Okay, so I knew he was lying. I was so far from beautiful right now. My mascara must be in streaks, my nose was running and red, and I'm sure my eyes were once again puffier than the Michelin man. But it was a nice lie. And he was a nice guy to say it.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "I'm sure you have stuff to do. Important Bad Cop stuff."
He smiled. Not that smirky smile and not the sexy, wolfish grin either. Just a smile, like maybe deep down he really didn't think I was such a mess after all. "Nope," he said. "I've got nowhere to go."
He pulled me close to him and I laid my head down on his chest. I could hear his heart beating. It was a comforting sound. He smelled like fresh laundry and mellow aftershave. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent.
I closed my eyes. I wasn't sure if it was the vodka, the good cry, or Ramirez's steady heartbeat beneath my cheek, but for the first time in days I felt peaceful. Calm, peaceful and so very relaxed. I closed my eyes and let my thoughts drift, feeling utterly comfortable in Ramirez's arms.
* * *
I heard a phone ringing, echoing through my head like a car with too much bass. Slowly I flexed one limb, then the other. My neck was stiff, like I'd fallen asleep sitting up and my mouth felt like sandpaper. I managed to open one eye a crack.
And saw Ramirez.
Yikes!
I blinked hard against the assault of sunlight coming through my windows. What the hell was Ramirez doing in my apartment? His head was lolled back on the futon cushions, his mouth slightly open as his slept, making deep breathing sounds. Slowly it came back to me as I watched him. The Virgin Mary's, the EPT. Ramirez's hands up my shirt.
Uhn. I groaned. Oh God, I'd practically thrown myself at him. And then bawled all over him. I'd made a drunken fool of myself. I shook my head. Ouch. And I had the headache to prove it. And where the hell was that ringing coming from?
I dove for my purse on the floor, every movement jarring my head until it pounded like a marching band. Oh my God, someone stop the ringing!
"Hello?" I croaked as I found my cell phone.
"Maddie! Where the hell are you?"
I held the phone away from my ear, Dana's shrill shriek assaulting me in so many ways I couldn't keep track.
"Shhhhh. Hangover."
"Oh my God, Mads. You're hung over? I knew I should have picked you up this morning."
Picked me up?
And then through my hung over haze I had a moment of clarity. Oh shit. The wedding!
I spun around, producing a new round of pain in my temples, and looked at the clock on my kitchen wall. Oh shit. 10:00!
"Maddie? Are you still there? The ceremony starts in half an hour. Your mom is starting to freak."
"I'll be right there. Don't start without me"
I hung up, throwing the phone down on the carpet.
"Shit!"
Ramirez opened one sleepy eye. "What time is it?"
"Ten. I'm late. I gotta go. Shit!" I ran to my closet and pulled the Purple People Eater out of its garment bag. I didn't even take the time to grimace as I stripped off the rest of my librarian outfit and threw it over my head.
Had I more time I might have waited until Ramirez was gone to strip down. As it was, I think the sight of me half naked and running around like a crazy woman woke him up quickly enough.
"Late for what?"
"Wedding. Mom's wedding. Riverside. Shit!" I panted, trying to get the Purple People Eater closed in the back.
Ramirez stood up and helped me with the zipper.
"Thanks."
"How late are you?" he asked, still rubbing his eyes.
"Late. Riverside in half an hour late. I am so freaking late!" I looked wildly around for my dyed purple shoes. I found one under my drawing table and hopped around looking for the other as I scooped my cell phone back into my purse.
"Okay, I'll drive."
I stopped hopping and stared.
Okay—my first thought when Mom told me she was getting married (after the initial shock that Ralph was, in fact, straight) was of the awesome act of God it would take to get Richard to come to the wedding with me. We'd only been dating four months and the Wedding Date is really more of a six months-and-up kind of event. Rating just after meet-the-parents, and just before buying a puppy together. After weeks of procrastinating, and weeks more of begging, pleading, and playing the we're-not-having-sex-until-you-relent game, I'd finally convinced Richard to go on the promise he could leave early if they started doing the chicken dance.
And, after one drunken night of Maddie the Horny Tear Factory, Ramirez wanted to go to the wedding with me?
I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because Ramirez grinned as he explained.
"My car has a siren. We'll be able to get through traffic."
Right. Siren. Duh.
I shook off the tiny prickle of disappointment that he wanted a quick route and not an evening of close dancing with me as I found my other shoe and made a mad dash for Ramirez's SUV.
Usually the drive from Santa Monica to Riverside is a good hour and a half—Santa Monica bordering the ocean and Riverside bordering the last known outpost of civilization before heading into the desert of doublewides between L.A. and Las Vegas. However, with Ramirez's police siren blaring down the 10, we made it in twenty-five. It was a good thing too because as we pulled up in front of the Garden Grande Motel, Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt were pacing up and down like two vintage kitschy Energizer bunnies.
"Where the hell have you been?" Mom shrieked at me as I catapulted myself from the car.
"Sorry, I overslept."
Mrs. Rosenblatt looked Ramirez up and down. Her gaze settled in his package region. "I can see why."
My cheeks turned into two flaming pools of lava.
Ramirez just grinned.
"You, come with me," Mrs. Rosenblatt instructed him. "I've got the perfect seat for you." Before I could protest she grabbed Ramirez by the arm and steered him toward the back garden.
"No he's just dropping me off, and…" I trailed off. What was the point? Mrs. Rosenblatt would probably just lecture me on the importance of sex for a healthy aura.
Ramirez just shrugged and grinned at me over his shoulder as Mrs. Rosenblatt led him away. If I hadn't known better, I'd have thought he was enjoying this.
"Where is Richard?" Mom looked from me to Ramirez's retreating form with narrowed eyes.
"Uh, well, Richard is kind of, um…"
Mom waved her hands in the air. "Never mind. It doesn't matter. You're here. I'm getting married. That's all that matters."
Mom's hands stopped waving. Her eyes got round. She visibly paled under her thick layer of foundation and startling blue eyeliner. "Oh God. I'm getting married."
And then my mother began to hyperventilate. Right there on the sidewalk in front of the Garden Grande Motel in an empire waisted wedding dress with a two foot long train Mom had the breakdown to end all breakdowns.
"Oh God. I don't think I can do this, Maddie. I mean, I want this," she went on, "But oh my God, I'm getting married, and I swore I would never do this again, and maybe we should wait, maybe we should do it in the church after all, what if God really does want me to be Catholic, and what if he puts a curse upon our marriage, Maddie, you know I can't take another failed marriage, I need God to be on my side, Mads."
My head pounded, the marching band bringing out the big cymbals. "Take a breath. Pause for a period."
Mom took another deep breath, still looking like she needed a paper bag. "What am I going to do if I blow this marriage too? I don't know if I can do this."
"Mom, if you don't want to do this, now's the time."
Am I a bad person that I almost hoped she'd change her mind and I could go home and commune with my Mr. Coffee instead of parading down the aisle in Barney on Crack for all to see?
She bit her lip, creating little red lipstick flecks on her teeth.
"I do Mads. But, it's just been the two of us for so long. And, well, Ralph's great, but everything's
about to change. And I don't know if I can take it. The change. Maybe I'm just too old for change."
And I realized as I stared at my mother's '80's blue eye shadow and lipstick stained teeth, so was I. Maybe that was why I'd blocked out all things wedding for the past three months. I was afraid things were going to change. That I'd lose my Keds-with-floral-Muumuus Mom to Fernando's ultra chic world.
And just as quickly I realized how ridiculous that was. There wasn't a designer in Beverly Hills strong enough to pry my mom out of her 1983 ways, and to be honest, I didn't think Ralph even wanted to try. Any man who would love Mom, blue eye-shadow and all, passed muster with me.
I wasn't losing a mom. I was gaining a dad. A Faux Dad.
"Mom, do you love Ralph?"
Mom nodded without hesitation. "I do."
I gave her arm a quick squeeze. "Then let's go get married."
Mom's eyes teared up, and she caught me in a hug that crushed my ribs even harder than the Purple People Eater. I held onto her hand as we took our places behind a boxwood hedge just as the strains of the wedding march began to play.
Chapter Fifteen
"Everybody on the dance floor for the chicken dance!"
Ramirez leaned in close. "Just so you know, this more than makes up for dinner at my mom's."
No kidding.
Actually Ramirez had been a pretty good sport about this whole thing, sitting all the way through the ceremony, even when my Irish Catholic Grandmother started saying her rosary halfway through the I-do's, and even when every one of my cousins, aunts, uncles, and members of my mother's Internet chat groups insisted on meeting Maddie's New Guy. All things considered, Bad Cop was turning out to be an okay date.
We were seated at one of the ten round tables in the Garden Grande's "great hall" (Think Elk's lodge décor—peeling wood-toned vinyl walls and grade school cafeteria linoleum). Molly the Breeder sat across from me with her husband, Stan. Dana and an exhausted looking No Neck Guy were flapping their wings on the dance floor, and Ramirez was sitting on my left. Beside him sat my Irish Catholic Grandmother, back straight, lips pinched into a tight line, eyes narrow and shrewd, flicking between Ramirez's tell-tale stubble and my naked left finger.
"Maddison, are you going to mass tomorrow morning?" she asked, her steely blue eyes squinting up at me. (Despite my petite status, my grandmother makes me look like a giant, topping out at just under 4'11".)
"Of course, Grandmother." I figured this didn't really count as a lie because it was for a good cause. If my grandmother thought I didn't go to mass, she might have a heart attack and die here on the spot. So, really, I was saving her life with this lie. Very noble, when you look at it that way.
"How about the new guy?" She gestured to Ramirez as if he weren't there. "Does he go to mass?"
"Uh…" I was stumped.
"My family goes to St. John Vianney," Ramirez cut in.
He was Catholic? Ohmigod. I think my grandmother might just die a happy woman. Maddie had actually brought home a good Catholic boy. Well, a Catholic boy at any rate. The jury was still out on the good part.
My grandmother's eyes narrowed like a cat's. "St. John Vianney? Do you know Father Michael?" She was testing him.
"I do. In fact I worked with him last year to establish an after school program to keep teens away from crime. I'll tell him you've been asking after him."
Grandmother's wrinkles parted in a small smile, nodding, and I had a sneaking suspicion mentally booking the St. Mark's chapel for the Springer-Ramirez wedding.
Ramirez leaned in close. "I think granny likes me." Then he winked at me and I felt his hand rest on my knee.
I jumped. I wasn't entirely sure if Ramirez was here as my ride, my date, or to keep me under surveillance in case Richard tried to contact me. Granted, I'd just spent the night drooling on his chest. And he was here with me at my mother's wedding, charming the dentures off Grandmother. And, as I'd sampled last night, he'd take home the gold in the kissing Olympics.
But with the vodka slowly seeping out of my system, reality was rearing her ugly head again. And in reality, Ramirez was on a case, Richard was on the lam, and I was somehow stuck in the middle, not sure whose side to be on.
I was pretty sure I now hated Richard. It was hard not to hate a man who married a Disney character. But somehow I wasn't ready to totally write him off either. At least, not without hearing his side of the story. Even without taking into account my late factor, Richard and I had a history together. And I wasn't quite ready to throw that all away. The whole situation still left me with a squishy sensation in my stomach, like that time in second grade when I'd eaten a bad burrito and done one too many flips around the monkey bars.
But I didn't move Ramirez's hand.
"Wasn't it a lovely ceremony?" Molly piped in.
Grandmother snorted. "No priest. Civilized people get married in a church with a priest, not on some lawn." She turned to Ramirez. "Molly got married at St. Mark's. All our girls get married at St. Mark's," she emphasized.
Ramirez gave me the raised eyebrow. I pretended to find an interesting piece of lint on the Purple People Eater.
"Our wedding was so beautiful," Molly went on. "We had the traditional white roses everywhere, and my gown was this white, lace creation that had this long, lovely train tha—Stan, get your son, he's climbing on the podium again. Anyway, the train went on for miles. I had to have a train bearer, can you believe it? I felt just like a princess and—Stan, get him, he's going to pull the whole thing over! What was I saying? Oh, yes, St. Mark's. Well, it was just a lovely ceremony. You have to get Father Jacobs to do your wedding, he's just the most—Stan, I swear if you feed that boy any more cake I'm going to castrate you! Get him down from there, now! Anyway, where was I?"
I stared, my jaw hanging open like a cartoon. I think I was having a terrible glimpse into my future. Like the ghost of pregnancy hormones yet to come. I grabbed my water glass and took a big gulp, trying to fend off hysteria, and made a mental note to take that test when I got home.
Stan mumbled something that sounded like "four more months of this," before leaving the table to wrangle his cake eating monsters.
"Molly has three children already," Grandmother informed Ramirez. "If you want a big family, you'll have to start soon. Maddie's not getting any younger, you know."
I choked on the water, making coughing sounds as I tried not to spew it across the table.
Ramirez looked like he was trying hard not to laugh. "We'll get right on that." He flashed Grandma a smile that was all teeth and I felt his fingers curl around my knee.
I took another sip of water.
"I'm glad to hear that." In fact, Grandmother looked about as pleased as when Molly had promised she'd think about sending her oldest boy in to the priesthood.
Great. My mom's bouquet not even cold yet and already Grandmother was trying to marry me off with a corral full of cake eating, podium toppling monsters of my own. I tried to think of a tactful way of saying Ramirez was just my ride.
My ride who kept squeezing my knee under the table.
Before I could sort that one out, my cell phone rang. Grandmother gave me a stern look that obviously said cell phones were on the War and Peace sized list of things she didn't approve of.
"Excuse me," I said, grabbing my phone and stepping away from the table. The readout was an 818 area code I didn't recognize.
"Hello?" I answered, putting a hand over my other ear to block out the strains of the chicken dance.
"Hi. I'm returning a call from Maddie Springer?"
"This is Maddie?"
"This is Andi Jameson."
My ears perked up. Mistress number two.
"Yes, thanks for calling me back. I actually wanted to ask you a of couple questions about Devon Greenway."
Andi was quiet on the other end.
"You did know him, right?"
"Yes," she said hesitantly. "Who did you say you were again?"
I decided to stick w
ith the story I'd told Bunny. "I'm with the L.A. Informer. We're doing a piece on Mr. Greenway's tragic passing and I'm speaking to anyone who was close to him."
Andi didn't respond. But, she didn't hang up either, so I plowed ahead. "From what I understand, you used to date Mr. Greenway?"
"Listen, I don't know if I feel comfortable talking about this to the press."
Shit. I bit my lip, trying to think fast. Think like a used car salesman.
"Okay, here's the deal. I'm not really with the press. I, uh, I dated Greenway too, and I was just trying to find out how many other women he screwed over by failing to mention he was married." Okay, a lie. But the anger about having a boyfriend forgetting to mention his marriage was real.
And it seemed to hit home.
"God, you too?" Andi sighed into the phone. "Would you believe I didn't even find out about it until I saw his wife's body on the news. What a cheating scum."
"No kidding." Now we were getting somewhere. I wondered just how angry Andi had been when she saw the news. Angry enough to kill someone?
"How long did you date Devon?" I asked.
"Six months. He said he was going to marry me. He said he was going to buy me a big house in the hills and we'd get married. What a load of bullshit."
"Yep, men are scum." I was getting into this. "All men should be required to have their marital status tattooed on their foreheads."
"Better yet, tattoo it on their dicks."
Ouch. "So, when was the last time you saw Devon?"
"A couple weeks ago. He said he was going out of town for a while. Bastard. Probably just shacking up with some whore. No offense."
"None taken." Wow, she was really pissed. I wondered if I could goad her into telling me if she owned a gun. "Man, when I found out about his wife, I was so angry, I could have killed him. I guess someone beat me to it." I laughed nervously.
Andi was quiet.
I prodded a little further. "I sure would like to shake the woman's hand who did it. She did us both a huge favor, huh?"
Silence again. Damn. Maybe I'd laid it on too thick.
Then she spoke in a slow, calm voice. "You want to know what I did?"
Spying in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries #1) Page 17