Spying in High Heels (High Heels Mysteries #1)

by Gemma Halliday

"Sasha a fear of nothing," Sasha said and I swear he was about to thump his chest like Tarzan. "Sasha love date with Dana. Love my little curvy boob."

  "All right that's it!" No Neck stood up, his sudden break from silence shocking us all into immobility. "Dana, you can't possibly be serious about this guy? Did he just call you curvy boob?"

  Dana did a hands-on-hips pose. "It's better than ball and chain."

  "He's a meathead!"

  "You're a commitmentphobe!"

  "Shhhh," I pleaded, "concussion."

  Unfortunately, no one paid me any attention.

  "Me?" No Neck countered. "You're the one who jumps into bed with anything that happens to cross your path. And I may not see the point of freezing a bunch of damn flowers from some damn wedding, but at least I have the decency to wait until we're in bed to talk about your boobs."

  Sasha stood up. "You go to bed with roommate?" he asked, looking from Dana to No Neck.

  I put a hand to my temple. I think it was going to explode.

  Dana looked from one testosterone machine to the other. "Um, no. Yes. I mean, maybe once. Or twice."

  "Five times," No Neck corrected. "Five times in one night. Beat that, Pyramid Boy."

  "You challenge Sasha?" He balled his fists, taking a step toward No Neck.

  No Neck narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I am."

  Dana glanced from one pair of flared nostrils to the other. Then gave me a pleading look. "Maddie?"

  I sighed, standing up and positioning myself behind Sasha. "Maybe we should all just calm down a little," I said.

  Of course, being that they had already engaged their instinctive male combat modes, I was completely ignored. Sasha took a step towards No Neck. No Neck balled his hand into a fist, cocking it backwards. I watched in slow motion as Micha jumped off the sofa, Dana screamed, Sasha ducked and No Neck's fist came into contact with my right eye.

  "Uhn." I groaned and fell backwards into the midget.

  "Ohmigod! Look what you did, you…you…Neanderthal!" Dana yelled, rushing to my aid as she and Micha half lifted, half dragged me onto the sofa.

  My vision was going fuzzy but I think I saw No Neck blinking rapidly as he stood with his mouth hanging open. "He ducked. I didn't mean to hit her. Hell, I wouldn't hit a girl."

  "Very bad hitting girl. You no honor." Sasha clucked his tongue and shook his head at No Neck.

  "It's your fault!" No Neck shouted. "You ducked."

  "Shut up, both of you," Dana yelled, throwing them both the death look.

  "Would somebody please get the girl some ice?" I croaked out, feeling my eye start to swell. With any luck it would swell shut and I wouldn't have to look at myself in the mirror tomorrow. Because I had a sinking feeling it wasn't going to be pretty.

  No Neck grabbed a bag of frozen edamame from the freezer and Dana stuck it on my eye. I cringed, wishing I was on something stronger than Advil. Like Vicodin. Or tequila.

  Dana banished No Neck to his room, then ushered the Russian duo out the door. Sasha looked reluctantly at Dana's skirt (or lack thereof) but conceded as she none too gently slammed the door behind them.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on the sofa, wondering what exactly I'd done to deserve this. Was it because I hadn't gone to mass since Easter? Because I was lusting after Ramirez? Was my mother right? Did God have it in for me now?

  Dana sat down on the sofa beside me and blew out a long breath. "How's your eye?"

  "I'm afraid to look."

  Dana pulled the edamame away and inspected. She cringed. "It's not that bad."

  "Dana, you're a terrible liar." I covered it with the frozen soy again, wondering if maybe I could just hibernate in Dana's bedroom for the rest of the summer.

  "I'm so sorry about that," Dana said. "Men suck."

  "No kidding."

  "That's it, I'm off men. The whole lot of them. I've got my Rabbit Pearl, what do I need a man for anyway?"

  At the moment I had to agree. A battery powered rabbit seemed like a far less complicated way to live. At least rabbits didn't slug you.

  * * *

  Dana diligently woke me every two hours throughout the night. Which was a great way to make sure I didn't fall into a coma but a lousy way to get a good night's sleep. By the time I finally felt semi-rested the events of the previous evening had turned into a dull ache behind my eye and the morning had already slipped into afternoon. I sat up with an acute sense of disorientation. I had no idea where I was. This wasn't my blanket, my pillow. Hell, I didn't even think this was my T-shirt.

  Then it all came flooding back to me as I saw No Neck in his boxers pouring orange juice. Dana stood with her back rigid across the kitchen, making toast. Neither speaking to each other.

  I slowly got up and showered, cringing as I caught a glimpse of my eye in the mirror. It was bluer than my mother's eye shadow and, dare I say, not nearly as attractive. I gave up on the whole make-up thing, figuring I was a lost cause today, and instead borrowed a pair of jeans and a fresh tank from Dana's closet. Unfortunately the only shoes Dana had in my size were a pair of spike heeled stilettos that looked like they belonged on the feet of Bunny Hoffenmeyer, but beggars can't be choosers. By the time I came out the Actors' Standoff was still on, Dana sipping coffee and reading Variety while No Neck ate cereal from the box and glared.

  "'Morning," Dana said as I walked in. Then looked up at the clock. "Almost."

  "Coffee?" I croaked out.

  "In the pot."

  "Bless you." I navigated around the stoic No Neck and poured a generous helping into an "Aerobics instructors do it until it hurts" mug.

  "Ramirez dropped off the keys to your apartment," Dana said, setting aside her paper. "They're on the counter."

  "He was here?" I had a vision of him watching as I snored and drooled on the sofa bed.

  "Just for a minute. Man, that guy is hot enough to fry bacon."

  No Neck crunched down hard on a bite of cereal.

  Dana pretended to ignore him, sipping her coffee.

  "Did he say anything else?" I asked. Like maybe how he'd caught the Murderous Mistress so I could go back to my studio without feeling like there was a big target on my head?

  "No. Sorry. Just the keys."

  Drat.

  "Anyway, I've got to get to the gym. I have a spinning class at one. You want to come with me or hang out here?"

  Hmmm…take my throbbing head through an hour and a half of sweaty bicycling to nowhere or sit on Dana's sofa watching daytime TV?

  "Thanks, I think I'll be fine here. You go."

  Dana nodded, finishing her coffee and grabbing her gym bag. She gave me a quick hug, then gave No Neck another death glance out of the corner of her eye before she left. No Neck grunted, then stalked off to his room again.

  I poured myself a second cup of coffee and took it into the living room.

  Well, now what?

  Contrary to my decision to become an official cheerleader last night, the idea of sitting back and doing nothing while waiting for Ramirez to give me the "all clear" signal to go back to my life didn't appeal to me. And I was more convinced than ever that the real killer was not only on the loose, but that I was getting close enough to make her nervous.

  The only problem was, where to go from here? I'd pretty much exhausted Greenway's supply of playmates. I closed my eyes, mentally going down my list again.

  It was possible Carol Carter had hired someone to kill Greenway, but I seriously doubted she'd even know where to find him if she really had been in Canada all week. Ditto Andi Jameson. After the pencil dick incident, I didn't see Greenway inviting her over to the Moonlight for a reconciliation.

  That left Bunny. I only had her word for it that she and Greenway had split at all. And let's not forget Cinderella. If she had been toying with Greenway on the side, she had just as much opportunity as Bunny to get rid of him.

  The question was, which one of them had hacked into the phony accounts and funneled out the twenty mil? Who'd had
access to Richard's computer? As I'd already proven, getting past Jasmine didn't take the skills of a CIA trained spy, any blonde with half a brain could have slipped into Richard's office while she was out at lunch. And luckily, my one ally in the Richard's Innocent Campaign, was the person who'd know the comings and goings of Richard's office better than anyone. Althea.

  I looked up at the clock. It was too late to coincide my inquiry with Jasmine's lunch break, so I decided to wait until five. If I knew Jasmine, she'd be the first to leave when quitting time rolled around. If I was quick, I could probably catch Althea before she left for the day without having my conversation overheard by Gossip Barbie.

  Feeling pretty pleased with my plan, I settled back onto the sofa and watched trashy daytime TV for the rest of the afternoon. Unfortunately, the first thing I flipped on was Maury Povich doing a segment on surprise paternity results. I looked down at my belly. Were there any surprises in there?

  I contemplated going out to buy a new pregnancy test, but considering my Jeep was still at my place, it was at least a two mile hike in the rapidly climbing heat to the nearest drug store, and I looked like I'd just gone two rounds with Oscar De La Hoya, I decided that might not be such a hot idea.

  Though, I seemed to remember Dana saying something about an emergency just-in-case test…

  I muted Maury and went into the bathroom, rummaging through Dana's medicine cabinet until I hit upon that familiar EPT pink stashed behind a bag of cotton balls. I stared at the box. Well, I figured things couldn't very well get much worse in my life. I might as well face the music sooner rather than later.

  I ripped open the box, skimming over the instructions again for good measure, then did the whole five second urine test thing. I sat down on the rim of the bathtub to wait, gnawing my fingernails so badly Marco was sure to shriek in horror when I came in for my next manicure. Seconds crawled as I watched Dana's Betty Boop shower clock tick off the three minutes until I saw lines. Or line—singular. God I hoped it was line. Finally Betty's little red second hand did three full rotations and I jumped up as if I was sitting on springs. Resisting the urge to cover one eye, I peeked at the little windows. Nothing. Huh?

  I picked up the instructions again, re-reading them. Pee on the cotton swap, leave stick on flat surface, check for lines. I did all that. I stared at the empty windows again. What the hell? I picked up the box, turning it over to look at the expiration date. January 15, 2008. Ugh. Mental forehead smacking.

  I threw the useless test in the trash, too emotionally drained to even curse Dana for keeping an expired test around and flopped myself back onto the sofa, wishing Dana had something more comforting than low-carb Newton's and Diet Snapple Iced Tea to gorge myself on. I so needed a box of double stuffed Oreos right now. Instead, I settled for Judge Judy reruns.

  By four I knew how to stuff a game hen, six signs you need a sexy makeover, and that Bo's brother was really Hope's secret lover. I was sufficiently vegged out. Flipping off the TV, I decided Jasmine was probably packing it in for the day and it was safe to resume the next phase of operation Free Richard. I grabbed my purse and called a cab, hoping I timed my trip downtown so I'd miss Jasmine.

  Unfortunately, the 101 was clear of accidents and my cab driver was an eager little beaver in a blue turban, so the first face I saw as I walked into Dewy, Cheatum & Howe was, predictably, Jasmine's.

  She looked up as I walked through the front doors, her eyes narrowing like a cat's. "What do you want?"

  "Are you always this friendly?"

  She scrunched up her nose, squinting at my face. "What happened to your eye?"

  "Some receptionist gave me lip. We tussled."

  She took a hand on hip stance. "Listen, you, I don't have time for this. I have a date. Why don't you just go home and make an appointment to see Chesterton tomorrow."

  "I'm actually here to see Althea."

  Jasmine's eyes narrowed again beneath her drawn in brows. "Althea? What do you want with her?"

  "Well, I think that's between Althea and me, don't you?" I gave her my best fake smile, showing teeth and everything.

  She scowled. Well, tried to scowl. It was more like a lopsided squint. That Botox was really working. "Fine. I'll get her. Wait here." She walked around the reception desk, her lipo-shrunk butt wiggling in her barely-there skirt. I didn't know how she got away with wearing that kind of stuff to work. Honestly it was the kind of outfit I'd have to borrow to make another midnight run to the Moonlight Inn. The only decent thing about it were her knock off Prada boots, the perfect made in Taiwan replicas of the pair I'd tried on yesterday. Cute, but, like everything else about Jasmine, fake.

  A few minutes later Jasmine came back through the frosted doors, Althea in tow. Althea was dressed in a striped jumper that reminded me of a private school uniform. Boxy and shapeless. She shuffled toward me, talking in hushed tones.

  "Maddie, what's wrong? Has something happened to Richard?" she asked, genuine concern lacing her voice. Then she paused. "What happened to your eye?"

  "Nothing. Bar fight. Tripped. Whatever." I waved the question away. "Anyway, Richard's fine. I actually just want to ask you…" I paused, glancing behind me at Jasmine.

  I'd hoped she'd leave for her date, but she suddenly seemed in no hurry, picking up a nail file and trying to look like she wasn't listening in.

  I sighed, resigned to her eavesdropping, and pulled the newspaper photos of Bunny and Andi Jameson out of my purse. "I wanted to know if you've seen either of these women come into the office."

  Althea took the photos, pursing her thin lips together as she studied them. I could feel Jasmine leaning over the desk to get a better look.

  "No," Althea shook her head. "Sorry, I don't recognize either of them. Who are they?"

  I tried not to sound too disappointed. "Women Greenway dated. I thought maybe one of them could have slipped in and gained access to Richard's files."

  Althea gave me an apologetic look. "I really wish there was something I could do to help Mr. Howe. We all miss him around here." She bit her lip, then turned awkwardly and shuffled back through the frosted doors.

  I put the photos back in my purse, trying not to feel defeated. I mean, just because Althea hadn't seen anyone, didn't mean no one had snuck in. I looked up at Jasmine, still tying to appear uninterested behind her desk. Did I dare ask her?

  I watched her for a second, filing her nails, her legs crossed so one Prada knockoff stuck out from behind the desk. They were pretty good knockoffs actually. I resisted the urge to ask her where she'd bought them. I looked closely, taking in the details. Unlike most knockoffs, the metal zippers were clearly embossed with the Prada logo and the stitching was tiny and precise, not puckered. And, as Jasmine uncrossed her legs, I noticed they had that soft ease of movement unlike the usual stiff imitations. In fact… I took a step closer, openly staring at her shoes now.

  Oh my God. Those weren't knockoffs. Those were a genuine pair of five hundred dollar Prada boots.

  And suddenly it hit me. Where did Jasmine get the money for Prada?

  Chapter Twenty

  I stared, my gaze riveted to the imported calfskin. I felt like a Jeopardy contestant, suddenly faced with all the answers if only my brain would catch up quickly enough to find the right questions to ask. The blonde hairs in the motel room. Access to Richard's files. One expensive cosmetic surgery after another on a salary that made mine look decadent. Ohmigod. Jasmine was mistress number four.

  I swallowed hard, realizing I was still staring. Then looked up to find Jasmine watching me. Our eyes locked and I felt my blood turn cold.

  "Are you still here?" she asked, her voice oddly flat.

  "Me?" I squeaked out. "Nope. No, I'm done. I'm gone. I mean, I'm leaving now. See, here I go."

  She cocked her head to one side, looking at me funny as I turned and all but ran out the door. I didn't wait for the elevator, instead taking the stairs two at a time, hoping I didn't fall and break my neck as theories swirled through
my brain at an alarming pace. Had Greenway met Jasmine on one of his visits to Richard's office? What if he'd had an affair with her? With Jasmine's eavesdropping habit, she was sure to have overheard something of Richard and Greenway's less than legal money shuffling. And she had easy access to all Richard's files. Including bank account numbers. Jasmine had shot Greenway, I was sure of it.

  Breathing heavily, I ran outside into the heat and got halfway to the parking garage before I remembered I didn't have my Jeep. Crap.

  I paused on the sidewalk between Bernie's Pawn Shop and Starbucks. I pulled my cell phone out, poised to call Ramirez and tell him what I'd learned. But I hesitated. As sure as I was that Jasmine had done it, I didn't have a shred of proof. And I had a feeling that when Ramirez heard about my latest shoe clue, he'd have a good chuckle and I'd get the Big Boy speech again. Add to that my promise to leave the whole thing alone (never mind I'd had my fingers crossed) and I wasn't really excited about facing Bad Cop again.

  What I needed was proof. Anything that definitively tied Jasmine to Greenway. Something more than a designer shoe. I had to get to her computer. It hadn't escaped my notice that her computer screen closed with lightening speed whenever I walked into the reception room. I'd bet my favorite slingbacks that the numbers to an offshore account, recently twenty million dollars richer, were buried somewhere between her solitaire games. Ramirez and his crew had no doubt torn Richard's hard drive inside and out, but who would have bothered with the receptionist's computer?

  I looked down at my watch. Five-fifteen. In another couple hours the office would be empty. One thing I'd learned dating Richard was that if lawyers were going to work late, they were damn well going to charge their clients for a steak dinner while doing it. After eight the offices would be deserted. And Jasmine's computer unmanned.

  I ducked into the Starbucks and ordered a mocha frappuccino, which I took to a seat by a window with a good view of Richard's building. I hadn't been there two minutes when Jasmine exited the building, her Prada boots calling to me as she walked the two blocks to the garage. I sipped my drink and waited, watching one law clerk after another leave the building. Althea came out a few minutes later, a patchwork bag with a picture of a cat on it slung over her shoulder as she made her way to the Metro Rail. Finally Donaldson left the building, getting into his Mercedes and pulling away from the curb just as it was beginning to get dark.