The three of us turned and gave her a look.
“What? It could happen…”
“What about this,” Larry said. “What if Allie staged her own disappearance to throw you off track? What if she did kill her mother, thought you were getting too close to the truth, and decided to leave town?”
I pursed my lips together. I’ll admit, I hadn’t thought of that. “It’s possible I suppose.”
“It’s brilliant!” Marco said, skating in a neat little circle. “This is better than a telenovela.”
“Unfortunately, if it’s true, she’s probably skipped to Mexico by now,” I pointed out. A thought so depressing I could hardly voice it.
“Okay, enough murder talk,” Larry said, sensing my mood. He clapped his hands together. “I’ve got something important to show you!”
He reached into his oversized handbag, and I took a deep breath, steeling my self against the worst.
“Ta da!” He drew his hand out and held up a big white hair scrunchie with little blue plastic butterfly charms sewn onto it.
“Um… what’s that?” I asked, terrified of the answer.
“Your somethings to wear to the wedding.”
I did a loud hiccup.
“It’s from an act I used to do in the ‘80s to Billy Idol’s ‘White Wedding,’” Larry said. “It’s real silk made from your grandmother’s wedding dress – very old. I sewed on the butterfly charms which are, obviously, blue and also new-”
“-I helped picked them out,” Madonna chimed in.
“-and since it’s mine and I’m letting you wear it, it’s also borrowed.” Larry beamed. “Here, try it on.”
Before I could stop him, he had my hair fisted into a ponytail and was wrapping the scrunchie around it like a butterfly-clad tourniquet.
“Ohmigod, she looks just like you, Larry!” Madonna squealed.
I did another hiccup.
“Geeze, you’ve got those bad, Maddie,” Marco said. “You know, my mama always used to feed us a spoonful of sugar to get rid of the hiccups.”
“Oh, I’ve got some Sweet ‘N’ Low,” Larry exclaimed, digging into his handbag again.
“No, I’m fine re-(hiccup)-ally,” I protested.
But, of course, no one listened. Larry found a pink packet, Madonna tore it open, and Marco dumped the entire contents down my throat as my mouth opened in another involuntary hiccup.
I clamped my lips together, feeling my face scrunch tighter than the hideous band in my hair as sacchariney sweet stuff melted down my throat.
“Better?” Larry asked.
“Oh yeah,” I shuddered. “Peachy keen.” I gave him a feeble thumbs-up.
Madonna tilted her head to the side. “You know, that scrunchie needs something.”
A butane lighter and blow torch?
“Earrings!” Marco exclaimed.
“Oh, I have the perfect pair,” Larry said. “Big white hoops, I wore them in my salute to Bette Midler last year. What do you think, Mads?”
I think my migraine was back.
* * *
By the time my nails were dry, I’d convinced Larry I already had a perfectly good pair of diamond earrings to wear to the wedding (not that they were fancy Bette Midler style or anything), and I’d slipped my freshly pedicured toes back into my peep-toe heels, I had just enough time to hop on the freeway and make it to Kaufman’s office before my appointment.
That is, if traffic weren’t backed up all the way to the 110 because of an overturned ice cream truck. I kid you not, there was mint chocolate chip all over the freeway. It would have been hilarious had I not been stuck in it for over an hour.
As I sat idling behind a pickup with a decal of a Calvin and Hobbs character peeing on the back window, my cell rang, displaying Dana’s number.
“Hey,” I said.
“It’s me. Listen, I got through to the driver who took Spike to the airport.”
I sat up straighter in my seat. “And?”
“And, he said he dropped them off at seven a.m. the day Gigi was killed. Which means their flight didn’t arrive at LAX until eleven.”
“Which means Spike is in the clear.” As much as I’d genuinely felt sorry for his grief, I was a little disappointed at crossing yet another name off my mental suspect list. At this rate, I was starting to wonder whether it wasn’t just a case of random wedding planner stabbing.
“Sorry,” Dana said.
“Thanks for checking.”
“No prob,” she asked. “Oh hey, did you see the front page of the Informer this morning?”
Uh oh. “No. What did Felix do this time?”
“He totally pasted my head on Hilary Clinton’s body.”
“Oh shit.”
“No, it was brilliant! He found this picture of her reading to underprivileged kids, and now it totally looks like I was reading to them. I’m not a bad influence anymore!”
“Oh. Good.” I think.
“That’s not the best part,” she continued. “After it hit the stand this morning, my agent got a call from CBS. They want me to do a bunch of public service announcements during Saturday morning cartoons about how drinking is bad. Is that cool or what? I always wanted to do PSAs! Of course, they want me to do them in the Flamingo outfit, but it’s still pretty cool.”
Huh. Who knew Felix could use his Photoshop skills for good instead of evil?
“That’s great, Dana.”
“Thanks. Oh, and I confirmed with the makeup artist for tomorrow. He says he’ll be at your place at ten.”
“Cool.”
“And the hairdresser will be there at eleven.”
“Okay.”
“And the limo is picking you up at one.”
“Do I have to remember all this?”
“Nope, that’s what you have me for.”
For once, I was grateful Dana had taken over planning.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime. Oh, hey, Ricky just walked in.” I heard her giggle, then a low male voice and a half-hearted “Stop it, you,” on Dana’s part. Followed by more giggling.
“Well, I guess I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone…” I trailed off as a couple growls came through the other end. “See you tonight,” I said. Then quickly hit the off button before I was ear witness to sex Flamingo style.
Miraculously, only twenty minutes later, a giant tow truck with a crane came and cleared the ice cream truck off to the side of the road, allowing traffic to crawl past, and I pulled up in front of the shining chrome and glass office building that housed Johnson, Levy, and Kaufman only marginally late.
As I huffed through the front doors, a receptionist with springing auburn curls looked up with a placid expression. “May I help you?”
“Maddie Springer. Here to see Kaufman.”
“Oh, right,” she said, smiling. “Just down the hall and through the door on your left,” she said, indicating behind her. “Your fiancé is already here.”
I paused and for a moment insanely wondered how Ramirez knew where I was before I realized who she was talking about. Felix.
“Thanks,” I called, making my way down the hall as I concentrated on bringing my breathing back to normal.
I pushed open a door marked A. Kaufman to find my fiancé lounging in a leather chair across a sleek mahogany conference table from a large, barrel-chested man with a graying crew cut on a head a least a size too big for his body. They both rose as I entered the room.
“Maddie, what took you so long, darling?” Felix asked, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Traffic. Darling,” I answered, wiping it off with the back of my hand.
“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Springer,” Kaufman said, offering a large, beefy hand. “Your fiancé here is quite a character. I can see what drew you to him.”
“Hmm.” I made a noncommittal sound as I gave Felix a sidelong glance, wondering just what he and Kaufman had been chatting about while I suffered through mint chip traffic.
“So,” Kaufma
n said, as we all took our seats, “you’d like me to draw up a prenuptial agreement?”
“The little woman here has some silly notion that I’m only after her money,” Felix said, sending me a wink.
I think I showed great restraint in not hopping over the table to strangle him.
“Well, I have to say, she’s right,” Kaufman said, nodding. “I recommend them to anyone. Divorce is a terrible thing for newlyweds to contemplate, but it happens all the time. Fifty-two percent of the time to be exact. And it’s better to be safe than sorry, isn’t it?”
I shot Felix an I-told-you-so look, before I remembered he wasn’t actually my fiancé.
“I’ve got a couple of forms here,” Kaufman said, sliding a pile of papers across the table to me.
I looked over them as he explained the main points, the legalese wording, and how exactly we should customize our agreement. Then he had his assistant type it all up, and in record time I had a prenup sitting in front of me with Ramirez’s and my names on it, just ready for signatures.
I stared at it. The entirety of “mine,” “his,” and “ours” spelled out in black and white suddenly making me nervous. I tried to tell myself it was just your average case of pre-wedding cold feet. But as I shoved it in my purse I feared frost bite.
“Would you like to sign it now?” Kaufman asked, slipping a pen across the table toward Felix.
“Oh, uh, maybe we can do it later?” I said.
Kaufman raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I just want to sleep on it and make sure we’re not missing anything.”
Felix nodded. “Excellent idea, snookums.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Of course,” Kaufman replied. “I completely understand.” He started tidying up papers and putting his pens into a briefcase.
Felix gave me a kick under the table, inkling his head toward Kaufman.
“Uh, I wanted to thank you again for fitting me in on such short notice,” I said. “Gigi was right, you are wonderful.”
At the mention of Gigi’s name, Kaufman faltered, clearing his throat. “Yes, well, I’m glad we could fit you in, as well.”
“Gigi came to see you the day before she died, didn’t she?” Felix asked.
Kaufman frowned.
“Uh, I was having lunch with her that day and she mentioned it,” I quickly covered. Which was almost true. I’d seen her, then had lunch. It was close.
But it seemed to satisfy him as he nodded his oversized head. “Yes. Yes, she did.”
“She told me you had something to discuss?”
He frowned again.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss that.”
I felt the desperation of another dead end bubbling up in my throat.
Felix leaned forward, “Listen, I understand that you can’t tell us what went on between you because of confidentiality. But Gigi was a good friend of ours, she’s dead, and the police have no idea who her killer may have been. I find it an awful coincidence that she was killed the day after an emergency meeting with her attorney.”
Kaufmans’s face blanched, his shoulders slumping as he leaned back in his chair. Apparently he hadn’t thought of it that way.
He shook his head. “I’m sure that what Gigi and I discussed had no bearing on her death.”
“Is there anything you can tell us?” I asked, stopping myself just short of adding “pretty please with sugar on top.”
Kaufman ran his tongue over his teeth, his gaze ping-ponging from Felix to me. Finally he made a decision.
“Look, I can’t go into what was discussed at our meeting. But, I can tell you that Gigi was anxious to have the matter resolved as soon as possible. I had a client cancel and could fit her in at the last minute. We discussed her… needs and I promised I’d have the necessary papers drawn up for her to sign by the following evening.”
But someone got to Gigi before he could. Right at that moment I would have given anything I had to know what Gigi had come to Kaufman for.
But it was obvious from the way he stood and cleared his throat that wasn’t going to happen.
“Listen, I am sorry about what happened to Gigi. But I can assure you that it had nothing to do with why she saw me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m already running behind.” And with that he ushered us out of the conference room and back out into the lobby where a perky receptionist said she’d send me a bill.
Once outside I threw my hands up.
“Well, great. We’re no closer than we were before.”
Felix shoved his hands in his pockets, staring back at Kaufman’s building. I could see him mentally calculating just how difficult it would be to break in and peek at Kaufman’s files. But, I had a feeling the security in the lawyer’s office was a bit much even for a pro lock picker like Felix.
“So what now?” I asked.
“I’m going back to Allie’s. Maybe there’s something there the police missed.”
I raised an eyebrow.
Felix let out a long sigh. “Yes, I’m aware it’s a long shot. But I can’t just do nothing.”
I nodded. I knew the feeling. “You know, there is another possibility,” I hedged. Then told him about Larry’s theory that Allie had staged her own disappearance.
Felix’s face grew stony, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. “No way. Not possible.”
“Why not?”
“What about the blood on her floor?”
“She could have put it there on purpose.”
“What about the trampled leaves?”
“She has feet, Felix. She could have done that, too.”
He shook his head again. “I don’t believe it.”
“Look, I’m not saying I totally believe it either, but just that… well… we should keep an open mind.”
But I could tell by the set of his jaw, his mind was sealed shut. Amazing how a pair of big boobs did that to a guy.
“I’m going to Allie’s,” he said again, his resolve picking up steam. “You coming or not?”
I did an internal shudder, the image of all that blood – staged or not - way too fresh. “No thanks. I’ve got… wedding stuff to do,” I lied. Hey, it sounded a lot better than “I’m a big fat chicken.”
Felix nodded, then shuffled off to his Neon parked three cars down.
I got in my Jeep and cranked on the air, pulling back around toward the 101.
The truth was, all the wedding stuff was done. The last thing on my checklist had been to get my nails done. Today was the day I was supposed to be relaxing, going to a spa, recharging for the chaos that would undoubtedly ensue tomorrow.
Instead, I was worried about one stacked blonde gone MIA, one wedding planner six feet under, a stupid bet with my soon-to-be husband over just how much of a bimbo I might be, and last but not lest, a prenup just in case I was one of the not-so-lucky 52%. All of which added up to an anxious churning feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Honestly, there was only one thing to do at a time like this.
Eat chocolate.
Which is probably why my car exited the freeway at the 2 and snaked west into Beverly Hills until it hit Fauston’s bakery.
I parked my Jeep at the curb and pushed through the front door, the bell jangling to signal my arrival. Immediately Anne came out from the back, carrying a fresh tray of peanut butter cookies. I inhaled deeply, wondering why no one has bottled that scent.
“Hi, Maddie,” she said, then frowned. “Don’t tell me there’s a problem with your order?”
“Actually, I’m having a major chocolate craving.” I eyed the offerings in her bakery case. “Are those chocolate turtles?”
Anne nodded. “Uh huh. Pecans, caramel, and dark chocolate.”
I think I drooled a little on the counter.
“Wow. I’ll take four. No, wait. Better make that six.”
I salivated in anticipation as she bagged them up for me, not even waiting until I was out of the store before biting into one ooey, gooey piece of heav
en. Caramel exploded onto my tongue as I bit into it, and I swear I had a near orgasmic experience.
“My God, these are good, aren’t they?”
Anne shrugged. “Haven’t tried them. I don’t really like chocolate.”
I froze. “Seriously?” What, was she from Mars?
She just shrugged her slim shoulders. “Not much of a sweet tooth, I guess.”
No wonder she was a stick figure. I shoved the rest of the turtle in my mouth and paid for my chocolate, giving her a wave as I left.
I made it all the way to my Jeep before indulging in another piece. Okay, so maybe my life was still in turmoil, but at least with a piece of chocolate in my mouth I didn’t care about the turmoil quite so much. I leaned my head back on the headrest and let my thoughts wander as I rolled the dark chocolate over my tongue.
The problem with this whole case was that there was motive galore. Too much motive. If Gigi was getting her own prenup drawn up, there went Spike’s gravy train. Mitsy was known for her temper, and the way she’d threatened me, I could easily see her snapping at Gigi. Summerville, well, who knew what kind of hostility existed between a man and his ex.
And then there was Fauston.
I watched Anne carefully loading her cookies into a pink bakery box through the window.
Fauston had been sketchy about his and Gigi’s relationship. But if he’d resented Summerville, it was likely he’d resent Gigi marrying a hot young rock star even more. Had he resented it enough to kill her to prevent it from happening?
Anne taped the box shut, then took her empty tray back into the kitchen.
As much as I liked the Fauston theory, it had one fatal flaw. He had an airtight alibi. The delivery log showed him across town at the time Gigi was killed. There was just no getting around that.
I sighed, popping another turtle in my mouth as Anne swung through the kitchen doors again. She took off her apron, hanging it on a hook near the door and switched the sign from “please come in” to “sorry we’re closed”.
Lucky me, I’d gotten my turtle fix just in time. And it’s a good thing I did. Never again will I underestimate the powers of chocolate on an overtaxed mind. Because as I sat there watching Fauston’s niece grab the pink box and disappear into the back of the shop again, it hit me.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 122