Deadly in High Heels

by Gemma Halliday

  He shook his head. "Nope. No way, honey. I promised your hubby I'd be your personal assistant, and that's what I'm going to be."

  "Suit yourself." I shrugged. "It won't be much fun for you to watch shoe fittings."

  He propped his fists on his hips and stared at me, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? They're shoes."

  I led him into Dressing Room A, and his jaw dropped at the sight of dozens of shoeboxes lining the walls. They'd been joined today by two racks filled with belts, scarves, and other leftover accessories from wardrobe. "I think I'm in heaven," he whispered. "How dare you keep this from me?" He scurried over to peek inside some of the boxes, occasionally pulling out a shoe to admire it. "You are a true visionary," he told me.

  I grinned. "You are a nut. Grab a seat. The first fitting is in a few minutes."

  My first fitting of the day was with Whitney, who seemed unusually subdued as we made last minute adjustments to her assortment of shoes. I chalked it up to pageant nerves and quickly made the changes—leaving out the pair we'd had set aside for the talent number which had been cut—while Marco looked on, occasionally wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.

  After we repeated the process with a dozen of other girls, I stood and stretched. "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. Want some?"

  He shook his head. "I'll just wait here and watch over the shoes." He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're not leaving this immediate area, right?"

  "Just to the break room," I assured him. "I'll even leave the door open so you can see me the whole time." The truth was, I didn't mind if Marco kept an eye on me. I had something of a case of nerves myself. Despite my earlier assurances, being surrounded by pageant personnel wasn't exactly a source of comfort when I knew one of them was likely a killer. I just hoped Ramirez finished up at the police station quickly.

  I headed for the refreshment table to pour myself a cup of coffee with lots of cream. (Hey, it wasn't a latte, but it would provide the much needed jolt.) I was stirring sugar into the Styrofoam cup when Laforge stepped up beside me. He'd lost his customary swagger and seemed worn down, even defeated. It was clear that the week's events weighed heavily on him. Beyond that, he looked different. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn't wearing his uber fashionable sunglasses. I'd grown so accustomed to seeing them in place that he didn't seem like the same person without them.

  He gave me a rueful smile as he reached for a cup. "I don't know about you, Maddie, but this can't end soon enough for me."

  "I am right there with you—" I stopped midsentence, staring at him. Laforge had gorgeous eyes. Startling eyes. Emerald green eyes. Jennifer had raved about her lover's green eyes. And I hadn't seen any other man all week whose color could hold a candle to his.

  "Do you know all the cutting I've had to do to fit the time?" He sighed. "Add to that losing two of our contestants. What a nightmare."

  I could hardly believe it. I blinked at him, taking in his tight, pale yellow leather pants, sleek silk shirt, and faux fur vest. Was it possible that Laforge was Jennifer's secret lover?

  "We've had to totally redo the choreography," he was saying. "I hope Miss Arkansas can handle it. I have my doubts." He took a sip of coffee. "To tell you the truth—"

  "You were sleeping with Jennifer," I blurted out.

  Laforge gave a start, splashing coffee over the rim of his cup and onto his hand. He winced and reached for some napkins.

  "What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice an octave higher.

  I shook my head, still trying to make sense of it. "You gave her the promise ring. You're the guy she told all of the other contestants she was in love with."

  He paused. "She said that?" Something in the tone of his voice completely confirmed what my brain was having a hard time wrapping itself around. He took a quick glance around us then hustled me into a quiet corner.

  "Look, there's no need to alert the press. This can stay between us."

  "I never noticed your eyes before," I said. They really were lovely—clear and bright, rimmed in long, thick lashes. I couldn't blame Jennifer for raving about them.

  He frowned. "My eyes?"

  I nodded. "They're green."

  The frown deepened.

  "Jennifer loved your eyes," I explained. "She talked about them all the time."

  He tossed the used napkins into the wastebasket, his expression reflective. "I didn't know."

  "So…you were just pretending to be gay this entire time?"

  He stared at me. "What do you mean, pretending to be gay?"

  I felt a flush creep up my neck into my face. "Nothing. Never mind." I did a mental forehead thunk. I'd totally bought into the stereotype of the ultra-fashionable man being gay and never even considered the possibility that Laforge and Jennifer had been having an affair. But it made perfect sense, really. The pageant was a workplace, and workplace affairs weren't uncommon.

  "We met earlier in the year on the circuit," Laforge said quietly, staring into his cup. "New York, maybe, or Chicago. Doesn't matter. She was magnificent. It was instant attraction for both of us."

  I raised an eyebrow. While Laforge did have nice eyes, there wasn't much else about the guy that screamed instant attraction to me.

  "But it was more than that," he added. "Of course, with me being the Miss Hawaiian Paradise pageant director and she being a contestant this year, we couldn't exactly take it public."

  "Plus there was her boyfriend, Xander."

  I watched Laforge’s expression closely as his jaw clenched. "Right. Him."

  "He wouldn't exactly take kindly to the fact he was being cheated on."

  Laforge shook his head. "It wasn't like that. Jennifer didn't love him. Heck, she hardy even saw him lately, with all of the traveling she did for pageants. She was just using him as the perfect cover for our relationship until we were ready to go public."

  "And the ring?"

  Laforge nodded. "It was my promise to her that we'd go public as soon as I stepped down as director."

  I blinked. "You were stepping down?"

  He nodded. "After the Miss Hawaiian Paradise Pageant. It was all arranged. Ashton Dempsey was set to take my place. I told him I was leaving over drinks the night that Jennifer…" He trailed off.

  Which is why he'd been seen being uncharacteristically cozy with Dempsey that night at the bar. I was quiet for a moment. "Did he know about you and Jennifer?"

  Laforge took a sip of his coffee. "No, only that I was leaving. We weren't ready to tell anyone. But then when she…well, everything changed. Then there was no point in stepping down without her. There was no point in anything."

  I noticed the slight tremor in his hands and more muscles tensing in his jaw. His grief seemed genuine and palpable.

  Then I thought of Ashton Dempsey ratting out his first client, Donatella, and getting her disqualified for much the same infraction committed by Jennifer and Laforge. "How did he take it when you changed your mind?" I asked.

  He shuddered. "Not well at all. He made it clear that he saw me as just a roadblock to his lofty ambitions."

  Given what I knew about Dempsey, that wasn't hard to believe. I couldn't help but wonder if he'd thought that removing Jennifer from the picture would push Laforge's exit as pageant director and his own lock on the position he coveted. But was a directorship worth committing murder?

  But of course, Jennifer had had another even more glaring loose end. "What about Xander Newport?" I said. "Did Jennifer tell him you were seeing each other?"

  "That Neanderthal?" Laforge snorted. "I don't know what she told him except that it was over. I don't know why he flew all the way out here when she didn't even want to see him."

  I had an idea why he might have done it. Now that it seemed clear Laforge would have no reason to kill Jennifer, it was more likely than ever that Xander Newport had come to Hawaii with revenge on his mind. But according to Ramirez, Xander had a solid alibi.

  Which pretty much left me at square one again.

&
nbsp; CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The rest of the afternoon was a frenzy of last-minute fittings and frayed nerves with a few wardrobe crises thrown in for good measure. Miss Alaska's zipper broke. Miss Virginia had lost some strategic sequins from her gown. Miss Ohio stepped outside for some fresh air and returned with a head full of frizz. I helped out where I could while staying out of the way in the dressing room, gathering a needle and thread to work on the zipper, digging in Miss Virginia's wardrobe bag for extra sequins, and eliminating Miss Ohio's frizz with a flat iron and a can of hair spray. All of which gave me little time to think about Laforge and Dempsey and murder. Which was probably better for my own nerves.

  By three o'clock, I still hadn't heard from Ramirez, so Marco and I grabbed a quick bite to eat in the dining room before returning to the auditorium. By then the audience was starting to file in. I spotted Xander Newport seated alone in the back, half hidden in shadows since the house lights weren't fully up yet. I wondered what he was up to. It seemed unlikely he'd have an interest in the pageant now that his ex-girlfriend was no longer part of it. I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume he was there for purely sentimental reasons.

  Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt had taken seats in the front row. I sent a reluctant Marco to join them, assuring him there was no way I'd be leaving the confines of the backstage area throughout the course of the night. I waved to Mom, and she waved the plastic alligator head back at me.

  Contestants scurried about backstage, getting outfitted and putting final touches on hair and makeup while Laforge stood in the wings, directing their individual onstage entrances. Ashton Dempsey lingered backstage, practically taking notes as he watched the proceedings. It seemed to me he still had his eye on a pageant directorship despite Laforge's decision to stay. Dana was in place at the raised judges' table, right in front of the stage, comparing notes with Jeffries and Ruth Marie.

  Finally lights flashed backstage, signaling the live show was about to start. Beauty queens lined up, the host went onstage, and the cameras started to roll. I stood off to the side as the opening music swelled, and the contestants danced onstage to their first choreographed number.

  I was so preoccupied with watching Maxine stumble her way through a dance number, hoping that if she fell it wouldn't be because of my shoes, that I almost missed the text when it came through with a subtle vibration in my pocket. I pulled my phone out.

  A chill ran through me when I saw the word unavailable again instead of a phone number. My first impulse was to delete it without reading it. Anonymous texts had meant nothing but trouble for me. But if I deleted it, Ramirez might not be able to track it. And if I wasn't going to delete it, I might as well read it.

  I held my breath and swiped my finger across the screen.

  Dressing Room A. Commercial break. I know who the killer is.

  My eyes immediately bounced upward, scanning the dark wings. The girls were filing off the stage in groups. I noticed Whitney and Maxine were among the first. Had one of them sent the text as soon as they'd danced offstage?

  I glanced at the time on my cell, noting the first commercial break was now only five minutes away. Not enough time for Ramirez to get here, assuming I could even reach him on his cell.

  I peeked out into the audience and spotted Marco. His attention was riveted to the host as he introduced Miss California and her aspirations of becoming a brain surgeon…and a fashion model. I did a little discreet wave, but he didn't notice me. I took a step back, deeper into the wings, and tried an odd little kabuki dance of arm waves and leg kicks, anything I could think of to draw attention. Which I did, from the very old gentleman sitting in the end seat of the first row. He stared at me with huge eyes through his thick glasses, elbowed his very old wife, pointed my way, and they both gaped at me with open mouths.

  I ducked back into the shadows.

  I dialed Marco's number on my cell. It rang three times before switching to voicemail. Of course he'd turned the ringer off for the show.

  Frustrated, I typed out a text to Mom: Need Marco's help backstage

  I pressed send and waited. And waited some more. No reaction from Mom. Marco didn't leap from his seat and come racing to my side. Her cell was off too. How polite of her.

  I blew out an exasperated sigh. I looked at my cell. Three minutes left.

  Time for Plan B.

  While the bump on my head ached at the thought of a repeat of last night, the fact that my potential witness was texting again said he or she was desperate. Okay, let's think logically about this. The commercial break was short—three minutes tops. What could happen in that time? Plus, I was backstage at a pageant, with an auditorium full of people, which meant it was highly unlikely anyone would try to physically harm me even if I did meet Mystery Witness. I mean, there were TV cameras here for crying out loud. No one would be stupid enough to make a move like that.

  Would they?

  Just in case, I dashed toward the dressing rooms, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. Unfortunately we weren't attending a law enforcement convention, it was a beauty pageant.

  I snatched up the closest thing I could find, which was a hot pink flat iron that I yanked right out of the outlet on my way to Dressing Room A. Not the most practical weapon, but it was dangerously hot and could inflict a nasty burn. Or produce incredibly smooth hair, depending on how things turned out.

  I reached the dressing room with a minute to spare, surprised to find it dark. I was pretty sure I'd left the light on when I'd finished up the fittings. Which meant someone had come in behind me and turned it off again for some reason.

  I didn't want to think what the reason was as I frantically felt for the light switch.

  My spine started to tingle, and I suddenly decided this was a bad idea. I should never have come back here without Marco. I turned to leave when someone said, "Close the door."

  I jumped and let out a little yelp that would never be heard over the obnoxiously loud dance number winding down before the break. There was only a sliver of light filtering through the open door, not enough to see who'd spoken, but more than enough to see the horrifying muzzle of a gun emerge from the shadows, pointed directly at me.

  Not good.

  Holding the flat iron at my side, half hidden behind my leg, I prayed it wouldn't cool down before I might need to put it to use. I reluctantly did as I was told and pushed the door shut.

  "Lock it. We don't want to be disturbed."

  I fumbled with the doorknob as if I were locking it with shaking hands. The shaking hands weren't a pretense. Adrenaline was surging through my veins, leaving a metallic taste in my mouth and little sparkling starbursts of light in my field of vision.

  "Now turn on the light."

  Not sure I wanted to do that. On the one hand, it would give me a good look at whoever was on the other side of that gun. On the other hand, it would give them a better look at me. A better look meant better aim. The gun already provided an insurmountable advantage over a flat iron. I'd rather take my chances in the dark.

  "I said turn on the light now!"

  Okay, so I was dealing with a short fuse. Good to know. My hand trembled when I reached for the light switch, patting the wall a few more times than I needed to before I found it and switched it on.

  And turned to see Jay Jeffries. Distinguished pageant judge Jay Jeffries. Sleazy womanizing Jay Jeffries, beloved by hundreds as Dr. Calvin Drake in Island of Dreams. He looked every inch a sophisticated TV star from the neck down in his custom fitted tuxedo. But from the neck up, he looked like a loon. His lips were peeled back from his teeth like a Rottweiler on the attack. His eyes were narrow and mean looking. A thought flitted through my brain: He'll be missed from the judges' table. But would he? How long would it take for him to shoot me then get back to work?

  I touched the flat iron to the back of my leg. Still hot but not the blazing heat that I needed. But it would have to do.

  "Maddie, Maddie, Maddie." He shook his head
in mock sadness. "You just couldn't leave things alone, could you?"

  "It was you all along?" I stared at him.

  "Step into the center of the room." He gestured with the gun. "Away from the door."

  I shuffled forward a few steps. I didn't want to give him a glimpse of the flat iron. Not yet. "You killed Jennifer and Desi?"

  "I tried to warn you off," he went on, as if he hadn't heard. Maybe he hadn't. He probably couldn't, over the voices in his head. "How's your skull, by the way? I have to hand it to you—you can really take a hit. I gave you a pretty nice one." He seemed proud of himself.

  My stomach did a slow roll. "I don't understand. Why did you kill them?"

  "Why does anyone kill anyone?" He shrugged. "Jennifer got in my way. She threatened to turn me in to that twit Laforge and the Hawaiian Paradise Corporation. I couldn't have that, not after what happened two years ago. They'd have cut me loose for sure this time. Plus, with the scandal, I could have lost my role on Island. I can't lose my role. I'm Dr. Calvin Drake!"

  "Wait—turn you in for what?" I asked.

  He rolled his eyes. I almost expected them to keep spinning. "For Whitney, naturally."

  For Whitney?

  "You're surprised," he said, his tone almost genial, like we were chatting over drinks at a cocktail party. "I can't imagine why, but let me see if I can't clear it up for you. I've been doing the Hawaiian lei with Whitney since we got here. Turns out Miss Delaware thought she could sleep her way into the crown." He smirked. "And I was happy to let her think it. Everything was going along just fine until Miss Law and Order noticed Whitney sneaking out to meet me one night."

  That must have been the night Whitney had claimed to be going to the vending machine. She'd just been worried about getting caught violating curfew and reached for the most convenient excuse. She must have known that if her affair with Jeffries had been discovered, she'd have been out of the pageant for sure. And she deserved to be. I felt a surge of anger at her self-serving lie.

  "Jennifer actually had the nerve to confront me," Jeffries said. "Me! Didn't she know what I could do for her career? Silly girl." He made a tsk'ing sound. "I met her on the beach, and I tried to convince her how far she could go, how far I could take her, if she just kept her mouth shut, but she wouldn't give in. Said she was giving me one chance to resign before she went to Laforge with it all. So I followed her back to the hotel to make her see she had it all wrong."