“Oh, that reminds me,” Dana said, grabbing her purse. “Have you seen this morning’s Informer?”
I shook my head. I figured even with the news of Charlene’s arrest, it may be a while before tabloids were my friends again.
Dana pulled the folded paper out of her purse. “Okay, good news first, better news second. Check out page seven.”
I grabbed the paper from her, open to page seven. And saw a picture of Ricky and Natalie Portman. They were outside a restaurant, stuck together in a lip lock.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” I said. Then paused as I looked up and saw Dana beaming from ear to ear. “Uh, I don’t get it. You’re happy Ricky is kissing some movie star?”
She giggled. Then pointed to Ricky’s left hand, zoning in on Natalie’s boobs. “Look,” she instructed. “He had a little mole right by his thumb.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, Ricky doesn’t have a mole! Don’t you see, they totally pasted his head on someone else’s body. My boyfriend is totally not kissing Natalie Portman.” She sat back, a smug smile on her face.
I couldn’t help but grin back. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking the paper. “Okay, now for the better news, ready?” she asked, flipping to the front page.
“Always ready for good news.”
She slid the paper across the bed to me.
The headline read: Couture Killer Cleared. But the part that immediately caught my eye were the photographs. Somehow they had gotten pictures of every single one of my shoes that were supposed to have been in the Le Croix show and blown them up on the front page. Okay, so it wasn’t quite the same as showing in Paris, but you couldn’t buy this kind of publicity. I quickly scanned down to the byline. Sure enough, it read: Felix Dunn.
I bit my lip, suddenly all the more sorry I’d ever suspected him of having anything to do with the deaths, let alone his crazy aunt drugging me.
“Wow,” I said. “I can’t believe he did this for me.”
“Believe it, girl,” Dana said. Then added with a smirk, “So, tell me again what a terrible kisser he is?”
I snapped my head up.
But I didn’t get to answer as a knock sounded at the door. I padded over and looked out the little peep hole. Only all I could see were flowers.
I opened the door.
“Mademoiselle Springer?” asked a voice. Only I wasn’t sure whose, as the guy’s face was completely covered by a huge bouquet of red roses.
“Yes?” I asked tentatively.
The guy lowered the flowers and a pimply kid with a shock of red hair appeared. “A flower delivery for you.”
“Who are they from?”
He shrugged. “There is a card. Please sign here, Mademoiselle,” he said, shoving a clipboard at me. I awkwardly balanced the roses in one hand while I took his pen in the other and signed his form.
“Merci,” he said, before turning down the hallway.
I looked at the roses. I sniffed them. I couldn’t help a little lift at the corners of my mouth.
“Whoa! Who are those from?” Dana asked as I came back into the room.
I shrugged. “I don’t know.” I sat down on the bed and fished a little white envelope from a plastic fork shaped thing at the top of the bouquet.
The outside simply said: Maddie.
I opened it and felt my heart speed up as I read the card. “We need to talk. Meet me tonight. 6pm. The top of the Eiffel Tower.”
I flipped the card over. It wasn’t signed. I bit my lip. The Eiffel Tower. The most romantic place in all the world.
But who was I meeting?
* * *
“My money’s on Felix,” Dana said, digging into my grapefruit twenty minutes later as we devoured the last of my room service breakfast. I’d put the mystery roses in water in the hotel issue ice bucket on the dresser and couldn’t help staring at them every ten seconds.
“Felix?” I scrunched up my nose. “Why?”
“Well,” Dana said, a frown settling between her strawberry blonde brows. “First the article. Now flowers. I mean, has Ramirez ever sent you flowers?”
I paused. Then shook my head.
“So it has to be Felix.”
“But Felix hasn’t sent me flowers before either.”
“Yeah, but does Ramirez seem like the roses kind of guy?”
I had to admit, she had a point.
“What do you think Felix wants to talk about?” I asked, thinking back to our last interrupted conversation at the show.
Dana shrugged. “Maybe how he’s madly in love with you.”
“He is not!”
Dana sent me a get real look.
“Okay, so maybe he likes me a little.”
“And you like him.”
“I do n-”
Dana shot me that look again.
“Okay. Fine. He’s a good kisser.” I paused, sniffing the roses again. “But so is Ramirez. Very good.”
Dana shrugged. “Okay, so maybe Ramirez sent them.” She popped a bite of muffin in her mouth.
I absently shoved a piece of croissant in my mouth. “You think?”
Dana nodded. “Sure. He said you needed to talk. I mean, you guys really have unresolved issues.”
I nodded. “But then again, so do Felix and I. He was about to tell me something at the show, but he was interrupted.”
“Okay, so we’re back to Felix again?” Dana asked, the frown increasing.
I shrugged. “Or Ramirez.”
“Maddie,” she said setting down her spoon and leaning in close. “Who do you want it to be?”
I bit my lip. And stared at her. But I didn’t say anything.
Because I had no idea.
* * *
The rest of the day moved in slow motion. After Mom and Mrs. R got up we went down to the police station to give Moreau our official statements. Then Jean Luc called, saying my shoes had arrived – most of them minus fingerprint dust - and he was having them sent to the hotel. Marcel called, wanting to know when he’d get his interview, and Ann left a message saying she was booking the next Le Croix photo shoot and could they use my designs? But I couldn’t concentrate on any of it. All I could think about was the Eiffel Tower at six o’ clock as I watched the time crawl by.
Finally at quarter past five, I threw on a black, form fitting dress with a high neck (to cover my bruises), a short hemline (to give my legs the illusion of length – or at least the one good one) and a low scoop in the back (to make the boys drool). I went heavy on the mascara, light on the eyeliner, and puckered up for a swipe of Raspberry Perfection lip gloss, then pulled my hair up into a flattering French twist. I slipped on one black, strappy, two inch pump, and, while there was nothing I could do to dress Wonder Boot up, I had to admit, I looked pretty damn hot.
On instinct, I grabbed one of the roses from the bouquet to take with me, holding it to my nose as I made my way down the elevators and across the lobby.
I took a cab to the Eiffel Tower, my stomach doing the dancing butterflies thing as my palms grew sweatier the closer we got. As we drove through the city, the sky just starting to turn a dusky pink, the setting sun illuminated the old architecture and captured the light off the fountains spurting along the plazas.
And then I saw it.
The cab rounded a bend and suddenly there it stood in front of me, in all its glory. The Eiffel Tower. I sucked in a breath, the beautiful pink hued sky behind it breathtaking.
By the time the cab pulled up in front, I was lucky I could walk, my stomach was wobbling so badly. I paid my fare with shaky hands and took a ticket, riding the elevator all the way up to the top of the tower. I awkwardly hobbled out on Wonder Boot, taking a spot in the center of the platform, just a little scared to stand too close to the edge this high up.
Though I had to admit, the view was amazing, the entire city of Paris spread out before me, the air clear and cool. I inhaled deeply, trying to steady my nerves.
And w
atched the elevators.
Group after group came up, families with cameras around their necks, students toting backpacks, all speaking a variety of languages. People snapped photos, laughing and pointing down below us. And I stood, twisting my hands together. Two words tumbling over and over in my mind. Ramirez. Felix. Ramirez. Felix. I had no idea who would come off those elevators next.
And then another carriage arrived. The doors slid open. Three teenagers and a family of four from Japan filed out.
And him.
I sucked in a breath, not realizing until that moment just how very badly I’d wanted it to be him. I felt tears well behind my eyes and let out a long breath as he approached.
“Maddie,” he said.
I took a deep breath. “Jack.”
His dark eyes looked down at me and even though they were rimmed in sleepless circles, they were the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. His stubble covered jaw flexed, some emotion flitting across his face that I couldn’t read. But I didn’t care. He was here. And that was all that mattered.
“Oh God, Jack, I’m so sorry. I’m so glad you’re here, but I’m so sorry about everything. I don’t know how I always seem to make such a mess of everything, but I promise, I’m going to be the best girlfriend ever from now on. I just-”
“I can’t do this.”
I paused mid-sentence. “What?”
His eyes took on a sad look. “Maddie, I asked you to meet me here because I needed to talk to you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do this anymore.”
My heart froze. “W-what do you mean you can’t…?”
Ramirez shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead in a way that made me itch to brush it with my fingertips. Instead, I clasped my hands tightly together around the flower stem, hoping the death grip on the rose would somehow help me get a grip on reality.
“All we do is fight, Maddie. We’re butting heads. Me, I’m a straightforward kind of guy. What you see is what you get. And you…” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I’ll ever figure you out. Hell, you drive me nuts.”
I felt tears welling behind my eyes. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to drive you nuts.”
“I know,” he said, his voice soft. Almost as if he didn’t want to say the words any more than I wanted to hear them. “I know you don’t. But I swear you’ve taken ten years off my life since I’ve known you. I don’t know how trouble finds you, but it does. I don’t want to do this anymore, stay up nights wondering where you are, not knowing if you’re safe, if you’re in danger, if you’re…” He trailed off and I could mentally see the scene at Felix’s playing out in his head.
“I’m sorry,” I squeaked out again, at a loss for anything else to say.
He took a deep breath, staring out over the roofs of Paris. “I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t want you to be my girlfriend.”
The tears started blurring my vision and I fought to keep them back. If he was breaking up with me, the last thing I wanted to do was cry and beg for him to stay. I did a loud, unladylike sniff. The sweet scents of roses and the cool Paris air oddly incongruent with the hollow, gnawing feeling in my stomach.
“So, what are you saying, Jack?”
He took another deep breath, his nostrils flaring, his jaw set at a determined angle. Then he turned and looked me squarely in the eye. It wasn’t his Bad Cop look. It wasn’t his lustful Big Bad Wolf look. Just him and me. It was the most real I had ever seen him. Like suddenly he was letting me in to see the real guy behind everything else.
And then he bent down on one knee.
His hands reached into the pocket of his jacket, and out came a little blue, velvet covered box.
A ring box.
I blinked and I dropped the flower.
My heart stopped beating, my breath doing short little gasps, my eyes going big and round. The tears couldn’t be held back any longer, wet lines streaming down my face even as I felt my lips curve up into a smile.
“You’re shitting me!” I said. I know, not the most romantic thing in the world. But I seriously couldn’t believe me eyes. A ring? It was like I’d stepped into the end of a Meg Ryan movie.
Ramirez’s gaze didn’t waiver, his eyes steady on mine. Though a small corner of his lips twitched. “Jesus, Maddie, don’t cry.” He reached one hand up and gently wiped my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “At least wait until you see the ring.”
He opened the box and the most brilliant emerald cut, sparkling two carat diamond winked back at me. The tears gushed like Niagara Falls and I think I actually laughed out loud. Okay, so it wasn’t Tiffany, and it wasn’t the biggest thing I’d ever seen. But it was the most beautiful.
It was from Jack.
Ramirez’ Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, his eyes suddenly vulnerable, his breath coming fast and hard. One of his large hands covered mine in a warm embrace.
“Maddie, I don’t want you to be my girlfriend. I want you to be my wife,” he said, his voice shaky but his dark eyes steady on mine. “Maddison Louise Springer, will you marry me?”
* * * * *
MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS
by
GEMMA HALLIDAY
* * * * *
ebook Edition
Copyright © 2010 by Gemma Halliday
http://www.gemmahalliday.com
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Gemma-Halliday/285144192552
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to your online retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
.
* * * * *
MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS
* * * * *
Chapter One
There’s just something about weddings. Something about tulle and lace being spun into fairy tales. Something about friends and family gathering to welcome a new member. Something about gawdy bridesmaid dresses, embossed invitations, and five dozen lilies in strategically placed crystal vases that make grown women turn into squealy second-graders, men have nightmares of chains wrapped around their ankles, and mothers get misty eyed at the slightest provocation.
“Mom, you’re crying again,” I said, pulling a tissue from my purse and handing it to my mother, lest her caked-on black mascara streak down her cheeks for the third time in as many minutes.
“I can’t help it, Maddie. They’re all just so beautiful.”
I looked down at the array of place cards on the slick, black conference table at L’Amore Wedding Planners.
“They’re place cards.”
Mom nodded, her eyes shining. “I know. Aren’t they lovely?”
I looked down again, chewing on a piece of Doublemint as I narrowed my eyes at the squares of paper. Personally, I was having a hard time telling the difference between the white, linen, embossed cards and the snow, woven, stamped cards.
“They are… nice.”
“Oh, Maddie, they’re breathtaking!” Mom sq
ueaked out, holding the tissue to her face.
“Honestly, I don’t know that we even need place cards, Mom. Jack and I want to keep things small. Intimate.”
“And what’s more intimate than hand-stamped place cards at each guest’s spot?” asked Gigi Van Doren, the proprietor of L’Amore and grand dame of all things wedding. Her pen hovered just above her ever-present clipboard, eagerly awaiting the go-ahead to order several dozen.
I put Gigi anywhere from her early forties to late fifties – one of those women who seemed to defy time and age altogether. Pale blonde hair pulled back from her face in an artful French twist, cool blue eyes steady beneath a pair of rimless glasses, tailored suit fitting a body that spoke of regular pilgrimages to the gym. Or the plastic surgeon. But what had endeared me to her right from the first were the pointy toed, four-inch, black leather pumps on her feet. Prada. The woman knew style.
Still…
“What do you think, Dana?” I asked my best friend.
Dana pinched her strawberry blonde brows together, staring at the array as if she were taking a calculus test. “They are nice. Can I see the ivory-edged ones again?”
“But of course.” Gigi signaled to her assistant, Allie, a blonde, blue-eyed twenty-something, who produced another indistinguishably whitish square of paper from her case, sliding it across the table.
Dana picked it up and let out a wistful sigh. “Oh, these are so romantic.” She held the square up to the light, gazing at it like it might turn into Prince Charming on the spot.
“That one’s my favorite,” Allie agreed.
“We can watermark it with anything you like – the date, hearts, even your photograph. Very intimate,” Gigi assured me.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 101