"Valet! Would you care to valet your car, ma'am?" the monkey boy asked.
I cautiously rolled down my passenger side window. "We have valet parking?"
"But of course! What kind of party would this be without valet parking?"
I closed my eyes and did a ten count to get my temper under control, quietly wondered how much I was paying this valet. "Where are you parking these cars?"
He blinked at me as if not understanding the question.
"Valet parking indicates a parking lot," I enunciated clearly.
"Oh, sure. Yeah, Marco said we should use the Ralph's lot down the street as overflow."
I could've argued, but I didn't feel like walking all the way to my house from the Ralph's two blocks away. I hopped out of the car and handed the monkey boy my keys, figuring, quite honestly, he was going to be the least offensive thing I would encounter today.
With my trepidation at an eleven, I open the front door to my house.
As I had guessed from yesterday, my entire front room had been turned into an arcade of sorts. I spied my cousin Molly's two oldest children and her husband, Stan, bopping between the pinball machine, the vintage Pac-Man machine, and the cotton candy machine, clearly working his sugar high to become the top scorer on both of games.
Strong scents carried from the kitchen, telling me that my Parisian chef was at work. Though I had to admit they weren't altogether unpleasant. Maybe there would be a high point to this day after all.
I crossed the living room to the back sliding doors and into the yard where I could see the bulk of the festivities taking place. I had to admit Marco knew how to throw party. The tiki bar was in full swing, surrounded by several of Ramirez's brothers and sisters-in-law, and children were running and shrieking all over the yard, going up and down the giant inflatable waterslide and jumping into the ball pit. I spied Dana and Ricky feeding each other deviled eggs on the shaded patio, clearly having made up and gotten back to their usually honeymoon-ish selves. On the other side of the yard, a pony was trotting around in a circle led by a cowboy, for whom I sincerely hope Marco hadn't paid full price. And in the other corner sat Mr. Crocodile Dundee himself with his exotic animal pen. I spied a peacock, a small animal that looked like it was a goat on steroids, and a ten foot long snake wrapped around Dundee's neck.
In the center of it all stood Ramirez, a baby on each hip. God bless him, I didn't know how Mr. Mom did it, but they both looked immaculate. They were dressed in the outfits I had picked out for them—Livvie in a pink, ruffled dress that flared like a bell around her diaper-padded hips, and Max in a pair of pint-sized denim jeans and a baby blue button-up shirt—both complete with teeny tiny little baby shoes in coordinating ivory. Both kids were giggling and laughing at their surroundings. Even Ramirez was wearing a smile. Maybe this party wasn't such a bad idea after all. I mean, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and I didn't see a single clown in sight.
I quickly crossed the yard and gave Ramirez a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you," I said taking Livvie from him and giving her a little nuzzle in her soft neck.
"Hey, yourself, Springer."
"Sorry I'm late."
Ramirez shook his head. "No problem. Mama came early to help get the babies ready. You learn anything interesting? "
"Possibly," I said, filling him in on Kendra's lack of alibi and the state of Liz's boutique. I was just finishing when I heard a high-pitched voice behind me.
"My babies!" I turned to find my mom and Faux Dad coming straight at the children—arms outstretched, lips in the puckering position, ready to drop kisses all over their chubby little cheeks. Though which one of their high-pitched voices had screamed, "My babies," I wasn't sure.
After an appropriate amount of kissing, pinching, and squishing, Faux Dad and Ramirez drifted off to the tiki bar.
I turned to Mom. "How's he doing?" I asked, gesturing toward Faux Dad. I could see that even though he was trying to put on a happy face for the children's party, the bags under his eyes were growing exponentially.
Mom shrugged and averted her eyes.
"That well?" I asked, a pang of guilt hitting my stomach. I'd hoped to have better news for him by now, but it seemed all I was doing was running around in circles lately.
"He's doing the best he can, Maddie. You know the salon is his life. Without the salon, your stepfather is…well…just Ralph."
"But we love Ralph," I said, trying to be more upbeat than my voice came out sounding.
"Of course we do, Maddie," my mom said, sending me a sad smile. "You love Ralph, and I love Ralph. But the women of Beverly Hills love Fernando. As do their bank accounts, their credit cards, and their checkbooks. Without those, I'm afraid the salon won't be open much longer."
Geeze, talk about a guilt bomb. I was just about to go drown my sorrows in one of the fruity looking drinks I'd seen coming away from the tiki bar, when I spied my party-planner du jour.
"…and over here we have the exotic animal pen," Marco said, waving a hand to his right with flourish. He was wearing a lemon yellow suit and bright turquoise tie, speaking to a small group of people I didn't recognize. They all looked in their twenties, most wearing what I would describe as geek-chic attire—colorful leggings, beanies, and T-shirts with sci-fi sayings on them under open flannel shirts.
"…and this lovely little lad and lady are the guests of honor!" Marco said, doing jazz hands as he bowed and pointed to Livvie and Max on the hips of my mother and myself, respectively.
His geek-chic crowd clapped.
"Now, enjoy the party, mingle, and don't forget to check out our exotic animal zoo!" Marco told them as they dispersed.
"Marco," I said. "Lovely party." I leaned in for air-kisses, though as I got to his left cheek, I whispered in his ear, "And who are those people?"
"The press, of course!"
Mental forehead thunk. I'd had more than enough of the press for one week.
"You invited the press to my children's birthday party at my home?!" I hissed to him.
To his credit, his wide smile only faltered for a second. "This is your children's big debut party, darling. Their society moment. What's a coming-out party without a little publicity, right?"
"They're one. They're not coming out of anything except their diapers."
But Marco completely ignored me. "That woman over there?" He pointed to a redhead in neon pink and purple flannel. "That's Mary Mags who does a fantastic fashion blog, focusing on tiny tot couture. And the guy next to her does the Big Baby twitter feed. You know Big Baby, don't you?"
I gave him a blank stare.
"Oh, darling, you must get out more."
"Tweeting is not getting out."
"Big Baby," he continued, ignoring me (for a change), "is only the most subscribed-to celebrity baby news feed." Marco leaned in and faux whispered, "He's the one who broke the news about Suri Cruise's Easter dress fiasco." He made a tsking sound through his teeth. "So sad."
"Marco, I—"
"And that fine duo over there," he plowed ahead, "Are FuzzyBunny and BinkyBear."
I looked to where he was pointing, half expecting a couple in animal costumes. Instead I spotted two more chic geeks, the female of the two wearing Google Glass and filming everything in sight.
"Fuzzy who?" I hesitated to ask.
"The famous YouTubers? They get simply millions of hits for their funny baby videos. The Happy Baby Meets Cranky Cat series? That is all them." Marco nodded reverently.
I took a deep breath. I counted to ten. Then I realized I'd been practicing my counting more often than my children's favorite red monster on Sesame Street.
Where was that tiki bar?
I pushed past Marco, handing Livvie off to one of Ramirez's aunts, and made a bee-line for the tropical bar wearing what looked like a grass skirt in the center of my lawn. Luckily, Ramirez must have seen me coming as, good man that he is, he quickly slid me a pink cup that read "Livvie and Max's First Birthday Extravaganza" in scrolling
letters.
I downed it in one gulp, then asked for another. By the third, I almost didn't care that my children's party would be all over the internet in various forms of baby fashion policing and cranky-cat memes.
And then I heard it.
To anyone else it might have seemed unassuming enough. But I knew that Australian accented voice, and I knew the name it was calling.
"Matilda, love, where are you?"
My squick radar shot to a hundred just like that. I spun around, half expecting to see a ten-foot python crawling up my leg. Fortunately, she was nowhere to be seen. Unfortunately, the top to her cage was off and she was nowhere to be seen.
I clutched Ramirez's arm in a claw-like grip. "Matilda's loose," I whispered.
Ramirez turned to me. "And she is…?"
"Oh, God, please don't let Matilda be—"
Only I didn't get to finish that thought as I heard the whinnying of a horse from the other side of the yard. No, not quite a horse. Smaller, fainter, higher pitched…like a spooked pony.
It all happened in slow motion.
My cousin Molly's son, Connor, sat atop the pony, which reared up on two legs. Presumably to avoid the ten foot snake slithering in its path. Connor screamed as he was thrown backwards through the air…and luckily hit the side of the inflatable waterslide, bouncing off to land face first in the ball pit.
The pony charged forward, trotting at full speed toward the banquet table where the ice sculpture of two babies posing as cherubs sat, taunting him. The pony crashed through them, a cacophony of wings and frozen halos crashing to the patio, accompanied by a dozen trays of raining hors d'oeuvres.
"Matilda!" cried Crocodile Dundee
"Nelly!" cried the pony-wrangler in the cowboy outfit.
"My canapés!" cried François, running from the kitchen.
"Awesome!" yelled the chic-geek with Google Glass, catching every gory moment of it in digital glory.
"Marco," I threatened under my breath.
Unfortunately it seemed neither Matilda nor Nelly were very well-trained, as they completely ignored their owners. Matilda was slithering through the party-goers—now screaming and lifting their legs to high step out of her way. Ramirez's brothers chased the pony, who was charging, whinnying, and leaving nervous little pony droppings all over my yard.
They almost had him corralled into one corner when my cousin Molly's husband, Stan, walked through the sliding glass door.
"I beat the high Pac-Man score!" he announced to the yard at large.
Two seconds before a rampant pony with the runs charged into him, knocking him to the ground, and running straight into my living room.
"No!" I cried, making an attempt to move toward the door.
Only it was too late. Nervous Nelly had already let loose on my living room carpet.
* * *
It took us the better part of the evening to clear all the guests from the party, the animals from my house, and the pony poop from the yard…not to mention my rug. Which, as I'd pointed out to Marco in a tirade of words I never wanted my children to learn, was now ruined. He'd tried to cheer me up by joking that it matched my La-Z-Boy. I told him that it was a good thing my husband worked out, because he was the only thing holding me back from strangling the fab party planner. Marco had wisely made his exit at that point. By the time the party rental place had hauled away the last helium machine, I was exhausted. Ramirez and I both fell into bed, and I'm pretty sure I begin snoring even before my head hit the pillow.
The next morning I woke to sunlight streaming through my bedroom window and the faint smell of rotting deviled eggs on my back lawn. I groaned and rolled over.
As much as the party had ended (and started…and continued) in disaster, in the light of day, I felt the teeny tiniest bit of guilt creeping into my peripheral about yelling at Marco. Okay, he had turned my backyard into a pony potty, he owed me a complete new living room, and if I never saw another reptile again it would be too soon. But I knew Auntie Marco's heart had been in the right place. Even if his head and my pocketbook were not. He put his all into the party, and I knew he'd be sulking today. So my first stop after I dropped a kiss on my husband's cheek and wished him luck cleaning up the rest of the canapés from the yard was Starbucks for a Venti mocha frappuccino with extra whip, extra espresso, and lots of chocolate shavings on top. As far as peace offerings went, I hoped this did the trick.
Unfortunately, business didn't seem to be any more brisk at Fernando's than the last time I'd been there. Empty cut and color stations lined the walls, and there was just one lone woman getting a pedicure. Probably the only woman in the L.A. area who hadn't heard about the Tanning Salon Murder.
Marco looked up as I pushed through the glass doors, his expectant-receptionist smile quickly morphing into a look of pure fear.
I bit my lip. I walked up to the desk and shoved the Starbucks out in front of me. Marco looked down at the cup, back up to me, down at the cup. He didn't say anything, though his expression softened a little
"And this is?" he asked.
"Peace offering."
Marco eyed me suspiciously out of the corner of his heavily lined lids, as if it might contain poison.
"Look, the party did not end well yesterday, but I shouldn't have yelled. And threatened to kill you. And said you couldn't plan your way out of a paper bag."
Marco crossed his arms over his chest.
Boy, I sucked at apologizing. I cleared my throat and made another go of it. "I know you were doing your best to make a memorable party for the twins."
Marco raised one eyebrow. "Well, if we were going for memorable, I think I succeeded." A hint of a smile peeked out from behind his words. "You know how many hits we've had on YouTube this morning alone?"
I clenched my teeth together, remembering I was here to restore our friendship. "Goody for us."
Marco reached for the coffee. "But you were right, Maddie. I'm starting to think maybe I did go just a bit overboard."
I couldn't help myself. "Ya think?"
"I know, I know," Marco said, taking a sip of his peace offering and waving his hands. His black and gold crackle manicure sparkled in the air as he emoted. "But I just wanted everything to be perfect. I've had other clients before, even some big celebrity clients," Marco added. "But, I've never done a big party for a friend-ebrity before."
I couldn't help but get a little emotional, my hand going to my chest. "I'm a friend-ebrity? I'm not a celebrity. I just design shoes. Dana's the celebrity."
But Marco shook his head from side to side so violently that even his gelled spikes seemed to wobble in the air. "Honey, you are both dazzling stars in my book. And little ol' me is just manning the phones here while you two superstars are into the stratosphere with your careers." Marco paused, a frown taking over his features. "I was just trying to keep up with you ladies. I'm sorry for going a little overboard."
I moved around the reception desk and grabbed him in a big hug. "Honey, you are one of us ladies. You're a party planner to the stars. And I'm sure after everyone hears what a…memorable party you threw for my twins, they'll be clamoring to book you for theirs."
"Really?" Marco said, the same sort of disbelief on his face that I'm sure I'd displayed when I saw the pony in my backyard.
"Really," I promised. Just as my cell buzzed to life in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Ramirez's name with an incoming text.
Laurel and Hardy calling press conference. 11:15 Stars Stadium.
Oh boy. Whatever they had to say couldn't be good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After a quick text exchange with Ramirez, we both decided that I was much more likely to get into the press conference than Ramirez was. Not to mention I was a lot less likely to piss off his captain, who was most certainly planning to be in attendance. Especially if Laurel and Hardy had good news he could take credit for.
So, forty-five minutes later I was pulling into the Stars Stadium parking lot. Once again it was sti
ll freakishly empty compared to game day. However, at the far end of the lot near the players' entrance there sat a smattering of cars, mostly of the beat-up or news van variety, signaling that members of the press had gathered. I parked my car next to a Channel 4 van with a huge satellite dish stuck on its roof and made my way inside. Unfortunately I only got as far as the front entrance as the bodybuilder/gatekeeper was in attendance today as well. He took one look at me and shook his head.
"Press pass?"
"I'm a friend of Kendra Blanco," I said, hoping he remembered me from previous visits.
No such luck. He just gave me a steely stare and repeated the words. "Press pass?"
I shrugged. Unfortunately, there would be no sneaking around him today.
I was about to give up and go queue up the Twitter app on my phone to get the breaking news secondhand when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Well, if he doesn't want his picture on the front page he shouldn't go around inciting celebrities."
I spun around to see Felix, Bluetooth firmly in one ear, waving his hands and yelling as he stalked across the parking lot toward the stadium entrance.
"Oh, please. Slander? This picture has Ratski trending higher than any mere homerun ever will." Felix paused, shook his head, and threw his hands up in the air. "Listen, I've got a press conference. I've got to go. You want to talk slander, you can call the paper's legal department." He hung up, then lifted his eyes and spotted me.
I gave him a little one finger wave as he approached.
"I take it Ratski's lawyer isn't a fan of your recent headlines?" I asked, referencing the conversation I'd just overheard. In my defense, it was hardly eavesdropping if the person you overheard was yelling at the top of their lungs in a crowded parking lot.
Felix shrugged. "Par for the course. He has to say something or he's not earning his retainer now is he?" He paused, looking over my shoulder. "I don't suppose that your husband has any inside information on what's about to break in there?"
Homicide in High Heels Page 16