A High Heels Haunting (8 page)

I glanced across the room at Blake’s laptop, set on a slim, pine computer desk in the corner.  I crossed the room without even thinking and turned it on, feeling just the tiniest bit intrusive using it without asking.  But he had said to make myself at home.  And I wasn’t sure I could survive the entire ride back to Sunnyvale without knowing.

So, telling that guilty niggle at the back of my mind to shut up, I opened a Google window and typed in Angel’s name.  Again, the images of the perfect model filled the screen.  I couldn’t help staring just a little, that same feeling of awe that I’d first had when I’d seen her on the
Maddie Springer
website rushing over me.  Only this time it was colored with a profound sense of loss. 

I tried to shake it off, amending my search to include the word “death
.
”  Fewer hits this time.  Apparently she hadn’t yet reached the celebrity status of the Kate Mosses of the world.  A few articles in the local papers and a short mention in the
NY Times
.  I started with the
SF Gate
.  The archives held a series of three articles, none longer than a few paragraphs, about the tragic death of the young model. 

Angel Cressley was born in Indiana, then moved out to California after high school to earn a degree in accounting from UCLA.  That’s where the acting bug bit her
,
and she’d landed a minor part on a soap opera.  After which she abandoned her studies for stardom and moved north where she’d signed on with Parker Models almost immediately.  She’d started working the local fashion shows and quickly landed her first big acc
ount, becoming the face of the High Heels Seduction line
.

I felt a lump form in my throat, remembering just how powerful that image of her in the red heels had been.  If everyone else responded to her photos that way, it was obvious she’d been destined for big things. 

I skimmed the next paragraph about her other accounts and skipped ahead to the part about the night she’d died.  According to her boyfriend at the time, Blake Stone, he and Angel had gone out to a local club, then come back to his place where they’d both fallen asleep.  Sometime in the middle of the night, Angel had gotten up for a dip in the pool.  Blake claimed he’d had too much to drink that night and didn’t hear a thing.  The next morning, he’d awakened to find Angel floating face down in the swimming pool.

I bit my lip, doing everything I could not to look out the window.  Instead, I clicked on the next article.

This one detailed the police’s findings the following week.  Angel had died of suffocation and water in her lungs - drowning.  At first the police hadn’t been sure whether they were looking at a suicide, homicide, or accidental death.  My heart clenched as I read that Blake had initially been questioned by the police but let go due to lack of evidence.  Eventually the coroner had ruled accidental death by drowning
,
and the case had been dropped.

An accident.

I closed my eyes and immediately felt those strong hands on my shoulders again.  My breath froze in my throat.  The report had said there was no sign of trauma, she hadn’t hit her head going into the water and Blake had told police that she was a strong swimmer. 

No matter what the coroner said, it didn’t feel like an accident. 

I got up and walked to the sliding door, watching the morning sunlight shimmer off the pool’s surface.  Blake had been home alone with Angel.  He claimed he hadn’t heard a thing.  I glanced at the bedroom door.  It was only a few feet away.  An ugly thought entered my head:  How well did I really know Blake? 

I bit my lip.  I’d like to think I got to know a guy pretty well before falling into bed with him, but the reality was that I’d only just met him a few days ago.  He seemed normal enough
,
but, as I well knew, a person could fake anything for a few days.  Could it be that Blake had been pulling off a charade of his own?  Playing the normal, attentive man while underneath lurked a cold blooded killer?

I shivered despite the sunlight pouring in the wall of glass and grabbed my keys from my purse.  Even though I was ninety percent sure I was letting an overactive imagination run away with me, I was suddenly eager to escape the bright sunny bungalow. 

*   *   *

It was Monday and, while I should have gone to work, I called Peterman and told him I needed an extra week away.  He wasn’t quite as happy with it this time, saying he’d have to give the Sholtzkie Plumbing account to Danielle, who was already working on the Olsen’s Bakery site.  But considering I had about three years worth of vacation days saved up, there wasn’t much more he could do about it than whine.  Besides, I figured with all the times I’d covered for her, Danielle owed me this one.  Instead I took a long, hot shower, fed Tabby a can of
S
eafood
D
elight, and dressed in a light cotton sundress I’d picked out at the mall the week before.  White, sleeveless, with little eyelet details along the neckline.  Very soft, very feminine.  Very unlike anything I’d ever owned before.  But, as I looked at myself in the full length mirror, it kind of suited me.  Even better when I added the red heels. 

I grabbed my purse from the end table and, without even glancing at my email, got in my hatchback and drove up the peninsula to Parker Models. 

Unfortunately, R.J. was at a go-see with one of his young hopefuls, but the receptionist directed me down the hall to Alec’s office.  In contrast to R.J.’s massive desk, Alec’s office was decorated in slim, sleek furnishings – pale woods and lots of chrome.  The walls were dotted with framed headshots, most models
that
I assumed the agency represented, though I spotted a couple that were clearly younger versions of Alec. 

“Kya, lovely to see you again,” he said, leaning over his desk to pump my hand.  “How are you?”

“Good.  Great,” I lied. 

“So, how did you like your first shoot?  Exciting, yeah?”

I nodded.  “Yes.”  Then gestured to the framed headshots.  “You used to model, too?”

Alec’s face broke into that easy grin.  “Eons ago.  But, I still remember that thrill of making love to the camera for the first time.  R.J. tells me you did a fantastic job.”  He reached into a file and produced an envelope, sliding it across the desk to me.  “Your check.”  He gave me a wink.

I took it, sliding it into my purse.  “Thanks.”

“So, you ready for another one?”

“Another?  Oh well, I…”  I hadn’t thought ahead to doing any more.  Quite honestly, I hadn’t expected to last through one.  The idea of doing it again had never even occurred to me.

But Alec didn’t wait for an answer.  He rifled through a stack of papers on his desk, finally holding one up as he squinted at the writing. 

“R.J.’s got you scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.  Three pm.  It looks like it will be fairly short.  But Blake’s booked on it already.  Sound good?”

Somehow the fact that Blake would be there again settled the anxiety in my stomach.  I found myself nodding.

“Great.  I’ll give him a call this afternoon and let them know you’re on board.”

“Just, uh… it isn’t lingerie again, is it?” I asked, feeling my cheeks heat.

Alec laughed, throwing his head back.  “Nope.  Shoes.  Think you can handle that?”

I thought of my newfound love of red heels.  “Definitely.”

“Great, why don’t you check in with Julie on your way out to get the particulars.”

Alec moved to stand as if our little visit was over.  But for some reason I couldn’t move. 

“Um, actually, there was something else that I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh?”  He sat back down, clasping his hands together in his lap.  “Shoot?”

“It’s about Angel.  R.J. told me what happened.”

His smile faltered, emotion flitting across his eyes before he composed himself again.  “Oh,” he said slowly.  “Okay, what about her?”

I took a deep breath.  This was harder than I’d thought.  Somehow I really needed to know but really didn’t want to hear the answers.  “What exactly happened to her?”

Alec’s brow furrowed.  “She had an accident.  She drowned.”

“I know.  I mean, R.J. already told me that.  What I meant was… well, I read the articles about her death online.  At first they suspected that she… well, that she was killed.  They even questioned Blake.”

Alec abandoned all pretense of a smile.  “They questioned all of us.  Everyone who knew her.  Was she depressed?  Suicidal?  Where were we that night?”

“The papers said there was a lack of evidence.  That they
had
to rule it an accident.”

Alec nodded.  “Yes.”

“But they also said she was an excellent swimmer
,
and there was no sign of head trauma or any other reason for her to have drowned.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Do you think it was an accident?” 

Alec sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together under his chin, his Redford blonde brows drawn together.  “She had been a little upset.  We’d had to give one of her accounts to a younger girl.  She just didn’t fit their image.  But I hardly think she’d take her own life over that.”

I shifted in my seat, distinctly uncomfortable.  “Actually, I wasn’t thinking suicide.  I was thinking…”  I somehow couldn’t bring myself to say the word “murder”.  It seemed too melodramatic, too
CSI
.  “I was thinking someone else was there.  Someone who may have pushed her in.”

Alec’s eyebrows went north.  “But you said yourself, there was no sign of trauma.”

“He held her under.”

“He?”

I bit my lip.  Here it was.  The real question.  God, I didn’t want to hear the answer.  “Do you believe Blake’s story?”

Alec cocked his head to the side.  “You think Blake killed Angel?”

I chewed furiously on my lower lip.  Bad habits be dammed.  “I don’t think she fell in the pool.  I think someone held her down.  Under the water.”  I shivered despite the heat being pumped in through the air ducts as I remembered the feel of those strong hands on my shoulders.

Alec shook his head.  “I don’t know what to tell you, Kya.  Yes, I believe Blake’s story.  I mean, why would the kid lie?  He was in love with Angel.  He’d never do anything to hurt her.”  He leaned forward, taking one of my hands in his.  “Honey, I know how being the new girl around here must be hard for you, but you’ve got to know that the police looked into all this.  They had every technology at their disposal.  They found nothing.  It was an accident.  A terrible, tragic accident, but that’s all it was.”

Then Alec did stand up, walking to his office door and throwing it open.  I followed.  But the look on my face must have said I still wasn’t convinced.

“Kya, for your own sake.  Let it go, huh?” Alec said.

I did an unconvincing nod again, this time trying to force a smile I didn’t feel.

I stopped at the reception desk only long enough to sign the contracts for tomorrow’s job and grab the info sheet – which I shoved into my bag without even looking - before pointing my hatchback toward home. 

The drive down 280 was quick at that time of day.  Just me and the rolling hills.  I sped up, pushing eighty as my pump clad foot eased down on the accelerator.  I looked down.  I was so going to have to go shopping soon.  If I wore these to the shoot tomorrow, people were likely to think I didn’t own a second pair of shoes.   

I wondered, had Angel owned a pair of the red heels?  Sure, she’d worn them in the ad, but had she had a set of size sevens in her closet at home?  Had they made her feel the way they did me?  Bold, powerful, sexy.  Almost like I was ste
p
ping outside myself into someone else’s life.  Into Angel’s life.

It hit me hard, jarring me so that I swerved into the next lane.  Thankfully, the only thing I collided with were those little yellow safety dots, but I slowed down, focusing my eyes on the road, my heart beating fast, harder and stronger, as I realized just what I’d said.

I had Angel’s life.  I had her job, her agent, her boyfriend.  God, I’d even spent the night last night in the same place she’d died.  I was running around town quite literally filling her shoes.

I started to feel my pulse speed up as I mentally ran through the events of the last week.  I’d been obsessed with Angel’s ad
on the Maddie Spring website
. 
Obsessed with
her.  I wanted to
be
her.  And as soon as I’d put those red heels on, I’d known exactly how to move, how to dance, how to charm every man in the nightclub like she would.  Including charming R.J. into hiring me on as her replacement.  I’d known just what to say to Blake, I’d even ordered her favorite wine at dinner.  I’d known exactly how Blake wanted me to wear my hair, exactly how he’d kiss, what it would feel like to be in his arms.  I’d
even
known my way around his kitchen.   

And I’d known how Angel died.

I wrenched the steering wheel to the right,
hitting the brakes and
pulling over to the shoulder
.  I stuck
my head between my knees as my breath came out in ragged pants.  Only that didn’t help much as it brought me face to face with those damned red heels.  I quickly ripped them off my feet as if they were on fire and threw them into the backseat.  I opened the car door, setting my bare feet down on the asphalt and took in welcomed gulps of fresh air.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  I closed my eyes.  Telling myself it was all coincidence.  Some weird, bizarre chain of coincidences.  That nothing about Angel’s death had anything to do with me.