Sweetheart in High Heels (3 page)

Three rings into it, I heard a groggy, “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s me.”

There was pause. “What time is it?”

I glanced up at the clock over the sink. “Seven.”

Dana groaned. “Way too early.”

“Sorry. Late night?” I asked.

“Film premier. We didn’t get in until three.”

“Ouch.”

“Tell me about it. My feet are killing me, my head hurts, and I feel like a squirrel has been nesting in my mouth all night. You know, being the girlfriend of a movie star isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.”

“You too, huh?” I mumbled.

“What?”

“Never mind. Listen, want to meet me for coffee? Say, half an hour?”

I heard rustling on the other end as Dana pulled herself out of bed. “If there’s caffeine involved, I’m so there.”

* * *

Forty minutes later I was showered, dressed in a pair of jeans, my favorite pink blouse with white pinstripes down the front, and a pair of silver, sequined pumps, sitting at a table at Starbucks as Dana sipped her non-fat, no-sugar, soy decaf latte across from me, listening to my brilliant plan.

“I know what to get Ramirez for our Valentine’s anniversary,” I told her.

“What?” Dana asked, licking latte off her lips.

“A day off.”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “And how are you going to do that?”

“Simple. I’m going to solve this case for him.”

Dana barked out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. Simple.”

“Okay, maybe ‘simple’ isn’t exactly the right word,” I conceded, “but I’m sure we can do it.”

The truth was, I had helped Ramirez on cases before. In fact, there had been at least one time when I’d actually cracked the case wide open for him. Not that I was a Sherlock Holmes by any means, but, at least in this case, I did have one advantage.

“You knew Peach,” I pointed out to Dana. “That’s a distinct advantage to us.”

Dana bit her lip. “I didn’t know her that well. I mean, she was kinda more of an acquaintance than a good friend.”

“But you know enough about her life to have some clue as to who could have wanted her dead?”

Again with the lip biting. “Maybe?” Dana said. Though she didn’t sound quite as confident as I might have hoped.

“Okay, let’s go at this in an organized way.” I grabbed notebook and pen from my purse. I wrote the word ‘suspects’ at the top of the page. “Ramirez said the crime felt personal to him.”

“Right!” Dana agreed. “A crime of passion.”

“So we should start with those closest to Peach. Did she have a boyfriend?” I asked.

Dana nodded. “Yes!” she said triumphantly. “I met him at the store once. Vic something.”

“Perfect!” I said. I wrote ‘Vic Something’ on the paper. “What about family?”

Dana shook her head. “Sorry. No idea.”

“Okay, well, what if her death was business related? Who else works at the store?”

“There’s Gage. He’s her business partner. Peach ran the place, but Gage came in to do the books and inventory and stuff like that.”

I wrote the name down. “Anyone else Peach spent time with?”

“Oh! Celia!”

“And she is?” I asked, writing the name down.

“Her roommate. Peach told me they shared a place in Echo Park.”

I wrote ‘roommate’ next to Celia’s name. “Got an address?”

Dana frowned and shook her head. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” I said looking down at the list. “This is a good start. So, who do we question first?”

Dana shrugged. “I say the boyfriend. Crime of passion and all.”

I nodded. “Suspects, here we come!”

Chapter Three

Unfortunately, our enthusiasm proved to be greater than our actual knowledge about the suspects. Without Vic’s last name or number or anything about him, it was a little hard to track him down for an intense interrogation. Instead, we decided to go back to the Pleasure Den and see what we could find out about the boyfriend there.

As I pulled my little red Jeep up to the curb outside the shop, we could see crime scene tape still lying on the ground just outside the doors. The neon ‘open’ sign was shut off, but I could see movement inside the shop. Dana and I knocked on the glass door, and a minute later a guy wearing an earring in his eyebrow and a flannel shirt that looked stained in at least three different places came to the door.

“We’re closed,” he yelled through the glass.

“I know. We wanted to talk to you about Peach,” I shouted back.

“What?” He put a hand to his ear.

“We want to talk about Peach!”

He shook his head. “I can’t hear you!”

“PEACH!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

The guy jumped back. “Oh.” He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling it open a crack. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Hi. I’m Maddie Springer and this is my friend, Dana. Um, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Peach.”

He frowned. “Why? Are you reporters?”

“No,” Dana said, shaking her head. “We’re helping the police with the investigation.”

I elbowed her in the ribs. “Uh, sort of. We’re…”

“She’s married to the detective in charge,” Dana said, pointing at me.

I shrugged and did a feeble little laugh. “Uh, yeah, anyway, we just wanted to ask a couple questions about Peach if you don’t mind.”

He bit his lip, probably trying to figure out what sort of official capacity the wife of a police detective had, but finally nodded. “Yeah. I guess so. Come on in.” He opened the door, letting Dana and I through before locking it behind us again.

The place looked much the same as it had yesterday, the only difference the faint dusting of black powder on several of the surfaces near the cash register. Apparently CSU had covered all robbery bases after all.

“What do you want to know about Peach?” the guy asked, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a wide, defensive stance.

“You’re Gage?” I guessed.

He nodded.

“And you were Peach’s business partner?”

Again with the nod, but he didn’t speak. This was going to be harder than I thought.

“So, what, exactly was the partnership?”

Gage shrugged. “It was a 50/50 split. I’m not exactly a people person-”

Shocker.

“- but Peach had the personality to deal with the public. I was more behind the scenes. I did the ordering, books, inventory. Peach did all the customer service stuff. She also did some product development.”

“Product development?” I asked, hoping I didn’t live to regret the question.

“Peach was very creative. She came up with a few original items. Our personal massagers do very well, and her line of latex wear is selling off the charts,” he said, gesturing to the wall of rubber clothes I’d noticed the day before.

“So, business is good, then?” Dana asked.

He grinned wide, showing off a pair of gold teeth in front. “It’s great. The economy tanks, and people are depressed and looking for cheap fun. Can’t get any cheaper or more fun than sex, right? Sales were up 10% this month.”

I couldn’t help being impressed. Sales had
decreased
3% in the fashion industry.

“Did Peach have any enemies?” I asked, switching gears. “Anyone you can think of that might have wanted to hurt her?”

Gage shook his head. “Not really. Peach was the sweetest person ever. It’s got to be some random weirdo. I mean, most of our clientele was your average Joe looking to spice things up with the missus, but once in a while we did get a crazy in here.”

“Did Peach mention any crazies in particular? Anyone giving her trouble?”

He shook his head. “Not to me. Sorry.”

“She was dating someone,” Dana prompted. “Vic I think his name was. Do you know where we can find him?”

He shrugged. “Sorry, I didn’t get into her personal life. But I’m sure her roommate would know.”

“You have an address for her?” I asked.

Gage nodded, then grabbed a Post-it from behind the counter and wrote Peach’s address down on it.

“Thanks,” I said as he handed it over.

“Anything else?” Gage asked. “’Cause I’ve got a ton of work to do now getting orders filled on my own.”

“Um, just one more question,” I said slowly, trying to figure a way to word this that wouldn’t be construed as an accusation. “Uh… can you tell us where you were yesterday when she was killed?”

He barked out a laugh. “Really? You think I killed Peach? I mean, why on earth would I do that?”

“We’re just covering all bases,” I assured him.

He shook his head. “Look, without Peach, I’m sunk. I gotta deal with customers, which bites, you know? I need to find a new front person fast.”

“And now that she’s gone, who gets her 50% of the business?” Dana piped up.

Oooo… good question! I leaned in waiting to hear how he answered it.

Gage paused, then crossed his arms over his chest again in an unconsciously protective gesture. “I do.”

Dana and I shot each other a look.

“What? What was that look?” Gage asked.

“Nothing.”

“I didn’t kill her. Look, the business was more of an asset to me with her here. Owning 50% of a thriving business was a lot better than having to deal with the whole thing myself.”

That made a certain sense, I supposed, but I wasn’t totally convinced. And it must have shown on my face because he added, “Look, you want to know who had issues with Peach, talk to her roommate.” He pointed to the Post-it he’d given me.

“Why?” I asked.

“She and Peach had a big fight just last week.”

“Really?” I asked. “About what?’

“I don’t know the details, but Peach came in here all pissed off, ranting about how her roommate wouldn’t leave.”

“Leave?” Dana asked. “Peach was kicking her out?”

Gage nodded.

“Why?”

“Beats me. Ask the roommate.”

Believe me, I intended to.

* * *

Ten minutes later we pulled up to Peach’s house. It was a small bungalow on a street lined with palm trees, small front yards, and friendly looking garden gnomes. The homes weren’t large, but were big on old Hollywood charm, and I knew the zip code carried a hefty price tag. Just blocks from prime shopping and restaurants, I could see why Peach’s roommate wouldn’t want to leave. But would she be willing to kill to stay, was the question.

I parked my Jeep at the curb and we walked up the paved pathway to Peach’s front door. I gave a knock, and two beats later it was opened by a slim woman with jet black hair and a healthy smattering of tattoos down her sleeveless arms. Her eyes were rimmed in red like she’d been crying, and a tissue was clutched in her right hand.

“Celia?” I asked.

She frowned, her gaze going from Dana to me. “Who’s asking?”

“Uh, my name is Maddie Springer, and this is Dana. She was a friend of Peach’s,” I said, stretching the truth just a little. “We were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about your roommate.”

Celia bit her lip. “This isn’t really a good time,” she said. Then punctuated the statement with a loud sniff.

I nodded. “Right. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Celia turned to Dana. “You were a friend of Peach’s?”

“Um, yeah. We met at the shop.”

Celia nodded. “It’s hard to believe she’s really gone, you know? I mean, it’s like some sort of bad dream or something.”

“The police think Peach was killed deliberately,” I said. “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Peach?”

Celia shook her head. “No. Peach was a total sweetheart. Look, why don’t you come inside.”

“Thanks,” I said, as Dana and I stepped over the threshold into the living room.

The bungalow was small but cozy, two big sofas taking up the bulk of the room. A fireplace sat on one wall, a bright stained-glass screen covering its dormant mouth, and the hardwood floor was covered in patterned rugs. The surfaces were free of clutter, and it looked as if someone had recently been on a cleaning binge, not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere, and a lingering scent of Windex hung the air.

Celia sat on one of the sofas, pulling her legs up under her. Dana and I perched on the opposite seat.

“How long had you and Peach been roommates?” I started.

Celia pursed her lips together. “About two years. We met through a mutual friend just after I moved to L.A. She had a spare room, and I was looking. It worked out perfectly.” She paused, then looked down at her hands. “At least it did.”

“So, Peach owned the house?”

Celia nodded. “She inherited it from her grandmother a few years ago.”

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” Dana said, dropping a subtle hint and leaning into gauge Celia’s reaction.

But Celia just nodded again. “Yeah. I like it.”

“It would be a shame to have to leave a neighborhood like this,” Dana said.

Celia paused. She looked from me to Dana. “It would,” she hedged. “What are you getting at?”

So much for our subtlety skills.

“We heard that you and Peach had an argument last week,” I said. “That she was kicking you out and you didn’t want to go. Is that true?”

“Yes and no,” she said.

“That’s pretty vague,” I pointed out.

“Okay, yes. Peach was talking about me moving out, but it’s not what you think.”

“What do we think?” Dana asked.

“We were getting along fine, there were no problems between Peach and I.”

“But she wanted you out.”

“Peach thought her boyfriend was about to propose.
If
he did, she said they’d want some privacy here. That’s all.”

“So, why did you two argue.”

Celia pursed her lips together. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset Peach, but I told her I thought that was a big if.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“They’d only been dating a couple months.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s fast,” I said, remembering the two years it took Ramirez to pop the question to me.

Dana must have had the same thought as she leaned in and whispered, “Ricky and I have been dating for eighteen months!”

I ignored her, turning to Celia again. “If they’d just started dating, why did Peach think he was going to propose?”

“I guess she’d been dropping hints about settling down, and two weeks ago she saw a ring box hidden in his sock drawer. She said she didn’t open it, because she didn’t want to totally spoil the surprise, but she was sure he was going to pop the question soon.”