High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5)

by Gemma Halliday

  “I see,” Kaufman said. “Well, I’d be happy to discuss a prenuptial agreement with you.”

  Eureka! Divorce attorney.

  “What sort of assets are you looking to protect?” he asked.

  “Oh, uh…” I racked my brain. Did a plastic ficus tree count as an asset? Then my eyes slid down, settling on my shoes, and I remembered the conversation I’d had with Dana. “My designs! I’m a fashion designer and I need to protect my work.”

  “Excellent idea. I highly recommend doing so.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Listen, I’m sorry to cut this short,” he said, “but I’ve got a client coming in. However, if you’ll make an appointment with my receptionist, I’d be happy to help you with this matter.”

  “Thanks. That’d be great,” I said as Musak came through the receiver, signaling I was being transferred. Once back with the perky voice, I set up an appointment for the next day. (Hey, while I trusted Ramirez completely, protecting my assets might not be such a bad idea after all. I was pretty sure I owned at five figures in shoes alone. I mean, I should at least see what the lawyer had to say, right?)

  As soon as I was done, I called Felix back and filled him in on my conversation.

  “So, why do we think Gigi was visiting a divorce attorney?”

  I mulled that thought over. “Could it be for the same reason I’d pretended to? If she was planning to accept Spike’s proposal, it stood to reason that she’d want a prenup.”

  “That’s one scenario,” Felix agreed. “On the other hand, maybe it had something to do with her ex. Some alimony she was due?”

  I shook my head at my empty Jeep. “Not possible. Summerville said she didn’t get a dime from him after they split. They had a prenup, too.”

  “Alright, let’s go with option number one then.”

  “What if Spike wasn’t too happy at the idea of losing his sugar mama? What if he argued the need for a prenup? Maybe it got heated and he killed her?”

  “You’re forgetting one thing.”

  “What?”

  “The alibi. Spike was in Topeka.”

  “Probably,” I hedged. “Dana’s checking on that.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Okay,” I conceded, “so let’s look at it this way – who doesn’t have an alibi for the time of her death?”

  Papers rustled on the other end as Felix flipped through his notes. “Summerville was on a conference call. Allie said she had class that morning. Spike was in Kansas.”

  “What about Fauston?” I asked.

  More paper rustling. “No idea where he was.”

  “He was the last one to see her alive,” I pointed out. “And it was his knife used to kill her. What if he lied? What if he really delivered the cake sample to Gigi at 10:32, then offed her before heading back to the bakery?”

  “I don’t know. What’s the motive?”

  “I’m not sure. But if Allie was telling the truth, and if he does have some sort of history with Gigi, maybe he still had a thing for her. And if Gigi was going to say yes to Spike, maybe it set him off.”

  “That’s a lot of ‘if’s.”

  I countered with the best argument I could come up with. “You have a better idea?”

  Felix sighed. “Okay, more cake it is.”

  * * *

  Anne was at the bakery case arranging stacks of heart-shaped Valentine’s cookies when we walked in. Immediately my stomach growled as if it had some sort of Pavlovian thing going on with this place.

  I gave my appetite a mental “down, girl” as Anne looked up.

  “Oh, hey.” Her forehead puckered. “Is there a problem with the cake?”

  “No, I’m sure the wedding cake is perfect.” Felix shot her a smile that was all teeth and put his arm around my shoulders.

  Oh brother.

  “We actually wanted to speak to your uncle. Is he available?” I asked.

  Anne shook her head. “Nope. Sorry. He’s doing a wedding in the valley today. What do you need?” she asked again.

  Reluctant to totally tip my hand to the girl, I verbally tiptoed around our reason for visiting. “We were just wondering about that morning when Paul dropped the cake off at L’Amore.”

  “Oh. Right. Well, he’ll be back later tonight, I guess.”

  “He didn’t happen to mention what he did after he left Gigi’s, did he?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Not specifically. But I know he had deliveries all morning. Three more after Gigi’s.”

  “And he made them all?” I asked, my prime non-alibied suspect quickly slipping away.

  She nodded, her eyes serious. “Yep. Every one. I’ve got the logs right here.” She pulled a big black book out from behind the counter, flipping to a page of delivery receipts.

  I glanced down, noting the times and signatures on the receipts from the morning Gigi died. At exactly 10:35 an Annabelle Campbell signed for receipt of a chocolate anniversary cake. Damn.

  “I know your uncle has been friends with Gigi for some time,” Felix jumped in. “In fact, more than friends at one point, yes?”

  She gave him a blank look. “I wouldn’t know.”

  From her eavesdropping habit, I clearly doubted that.

  “He never mentioned anything about their past relationship?” I probed.

  “Not to me,” she said. Though I noticed her eyes hit the floor.

  Felix must have noticed, too, as he said, “I noticed that your uncle speaks very loudly. You didn’t happen to accidentally overhear anything of that kind, did you?”

  Anne bit the inside of her cheek, looking from Felix to me.

  “If you’ve overheard anything, it would really be helpful,” I prodded. “In fact, I’m pretty sure the police are even offering a reward of some kind for helpful information.” Okay, I had no idea if this was true. But, it could be. I mean, sometimes the police did that, right?

  Luckily, Anne didn’t know either, and the measly-shop-girl-salary in her won out over the tight-lipped-eavesdropper. .

  “I might have,” she admitted.

  “Such as?”

  “Well… okay last week, I overheard a conversation between my uncle and Gigi. Totally by accident, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anyway, Gigi had come by to pick up a cake topper for a client, and she and Uncle Paul were in the back. I walked past the door, you know to restock the bakery case.”

  Right. Five-to-one she’d had a glass to the door.

  “Uncle Paul was getting really upset. He said he couldn’t believe she was even thinking about it again.”

  “About what?” Felix asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. But then Gigi said he’d even gotten down on one knee. And then Uncle Paul said something I couldn’t hear and Gigi got real defensive. She said he was not a boy and he did know what he was doing.”

  Spike. I chewed my lip. Gigi must have been telling Fauston about the proposal.

  “Did she say anything else?” I asked, wondering if Gigi had planned on a ‘yes’ or a ‘no.’

  “Well, Uncle Paul said something about it being time she was with a real man. Then she laughed and said, ‘What, like you? We’ve been down that road. No, thanks.’”

  “And?”

  Anne bit her lip. “That’s it. A customer came in, and by the time I was done helping him, Gigi had left.”

  I mulled this over, feeling Fauston’s motive grow stronger by the second. Whatever past relationship he and Gigi had, it sounded like it hadn’t been his idea to end it. He’d been resentful of Summerville, and, from what Anne heard, he wasn’t all that excited about the prospect of Gigi marrying again. Could we possibly be looking at a case of “if I can’t have her, no one can”?

  Even if we were, I reminded myself, Fauston had an iron-clad alibi.

  “Why do you want to know all this? Even if they argued, my uncle had nothing to do with Gigi’s death,” Anne said sharply, her eyes narrowing.

 
“Of course not,” Felix said, putting on a reassuring smile. “I’m sure it was just a harmless quarrel between old friends.”

  “Exactly.” Anne crossed her arms over her chest in a defiant gesture..

  I was about to ask her more about any other conversations she may have ‘not really heard’ when the bell over the door chimed again.

  I turned around to find myself face to face with bridezilla herself.

  Mitsy Kleinburg.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You,” Misty said, zeroing in on me.

  I looked left, then right. “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” She marched across the bakery, advancing on me. “I’ve been getting calls all week from the florist, the caterer, the reception hall, all hounding me for checks and head counts and a million other little things. I can’t take it anymore. I need a new wedding planner. You said you’d find one. Where is she?”

  “Oh. Yeah, right… uh, about that…”

  “You must be Mitsy Kleinburg,” Felix interrupted. “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you, I’d know you anywhere.”

  She gave him her patented blank ‘yeah so?’ look.

  “I’m Felix Dunn,” he said, extending a hand her way.

  She ignored it.

  “With the L.A. Informer,” he added.

  She rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Paparazzi.”

  My feelings exactly.

  “Look, when am I meeting the new planner?” she asked me. “My wedding is only a few months away. There are details to be worked out. Important ones.”

  “Of course,” I said, mentally trying to backpedal my way out of this one. “But, um, I’m having a hard time locating someone…”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You said you’d find one, and you’d damn well better. All the good ones fill fast. And I’m not having a second-rate wedding just because some unprofessional old bat decides to up and die on me.”

  I declined to point out that Gigi likely had very little say in her demise.

  “Speaking of Gigi,” Felix said, “I heard a nasty rumor that you fired her the day before her death?”

  “Yeah. So?” Mitsy asked. “Like I said, she was completely unprofessional.”

  “You were upset?”

  “Of course. No one treats me like that.”

  “Insulted?”

  “Yes.”

  “Offended?”

  “Angry?”

  “Yes.” She paused, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why?”

  “Where were you the morning she died?”

  “Oh, hohohono,” she said, shaking her head. “No way are you pinning this on me. I had nothing to do with that woman getting herself killed.”

  “Really?” Felix raised an eyebrow. “Then you won’t mind telling me where you were.”

  “What, so you can print it in that little rag of yours?”

  “Precisely. Or, if you prefer, I can run your picture next to the headline ‘Bridezilla Kleinburg Prime Suspect in Wedding Planner Slaying.’”

  Mitsy’s mouth dropped open, her eyes turning into two round saucers. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Sadly, he would,” I said.

  Felix shot her a big toothy grin, rocking back on his heels.

  Mitsy clamped her mouth shut with a click, clearly not used to being defeated by a guy who thought Bigfoot was front page material. “Fine. You want to know where I was Saturday morning? At the spa.”

  “All morning?” I asked.

  “Yes. My driver dropped me off at eight and I stayed through lunch.”

  “Which spa?” Felix prodded.

  “Rejuvenation. In Malibu. Satisfied?”

  Hardly. As much as Mitsy had been my backburner suspect, the fact that she was miles away from Beverly Hills made my heart sink. My suspect list was slowly shrinking into nothing.

  “Now, if you’re done torturing me,” Mitsy said, “I’m here to pick out my icing rosettes.”

  Anne (who had been watching the exchange with the vigor of an A-list gossip) snapped to attention. “Right. Um, come on through the back,” she said, gesturing to the swinging doors.

  Mitsy turned to follow her, then paused and threw a look my way. “I’m serious about that wedding planner, Springer,” she said. “I need one now. And if you don’t deliver I will make sure your designs are blackballed from every red-carpet event in this town for as long as you live. Don’t think I won’t.”

  Unfortunately, I had no delusions that Mitsy wouldn’t make good on that threat. I made a mental note to call wedding planners about her as soon as possible. God willing, one of them had yet to hear how difficult she was.

  “Right,” I called to her retreating form. “I’m on it!”

  As soon as she was out of sight, I punched Felix in the arm.

  “Ow! What was that for?” He rubbed at his bicep.

  “That was for pissing Mitsy off so badly she’s taking it out on me. Where the hell am I going to find her a wedding planner?”

  Felix shrugged. “Want me to google one?”

  I shook my head. “Never mind,” I mumbled, pulling him out the door.

  “So,” Felix said as we stepped back outside into the sunshine. “Mitsy’s alibi. Believable?”

  I nodded. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ve been to Rejuvenation. Attendants are in and out of your room constantly. There’s no way she could have slipped away unnoticed.”

  “If she was there.”

  “Easy enough to find out,” I said, grabbing my cell. A 411 and a quick chat with Rejuvenation’s receptionist later, we had our answer. Yes, Mitsy had been there. Yes, all day. Yes, they were sure it was her – she’d made two attendants cry so hard they’d gone home. And, yes, they did have an opening for me in two weeks. (Hey, I couldn’t resist, they had awesome facials!)

  “Fine. Mitsy is out,” Felix agreed as I hung up.

  “So, where does that leave us?”

  “Out of suspects,” Felix said.

  “Well, not completely out.”

  He looked up, raising one eyebrow in question.

  “Don’t forget Allie.”

  Felix frowned as if he would prefer to.

  “Right. Allie.” He pulled his little notebook from his front pocket. “She had class when Gigi was stabbed.”

  “Yeah, but has anyone checked if she actually went to class that day?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, Maddie, I just can’t see her killing her mother.”

  “But she lied to us.”

  “She omitted something.”

  “Something critically important.”

  He shut his mouth, conceding my point.

  “All right. Shall we drive down to UCLA and confirm her alibi?”

  Since I was out of any better ideas, I nodded.

  “But,” I said as we got back into my Jeep, “let’s stop at a drive-thru on the way.”

  Felix shot me a look. “What happened to your wedding-dress diet?”

  “It smelled cookies. I’m starving.”

  I put the car in gear and pulled back out into traffic, making a left at the light and pulling into the first Del Taco I saw.

  I ordered a big beefy burrito, large soda, macho fries, and churro sticks. Felix ordered a small soda.

  “Don’t you ever eat?” I asked, wiping a dribble of Del Scorcho hot sauce from my chin as we sat in the parking lot.

  He shrugged. “Lost my appetite at lunch, I guess.”

  Right. Waiting for Allie.

  I swallowed a salty fry, suddenly feeling just the teeniest bit sorry for Felix. Granted, the idea of he and Allie was completely ridiculous. Felix was old enough to be her… well… her very older brother. But no matter how wrong for him she was, it’s still never fun to be stood up by a hot young thang. Not to mention the fact that, however murky his feelings for me may have been, I’d not only picked “caveman” Ramirez over him, but I was soon to be Mrs. Caveman.

  “Sorry,” I said, honestly meaning it.

  He gave me a funny look acr
oss the console. “For?”

  “Allie. Me. Everything.”

  Something indefinable flitted across his eyes. And the cab of my Jeep suddenly felt way too small, emotion clogging the air. Silence hung between us. I felt myself growing fidgety, wishing he’d say something.

  I was just about to bust out with some completely inappropriate joke to break the tension, when Felix finally spoke up.

  “Well, don’t be, Maddie. I know I’m certainly not,” he said, infusing the words with meaning that had nothing to do with one stacked co-ed. And everything to do with us.

  Or, what shred of us that could have been.

  I nodded, at a loss for words.

  Felix cleared his throat loudly. “Uh, you’ve got a little something…” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

  “What?”

  I licked right, coming away with a dab of hot sauce. Great. I grabbed a napkin, self-consciously dabbing at my lips.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “we better get a move on if we’re going to hit the campus before classes end for the day.”

  “Right.” I grabbed another napkin, wiping at my chin for good measure. I shifted my burrito to the other hand and turned the key, roaring my Jeep to life as I pulled out of the lot and pointed it down Santa Monica Blvd.

  After wrangling with the parking voucher machine again (This time it took my money, but failed to spit out a slip. I kicked it. Hard. Which did absolutely nothing to help me gain a slip, but at least made me feel a little better.), we made our way to the math department, inquiring who taught Allie’s Algebra II class on Monday mornings. We were directed to a Professor Blasberg, a tall woman with dark hair and sharp features, who was just shutting up her office as we approached. Yes, she had Allie in her class; no, she couldn’t remember for certain whether she’d actually attended the class on the day in question. Though she did direct us to the tutoring center where Allie’s study partner for the class worked, saying maybe she knew.

  After traipsing across campus to the student services building, we found the study partner deep in the midst of explaining the quadratic formula to a guy whose eyes were starting to glaze over. Yes, she and Allie took Blasberg’s class together; no, she hadn’t seen Allie in class that morning.