Fearless in High Heels Part 17

"Actually, I'm really kind of looking forward to not carrying a baby around on my belly," I protested as she continued to strap me in.

"You'll love this," she said, completely ignoring me. "You can have you hands free this way."

"Can't I just put the baby down and have my hands free?"

Mom stopped strapping and looked at me in horror.

"I'd put her down gently," I promised.

But she just clucked her tongue at me.

About a hundred straps later, Mom was done, and I had what looked like a kangaroo pouch strapped to my front.

Mom reached into my Santana bag, grabbed Baby-So-Lifelike, and shoved the vinyl doll into the pouch. "There! A perfect fit!"

I opened my mouth to protest, but didn't get a chance.

"The games are ready!" Marco announced, clapping his hands together. "Everyone come out to the backyard. We have some fabu party games ready!"

Reluctantly, I followed, trying (without much luck) to wiggle out from the straightjacket's grasp as I made my way into the backyard.

California real estate being worth what it was, yards in L.A. were generally small patches of semi-green (thanks to our perpetual droughts) gra.s.s. But Ramirez had made the best use possible of our small outdoor s.p.a.ce, building a stone patio to one side of the lawn, which was at present filled with rows of tables clad in bright yellow tablecloths. Covered in yellow ducks. Wearing yellow baby bonnets. In the center of each one was a metal baby carriage overflowing with pink and blue flowers.

"Maddie, you sit here," Marco said, indicating a spot at the head of one table. "We're going to play Name That Food."

Okay, now we were getting somewhere. Food was good. I didn't dare hope he was bringing out burgers, but my growling stomach wasn't in the mood to be too picky right about now.

"Everyone take a seat," Marco instructed. "I'm handing out plates of baby food. Your mission is to taste each one, then guess as many flavors correctly as you can."

Mom took a spot next to me, Gunnar taking the one on the other side and Molly sitting beside him as Marco set down paper plates with several little piles of colorful mush on each.

I sniffed at the plate. Okay, whoever called this "food" had a loose interpretation of the word. I gingerly stuck my finger in a pile of purple mush and tasted it on the tip of my tongue.

Huh, not so bad, actually. Plum if I had to guess. I wrote my answer down on the yellow notepad Marco had provided, then moved on to the next pile.

This one was orange. I stuck my finger in and gave it a lick.

Then immediately regretted it.

I wrote "chicken vomit" on my pad.

I hesitantly tried the next pile, a pale green one. It was a cross between cold pea soup and kindergarten paste.

I made a mental note to never feed my child this. It was tantamount to child abuse.

After completely failing at the baby food test (the answers were Prunes, Chicken and Rice, and Peas and Carrots), Marco brought out the next game.

"Baby Jeopardy!" he announced. "I'll call out a question, and the first person to shout out the answer, in the form of a question," he added, "wins. Everyone ready?"

I sat up straighter in my chair. I had read What to Expect When You're Expecting at least three times, cover to cover. I'd even memorized the first two chapters of What to Expect the First Year. This one I could do.

"What," Marco asked, reading off of a little yellow index card, "is the age at which babies first learn to crawl?"

"What is two!" I shouted out.

Mom turned to me. "Years?"

I bit my lip. "Um... months?" I said, though it came out more of a question.

Mom looked down at Baby-So-Lifelike with something akin to sympathy in her eyes.

"Sorry, that's incorrect," Marco said shaking his head. "Anyone else?"

My cousin, Molly, raised her hand. "According to the American Academy of Pediatricians, most babies. .h.i.t that developmental milestone between the ages of six and ten months. So, what is six to ten months?"

"Correct!" Marco said. "Very impressive honey. One point for the woman with the fabu bob."

Molly preened in her seat.

"No fair," I mumbled under my breath. "I haven't gotten to that chapter yet."

"Next question," Marco announced. "At what age do babies get their first tooth?"

I wisely stayed silent on this one, letting my cousin, Molly, shout out an answer again. "Most pediatricians agree that children will get their first deciduous tooth between the ages of four and seven months."

"Correct!" Marco said. "But you didn't phrase it in the form of a question."

Molly's face fell.

"Okay, next question. How long do most pediatricians recommend you breastfeed your baby?"

"What is twelve months!" Mrs. Rosenblatt shouted out this time.

"Correct!" Marco said. "One point for the lady in the fashionable muumuu!"

"Wait," I said, leaning toward my mom. "Didn't he

just say that babies get their first teeth at four months?"

Mom nodded.

"And then we breastfeed for another eight months?"

She nodded again.

My nipples cringed. Suddenly feeding The b.u.mp pea-puke baby food didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.

Chapter Eighteen.

Three hours, two party games, and one cake shaped like a stork later, I was just cleaning up the last of the balloons when Ramirez walked through the front door. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the mounds of pink and blue colored tissue paper.

"Surprise baby shower," I explained. "So not my idea."

He walked over to the pile of baby gifts leaning precariously against the sofa. "We get anything good?"

"A Boppy, a b.u.mpo, and a Tommee Tippee gift basket." I paused. "I don't know what any of those things are."

Ramirez grinned. "I like your new look," he said gesturing to my torso.

I glanced down and realized Baby-So-Lifelike was still attached to me. Oddly enough, I had kind of forgotten about her. Maybe the carrier wasn't such a bad thing after all.

"Mom said I need practice."

He nodded. "Good idea. I remember the ficus."

I rolled my eyes. "Geeze, it was one little plant."

"Three, if I recall."

"I'm practicing, okay," I said, gesturing to the doll strapped to my mid-section. I paused. "So, you gonna start with the yelling now?" I asked.

Ramirez let out a long sigh, then sank into the sofa. "I probably should. It's getting late, and we have a lot of ground to cover."

"Very funny," I countered, sinking into the sofa beside him. Though, the fact he was teasing me was a good sign. "You know it's not my fault, right? I mean, we just found her like that."

Ramirez shot me a look. "Uh huh. And what were you doing there in the first place?"

"Nothing," I said, though I noticed my voice rose about an octave. "We just wanted to talk to Becca, that's all."

"Instead you found her dead body."

"Sorta?"

"And," he added, "your prints were found all over her apartment. You want to explain that?"

I bit my lip. "Not really."

"Maddie..."

"Okay, I was at her place the other day. The door was unlocked, so we kind of stepped inside. And maybe looked around a little. But Becca wasn't there, I swear it."

He ran a hand over his face. "You know, between the death threat you gave Alexa and the fingerprints at Becca's, it's becoming a full time job convincing my captain that my wife isn't involved in these murders."

I bit my lip again. "Sorry?"

He shot me the look again.

"Really, really sorry?" I amended.

He let out another deep sigh. "Just stay away from my crime scene from now on, capiche, Springer?"

I nodded. "Capiche. So, we're cool?" I asked.

He gave me a tired smile. "We're fine, Maddie."

Fine. Not exactly the most pa.s.sionate term to describe a relationship. But I figured at the moment fine was the best I could hope for.

"I've got some reports to go over tonight," he told me, getting up from the sofa. "Any party leftovers?" he asked hopefully.

"There's the stork beak still left on the cake."

He grinned. "Perfect," he said, then ducked into the kitchen with his briefcase full of papers.

Though, for once, I didn't mind being neglected in favor of paperwork. Because if those reports were what I thought they were, I fully intended to do a little paperwork of my own the second he left them unattended.

"Flunitrazepam," I told Dana and Marco the next day in the reception area of Fernando's salon.

"Fluniwhatnow?" Marco asked.

"Ruffies," Dana supplied. "Date rape drug."

I nodded. "That's what was in Becca's system. A whole lot of it, according to the M.E.'s report that I read last night. Enough to put down an elephant, let alone a hundred pound woman."

"So, whoever killed Becca drugged her to death?" Marco asked.

"And also drugged Alexa," I added, triumphantly. "After Ramirez fell asleep I snuck a peek at her report, too. We were right. She was drugged first, then drained of blood."

"Which explains why she didn't struggle," Dana added.

"And, also why there was no blood at the scene. Flunitrazepam inhibits blood pressure, so it would have been easy to puncture her neck, lean her over the toilet, then let her blood drain and flush it away."

"a.s.suming he didn't drink it," Marco put in.