Alibi in High Heels (7 page)

Felix went immediately to said dresser, opening the top two drawers.

"So, what exactly are we looking for?" he asked.

"Evidence," I replied, crouching down to look under the bed.

"Of what?"

"Well, I'm not going to be terribly picky at the moment. Anything that will clearly state to the police, 'Maddie didn't do this.'"

He paused and I could feel his eyes on me.

I straightened up. "What?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Oh, no. Not you, too. You
know
I didn't stab her, Felix."

He held his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I never said you did."

"Yeah, but you gave me a look."

"What look?"

"It was a look."

He grinned. "Yes, I was looking at you. But I was merely thinking how cute you looked all crouched like a sand crab down there on the floor with your one giant foot."

I narrowed my eyes at him and thought a really dirty word.

"Maybe I'll just go check the bathroom," he said. Then called over his shoulder, "You might want to try the desk."

"I'd already thought of that," I lied. I awkwardly hobbled across the floor, my crutch catching on a discarded Wonderbra as I tackled the small writing desk by the window, hoping that whoever Mystery Man was, he'd left some trace of himself behind.

Nothing but hotel stationary and a pen in the first drawer. The second held a mishmash of receipts, postcards, papers and a slim, silver camera. I picked the camera up and turned it over in my hands. It was one of those digital kind that could take either stills or video. I hit the power button and watched as the little screen came to life. I'll admit, I'm not the most technologically clever person on the world. I can work my ipod and check my email, but beyond that, I'm pretty much clueless. So, it took me a few minutes of aimlessly pressing menu buttons before I came to a list of what looked like video files. They were all labeled with names. Rocco. Marcel. Charlie. Roberto. Ryan. Curiosity got the better of me. I scrolled down to the one marked "Roberto" and hit the play button.

Instantly the sounds of moaning and panting filled the room as visions of naked body parts flashed across the small screen. I cringed, trying not to look as I searched for the stop button.

"What are you doing out there?" Felix called.

"Nothing!"

"It doesn't sound like nothing.

I pressed all the buttons, hoping one would work. Finally one did. Not only making the video disappear, but all the files as well. I stared at the little screen, the words "No Files Found" where
Gisella Does Paris
had just been.

Felix poked his head through the door.

"What was that?"

"Just a camera."

Felix raised an eyebrow. "Any pictures on it?"

"Nothing you want to see." I hoped.

He shrugged, then popped back into the bathroom.

I turned the camera off, but on the off chance the files could be retrieved, slipped it into my purse. Quite honestly, I wasn't sure I'd recognize a guy again from the videos Gisella had shot unless I went around asking men to drop their pants. But, just for good measure, I pulled out the hotel stationary and wrote down the names of all her files before I forgot them. While I couldn't remember the dates beside them, I did know they were all made in the last two months, with Ryan being the most recent, dated just two days before Gisella's murder. Which could mean nothing, but at least it was a place to start.

I moved on to the piles of papers in the desk drawer. Most were receipts from taxicab rides, boutiques, restaurants. Almost all were written in French. And though I could clearly make out the amounts she spent, I was ashamed to admit, I didn't have my Euros to dollars calculations memorized and they meant little to me. But from what I could make out of the boutiques she shopped at, Gisella had expensive taste. There were several shops in Paris whose names I recognized, as well as three top tier Italian designers.

"Hey," I called to Felix.

He popped his head back out again.

"Check the closet, would you?"

"What am I looking for?" he asked, crossing the room and sliding back the mirrored doors.

"A de la Renta coat."

Felix paused, flipping through her wardrobe. "And a de le Renta would look like...?"

"Fur."

He rummaged around. "She has three furs."

As much as I was against killing defenseless little animals for the sole purpose of looking cool, I felt my heart clench just a little. "Three?"

He nodded.

I couldn't help myself, I needed just one little look. I hobbled over to his side. Sure enough, one de la Renta, one Alta Moda, and one vintage Chanel. I ran my hand over the Chanel, making little moaning sounds that were strikingly like the ones I'd just heard on Gisella's camera. "You have any idea how much this is worth?'

Felix was checking the pockets of the Alta Moda. He shook his head. "No. Tell me."

I couldn't. It was priceless. Woman had given their first born for less.

"I can tell you, however," he said, his face breaking into a smirk, "how much this one is worth."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh really? All right, Mr. Fashion Knowledge. What's it worth?"

Felix pulled his hand out of the pocket, then held it open. In the middle of his palm glittered a necklace, three perfectly cut diamonds suspended from a thick gold chain. "Exactly five hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and two dollars. Last time I had it appraised."

I sucked in a breath. "Your necklace?"

He nodded.

"Do you know what this means?"

"That I don't have to deal with the insurance company?"

"That Gisella had the necklace all along. She really did misplace it."

Felix stared down at the necklace, turning it over in his hands. "Or she'd planned on keeping it for herself."

"You mean Gisella stole it?" I raised one eyebrow in his direction. Now there was something I hadn't thought of. I was just about to ask him what prompted that train of thought when a sound outside the door made us both freeze.

"What was that?" I whispered.

Felix shook his head, shoving the necklace in his pocket. "I think that's our cue to get out of h-"

But he didn't get to finish, the sound of the door flying open cutting him off. Three policemen in blue uniforms came bursting into the room, practically filling it, guns drawn, arms straight out in front of them.

The first one shouted something in French.

"What?" I asked.

He repeated his command.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak French."

He pointed his gun at me.

Yikes! Okay, that I did speak. I put my hands up in a surrender motion.

"Look, I can explain. This is Lord Ackerman and we were just here because he left a priceless family heirloom here last time he slept with Gisella."

"I never said I slept with her," Felix protested, doing a mirror image of my hands-in-the-air thing.

"Play along," I whispered out the side of my mouth.

"Maddie, I don't think..."

But again Felix was cut off as the second officer traded in his gun for a pair of handcuffs, which he promptly placed on Felix's wrists, clasping them together behind his back.

"Wait, no, you're making a mistake," I protested. "Okay, fine we're not really here looking for a family heirloom. That was just a cover. We were looking for evidence that would clear my name. See, I'm the Couture Killer."

Officer Number One raised an eyebrow at me.

"No, wait - I'm not really a killer. I mean, just in the press. But it's not true. None of it's true. I mean, yes, I am a designer, that part's true. And I do love couture, in fact I'm actually even showing this year at the Le Croix-"

"
Voler
!" shouted Officer Number One.

"What?"

"He said we're thieves," Felix translated, as Officer Number Two patted him down.

"No please, you're getting this all wrong," I protested. But I realized it was futile, as Officer Number One gestured toward me, prompting Officer Three to pull out a pair of handcuffs of his own. He grabbed my hands, snapping the cool metal around them. (Which, of course, made my crutches clatter to the ground at my feet.) However bad having my picture plastered on the news was, this was worse, much worse.

And then things got even better.

"Capitain!" Officer Number Two shouted to the first guy.

We all turned to face the second officer, holding Felix in one hand. And pulling the diamond necklace out of his pocket with the other.

Officer Number One looked from Felix to me, a smug smile on his face. "
Oui, voler
."

Felix and I looked at each other.

Oh. Shit.

Chapter Seven

No matter what country you travel to, what culture you come from, or what language you speak, there is one almost universal truth about human beings - we don't like to pee in front of each other. Which is why, as I sat on a wooden bench in the square ten-by-ten holding cell, I uncrossed then re-crossed my legs for the gazillionth time since Officers One, Two, and Three had brought me here in handcuffs.

They'd spilt Felix and me into two separate cars and I had no idea where they'd taken him or even if he was in a cell of his own somewhere. Or, for that matter, where my cell was. Somewhere in Paris was about all I knew. I'd tried talking to Officer Number One on the car ride over, but either he didn't speak English or he just didn't want to talk to me.

Luckily, the booking officer had spoken English and explained I was being charged with trespassing, breaking and entering, and burglary. All of which I protested vehemently as I'd been fingerprinted, photographed and shoved into a holding cell to wait. Oddly enough, if you traded in the donuts for croissants, the entire process had been eerily similar to the American one. (Don't ask me how I know this. Let's just say my karma
really
sucks.)

And similar also was the lone toilet sitting in the middle of the room. I un-crossed my legs again and tried not to think of clear streams, faucets, or waterfalls as I checked out my cellmates. To my left was a short, brunette woman in spandex tights and a stained T-shirt. She was mumbling to herself and her hair looked like she'd attacked one side with a pair of safety scissors. Across the room sat two women in black jeans, flannel shirts and bandanas, looking like they'd walked straight out of Compton. And next to them a woman with stubble on her upper lip in a tube top and hot pants, with a red feather boa draped around her neck.

I glanced at the toilet again, wondering how long I could wait.

I closed my eyes, wishing like anything that I hadn't had the large latte that morning and wondered where Felix was. Surely he explained to the officers that the necklace was his. I mean, you couldn't really be arrested for stealing something that already belonged to you, could you?

Which made me wonder, had Gisella stolen the necklace? She hadn't struck me as the sharpest crayon in the box when I'd met her, but I guess it didn't take a whole lot of brains to pocket a piece of jewelry. I wondered. If she had stolen it, what did that have to do with her death? Had someone found out she was pocketing the jewelry? Maybe someone who'd seen her wear it at the party? Maybe Mystery Man. But that didn't explain why they'd want to kill her. I mean, why not just turn her over to the police? Or Jean Luc? It still didn't make sense. And I still wasn't 100% convinced that Gisella hadn't just shoved it into her pocket after one too any glasses of champagne and forgotten all about it.

"Bonjour."

I opened my eyes. And did a little yelp. Miss Tube Top was sitting so close to me she was practically in my lap.

"Uh, hi." I scooted to the left.

"
Ca va ?
"

"Uh, sorry, I don't speak French."

She just looked at me.

"I. Don't. Speak. French," I said again, louder and more slowly.

The woman grinned, showing off a row of slightly yellow teeth. Most of which were all still there. "I heard you the first time, my girl," she said in perfect English.

"Oh."

She leaned in and I could smell her breakfast vodka on her breath. "Tell me, what's a darling little thing like you doing in here?"

I heard myself gulp loudly as Tube Top gave me an up-and-down. Then licked her lips.

"Uh, a slight misunderstanding."

She did a short bark of laughter. "Ha! Me, too, doll." She reached over and laid a hand on my knee. "Wanna tell me about it?"

Suddenly peeing in public just got replaced as the worst thing about being in a holding cell by being groped by a prostitute of ambiguous gender.

"Springer?" A tall, thin officer with a crooked nose opened the cell door.

I popped up from the bench like a Jack in the Box, shoving my crutches under my armpits. "That's me!"

Tube Top looked disappointed, but gave me a little one finger wave as the officer took me by the arm and escorted me down the hallway.

I breathed a sigh of relief. I had a feeling I'd been one knee grab away from being someone's be-atch.

My relief was short lived, however, as the officer steered me around the corner and I spotted the man who had sprung me from the pokey. Arms crossed over his broad chest. Eyes dark and unreadable. Lips pursed into a fine white line. Jaw set into those hard granite angles of Bad Cop.

Ramirez.

"Uh... hi." I gave him a little wave. No reaction. "I see you made your flight." Still nothing. "Nice to see you, honey?" I tried. Though it sounded more like a question.

Ramirez ignored me, addressing the officer. "I'll take it from here." He put his signature down on the officer's clipboard, then grabbed my upper arm in a vice grip and steered me down the length of the hallway.

"See, the proper response here would be, 'Hi, nice to see you, too, Maddie,'" I said as I hopped to catch up to him. "Or maybe, 'Are you okay? Wow, how traumatic this must have been for you.'"

Ramirez paused just long enough to shoot me a death look, then propelled me past booking, the front desk, and the glass doors of the police station, outside onto a street that was busy with afternoon shoppers and sightseers. He walked me a full block in silence before backing me into an alleyway that smelled like urine and rotting fish and spinning me around to face him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he growled, his voice doing a tightly restrained thing I knew could easily snap at any moment.

"Look, it was all a misunderstanding. We just wanted to look around. Angelica said they'd been fighting."

"Who?"

"Angelica. The friend who's not a friend."

Ramirez just stared at me.

"Look, we were just looking for evidence that someone else did this. We were gonging to put everything back where we found it. Well, except maybe the necklace."

Ramirez's Bad Cop face did give away any emotion. Though I could tell from the long, blue vein in his neck starting to bulge just a little that I wasn't making any headway with him.

"Didn't I distinctly tell you," he ground out between clenched teeth, "not to do anything stupid until I got here? I think this qualifies."

I put a hand on my hip. "Yeah, about that-"

But he cut me off, shaking his head. "God, do you know how guilty this makes you look, Maddie? Being found pawing through the victim's belongings?"

"I didn't do anything wrong. You and I both know I'm innocent."

He stared at me. Silently.

For one horrible second doubt hit me as I looked into his unreadable eyes.

"You
do
know I'm innocent, right? Jack?"

He rubbed a hand over his face. "Jesus, Maddie, of course I know that."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "I'm sorry you got dragged down here. Thank you for getting me out."

His eyes softened and he reached a hand out, running the tip of his fingers lightly along my cheeks. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Well," I said tentatively, "you could start by giving me a kiss hello."

His Bad Cop face cracked, the corner of his mouth lifting up into a deceptively boyish grin. He leaned in close and brushed his lips softly over mine. I tasted the mingled flavors of coffee and Dentyne and think I sighed out loud.

"What about Felix?" I mumbled onto his lips.

He froze. "Felix?"

I nodded. "We were arrested together. Did he get bailed out, too?"

Ramirez pulled back, his eyes going dark and unreadable again. "I don't know."

"Well you have to find out."

"Oh I do, do I?"

"Yes! Felix doesn't belong in jail. He's not a criminal."

Ramirez planted his feet hip-width apart and crossed his arms over his chest. "He broke into her hotel room."

"To look for evidence."

"He was found with a half million in diamonds in his pocket, which he readily admits he took from the victim's room."

"But the diamond's are his! She stole them first."

"He carries a lock picking kit."

Okay, he had me there. I never quite got a straight story out of Felix about his wild teenage days, but it wasn't everyone that carried a lock picking kit around in their cargos.

"But he didn't use it." This time. "Look, I was with him the whole time. He didn't do anything illegal." I paused. "Well, not very illegal at least. Look, we just needed to search her place. You don't understand, I have no alibi. They think I'm the Couture Killer. Moreau wants to lock me up."

"He's not out to get you, Maddie, he's just doing his job."

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't tell me you're taking
his
side?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I should have known. It's a cop thing, right?"

"Jesus, Maddie, I'm not taking sides."

"So what happens if Moreau arrests me for murder, Jack? Is he still 'just doing his job?'" I asked, doing air quotes with my fingers.

Ramirez looked to the sky as if asking for help from somewhere above. "Look, Moreau is investigating a crime. Which you are not making any easier."

"Oh, so now I should be trying to make his job of building a case against me easier? Someone's trying to frame me, Jack!"

"Which doesn't give you license to break into the murdered woman's hotel room."

I crossed my arms over my chest. Which was not easy to do with crutches stuck in my armpits, but was worth the effect. "So what, you gonna lock me up?"

Ramirez breathed in deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring as that vein in his neck bulged in earnest now. "No. They're letting you go into my custody. I convinced them it was a language barrier thing."

"And Felix? I'm not leaving without him."

Some indefinable emotion flitted across Ramirez's face. "This guy really means that much to you, huh?"

"Of course not," I said. A little too loudly. "He doesn't mean anything to me. I just... it was my idea. He went along with it. I owe him."

Ramirez bit the inside of his cheek, doing that stare down thing he usually reserved for criminals he was trying to intimidate a confession out of. I held my ground, still crossing my arms, jutting my chin out defiantly, trying to squeeze one more half inch of height out of my already stretched spine.

"At the very least they'll want him extradited back to England."

"Hey, as long as he's not rotting in jail, I don't care where he goes."

Ramirez made a sound halfway between a snort and a growl. Then turned around without a word and hailed a passing cab. He opened the back door.

"Get in," he commanded.

"Where am I going?"

"Back to the hotel."

"And you?"

His jaw went granite again. "To find out where they're holding Felix."

I dropped the defensive posture. "Thanks." I stood on tip-toe (just one) and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Hmm," he grunted. Though, I thought I saw that vein in his neck relax just a little.

I got in the cab and watched his retreating form as he walked back to the police station. Okay, so maybe he wasn't always the easiest guy to get along with. But he did bail me out of jail. Gotta love the man for that.

The ride to the hotel seemed to take forever, and by the time I'd fought my way through the paparazzi standing vigil outside, I was tired, hungry, and really, really needed to go to the bathroom. I took care of the latter first, before collapsing on the bed and dialing room service for the biggest order of crepes they had. I was just digging into it when the adjoining door to my room popped open.

"Maddie! There you are, were have you been?" Mom asked, bustling into the room with a handful of shopping bags. Mrs. Rosenblatt waddled along behind her, her bright blue muumuu accessorized with three strands of plastic yellow pearls. I swear I needed sunglasses around the woman's wardrobe. Mom was more subdued today - white stretch pants under a black skirt with a stretchy black and white polka dotted top and her black high tops. Okay, so maybe "subdued" was a stretch. But this was Mom we were talking about.

"Where was
I
? Where have you two been? I tried to call you last night."

"Last night we dragged that Pierre fellow to the Eiffel Tower," Mrs. R said.

"The tower?" I asked, my voice going high. Great - they went to the Eiffel Tower and I went to prison.

Mom nodded. "Oh, Mads, you should see it at night, all lit up. It's the most magical thing I've ever seen in my whole life. I have to come back here with Ralphie. It's so romantic."

Mrs. R let a frown settle between her draw-in brows. "Pierre didn't think it was romantic. He didn't even try to kiss me."

Imagine that.

"So what have you been up to?" Mom asked.

"I had a little run in with the police."

"Police?" Mom swayed in her high tops, falling back on the bed beside me. "Oh, my baby," she said as she dove in for a patented rib crusher hug. This time, though, I let her. After spending the morning in a holding cell, I'll admit, I could use a hug.

"What happened?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked.

I filled them in on my adventures in the French criminal justice system while I devoured the plate full of crepes. By the time I was done, Mom was back to hugging me again.

"Mom, I'm fine. Really." I wriggled out of her death grip. "So, what's with all the shopping bags?"

"Well," Mom said, straightening up. "Like I promised, we spent yesterday gathering info on Gisella." She gestured to Mrs. R who pulled a sheaf of papers out of one the bags and handed it to me. "Did you know she was booked to do seven different shows this week?"

I shook my head. "No." I thumbed through the papers. They were printouts of various fashion websites, online gossip columns, and industry blogs.

Mrs. R nodded. "Yep. The Le Croix was her only lead, but she was doing runway for six other designers. So, your mom and I figured we check 'em out today."