Fearless in High Heels Part 15

"I understand you and your friend found the body?" he asked, pulling a notebook from his pocket.

I nodded, looking past him to where another squad car and the coroner's truck were pulling into the alleyway.

"Did you touch the body at all?"

I shook my head, nausea rolling through my stomach at the thought. "No way."

"But you could tell she was deceased?" he asked.

"Her eyes were open," I said. "And not moving."

He nodded. "Okay, what time exactly was this?"

I bit my lip. "I'm not sure. Maybe half an hour ago?" I said, watching as another car pulled into the alley behind us. A big, black SUV.

Uh oh.

"Um, do we really have to do this now?" I asked the officer. I watch the SUV park, a familiar figure emerging from the driver's side.

"Yes, ma'am. Now is a good time."

Maybe for him.

"Uh, okay, but you see I really have to..." I wracked my brain for an excuse to get away - any excuse! - as I watched Ramirez move away from his SUV to talk to another uniformed officer, no doubt being filled in on the fact that two ditzy blondes had found the body.

One of whom was conspicuously pregnant.

"...pee!" I yelled. I crossed my legs. "It's the pregnancy thing. The baby is sitting right on my bladder. Uncooperative little tyke. So, um, I have to go. Seriously. Now," I added with conviction as Ramirez's gaze swung my way. I ducked behind a tall bush, hoping The b.u.mp didn't protrude too much.

"Oh, uh, well, I guess we could go to the station..." the officer said, his cheek turning pink as he stammered. Bad guys with guns he could handle. A pregnant woman with a small bladder, not so much.

Lucky for me.

"Yes, the station would be great. Wonderful. Perfect," I said. "I'm sure you have lovely bathrooms at the station. Shall we go now?" I turned and near-ran to the closest squad car as Ramirez entered the courtyard, his gaze sweeping over the scene, taking it all in. I could see his eyes were sharp, going into cop mode, making sure no little detail escaped him.

Even if she sorely wanted to.

"What's the hold-up?" I asked, slipping into the backseat of the car.

Officer Fl.u.s.tered took his sweet time closing his notebook, radioing in to someone that he was bringing in the witness for further questioning, mumbling a bunch of numbers and letters into the walkie attached to his belt. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he got into the car and started the engine.

Not a moment too soon.

As he put the car into gear, I saw Ramirez's eyes lock in on Dana, gesturing wildly with her hands as the red-haired guy took her statement down as fast as he could scribble. Ramirez's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed, and I thought I saw that little vein on the side of his neck start to pulse.

"Go! Drive!" I shouted, ducking down below the window panel.

Thankfully Officer Fl.u.s.tered did, pulling away from the curb just as a string of curses in Spanish emanated from my husband's mouth, following me down the street.

Once at the station I did, in fact, have to pee again so I hightailed it to the ladies room. Once relieved, I then sat with the uniformed officer and gave him a full statement. By the time he finally released me, I'd gone over our discovery at the koi pond about a hundred times and knew very detail of the moment like the back of my hand. The only thing I didn't know was what our murderer was doing murdered in North Hollywood.

As soon as I left the station, I called Dana for a ride back home. Unfortunately there was no answer. She was probably still fending off the wrath of Ramirez. I totally owed her one. I made a mental note to take her out to the spa when this was all over. As a backup, I dialed Marco who, luckily, picked up on the third ring, did the appropriate amount of "ohmiG.o.d"s and "are you alright"s, then came to pick me up in his bright yellow Miata.

As reluctant as I was to face Ramirez, I knew from experience that the place he was least likely to be found after a dead body surfaced was home. So I took a chance and had Marco drop me off at my place with a promise that in the morning I'd fill him in on all the gory details of our finding.

I made myself a huge grilled cheese (Okay, I made two, but one was for the baby.), took the longest, hottest shower on record (which still didn't 100% get the feeling of dead person cooties off of me), and flopped into bed, willing myself to fall asleep before my husband got home.

Which, as it turned out, wasn't an issue. Since he didn't come home. A fact that left me with a mix of relief and dread in my stomach as I had brunch with Marco and Dana the next day at Cafe Melrose.

"I'm sure it was just because he was working," Marco said rea.s.suringly as he sipped his mimosa.

I watched, sure I was turning green with envy. A mimosa would really hit the spot right about now.

"You think?" I asked, fiddling with the Denver omelet on my plate. "I mean, he seemed a little upset at the scene."

"A little?" Dana interjected. "I'm pretty sure people in Malibu heard him roaring about his little 'fregadita' of a wife."

Uh oh. Fregadita was his sometimes pet name for me that meant little pain in the a.s.s. Only in this case, I'm pretty sure he didn't mean it as a term of endearment but more as an actual little pain in the a.s.s.

"But he got over it, right?" I squeaked out hopefully.

Dana glared at me over her fat-free bran m.u.f.fin. "If by 'over it' you mean he ranted for an hour, interrogated me for another hour, then cursed in Spanish for another hour, then yeah, he's totally over it."

I bit my lip. "Sorry. I totally owe you one. Honestly, I didn't think he'd take it out on you."

Dana shrugged. "I guess it could have been worse. At least it took my mind off of Ricky for a while."

"How is your Prince of Darkness lately?" Marco asked.

Dana sighed. "Don't ask. He was gone all night on another shoot with Ava. I swear to G.o.d if he signs on for another Moonlight movie next week, I may have to slit my wrists."

"Did he at least keep his phone on?" I asked.

Dana nodded. "Sure. In fact, he even accidentally b.u.t.t-dialed me during the s.e.x scene."

"Oh, no," I said, clucking my tongue in sympathy.

"Oh, yes. You know, it's one thing to know that your boyfriend is pretending to have s.e.x with another girl, and it's another to actually have to hear it."

"What did you do?" Marco asked.

Dana bit her lip. "I hung up, then left him a couple of voicemails telling him to turn the phone off."

"A couple?" I asked.

Dana's cheeks went pink. "Okay, seventeen. Was that excessive?"

"Maybe just this much," Marco responded, holding up his thumb and forefinger.

Dana grabbed his mimosa and took a big gulp.

"Well, one thing's certain," I said, changing the subject before she downed the whole thing. "Clearly the fact that Becca is dead means she isn't our murderer."

Marco nodded. "Becca couldn't very well have murdered herself. So who did?"

"Okay, let's start at the beginning. Becca and Alexa were into something bad."

"Most likely blackmail ending in a big payout," Dana added.

"Right. They blackmail someone for cash, but something goes wrong and Alexa ends up dead. We thought Becca was on the run because she had something to do with Alexa's death, but what if it's the other way around? What if she was afraid for her life, too?"

"So she goes home and quickly grabs a bunch of clothes, then takes off," Marco added.

"But then why show up at the party the other night?" Dana asked. "Why not just take off for Mexico or something?"

I shoved a bite of omelet in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Maybe she needed money? I mean, if their first attempt at blackmail failed, maybe she was broke. She needs some cash to get out of town, and now she has twice as much leverage against the blackmailee. She knows he killed Alexa."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "You think she'd be stupid enough to try blackmailing the guy again?"

I shrugged. "She didn't strike me as the brightest rhinestone on the ring, you know?"

Dana nodded. "Okay, so Becca goes in for a second blackmail attempt, but this one fails too, and instead of giving her the money the guy kills her."

"So, who is our blackmailee turned killer?" Marco asked.

"It must have been someone from the parties," I decided.

"So who was there that had a secret?" Marco asked.

I shrugged. "Who didn't? I mean I'm sure there are people who the very fact that they were at the parties was knowledge they wouldn't want to get out. Let alone the flirtations that went on there." I paused. "Or more than flirtations."

"I like Goldstein," Marco said. "He's rich, old, and married. Prefect material for blackmail."

"But what about Sebastian himself," Dana argued. "What if more was going on at those parties than we know about? What if he was pimping the girls out, and they got tired of it and tried to blackmail him for it?"

"But I don't think we should count out the boyfriend, either," I added. "He lied about knowing Alexa and he conveniently broke up with her right before she was killed. Or so he says."

"Plus he was at the club the night she died," Dana added.

"Let's face it, we have plenty of suspects," I said. "The problem is that we have absolutely no evidence."

"Goldstein was the last person to see Becca alive," Dana pointed out. "I think we need to talk to him again. Sure he says he dropped her off, but he could have easily killed her first."

I shrugged. "It's as good a place as any to start."

"Uh, I'm gonna let you gals go on ahead," Marco said, downing the last of his mimosa. "I've, uh, got somewhere to be this morning."

"A hot date?" I joked.

He grinned. "Something like that. I'll catch up with you ladies later, okay? Let me know how it goes with the lawyer," he said, then got up from the table and headed to the parking garage down the street.

I watched his retreating back. Hmm... Marco skipping out on a big interrogation? What was that boy up to?

An hour later Dana and I were hoofing it from the parking garage on 5th to Goldstein's corner office. We'd made it past the first receptionist, the second receptionist, and were just entering the third reception area when a familiar face began walking down the hallway toward us. Alexa's sister, Phoebe.

Her eyes were rimmed in red, and she was clutching a tissue in one hand. At her side was her husband, one hand on his wife's elbow, the other shoving a pair of spectacles back onto the bridge of his nose.

"Phoebe," I called.

She looked up, recognition struggling behind her eyes.

"Maddie Springer," I supplied. "We came to see you the other day about Alexa."

She nodded. "Yes, I remember you.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, looking past her down the hall as if the answer might materialize.

"We were making arrangements with our attorney."

"Wait," I said, my rusty mental wheels squeaking into action, "Goldstein is your attorney?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes. He's handled all the family's affairs."

Mental forehead smack.

"He's helping us with the arrangements for Alexa's funeral," she added, her voice cracking on the last word, prompting the tissue to hit her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," her husband said, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "But we've had a rough day. Do you mind?" he asked, brushing past us without waiting for an answer.

I watched them get onto the elevator, riding back down to reception number one.

"That's quite a coincidence," I mumbled.

"I'll say," Dana agreed. "The same guy who's sleeping with Becca and is the last person to see her alive also just happens to be Alexa's family lawyer. What are the chances?"

My thoughts exactly. "Let's go find out."

Chapter Seventeen.