. "No way!"
"Way. She didn't tell you anything about it?"
He shook his head vehemently. "No. I had no idea she would do that. I mean, why would she need to? We were ahead every week. I honestly thought we had a pretty good shot at the prize."
"So did I," I admitted. "But apparently, Irina wanted to make sure."
"So, you think this Russian guy might have killed her?" Ricky asked, hope lighting his eyes.
I shrugged. "I'm looking into it."
Ricky smiled. "Thanks, Maddie. You have no idea how much it means to me that you believe in me."
I grunted a non-committal response back. Mostly because I didn't have the heart to tell him my belief was wavering.
* * *
Once I got home, I took one pair of happy, giggling babies from Mom and thanked her for her help.
Unfortunately, as soon as I shut the front door behind her both twins started crying.
"Don't worry, Mommy's here," I cooed to them, picking Max up. Which somehow prompted him to cry even harder.
I tried not to take it personally as I filled the kitchen sink with water, stripped the poor things out of their duck suits, and gave the pair a bath in their little recliner tubs. The warm water eventually soothed them, allowing me to dress, feed, burp and change (and, in Olivia's case, re-change) them before I finally wore them out, and they fell asleep in their matching cribs. I was just tiptoeing out of the nursery with baby monitor in hand when Ramirez came through the front door.
"Hey, I'm home," he called.
"Shh," I commanded, pointing to the monitor.
"Oops. Sorry," he whispered. "I missed them, huh?" I could see genuine disappointment in his eyes.
"Yeah, they just went down."
He nodded. "How'd they do today?"
"Great," I said. Or at least, that's what I'd been told.
"Good. Maybe I'll try to slip home at lunch tomorrow and get some play time in."
I nodded. "I'm sure they'd like that." I made a mental note to be here at lunch time.
"How was your day?" I asked. I'll admit, I had a twofold agenda with that question. Of course I cared how my husband's day went, but I also cared if he'd encountered any new leads on the case that was taking me in circles to nowhere fast.
"It was good," he said, taking off his jacket and laying it over the back of the sofa before plopping down. "Busy, but good."
"Busy with..." I prodded, taking a seat beside him.
He grinned. "Irina's case, and you know it."
"So, how's the case going?"
"You're incorrigible," he said, grinning as he put one arm around my shoulders.
I leaned into his chest, inhaling the faint scent o
f aftershave still clinging to his shirt. No matter how long we were together, the smell never ceased to turn me on.
"I know," I responded. "But you love me anyway."
"Most days."
"Hey!" I punched him playfully in the ribs.
He chuckled. "Okay, okay, since you've been stuck at home all day with the terrible two, I'll throw you a bone."
"Thank you," I said, even though a flush of guilt hit my cheeks at being just the teeny tiniest bit deceptive about how I'd spent my day.
"Irina's autopsy was today," he went on.
"And?"
"And we got more info on the murder weapon that killed her."
"So what was it?" I asked.
Ramirez shrugged. "Honestly, we're still not sure. But it was a heavy, blunt instrument."
I felt my shoulders sag. "That was hardly a bone."
"But," he added, "it left a distinct impression on her skull."
I perked back up. "What kind of impression?"
"Triangular. About this big," he said, holding his thumb and forefinger a couple of inches apart. "With a cross hatched pattern on it."
"Any guesses what made it?"
Ramirez shook his head. "Unfortunately, nothing left at the scene seems to match the pattern."
"And I assume none of your fancy police databases had any hits?"
He shook his head. "We're still looking, though. Anyway, enough work talk," he said. "What's for dinner?"
I shrugged. "Whatever you're in the mood to make me."
Ramirez groaned. "I was afraid of that. I guess it's sandwiches again."
"Or," I said, a tiny light bulb going off. "We could go out. There's this new place I've been dying to try. Tapas Mexicana?"
"Sounds like a lot of work hauling two sleeping babies with us," Ramirez protested, putting his feet up on the coffee table.
"Well, since they're asleep already, they're probably good to go for at least a couple of hours before they wake up hungry. I could see if Dana wants to come over and hang here with them while we go eat."
"I don't know. I've been out all day..."
"Oh, come on. We haven't had a date night in forever. Just the two of us? It will be fun." I gave him my brightest smile, hoping he bought it.
Ramirez sighed, clearly weighing his options. But considering he'd been living on sandwiches for the last two days, his stomach finally won over his tired feet. "Okay, Springer. You win. Date night it is."
Chapter Nine
Half an hour later Dana was sitting on my sofa watching reruns of CSI on demand while waiting for a delivery of mu shu pork, spring rolls, lemon chicken, chow fun, and egg fried rice from the Shanghi Palace. And once I told her about my meeting with Ricky, she added a cheesecake to her list of demands. If her body didn't go into junk-food shock by the end of the night, it would be a miracle. On the upside, after the afternoon at Fernando's she was looking more like her movie star self. Even if said self was still shoved into a pair of sweats. (Minus the Crocs. Marco told me he'd tossed them in the dumpster out back as soon as he could get his hands on them, sending her home in salon issued flip-flops instead.)
I left Dana with the remote and the number to a bakery that delivered 24/7 (a fav of mine in my pre-baby-weight life), and, after a quick jaunt through traffic, Ramirez and I were walking through the doors of Tapas Mexicana. The place was small, as all popular restaurants in L.A. seemed to be, but it was intimate rather than cramped feeling. Tables for two lined the walls, soft acoustic guitar music played through hidden speakers, and the air smelled like chili powder, cumin, and cinnamon. I inhaled deeply, wondering if just one little night off my diet was really all that bad.
As the host showed us to our table, I surveyed the other patrons. A handful of guys in suits - network exec types. A few in jeans and sneakers - writer types, trying to cozy up to the exec types. And several blondes in tops tight enough to show off their surgically enhanced girls - actress types trying to get the attention of all the other types. And amidst the attention seekers, there was one rumpled looking tabloid editor type, seated at a table near the center of the room, his back to me, leaning toward a blonde in a little black dress. (Emphasis on "little".)
"Oh look who it is," I said, grabbing Ramirez by the arm and feigning surprise. "Felix Dunn!"
Ramirez squinted toward the table in question, then grunted. "Swell."
To say Ramirez and Felix had a tenuous relationship was like saying Christina Aguilera wore a little makeup. Total understatement alert. Ramirez and I had just started dating when I first met Felix. At the time, Felix had been hot on a story involving yours truly, which hadn't exactly endeared him to me. However, as I'd gotten to know Felix, I'd realized there was more to him than just his tabloid boy facade. And, admittedly, I'd softened to him. So soft that at one time I might have even kissed him. In the heat of the moment. Accidentally. Totally not meaning to. But I hadn't exactly hated it either.
You can imagine how Ramirez had reacted. In fact, his feelings toward Felix, and my own heat-of-the-moment-whoops, had almost derailed our relationship for good. But, in the end, I'd gone with my heart and pledged my undying love and sole possession of my lips to Ramirez. Leaving things between Felix and me in the land of what-if, and almost-was.
Not that it meant Ramirez had forgotten it all.
Especially if the look on his face that accompanied the grunt was any indication. If I'd said, "Look honey, Jack the Ripper is here," he'd have probably been more enthused.
But, as it was, that Ripper was dining with the one person who had "gory details" about my case. And I planned to find out exactly what they were.
"Can we sit near our friends?" I asked the host, pointing toward Felix's table.
Ramirez turned on me, eyes narrowed, suspicion radar rising.
I did my best eyelash-batting-wide-eyed-innocence thing.
Luckily, there was a free table, just two over from Felix and Allie.
Unluckily, Ramirez continued giving me The Look as the host led us to it. I tried to ignore it, though it was like ignoring laser beams being poked into my back.
"Did you know he was going to be here?" Ramirez grunted into my ear.
"No!" I did a "puh-sha" thing, expelling air through my teeth. "I mean, why would I want to meet up with him for our date night?"
Ramirez just grunted again, his eyes narrowing further.
And his weren't the only ones.
Allie spotted us as we approached. Her eyeliner heavy eyes first went round with surprise, then narrowed into a matching pair to my husbands'.
"Maddie." She said my name as it if were a dirty word.
"Why, Allie!" I responded, laying the sugar on double-iced. "What a surprise to see you here."
She pursed her lips together. "Really."
I ignored her. "And Felix, so nice to see you."
Felix swiveled in his chair, the only person in the group not shooting me daggers at the moment. "Maddie, don't you look lovely tonight?"
"Thank you, I try."
Ramirez grunted again.
"And Jackson," Felix said, acknowledging the grunter. "Lovely to see you as always." He stuck a hand out in a friendly gesture. Ramirez grabbed it so hard I feared he'd crush it.
"Well, I don't want to interrupt your dinner," I said, steering my husband away as Felix extracted his hand, only wincing slightly. "Enjoy your meal," I added, then quickly skirted over to our own table. I took a seat and grabbed a menu, propping it in front of my face to shield me from the laser beams still being trained at me from across the table.
I only got as far as the salad section before my husband's hand shot out and lowered my shield.
"Maddie." He said my name low, dark, and in the dangerous tone I knew he used to interrogate suspects.
I gulped and pulled out Innocent Face again. "Yes, dear?"
"What was that?" he asked pointedly.
"What was what, honey?"
"That. With Felix and Allie."
I blinke
d again. "What?"
More eye-narrowing. It was a wonder he could see out of those suckers at all.
"What?" I protested. "I can't say hello to a friend who I happen to run into at a restaurant."
"'Happen?'"
I set my menu down on the table. "Just what are you suggesting, Ramirez?"
"What I'm suggesting, Springer, is that it's a hell of a coincidence."
I shrugged. "It's a small town. Coincidences happen."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not that small."
"Look, do you want to grill me, or do you want to order a bottle of wine and enjoy the one night out we've managed to have in the last three months?" I asked.
Ramirez grunted again, but he picked up his menu and started reading, which I took as a good sign. Crisis averted.
Now, to get what I'd really come here for.
The server appeared, we ordered a bottle of Pinot and a selection of appetizer-sized tapas plates, and Ramirez dug into the bowl of chips in front of us. I followed suit, my eyes focused on the food while my ears tried to pick up any snippet of conversation I could from the table two over where Allie was giving Felix an earful about something. Something important if the little frown between her threaded brows was any indication.
I wished we'd been sitting next to them. The couple between our tables was older, casually dressed, and talking about their youngest child who, if the gist of the conversation I overheard was any indication, was spending a fortune at college.
I tried to tune them out, honing in instead on Allie's mouth as she formed the words.
"... together on Dancing with Celebrities.... overheard the name... very reliable source... and then he went and charged an entire week's hotel stay in Ft. Lauderdale over spring break."
I paused, shaking my head as the older woman's voice rose in volume. I didn't care about the spring break kid. I cared about what name was overheard on DWC.
I cocked my head to the side, straining to hear over the couple again. This time it was Felix talking.
"You're sure your source is being straight with you?"
"Absolutely. 100% trustworthy," Allie responded.
I knew it! There was a press leak on DWC. And he or she was leaking info straight to Allie. I strained, hoping to hear a name.
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