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 that- 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 with 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.”
&n
bsp; 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?”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Was I about to hear a murder confession? I was almost afraid to ask. “What?”
“I drove to his house, I snuck into the garage and carved the words ‘pencil dick’ into the hood of his precious Mercedes.” Andi burst out laughing.
Damn. Not the confession I’d been looking for. However, I filed the pencil dick thing away for future reference. Richard did think a little too highly of his beamer…
“Mind if I ask where you were two nights ago?” I asked as Andi finally got her laughter under control.
“Yoga Class. I’m trying to find some inner peace.”
Good plan.
“Oh, hey, one more thing. Um, you don’t happen to own a leopard print thong, do you?” I asked.
“No. Why?”
“Oh, no reason. Thanks again.”
I hung up, not feeling like I’d really learned anything. Expect that Andi Jameson had anger management issues. Not that I blamed her. Keying a fifty thousand dollar car did sound sort of therapeutic. I mentally added her name to the list of contenders for When Mistresses Attack.
I flipped my phone shut and turned around to find Ramirez standing behind me.
I let out a little, “Eek!”
“Who was that?” he asked.
“No one. Nobody. Just a friend.”
He narrowed his eyes at me and I felt my cheeks growing hot. “This friend wouldn’t happen to be wanted for murder would he?”
I put my hands on my hips. “Just what are you implying?”
“Nothing. But you would tell me if Richard called you, right?”
“Of course I would.” Only it came out sounding so weak I don’t think either of us was convinced. Which of course made me even more defensive. “Are you saying you don’t trust me?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you implied it? Just like you implied you were going to give my grandmother a handful of Catholic babies. I’ll have you know I’m not a baby factory. I have good legs! I’m not throwing that away. And I can most certainly have friends who call me who aren’t Richard. And I can talk to them any time I want without answering to you.”
“Oh Jesus.” Ramirez rolled his eyes.
“What? What is that? That eye rolly thing?”
“You’re getting hormonal on me now aren’t you?”
Okay, if there’s one thing you don’t ever say to a woman on the edge it’s that she’s hormonal.
“I’m what? Look, you’re the one that came to my apartment last night, Mr. I-can’t-keep-my-pants-on. So don’t you lecture me about hormones.”
Ramirez grinned, that infuriatingly sexy dimple flashing in his cheek. “I didn’t hear you complain last night.”
“Yeah, well, I was drunk.”
He took a step closer. “Are you drunk now?”
“What? No, I’m not drunk now, I’m-”
But I didn’t get to finish my rant as Ramirez’s mouth was suddenly covering mine. I was poised to push him away with enough force to knock that sexy grin off his face, but the second his lips touched mine, the only thing I felt was a serious case of lust. Starting in my chest and settling somewhere between my legs. I grabbed onto his neck, more for support than anything, my body melting like a Hershey’s kiss on a sunny day. That’s it. No denying it. I had a case of the I-want-Ramirezes and I had it bad.
Just as the back seat of Ramirez’s SUV was starting to sound pretty good, he stepped back.
“What was that?” I asked between short breaths. I think I was panting.
He grinned. “That was me proving a point. Any complaints?”
It was official. I hated him.
My head hurt and I think my hangover was back. Only I felt tired, grouchy and squishy stomached all at the same time.
Ramirez was first and foremost a cop. And despite the fact my grandmother might think he was a good catholic boy, he was not happily-ever-after material. Or even boyfriend material for that matter. Besides, I already had a boyfriend. Sort of.
“Look, I, uh, I need to use the ladies room.”
What I needed was a cold shower. And then a shrink. Ramirez the Hormone Machine had me so confused I didn’t know what I felt anymore. One minute I’m designing Strawberry Shortcake high tops and wondering when those cute suede boots would go on sale, and the next I’m tracking down murderers, dressing as a hooker and visiting porn studios. Not to mention making out with sexy detectives at my mother’s wedding. It was all too much.
I left Ramirez in the great hall and rounded the corner into the motel lobby, not even sure where I was going. I walked up to the front desk.
“Excuse me, where’s your ladies’ room?”
The clerk indicated a narrow hallway. “Down the hall, to the left.”
“Thanks.” I followed the hallway, ignoring the peeling paisley wallpaper and shag carpeting beneath my feet. In fact, I was so self-absorbed with the Law & Order meets I Love Lucy farce my life had become that I didn’t even see him until I plowed smack into the man coming out of the men’s room.
“Oh, sorry, I-”
I paused. My eyes growing wide, my jaw dropping and my heart doing one big thump in my chest. I looked up and stared right into the perfect blue eyes of Mr. Cinderella himself.
Richard.
Chapter Sixteen
“Maddie?” Richard looked wildly from side to side as if expecting I’d brought the entire mounted Calvary with me. Which, I guess I almost had, if you counted the wedding guests. “What the hell are you doing here?”
I tried to answer but I think I’d swallowed my tongue. It was like seeing a ghost. He was dressed in the same pressed slacks I’d come to expect, his button down shirt opened at the collar, covered by a tasteful sport coat. He looked like he’d just come from the office, or a client meeting, instead of being on the run for the last week. I almost wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating this whole thing.
Either that or smack him across his perfectly shaved cheeks.
“Me?” I finally gasped out, in sort of a strangled cry. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nothing.” Richard shifted from foot to foot, still looking over my shoulder at the empty lobby. “I mean, I, uh, I’ve been staying here for a few days. I just needed to get away for a while.”
I snorted. “Away from Greenway or away from the cops? Oh, I know, maybe away from your wife.”
He froze. His eyes meeting mine. “You know about her.”
“Richard, I know everything.” Which was a slight exaggeration.
“Look, maybe we should just go up to my room and talk.” He looked over my shoulder again.
I bit my lip. I was dying to ask Richard about a million different questions, starting with what the hell is up with Cinderella? But, while I mostly believed Richard had nothing to do with the hole in Greenway’s head, I was still a little reluctant to go off alone with him.
He must have sensed it because he grabbed my hand in both of his and looked at me with those sad little boy eyes that always melted me. “Please, pumpkin?”
I took a deep breath. “Fine, we’ll go up to your room.” I told myself it was because I didn’t want Molly the Breeder to stumble into the lobby and witnes
s me ripping the designer slacks wearing crap weasel a new one. Not because hearing him call me pumpkin suddenly filled me with a longing for a simpler time when deciding if I should be leaving my toothbrush in Richard’s medicine cabinet was my biggest worry. “But just for a minute,” I added. “I have to get back to the reception.”
“Reception?” He glanced down at my gown as if just noticing the purple monstrosity for the first time.
“Yes, reception. My mom just got married. The wedding was going to be in Malibu, but weather issues forced us…” I glanced around at the Elk’s Lodge chic interior. “…here. You were supposed to go with me, you know.”
“Right. Sorry, pumpkin.”
Only he didn’t look sorry at all. He looked nervous. And he kept glancing back at the lobby like any second he expected someone to come bursting through the doors with guns drawn. Maybe Ramirez.
I shuddered at that thought, suddenly as eager to get Richard out of sight as he was.
I followed him down the hall to the elevators and up to the second floor. He paused outside room two-fourteen and unlocked the door. The room wasn’t much to speak of. A double bed covered with a desert motif spread, two watery prints on the wall and a TV stand and small writing desk in one corner. All standard roadside motel issue. Richard immediately went to the windows and peeked out between the rust colored curtains.
“Richard, maybe you should tell me what’s going on here.”
“Nothing’s going on. I told you, I just needed to get away.”
“Right. And this is really Club Med. Time to quit shoveling the bullshit, Richard.”
He crossed the room and sat down on the bed. He still looked jumpy, his body humming with nervous energy. “All right, look, Maddie. I’ll tell you. But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
Fat chance of that. But I nodded anyway.
Richard sighed. “I didn’t mean for things to get this out of hand. And I’m sorry I just left like that, but I couldn’t take the chance of anyone following me. I had to get out of there.”
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 18