Dana and I stood anxiously in line as I tried Felix's number again. Straight to voicemail. I chewed on a fingernail, wondering just what he'd meant by, “You'd better get down here.”
"Hi, Dana!" A guy in a black cap and jeans, passed by us, giving Dana a little wave before finding a spot at the back of the line.
Dana waved back, sinking her teeth into her lower lip as she watched his denim-clad rear retreat.
I nudged her in the ribs. "Who was that?"
"One of the other extras. Carl. Awesome biceps, huh?"
I peeked over my shoulder. "Not bad. Which reminds me," I gave her a pointed look, "how's the SA thing going?"
"Right. Um, great. Wonderful in fact. Fantastic. Day five!" she said with false cheer bordering on Mary Poppins creepy.
"So, no relapse yesterday?"
Dana shook her head, her blonde hair whipping her cheeks. "Nope. I taught three spinning classes at the gym, went for a four mile hike, did some pilates, then dropped Ricky's car back off at his place last night."
"Ricky's place?" I raised an eyebrow at her. "I'm not sure Therapist Max would approve?"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, ignoring me as she latched onto my forearm with a death grip. "Guess what Ricky told me last night?"
"Spill it," I encouraged as we inched forward in line.
"Well, after I dropped his car off at his place, he gave me a ride home – you know, he's such a gentleman that he didn't even make a move on me at all and I was totally wearing this short little micro mini that, well, I have to say, looked pretty damn hot on me."
I made a circular get-to-the-point motion with my wrist.
"Yeah, okay. Anyway, we got to talking about Mia and Margo and their whole blow up on set the other day. Well, it turns out that Margo was originally cast for the part of Ashley. Mia was supposed to play Nurse Nan, but she convinced the producers that Margo was too old to play opposite Ricky. She got the parts switched."
"Wow, Mia really knows how to make friends, huh?"
Dana nodded. "Apparently, there's been bad blood between them ever since."
I didn't blame Margo. If I'd lost out the part of Ashley Culver because some diva had called me old, I'd be pretty pissed too. I was beginning to wonder if maybe the LAPD were right after all. Maybe Mia was the target in all this.
Which made me wonder again just who was DOA in Central Park.
I shoved that fingernail back in my mouth, chewing anxiously, as Dana and I finally made it to the front of the line. After Billy checked our names against the list, I set my bag down on the conveyer belt, took off my shoes, ring, necklace, and, just for good measure, unhooked my bra, slipping it out through my right sleeve and dropping it into the front pocket of my purse. I was taking no chances this time.
Feeling confident (especially since I'd made Dana stash her vibrator in the car), I stepped through the metal detector. Nothing. Nada. Not a beep. I gave Queen Latifah a triumphant smile.
But, honestly, when was my luck ever that good?
"Miss?" Bug Eyed Billy called out, holding open my purse.
"It's just my bra," I explained. "I didn't want the underwire setting off the metal detectors." Again.
Billy peered at me through his coke bottle lenses, his jaw set in as hard a line as a jowly eighty year old's can get. Then he sent a warning look to Latifah. "It's a two-fifteen."
"A what?" I asked.
But apparently Queen Latifah knew exactly what a two-fifteen was, as she sprang into action, pulling her walkie talkie from her belt and shouting into it. "Code two-fifteen, we've got a code two-fifteen at the west entrance. Requesting backup immediately."
"Whoa – backup?" My gaze whipped between Billy's hard stare and Latifah's frenzied shouting. "What's going on here?"
I blame it on the fact that I'm blonde, have been a little preoccupied with my crappier-than-a-tractor-full-o-fertilizer love life, and a set full of whacked out actors (not to mention dead bodies) that I didn't catch on sooner. That I didn't remember the last time I'd seen Felix and the fact that, in my morning-after glow, I'd completely forgotten all about…
Bug Eyed Billy used a sharpie to pull Felix's handgun out of my purse by the handle. The grips in line jumped back, one of them actually gasping. Queen Latifah's hand hovered over her own weapon and she escalated her shouts into her walkie talkie until she sounded like she'd gone for the triple shot espresso that morning.
"Ohmigod, Maddie! You have a gun?!" Dana shrieked behind me.
"Look, I can explain," I said, holding my hands out in front of me. "It's not loaded." I think. "And it's not even mine."
Bug Eyed Billy narrowed his eyes at me. "Just like the neck massager wasn’t yours?"
"Right!" Only I realized too late that that was Billy's attempt at sarcasm. "No! I mean, no, not like that. That was a misunderstanding. This is… it's not mine!" I protested, really starting to worry now.
And then worry turned to downright panic as three more security guards rounded the corner, hands hovering over their weapons.
"Miss, please put your hands in the air."
"I… I…" I sputtered.
"Just do it, Maddie. They look serious," Dana advised, taking a few steps backwards.
I lifted my arms above my head, hoping my neckline didn't shift low enough to give the grips a free show.
"Get down on your knees," one of the security guards barked.
"Is this really necessary-"
But Queen Latifah cut me off, tackling me from behind and slamming my body onto the ground beneath hers.
"Uhn." I felt the air rush out of me, my head going fuzzy as she pinned me with her bulk. This chick should seriously think about calling Jenny Craig.
"I got her! I got the two-fifteen!" Latifah called. I watched as three pairs of feet scuffled toward me, one of them pinning my hands behind my back a second before cool metal handcuffs slapped against my wrists.
"No, wait, it's not like that… please, you don't understand…"
But it was useless. Even as I protested my innocence, the three security guards lifted me up by my armpits and were dragging me, still in my bare feet, toward the back of the lot.
"Don't worry, I'm right behind you," Dana called.
I looked over my shoulder. The grips were giving Dana a wide berth while Bug Eyed Billy copiously went through her handbag.
* * *
Since my watch was in my purse, which had obviously been confiscated, I had no idea how long I sat at the folding table in the four-by-six room at the back of the Sunset Studios security office. But it was long enough that I was starting to fidget beneath the glare of the buzzing florescent lights. I nervously twirled one strand of blonde hair between my fingers, wondering what the charge for carrying a weapon onto studio property was. I wondered if it was even registered. Or legal? Maybe I was carrying a hot gun?
That's it, I was so switching back to pepper spray.
I was just wondering if Mrs. Rosenblatt had any more of her secret stash, when the door opened and in walked Detective Prune Face, followed closely by Ramirez.
Gone was any trace of the guy who'd brought me coffee in bed this morning. Instead, his eyes were dark and unreadable, his jaw set into those hard lines of granite, his posture stiff and unyielding as if it took every ounce of strength he had not to reach over the table and strangle the blonde in slutty spandex.
I gulped down a dry lump.
Oh boy.
Prune Face looked at me, recognition dawning. “Wardrobe girl again.” He turned to Ramirez. “You wanna take this one?”
Ramirez’s granite jaw flinched. He nodded almost imperceptibly.
Prune Face hovered at the door a moment, his gaze bouncing between us. Finally he shrugged and backed out of the room. “Good luck.”
I wasn’t sure if that was directed at Ramirez or me. But by the death look in Ramirez’s eyes, it was clear I could use all the luck I could get.
I shifted nervously as Ramirez sat down in the folding chair opposite me
and crossed his arms over his chest, silently staring me down.
"Okay, so here's the thing. The gun – totally not mine. And I didn't even remember I was carrying it. It just kind of slipped into my purse. Well, I guess technically, Felix slipped it in-"
"Felix?" he interrupted.
"The reporter, remember? From the Informer. He's… uh, a friend."
Ramirez narrowed his eyes at me. "Friend?"
I bit my lip. "Yeah. Sorta."
His eyes did that fine-slits thing again. "This the same friend that got you kidnapped last year?"
"Uh…"
He snorted. "That Felix is some guy."
"Hey, he was just trying to offer me some protection. He was concerned about me."
I'm not sure what made me defend Tabloid Boy, but clearly it was the wrong move. Ramirez leaned forward menacingly.
"I'm the only guy that gets to be concerned about you."
If he didn't look so scary right now, I might have been touched.
Instead, I gulped down another dry lump.
"What the hell are you even doing here?" Ramirez asked. He gave a long glance at my dress (lingering in what would have been the cleavage area, were I actually big enough to fill it out) and I could hear him mentally adding, In that. "I thought I told you to stay put."
I crossed my arms over my chest, obscuring his view. "And I'm just supposed to do as I'm told, huh?"
"Once in a while, it might be nice."
"You know, you have some nerve. Asking me to move in with you, then interrogating me."
Ramirez raised one eyebrow. "Move in with me?"
"This morning you said I should stay at your place."
Ramirez snorted again. "For a couple of days. Maddie, I didn't say you should move in."
I gulped back another lump, this one slightly larger. I know, I know. I'd been the one having the commitment freak-out just this morning at the thought of cohabitating. But he didn't have to sound so repulsed by the idea.
"I know!" I said a little too loudly. "I mean, it's not like I thought you meant permanently. Of course you weren't actually asking me to move in. I mean, hell, you're the guy that can't even bring himself to give me a key."
Ramirez scrubbed a hand over his face and muttered, "Jesus," under his breath. "Look, just stay away from this Felix guy, okay?"
My turn to narrow my eyes. "I don't think you're exactly in a position to tell me who I can and can't be friends with."
"The guy slipped a loaded gun in your purse! You realize you could have been arrested for carrying that thing onto studio property?"
"He was just trying to help!"
"What would help is if you stayed the hell out of this investigation. Look, just go back to my place and wait for me there."
"I can't," I yelled, tears piling up behind my eyes. "I locked the door!"
Ramirez muttered another, "Jesus." He rubbed a hand at his temple as if just talking to me gave him a headache. "Look, I'll have a uniformed officer drive you home. He'll wait with you there. Okay?"
No, not okay. I hated being treated like I needed a babysitter. But since I was currently without home, car, or decent wardrobe, (not to mention being stalked by a crazy woman) I didn't have much choice. "Fine," I muttered. "But tell me one thing first?"
He rubbed at his temple again. "What?" the word came out on an exasperated sigh.
"Whose body did you find in Central Park?"
Ramirez paused, putting his Bad Cop face firmly into place.
"I'm going to find out sooner or later anyway," I reasoned.
He gave me a look. Then blew out a deep breath. "Oh hell," he said, caving. "I'm sorry Maddie. It was Dusty."
Chapter Fourteen
For some inexplicable reason the room began to mambo in front of my vision, like I'd had one too many cosmos on the dance floor. "D-Dusty?" I sputtered, my voice sounding oddly disconnected even to my own ears.
It couldn’t be her. Dusty was fine. She was just a little shaken up about Veronika, right? She was just taking a few personal days. She was fine. Wasn't she?
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice high and threatening to crack.
Ramirez gave me a sympathetic look. “I'm afraid so. Purple hair, multiple piercings?”
He was right. It was pretty hard to mistake Dusty for someone else. “B-but how? Why?” I asked, my mind racing over the last message Dusty had left me. She'd sounded upset. Or had she been scared? Fearing for her life?
Ramirez shook his head. “The why, we don't know yet. But she was strangled, the same as Veronika. Only this time the guy used a bright orange scarf.”
I paused. Why did that ring a bell?
"An orange scarf? Orange wool?”
Ramirez cocked his head at me. “I don’t know about the wool part, but it was thick. Why? Do you know something?”
I licked my lips, willing the room to sit still. “Maybe. Margo has one. She tried to wear it on the set the other day but I made her take it off.” I gulped down another crack in my voice. "Ohmigod, it’s Margo! Margo did it, didn't she? Because she was jealous of Mia?"
“Hold on there, Nancy Drew." Ramirez held one hand up. "What did Margo do with the scarf after she took it off?”
I closed my eyes, thinking back. Things had been a bit chaotic that day (what else was new on Magnolia Lane?). “I think she put it in the wardrobe room.”
“You think?” he prodded.
“Yes, I’m sure." I nodded my head, gaining conviction. "I told her the scarf and the Crocs had to go, so she put them both on the sofa in the wardrobe room because she didn’t have time to go back to her trailer before the scene started. We were kind of running behind in wardrobe because Dusty…” I trailed off, remembering how Dusty had been absent from the set the last few days. I suddenly felt guilty. I should have tried harder to call her. Whatever had been bothering her, she'd never be able to tell me now. I wondered if maybe it was what had gotten her killed?
“So, anyone could have picked up the scarf?”
I gave myself a mental shake, pushing thoughts of Dusty to the back of my mind. “Maybe. But did you know that Margo has a serious grudge against Mia?”
“Oh?” He raised one eyebrow, leaning forward slightly.
I nodded and relayed the info Dana had shared with me that morning, watching his face for any sign of agreement. "If Margo did have it in for Mia," I finished, "maybe Dusty saw something she wasn’t supposed to when Margo offed Veronika, only Margo thought that Veronika was Mia, but maybe Dusty knew it was Veronika, or at least she did after she found her in the trailer the next morning.” Yes, I realize put like that, my theory was about as twisted as an L.A. Freeway. But that didn't mean it wasn't accurate. As I'd learned lately, people could be pretty twisted, too.
Ramirez sat back in his chair, his face a complete blank as he digested this.
Remind me never to play poker with this guy.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think it’s time for you to go home.”
I rolled my eyes. “I meant about Margo.”
But Ramirez didn’t answer, instead scraping his chair back as he made for the door. “Wait here. I’ll get a uniform to drive you home.”
“But-" I started to protest. But gave up. What was the use? Actually, I'd gotten off pretty lucky. He hadn't arrested me and neither of us had stormed out. All in all it was one of our better conversations lately.
I picked at my flaking nail polish (mentally making an appointment at Fernando's) as I waited in the little room again. Finally, a guy with a greasy, black mustache in uniform blues walked in, my purse in one hand, my shoes in the other. I had never been so glad to see anyone in my life. I thanked him profusely as I donned my pink pumps and followed him outside to slip into the back seat of his patrol car.
Under the uniform's watchful eye, I dialed Dana’s cell, letting her know what had happened. She told me Steinman had, obviously, closed the set again today and that she was going back to Ricky's place to h
elp him run lines instead. I told her to remember her celibacy pledge and I'd call her later.
I sank back into the vinyl seats as we rode in silence toward Santa Monica. Even though I wasn’t under arrest, I felt slightly criminal sitting behind the barred divider between Officer Mustache and me, knowing that my doors didn’t open from the inside. I wondered how many big time bad guys had occupied this same seat on their way to prison where they knew they'd spend the rest of their lives. Carjackers, rapists, murderers. Murderers like Margo? I wondered. She was one of the few people on the set that I hadn’t talked to much. Though, until today she'd always struck me as harmless enough. In fact, she had a habit of fading into the background and, with the exception of that one blowup on set, you tended to forget she was even there. I wondered if that would have been different if Margo had gotten the role of Ashley. If Mia were out of the way, I wondered what would happen to Nurse Nan’s character? She had been gaining momentum lately, especially with the baby's daddy storyline.
Which brought me back to Veronika. Was it just a coincidence that she'd been pregnant and dating a mystery man? And if Mia had been the target, what was Veronika even doing in Mia’s trailer? I’d never been a big fan of puzzles and this one was making my head hurt.
I was just about to reach into my purse and dig for an aspirin when the William Tell Overture burst out from its depths. Officer Mustache glanced at me through the bars in the divider.
“My cell,” I explained, flipping it open. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Jasmine.”
My heart instantly sped up and I gave a guilty glance at Officer Mustache as if he could telepathically feel a "harebrained scheme" being cooked up in the backseat.
“Hi,” I said in a low voice. “What’s up?”
“Why are you whispering?” she asked.
I cleared my throat. Then louder, “No reason. What’s up?” I gave Officer Mustache a reassuring smile in the rearview mirror. It came off a little feeble, but I think I saw him return it under his bristled lip.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 69