Danger in High Heels (16 page)

I shot her a look. "'Shake her down'? You really have been watching too many Scorsese movies."

"Or maybe Irina was blackmailing her sister for money," Dana went on, undeterred. "Maybe she knew a secret about her from back home in Russia. Maybe, they were, like, international criminals on the run!"

I opened my mouth to tell her I was officially cutting her off from HBO when my cell buzzed to life.

"Hello?" I answered before I checked the readout. I know, rookie mistake. One I regretted as soon as I heard the familiar voice on the other end.

"Hey, babe."

Ramirez.

"Uh, hi. Honey."

"What?" he yelled.

"I said 'hi.'"

"I can hardly hear you," he responded. "Where are you?"

"Uh..." I looked at the stage where Space Girl was scooping up the last of her twenties, stuffing them into the top of her boots. "Nowhere."

"The music is really loud. Can you turn it down?"

"Uh, not really. I'm…"

I looked to Dana for help.

"Shopping," she supplied.

"I'm shopping." I cringed at the lie.

"God, where are you shopping?"

"Hot Topic," I lied. "Teenagers like loud music." I felt guilt spreading through me like a rash and tried to block it out as I asked, "So, what's up?"

"Got a break. I'm heading home for lunch. I thought maybe I'd get some twin time in."

Oh snap. I totally forgot about lunch. "Uh, right. Sure. Great," I said, gesturing wildly to Dana that we had to exit, pronto. She nodded, catching my drift and led the way back toward the front doors.

"Cool. You're, what, fifteen minutes away?"

I closed my eyes, thinking a really dirty word. Hot Topic at the mall was fifteen minutes away. I, on the other hand, was a good half hour. "Something like that," I hedged.

"Okay, meet you at home then."

"Greatloveyouseeyousoon," I slurred together double time as I hung up and jumped into the min-van. We had the babies strapped into seats in record time. I pulled out of the parking lot, praying the green light gods were with me. If not, I was going to have to make a big sacrifice to the kissing-up-to-your-husband gods later.

Only running two orange lights, I made it home in twenty-two minutes.

Unfortunately, Ramirez had made it home in fewer, as his SUV was already parked in the driveway.

I tried to calm my pulse back to normal as I shooed Dana back to her own car, grabbed a twin in each arm, and walked through the front door.

"Hey," Ramirez said, coming out of the back bedroom. He leaned down to kiss the head of each baby.

"Hey yourself," I said, only slightly out of breath.

"The little guys give you any trouble?" he asked, taking Livvie from me.

I shook my head. "Nope, they were little angels!"

"What did you get?"

"Huh?"

Ramirez frowned at me as he headed to the refrigerator. "You said you were shopping. What did you get?"

"Oh. Right." I looked down at my hands, sans shopping bags. "Uh, we were more window shopping than anything."

"Oh," he said from the kitchen. "Cool." He opened the refrigerator, pulling out a loaf of bread and some mustard.

I prayed that was him dropping the subject. Shoving guilt down, I set Max in his swing and followed Ramirez into the kitchen.

"So, you got a break today, huh?" I asked, leaning my elbows on the counter in front of him.

He nodded. "Yeah, we got a potential lead in the case coming in, but it won't be ready until late this afternoon. Thought I'd take advantage of the time and spend it with my lovely family," he said, planting a fly-by kiss on my cheek as he reached for the salami from the refrigerator behind me.

"A lead?" I asked, perking up.

"Uh-huh." He squirted mustard onto a slice of sourdough, reaching into the drawer for a knife to spread it.

I waited. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, don't leave me hanging. What's the lead?"

His eyes twinkled with a devilish gleam that said leaving me hanging was exactly what he'd intended to do. "Oh. You want to know what it is?"

I swatted him on the arm with a napkin. "You're killing me here," I said, taking Livvie back from him so he could cut his sandwich.

"Well, since you've been so cool about being left out of the loop on this one-"

Ouch. Guilt washed over me heavier than a storm.

"-forensics came back with analysis of contaminants left at the scene."

"Contaminants?"

"Hair mostly."

"Oh. And?"

"And there were a few contributors. The victim. Ricky."

I cringed. "But his hair should be in his dressing room, right?"

Ramirez nodded. "True. Howeeeeeever," he said, drawing the word out.

"Yes?"

He grinned down at me. He was enjoying this way too much. I felt some of that guilt slipping away. "There was another contributor."

"The killer?"

"It's possible."

"Whose is it?"

"Unknown contributor at the moment. They're running a DNA profile now, but we'll need something to compare it to before we have anything conclusive."

I pursed my lips, jiggling Livvie in my arms. What did you want to bet that Unknown Contributor was our Russian with a thing for diamonds?

Chapter Thirteen

Two salami sandwiches and a round of "Itsy Bitsy Spider" later, Ramirez headed back to the precinct, and I headed to the nursery to put the twins down for a nap. As soon as the silence descended, I grabbed my cell and hit number three on my speed dial.

"Maddie, dahling, how are you?" Marco answered.

"Fab. Listen, right ear or left ear? Which one do gay guys wear studs in?"

"Oh, honey. No one wears studs anymore. That was so 2000's."

I rolled my eyes. "Humor me. Assume a guy is very fashion stunted. Which ear would indicate that he's also into guys?"

"Right."

"You sure?"

"Definitely. But you can borrow my gaydar if you're iffy on someone."

I pursed my lips together. "Actually, I'm trying to find someone, and I don't have much to go on. Just an earring."

"Describe him to me," Marco demanded.

While expecting Marco to know every gay man in L.A. was a little like expecting Joan Rivers to know
every
plastic surgeon in Beverly Hills, I figured it was worth a shot. I gave him the brief description we'd gotten.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Sorry."

"I figured as much."

"But I'll ask around and see if anyone knows him," Marco offered.

"Fair enough," I agreed. "Thanks, Marco."

I hung up and settled on the couch with a DVR-ed episode of
Dancing with Celebrities
. I watched Irina's last performance, dancing the mambo with Ricky. I had to admit, she was graceful, smooth, beautiful. I wondered what her sister had been like. How had their lives been so different that Irina had ended up on TV and Katrina at the Glitter Galaxy? While I watched, I grabbed my laptop and googled everything I could about Irina.

Her official bio was slim, which wasn't totally surprising as this was her first season on DWC. She'd come from Russia four years earlier. She'd been a back-up dancer in a few music videos, then landed the DWC gig. No mention of her life prior to arriving in the U.S. No mention of a mysterious Russian guy.

My cell buzzed to life beside me, Marco's name lighting the display.

I quickly answered. "Hey."

"I found your Russian," Marco sing-songed into my ear.

I sat bolt upright. "No way!" What do you know? Turns out maybe Marco did know every gay man in town.

"Way. Turns out a friend of a friend of a friend saw him at a club the other night."

"You're sure it's the same guy?"

"New in town, Russian accent, diamond stud in one ear."

"So far so good. What's his name?"

"My friend's friend's friend didn't get a name."

"Crap."

"Turns out the Russian was more into the anonymity thing. But, he did take my friend's friend's friend home with him."

I felt my hope perking up again. "And home is?"

"A hotel. The Bayshore Inn in NoHo."

"Marco, you are an absolute gem!" I squealed.

"I know. I am, right?" he agreed.

I hung up and quickly texted Dana saying we had a lead.

Then I texted my mom. As much as I was dying to follow up on our mystery man, the last place I wanted to drag my precious babies was a seedy motel in North Hollywood. Especially since I'd already dragged them to a seedy strip joint in Industry.

Luckily, Mom was free and said she'd be there to babysit in twenty minutes.

Unluckily, the twins woke up from their naps in ten, and had worked themselves into the foulest mood on the planet by the time Dana arrived. Their cries had reached decibel levels that even Spinal Tap couldn't achieve.

"Sorry, they're in a mood this afternoon," I yelled to Dana as she came into the living room.

"Great," she yelled back. "Please tell me we're not taking them with us?"

I shook my head. "No. Reinforcements are on the way. My mom is coming to watch them for a couple of hours."

"Thank God."

"What?" I asked, leaning in.

"I said, 'Thank God.' Geeze, are they okay?" Dana asked.

I picked Max up, patting his back. Were they okay? I wondered. Had I been leaving them with sitters too much? Did they realize I was leaving again? I bit my lip, guilt hitting me. The sensation was starting to become my constant companion.

I didn't have much time to contemplate it though as the doorbell rang, followed by a head popping in the door.

"Hello?" Mom said. "Anyone home?"

"I assume that's a rhetorical question," I answered, shouting over Livvie's cries this time.

"Oh, what's wrong with my babies?" Mom asked, coming into the room cooing. Mrs. Rosenblatt, in a screaming orange muumuu, followed a step behind her. Mom grabbed Livvie from me, patting her on the back. Amazingly, the cries ceased immediately.

An odd sensation fluttered in my stomach.

"How did you do that?" I asked.

Mom blinked at me. "Do what?"

"Make her stop crying?"

She shrugged. "Oh, my grandbabies just know when grandma's here. Don't you, you wittle, bitty, wovey, dovey," she said, making kissing faces at Livvie.

I felt a frown settle between my eyebrows as Mrs. R picked up Max, and his cries stopped too. He burped, then did a big, delighted smile at her. Great, even the psychic had a better touch than I did.

"Thanks for coming to watch the twins," I told mom, trying not to take their sudden angelic behavior personally. "I know I've been asking you to babysit a lot lately."

Mom waved me off. "Don't worry a bit about it. I'm tied to my phone this afternoon anyway."

I raised an eyebrow her way. "Do I want to know why?"

"A hot auction," Mrs. R explained. "She's got the eBay app on there."

I thunked the palm of my hand on my forehead. "Mom, you are dangerous with that phone."

She frowned at me. "That's what Ralph says, too. But," she said, pulling the item in question from her purse, "he'll be changing his tune when he sees what I got him for our anniversary."

I almost hated to asked but… "What did you get him?"

"An Armani blazer. Only worn twice!"

Poor Faux Dad.

*  *  *

Leaving the babies in Mom's very capable hands, and Mom in the questionable clutches of her online shopping habit, Dana and I got in my minivan and hopped on the 101.

The city of North Hollywood is known for three things: discount electronics of dubious origin, AA meetings on every other block, and porn studios that number in the hundreds. Usually Magnolia was as far north as I traveled along Laurel Canyon, and as we passed a homeless guy with a shopping cart full of stray cats, I remembered why.

The Bayshore Inn was located a few blocks north of Chandler, in the neighborhood known as "Little Tijuana". Their sign was faded, the paint on the side of the building peeling, and the landscaping limited to a lone cactus propped up against the door to the front office. We parked next to a rusted iron gate that circled a big cement hole in the ground which might have been a pool at one point but was now playing host to a couple of kids in skinny jeans and beanies on skateboards. The guest rooms were all on one main level, circling the pool. I counted twenty from where we stood.

"So, which one do you think our Russian is in?" I asked.

Dana shrugged. "Let's go ask," she suggested, gesturing to the motel office.