He shook his head, black curls bobbing around his ears. “We had a gig last week. At some fundraiser in… uh… hey?” he called over his shoulder to his band mates. “Where the hell were we last week?”
“Topeka, man,” the guitar player answered around an armful of redhead.
“Yeah, right. Topeka. It was a benefit for the library there. Those Kansas dudes were real cool.”
I felt my best lead quickly slipping away. Topeka was a far cry from Beverly Hills. “When did you get back?” I asked, grasping.
“Last night. Night before. I dunno. It’s kinda like a blur, ya know?”
From the number of empty bottles littering the room, I could see why.
“How were things between you and Gigi?” I asked.
His head snapped up. “Why? What did she tell you?”
I bit my lip. “Uh… I’d rather hear your side of it first.”
He sighed deeply, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs as if I was making his palms sweat.
“Look, I… I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how things were between me and Gigi. I was totally into her, you know? Like, I’d fallen hard.”
My troubles seeing the two of them as a serious couple must have shown on my face as he continued.
“I know what you’re thinking. And, yeah, neither of us set out to fall in love. But we did. At least… I did.”
The way his eyes shifted away, I got the feeling there was a whole lot more to the statement.
“She didn’t return your feelings?”
He let out a deep sigh. “Look, we’d been going through a rough patch and I wanted to let Gigi know how I felt. When we went to dinner last week… well… I proposed.”
I raised one eyebrow. “As in marriage?”
He nodded.
“And what did Gigi say?” Dana asked.
“She said she needed some time.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah. Tell me about it,” he sent me a rueful grin.
“So, after she had some time? What did she say?”
He took a deep breath, pursing his lips together. “Nothing. She… I didn’t talk to her again until she…”
Was murdered.
I put a hand on his arm, genuinely feeling awful for the guy. “I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“You mentioned you and Gigi were going through a rough patch?” Dana asked.
He blew a long breath out toward the ceiling. “Yeah. We were. But, look, it totally wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know.”
“What wasn’t your fault?” I asked, trying to follow.
“Okay, a couple weeks ago I think I’m gonna surprise Gigi by taking her out to lunch. I go to that wedding place of hers, but the chick at the front desk informs me she’s with a client. You know the one – blonde, totally big boobs. Hot?”
I nodded. That seemed to be the general male consensus about Allie.
“Anyway,” he went on, “I figure, might as well pass the time. I start talking to her. Turns out she’s a music fan, so I offer her a couple tickets to our next show. That’s when Gigi comes out and sees me talking up her assistant.”
“She was jealous?”
“Dude, not even the word for it. She was really pissed.”
“What did she say?’
“Nothing then. But after, at lunch, she was totally all over me about it. I said I was sorry, that I’d never even look at the chick again, that I was just trying to be friendly. But she was like on the warpath, man.”
“What happened afterward?”
“I bought her flowers every day for, like, a week.” He smiled at the memory. “Finally, she calmed down. But, like I said, I wanted her to know that she was the only woman for me.”
“Are you sure all you did was talk to Allie?” Dana asked, popping one hip out as she eyed the brunette behind him.
“Dude, I swear on my life. I was totally faithful to Gigi.” He paused. “I think she knew it, too. But, well, seeing me with Allie, she just went off. If it had been anyone else, I’m sure she wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”
“Because Allie is so hot?” I asked, really getting tired of that broken record. Geeze, just cause a girl’s got enlarged mammary glands.
He grinned. “Sure she’s hot. But that wasn’t what set Gigi off. What set her off was she thought I was hitting on her daughter.”
Chapter Twelve
I felt my jaw drop open as my rusty mental wheels started to turn. “Allie was her daughter?”
Spike nodded, his eyes solemn. “Sucks, right? If I knew, I totally would have steered clear of the chick. I mean, I was in love with Gigi, you know?”
I shook my head, wondering why Allie hadn’t mentioned this. Granted, it did explain the hero worship she’d exhibited and the deep grief she’d seemed to be experiencing. But if Allie was her daughter, that added a whole new layer to the puzzle. Maybe Allie had had a falling out with her mother? Over money? With the kind of dough Gigi was raking in, I could see Allie being resentful about her starving student’s apartment.
On the other hand, maybe they’d fought over Spike.
I took a long look at the musician. He was a co-ed’s dream, no doubt about it. Maybe Allie had been jealous of her mother? Maybe Gigi had been angry at Allie, too. Maybe they’d fought, and in the heat of the moment, Allie had stabbed her mother.
Had the hot blonde been playing me all along?
“Do you know if Allie and her mother got along?” I asked.
Spike shook his head. “Sorry, no idea. That day was the first I’d heard she even had a daughter. Gigi said she didn’t tell people because she didn’t want them knowing she was really old enough to have a grown kid. She fooled me. I had no idea how old she was. Not that I cared. Gigi was beautiful. Nature took real good care of her, ya know?”
I knew. Though I had a feeling it was more Dr. 90210 taking care of Gigi than nature.
“Did Gigi blame Allie? For flirting with you?”
He sucked in a deep breath, his eyes going to a spot past me. “I wouldn’t say she was flirting. Maybe just kinda friendly like. But, in her defense, she didn’t know Gigi and I were going out. Gigi kept our relationship real on the down-low. After the tabloids raked her over the coals with her divorce last year, she didn’t want anyone butting into her personal life.”
I didn’t blame her. I knew firsthand how it felt to be raked by Felix.
“Dude, your brunette’s getting cold,” the bass player called, hailing Spike over.
Spike looked over his shoulder at the groupie in fishnets and short-shorts. Only the look in his eyes was more sad than lustful.
“Look, I don’t know what else I can tell you,” he said. “I loved Gigi, plain and simple. Life won’t be the same without her.” With that, he sauntered back over to the sofa and grabbed a stray vodka bottle, downing a generous swing.
And by the way the brunette’s cleavage failed to gain his attention as we ducked out of the room, I was inclined to believe him. Whatever might have gone on between him and Gigi, the poor guy was visibly heartbroken.
“So, what do we think of Band Boy?” I asked, once we were out of earshot.
Dana shrugged. “Cute. Sad.”
I nodded. “But he did have motive.”
“You think?” she asked, wrinkling up her nose.
“Well, if Gigi declined his proposal, chances are that would be the end of his music bankroll. I mean, we really only have his word she didn’t say no.”
She nodded. “True. But he was in Topeka.”
“Maybe. They seemed a little hazy on when they actually got back.”
“Good point,” she conceded. “So, what now?”
“Now? I wanna go home, soak in a long bath, and wait for my ears to stop ringing.” I turned to make for a bright green exit sign at the end of the hall.
But Dana stopped me with a hand on my arm.
“Um, actually…” She trailed off, biting her lip as she shot a look back towa
rd the theater entrance. “It is kinda early to call it a night.”
Uh oh. I could mentally see Miss Former Groupie and Miss Monogamy warring behind her blue eyes.
“Dana, you have a hunky gardener waiting for you at home.”
She shook her head. “No, I totally know. I would never… I mean, I was just thinking of hanging out a little. To see the rest of the show. The other bands tonight look pretty good.”
“Dana…”
But she’d already made up her mind, pedaling backward toward the pounding bass emanating from the Inca’s stage. “I’ll call you tomorrow!” she promised, disappearing inside.
I shook my head, praying she didn’t ruin her first perfectly good relationship with one wild night of groupie sex as I made my way through the corridors alone.
Once outside, the cool night air hit me in sharp contrast to the muggy theater and I felt instant goose bumps rise. Hugging my arms around myself, I hailed the first cab I saw and gave him my address.
As he snaked down Hollywood Boulevard, I whipped out my cell, dialing Allie’s number. Unfortunately, it went straight to voicemail. Probably at her study group.
I hung up and dialed Felix instead.
He answered on the first ring.
“Felix Dunn.”
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Me who?”
I narrowed my eyes at the phone. “You know who. I just found out something interesting about your girlfriend.”
“I have a girlfriend?”
“Miss Hooters. Listen,” I said, filling him in on what Spike had told us. When I was done, he let out a low whistle.
“That was a key bit she left out, wasn’t it?”
I nodded at the phone.
“Makes me wonder what else she hasn’t told us,” he went on.
No kidding. I bobbed my head in agreement again.
“Still there, Maddie?”
“I’m nodding.”
“I’ll tell you, love, I have a hard time picturing her actually harming her mother.”
“Just because she has big boobs doesn’t mean she’s not capable of murder.”
“Oh Maddie, jealousy doesn’t become you.”
“I am not jealous!” I shouted.
Causing my cabbie to jump in his seat. I mouthed the word “sorry” at him in the rearview mirror.
“Look, just… watch your back with her tomorrow, okay?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were concerned about me.”
“Good thing you know better.”
“Good thing.”
“Just call me when you have something from the phone company, okay?”
“Done. Anything else, ma’am?”
I rolled my eyes. But instead of shooting back a smart remark, I hung up.
As my yellow chariot pulled up to a stop at my place, I felt a little bubble of happiness when I saw that Ramirez’s black SUV was already parked in the drive. I looked down at my watch. Only 8:30. Wow, before midnight with an open case? I fairly skipped up the steps.
“Hi, honey, I’m home,” I called as I opened the door.
Ramirez stood at the kitchen counter, munching his way through a slice of leftover pizza. He paused midbite, giving my slinky outfit a slow up and down.
“Please tell me you’re not wearing that.”
“What, I thought you liked short skirts,” I teased. I stood on tiptoes, kissing him on the cheek as I felt him up.
He did a primal growl thing in the back of his throat. “I like the short skirt. My mother may have a thing or two to say about it.”
I frowned. “Your mother?”
“We’re supposed to be at her place in half an hour.”
Mental forehead smack.
“You totally forgot didn’t you?” he asked, shoving the last of his pizza into his mouth.
“No!” Yes. “Give me two minutes to change,” I called, already digging into my closet for a more Mom-worthy outfit.
I could feel Ramirez rolling his eyes behind me. “I promised her we’d be there for dessert.”
“Two minutes,” I repeated, laying hands on a navy baby-doll dress with a modest knee-length hem. I stepped out of my skirt and pulled my top over my head, throwing it somewhere in the vicinity of my hamper. (Though whether it actually made it in or not I couldn’t promise.)
I stepped into the baby doll and a pair of navy wedge-heeled canvas shoes, pausing only long enough to grab a little white sweater. “Ready?”
Ramirez leaned in close, his breath warming my cheeks, and planted a soft kiss on my lips.
“I really did like the short skirt,” he murmured.
Making me go warm in all the right places.
“Rain check,” I promised, letting him lead me outside.
I hoped dessert was fast.
* * *
Ramirez’s mother, or Mama, as she had insisted I call her the first time we’d met, lived in the sleepy little suburb of Hacienda Heights. The homes were older, ranch-style jobs that had seen generations of kids swing in the mature trees, tear up the lawn with neighborhood soccer games, and whip up and down the sidewalks on their big wheels. Aluminum siding and over-the-garage-additions abounded, as did late-model sedans and minivans with those little stick-figure families on the back windows.
Mama’s house sat back from the curb, a patchy lawn surrounded by well-tended roses separating it from the sidewalk. A hula hoop, a very complicated looking Transformer action figure and a couple of dolls who’d had one too many home haircuts littered the front walk as we approached. On the front door were three big red Valentine’s hearts pasted to paper doilies. Ramirez rang the bell, then pushed in without waiting for an answer.
Immediately the scents of warm cinnamon and hot chilies hit my nostrils as we headed inside. An older guy in a cowboy hat dozed in a Lay-Z-Boy under a homemade afghan in assaulting pinks and greens while the muted TV showed some old western. And every surface around him was covered in knick-knacks. Mama was a bit of a pack rat. Anything that her number of nieces, nephews, grandchildren or neighborhood kids gave her she kept and proudly displayed in her living room. Hand prints in clay, macaroni sculptures, and countless pictures in handmade Popsicle-stick frames of little brown-eyed children throughout the various decades littered the room.
“Hello?” Ramirez called. “Anyone home?”
“Mijo, is that you?”
Mama’s round face popped out from the kitchen, lighting up when she saw Ramirez. Wiping her hands on a big white(ish) apron, she wrapped him in a hug around the middle.
I am what you’d call petite. In my wedges, I towered over Mama. She was almost as wide as she was tall, a comfortable sort of lived-in shape that made for an awesome kid-sitting lap and attested to her skills as a wonder in the kitchen.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to make it, it’s getting late.”
“Stand up Mama? Never,” he teased.
I tried not to be jealous.
“Is that our boy?”
Three more heads popped out of the kitchen, all identical to Mama. The Aunts. Swoozie, Cookie, and Kiki. Behind them came BillyJo.
BillyJo and I had gotten off on the wrong foot. It may have had something to do with the fact that the first time I had met her I’d been dressed as a hooker. Long story (involving dead guys in Dumpsters and Dana’s idea of undercover investigating) but suffice to say, it hadn’t endeared me to her. Over the past couple of years, I’d done my best to work my way into her good graces, but she hadn’t thawed much. When she’d heard I was engaged to her brother, she’d muttered something in Spanish (eerily similar to the things Ramirez mumbled under his breath) and put on the same scowl she was wearing as she stared me down now.
I tugged at the hem of my skirt, infinitely glad that I’d changed as I gave her a wave.
She narrowed her eyes in response.
“You’re late.”
Ramirez kissed his sister on the cheek. “Good to see you too, sis.”
“
Now that you’re here, Jackie,” Mama said, her eyes gleaming, “you must try on the guayabera!”
“The what?” I asked.
Mama waved the question off. “Never you mind. Jackie, go with your aunts. Maddie can help me in the kitchen while you change.”
Before either of us could protest, the aunts swooped upon Ramirez as one, rushing him off to a back bedroom with BillyJo leading the way.
“Come on,” Mama said, slipping her arm through mine. “You come with me. We’ll chat in the kitchen.”
I followed. Partly because I had no choice. Partly because my stomach was growling again at the scents emanating from said kitchen. Did I mention how great a cook Mama was? If Mexican hadn’t already been my favorite type of food, after eating from Mama’s table, there would be no contest. She quickly put me to work rolling out cornmeal dough as she pulled a tray of cookies shaped like little folded envelopes from the oven and dusted them with pink sugar crystals.
“My boy’s been working hard lately, no?” Mama asked. “I heard about that dead woman on the news.”
I nodded. “He has.”
Mama pursed her lips. “You make sure he no work too hard, yeah?”
As if I could stop him. But, instead, I nodded.
Which seemed to suffice. “Good. He’s a good boy, my little Jack.” She put a hand on mine, her eyes shining with pride. “You’ll take good care of him, no?”
I nodded again. Truly meaning it.
“He’s always been the one I worried about,” she said. “Always in the fights at school. Always the broken bones, always the principal’s office. Some days I wondered if he’d make it to a grown man.”
I smiled, trying to imagine Ramirez as a kid.
“But now, I don’t worry so much that he has you.”
I felt a lump in my throat. “Thanks.” I paused. Then added, “Mama.”
She smiled, patting my cheek with one floury hand. Then a small look of concern flitted through her eyes. “Ah, you do know what’s expected of a good wife, right?” she asked.
I paused. “Expected?” I looked around the kitchen, sorely hoping she didn’t suppose I’d become Suzie homemaker after the wedding. I could heat up a frozen dinner like nobody’s business, but actual cooking was, as Ramirez had pointed out, not on my list of finely honed skills.
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