This was met by excited squealing in stereo. (I’m sure I don’t have to add, none of which came from me.)
“So…” Mom pulled a purple shower curtain out from behind her back. “Here it is. What do you think?”
Oh lord. It wasn’t a shower curtain. It was a dress. My dress.
“Wow.”
Mom did a pleased little nose scrunch, letting out a squeal of pleasure that only small dogs could hear. “I knew you’d love it.”
The first mistake my mother made was taking my “wow” for one of awe and not horror. The second, and by far a much bigger mistake, was choosing the dress.
“Where did you say you got this?” I asked, horrified that I might have to be seen in public with this.
“Ebay. Can you believe it was only going for $29.99?”
I could believe it all right. “Wow,” I said again.
“So, try it on.”
I gulped, my skin suddenly clammy at the thought of having to touch that. “Oh wow.”
Somehow in a whirlwind of ruffles and Molly squeals, my own jeans and tank came off and I became a vision in purple. And not lilac or lavender. This was Barney purple.
“Is this polyester?” I asked, feeling itchy already.
Mom moved around me, tucking, buttoning, adjusting. As if it would help. “Uh huh. It should wash really well. That way you can wear the dress over and over.”
I’m proud to say I did not laugh out loud at this.
“So, what do you think?” Mom asked.
I hesitated to even look the mirror. But it was like a train wreck. I couldn’t not look. I peeked one eye open, taking in my reflection as Mom stood back, clasping her hands together in front of her like she’d just created a masterpiece.
“Oh Madds. You look so lovely.”
I faked a smile. Okay, actually it was more of a grimace than a smile, but I don’t think Mom noticed. The dress (and I use this term loosely) featured a corseted waist that flared out into a bell shape at my hips. Which totally accented the fried food diet I’d been on the last few days. Yikes.
It was cut low in the front, high on the legs and reminded me vaguely of my high school prom dress. It was a style that screamed for crimped hair and jelly bracelets.
“Her wawas are falling out,” Mrs. Rosenblatt commented.
I looked down. I did have a little cleavage.
“It’s just a little tight.” Mom stood back, scrutinizing my mid section. “Maddie, have you gained weight?”
I looked in horror from my stomach to Molly’s bulging one.
“It’s fine,” I said quickly, sucking in. “It’s just water weight. I ate a big breakfast. I haven’t been to the gym lately.” I know, it would have been more convincing if I’d picked just one excuse.
“You know what this dress needs?” Molly asked, narrowing her eyes at my reflection.
Hmmm… a Bic and a can of lighter fluid?
“Beads. All bridesmaids’ gowns need beads.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but I guess fashion shock must have made me too slow.
“I love it!” Mom squealed before I could say anything. “Maddie, stay here, we’ll be right back.”
All of them scurried out of the dressing room (with the exception of Mrs. Rosenblatt, who waddled out) in search of beads.
I stared at my image. Trying not to cringe. I reminded myself how many hours of labor my mother went through. It was just one day. I only had to wear it for one day, then I could shove it into the far recesses of my closet never to be seen again. I mean, how may people were even going to see me in it anyway?
“Cute,” a deep voice said behind me.
Oh. Crap.
I spun around so fast I almost popped right out of my neckline…
And came face to face with Ramirez.
Volcanic amounts of heat hit my cheeks and I resisted the urge to cover myself and scream, “Look away!” Instead, I managed a more dignified, “Thanks.”
“Purple’s a good color on you.” The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“It matches my aura.” Oh great, that sounded intelligent.
Ramirez raised one black eyebrow at me.
“Actually, my aura’s not solid purple. Just streaked with purple flares. Which means I have stuff on my mind. At least, that’s what the psychic said. Which is good. It’s better than having an empty mind, right? Besides, I think it’s just water weight.” Oh. My. God. Shut up, Maddie!
I took a breath, stopping myself before I completely turned into a caricature of The Ditzy Blonde. Instead I asked, “So, what are you doing here?”
Ramirez looked about as out of place in a bridal salon as Faux Dad at a 49er’s Game. He was wearing those butt-hugging Levi’s again, this time coupled with a white T-shirt that contrasted with his naturally tanned skin. Though white shirt or no, he still had that dark, dangerous look that had me warring between wanting to stand a little closer and backing against the far wall.
“A few things have come up in the course of our investigation,” he said. “I need to ask you some more questions.”
“Here? Right now?”
“Why not?”
“How did you even find me?”
He smiled. “Your jeep is parked illegally outside.”
Ugh. I knew I shouldn’t have parked in that red zone. “When did L.A. become such a small town?”
The smile widened, showing off that sexy dimple. “Since I started looking in my rearview mirror for little red Jeeps.”
He had me there. I did have a tendency to follow him around. Damn, I hated how stalker that sounded.
Ramirez took a step into the room, leaning casually against the wall. Suddenly the room was way too small and I felt at a distinct disadvantage wearing The Purple People Eater. “You know, I’m not exactly dressed for an interrogation.”
“You look fine to me.” His eyes strayed down my frame… then slowly back up again.
Instinctively I covered my wawas.
“I’ve told you everything I know. Richard canceled lunch with me on Friday. I haven’t seen him since.”
“So, you haven’t been to his office recently?”
I bit my lip. “Not really.”
Ramirez narrowed his eyes at me. “Uh huh. Want to explain that answer?”
“No,” I answered truthfully.
His mouth threatened a smile again. “I didn’t think so.”
He paused, waiting for me to say something. Hoping maybe I would crack under the pressure. Which was entirely likely. His espresso brown eyes bored into me like a spotlight and I began to fidget. Instead of purple polyester I suddenly felt like I was wearing see through undies.
Finally he spoke, changing the subject. “I’ve been looking through your boyfriend’s financial records for the last few months,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s a big spender.”
“Richard’s generous.”
“He’s in debt up to his eyeballs.”
I gulped. I knew. But after saying I hadn’t been in his office, I couldn’t very well admit to having peeked at his financial records myself. So I said nothing.
“Yet,” Ramirez continued, “he just keeps spending. Platinum earrings for Christmas, a new car, a cruise for his mother’s birthday last-”
“Wait,” I interrupted, suddenly confused. “Richard hasn’t bought a new car. He’s driven the same black beamer for as long as I’ve known him.”
Ramirez put on his poker face again, his eyes steady on mine as if he could pry my every secret out with just one look.
“The car wasn’t for himself,” he said slowly. “It was for Amy. His wife.”
Chapter Seven
Have you ever had one of those dreams where you’re underwater and your lungs are bursting for air, but just as you make it to the surface something pushes you back down again? And you realize you may never be able to take a full breath? That’s pretty much how I felt as I stared opened-mouthed at Ramirez, gasping for air as I tried to respo
nd.
“His… his… wife?” Richard was so not married. It couldn’t be true. It had to be wrong. They had to have the wrong Richard. There was no way my boyfriend would be married and not tell me. I knew Richard. Okay, fine, I’ll admit it was turning out I didn’t know everything about him. But I knew him well enough to know he couldn’t be married to some bimbo named Amy.
“Look, there must be some kind of mistake. Richard is not married. I’m sorry, but your information is wrong.”
Ramirez kept his poker face on, his only reaction a slight narrowing of his eyes. “You didn’t know he was married?”
I spun around, my hands flying to my hips, my voice rising several octaves into a range I’m sure my Irish Catholic grandmother would deem inappropriate for a bridal salon. “Do I look like the kind of girl who dates married men?”
Ramirez looked me up and down. He was wise enough not to answer.
“Look, I don’t know who this Amy is, but Richard isn’t married,” I protested again.
Ramirez dropped the poker face, the lines in his jaw softening. On anyone else it might have been pity. But I had a feeling Bad Cop didn’t do pity.
“So, who is this Amy person?” I asked. Yes, I have a morbid sense of curiosity.
“You really want to know?”
No. “Yes.”
He sighed, almost like he didn’t want to tell me any more than I wanted to hear it. “Her maiden name is Amy Blakely. She lives in Anaheim, in a duplex owned by your boyfriend. She works as Cinderella at Disneyland.”
I felt my eye begin to twitch. Richard was married to freaking Cinderella?
Ramirez continued. “Their marriage license was filed in Orange County just over two years ago.”
“Maybe they got divorced? Maybe she’s an ex-wife?” I asked. Only I was beginning to sound really desperate. Like a gambler playing her last chip. If only it landed on red this time, Richard would be single, Amy would be a figment of Ramirez’s imagination and everything would be okay.
Ramirez shook his head. “We haven’t found any record of a divorce. And considering Richard bought a new Z3 for his wife last month, I don’t think we will.”
A Z3? He bought Cinderella a freaking Roadster? I suddenly didn’t feel so guilty about the platinum earrings. In fact, I wondered how much I could get for them on ebay. Maybe enough to buy a gun. Because I was gonna shoot the bastard.
“I take it she hasn’t seen him lately either?” I asked.
“Doesn’t look like it. Detectives are questioning Mrs. Howe right now.”
Mrs. Howe. To think just minutes ago I’d been contemplating myself in that role. And it was already taken. So what was I, the understudy?
No, shooting was too quick and painless a death for Richard. Maybe a slow poisoning. I wondered if Mom knew where to find arsenic on the internet.
“I’m sorry,” Ramirez said. He looked uncomfortable, as if he might have to deal with a hysterically crying woman.
And he just might. I was quickly going through all five stages of grief. I was past denial (Ramirez wouldn’t make a mistake like this.) and was settling somewhere between anger (A freaking Z3!?) and bargaining (Lord, let her be an ex-wife and I swear I’ll wear the Purple People Eater to my mother’s wedding without complaint.).
I may have been able to overlook embezzling. I may have been able to pretend I didn’t see that condom wrapper on his desk. I may even have been able to overlook the fact that he had killers looking for him. But a wife? That was where I drew the line.
Suddenly the image of Richard being led away in handcuffs didn’t seem all that bad. In fact, I could really get behind the idea of him rotting in jail for, oh, let’s say, the rest of his lying, cheating life. He deserved it. In fact, he deserved worse than that. He was married to Cinderella! He deserved the chair.
I might have spilled my guts to Ramirez right then. Told him about the call from Greenway, my suspicions of Richard’s involvement, everything. But out of nowhere the image of Molly’s sonogram and the deformed Muppet came flooding back to me. Okay, I’m pretty sure that behind all that fuzz was a baby. Growing inside her right now. I wondered, did I have one of those in me? My eyes slid down to my belly, sausaged into the Purple People Eater. I might. And if I did, it was Richard’s Muppet. No matter what he’d done, did I really want the father of my child rotting in jail?
I closed my eyes, took a breath, and gulped back my anger, preparing to perform my very first selfless act in the name of motherhood.
“I wish I could help you, but I’ve told you everything I know.” D’oh, d’oh, d’oh! Being selfless really sucked. Not nearly as satisfying as good old fashioned revenge.
Ramirez sighed again and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. “You sure about that?”
We both knew I wasn’t. But I’d lied so much in the past few days, I figured one more wouldn’t hurt. “Positive.”
“Okay.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Call me if you have any sudden memory sparks.”
I took the card. But I think we both knew it was going into the deep dark recesses of my purse never to see the light of day again. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here.”
Ramirez paused, did his one eyebrow thing again, then looked me up and down. Despite my anger and frustration, the naked appreciation in his eyes as they settled on my wawas created a heat somewhere in my granny panties region.
His eyes slid up to meet mine and I hoped he couldn’t read the X-rated thoughts suddenly flooding my brain.
The corner of his mouth hitched up again. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it was a total waste.”
Damn. He was a good reader.
Before I could come up with a snappy comeback, Ramirez turned his back to me and walked out.
I staggered over to one of the white sofas and sat down. Or rather, tried to sit, as the gut pincher dress didn’t allow for much bendage in the waist area. I closed my eyes and took in as many deep breaths as I dared without popping a seam. Only the deep breaths didn’t do much good because the longer I sat there the more time I had to think. And the more I thought about what Ramirez had told me, the angrier I became. Richard had a wife. Oh God. That made me the other woman. Richard had turned me into a walking cliché!
* * *
As Mom, Molly, and Ms. Rosenblatt came back, tray of colorful beads in hand, I had one eye on the dress and one on the clock. I had to get to Dewy, Cheatum and Howe during Jasmine’s break if I wanted to get any info about that phone call. And I so did want that information. In fact, I was on a mission now. I was going to smoke Richard out of hiding if it was the last thing I did. And once he showed his cheating little face, I was going to torture him until he sang soprano for the rest of his miserable little life.
Okay, fine, I wasn’t really going to torture anyone. Truth was, I’d never even hit anyone before and I wasn’t too keen on the sight of blood. Just watching those cosmetic surgery shows made me squeamish. So, in reality, torture was out. But it was a nice thought to keep me smiling while I waited for Mom to pick out the perfect beads and for Jasmine’s break to start.
By 12:03 Mom had decided on a faux pearl beading for the Purple People Eater and I gracefully ducked out of Bebe’s Bridal, praying there was no traffic on the 101. For once, the traffic gods were on my side, as there were no accidents and not a black and white in sight. I pulled up in front of Dewy, Cheatum and Howe just ten minutes before Jasmine was due back. I raced into the building, up the elevator, and came to a huffing stop at the front desk.
“Althea, thank God you’re here,” I said.
Althea looked at me, her eyes bulging behind her frames. “M-Me? Why?”
In her defense, I did come on a little strong. I took a breath and started again in a normal person’s voice. (As opposed to a freaked out “other woman.”)
“Listen, I have a tiny favor to ask.”
Althea took a step away from the desk. “What kind of favor?” she asked slowly.
; Uh oh. Maybe Althea was smarter than I gave her credit for.
“I know Richard got a call in his office yesterday and I was hoping you could check the call log and see if you could lift the number for me.”
Althea bit her lip. “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “We’re not really supposed to give out that information. Especially, with, you know…” She trailed off, her cheeks turning red. Apparently it was a little embarrassing to have an employer on the lam.
“You don’t have to worry about that. I’m, uh, I’m actually working with the police to find Richard.” A tiny fib. I was looking for Richard. The police were looking for Richard. It was kind of like we were working together.
Althea looked dubious. “Really?”
“Yep.” I nodded so hard I felt my hair bobbing up and down.
“I… I don’t know.” Althea glanced down at the desk, avoiding eye contact. “Jasmine wouldn’t like this.”
I tried not to roll my eyes at the mention of Miss PP.
“Look, I really need that number.” I leaned in closer with exaggerated importance. “I think Richard might be in danger.”
Her eyes grew wide behind her thick frames. “Danger? What kind of danger?”
If it had been Jasmine asking, I’d have told her to go take a flying leap. But somehow I felt that with frizzy haired, cardigan wearing Althea, my secret was safe. I told her about the call from Greenway and my fear that Richard was hiding out from him. Or worse. Swimming.
Althea took it all in, her “O” of a mouth growing progressively wider. When I finished she did a few myopic blinks, staring at me as if this was the most exciting thing to happen to her since post-it started making colored pads.
“This is all so James Bond. But, are you sure we should be interfering? I mean, wouldn’t this be better left up to the police?”
Yes it would. But as long as Richards’s name was crawling up the list of Ramirez’s suspects, I didn’t have that option. So, I sweetened the deal. “I could get you in for a complimentary pedicure at Fernando’s?
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