Deadly in High Heels (13 page)

Laforge stood on the floor in front of the stage, and even though the lights were low, I could see he was pale and disheveled looking. And although the room was on the cool side, his face glistened with sweat. As pageant director, I guessed the ultimate responsibility for the things that went on would fall squarely on him. It was plain to see he wasn't coping with those things too well.

He clapped his hands. "May I have everyone's attention, please?" He waited a few unnecessary beats for the silence to quiet down. He took a deep breath. "I've spoken with the Hawaiian Paradise Corporation," he began, "and after some discussion, we have agreed that the best way to honor the memories of Miss Montana and Miss New Mexico…Jennifer and Desi…" He paused to gather himself. I heard a sniffle somewhere behind us. "…is to continue with the pageant," he finished.

"Big surprise," Dana mumbled. I threw her a
Sssh
frown.

"But we'll be changing a few things," he went on. He looked out over the room, not focusing on anyone in particular. "We're still working on the specifics, but now that we have fewer contestants and less time to prepare, we'll have to cut out some scenes, maybe even eliminate a portion of the competition to fit the timeline. We'll make it work." I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "We have to make it work."

"Wrong," Dana said, her voice low but hostile. "We don't
have
to parade around in swimsuits and evening dresses. We
have
to survive the week. But I guess Hawaiian Paradise doesn't much care about that, as long as they don't lose the money they've put into this thing."

I stared at her. "What's gotten into you?"

Laforge was droning on about adding an In Memoriam segment to the pageant out of respect for the dearly departed. A short one, because they had to fit the timeline.

Dana shrugged. "I guess I just don't see the point anymore."
"Then why don't you quit?"

"Believe me," she said, "I thought about it. I even had the phone in my hand to call in my resignation. But it wouldn't be fair to Ruth Marie and Jay Jeffries. Or to the remaining contestants, really. What if they can't find another judge in time? Then all they've done is for nothing. I'm pretty much stuck." She sighed. "Sorry. The show must go on, right?"

I squeezed her hand and said nothing. But I wondered how many more beauty queens would have to be lost before the show
wouldn't
go on.

*

A few hours later, after a dinner of seared mahi-mahi and free-flowing tropical drinks (with extra paper umbrellas for Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt), the mood had lightened considerably. I wasn't quite ready to take a solitary moonlit walk on the beach, but I was able to shake much of the sense of dread that had been weighing me down since the discovery of Desi's body.

Unfortunately, that sense of dread came crashing right back when the front desk clerk called my name as I passed through the lobby after dinner. I hurried to retrieve the folded message slip he offered, instantly afraid there was some problem at home, quickly checking my cell phone to be sure it was powered on and sufficiently charged.

The message was from Ramirez and thankfully, its content wasn't exactly what I'd feared. No mention of fires or plagues or locusts at home. It was, however, very clear that my husband wasn't at all happy with me. I read the terse message, my chest tightening.

When were you going to tell me about Body Number Two?

Gulp.

I looked up at the clerk. "Do you know when this message came in?"

"No, ma'am." He pointed. "But you can ask the guy for yourself. He's right over there."

"Where—" I spun around.

And looked straight into my husband's dark eyes.

"Maddie." Ramirez said it as a statement, not a question, his voice a little too loud even in the open-air lobby. A few guests glanced over at us, looking away quickly when they saw his expression. His cop face was firmly in place, and staring at Ramirez's cop face was like staring at a block of granite: unyielding. Dark eyes, hard jaw, all business. He was wearing faded jeans and a royal blue T-shirt that defined his abs and shoulders like an anatomy chart. If I didn't know him, cop face or not, I might risk staring at him. He looked that good.

Even though he was fuming. But, hey, it wasn't like it was my fault another body had been found. I hadn't killed her! And when I'd assured him I wouldn't get involved, it hadn't been a total lie. I wasn't
getting
involved. I was
already
involved. How could I not be, after finding Jennifer's dead body?

I took a deep breath and gave Ramirez a little one finger wave. "Hi, hon."

He crossed the lobby in two quick strides, suddenly so close I could feel the angry heat radiating off his body. "I'm waiting for an answer," he growled. "Body Number Two? Did you just think I wouldn't hear about it?"

I shrugged. "I'd kinda hoped," I squeaked out.

His eyes narrowed, and that vein in his neck started to bulge.

I noticed a security guard stepping out of his office near the front desk to assess the situation. I floated a smile in his direction meant to imply that Ramirez and I were just another happy bickering couple. He stared at me with deep suspicion before retreating back into his office.

I took Ramirez's hand and pulled him toward the elevator bank. "Of course I was planning to tell you," I said. "I just…well things have been so busy…with the pageant stalling and…things…" I trailed off, hoping he thought "things" referred to shoes and not tailing murder victims in the middle of the night.
Please, please, please, don't let him know I've been
—

"Things like interrogating beauty queens?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes upward.
Thanks a lot, universe
. What had been a bunny slope had just become a black diamond trail.

I opened my eyes wide and blinked innocently. "Who me?"

His eyes narrowed again in response. "You can cut the innocent act, Springer, I've already talked to Detective Kalanihankuhihuliha."

I was impressed. While I couldn't be certain, I had a suspicion he'd just pronounced Detective Whatshisname's name correctly.

"He told me," he continued, "that after the second murder both Miss Delaware and Miss Arkansas brought your name up during their interviews."

I bit my lip. "They did?"

He nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Because they liked my shoes so much?" My voice was bordering on Minnie Mouse territory now.

His head shook. "Nuh-uh. Because you'd been questioning them. About the dead girl."

I gulped. "We might have talked a little, you know, just making conversation…"

Luckily for me, the elevator doors dinged open then. I jumped inside, grateful for the break from his Bad Cop stare. If only for a moment.

Ramirez stepped in beside me, his presence suddenly making the small carriage feel claustrophobic. He opened his mouth to continue his tirade, but before he could a life-sized duck jumped into the elevator with us.

I blinked.

Ramirez blinked.

The duck said, "'Sup."

"Uh…hi," I responded.

"Insurance convention," the duck said, addressing my husband's confused stare. "I'm the mascot?"

Ramirez cleared his throat. "Right. I've, uh, seen the commercials."

The duck nodded. "Cool." The duck folded his wings in front of him, patiently waiting as the elevator ascended.

I felt a giggle bubbling in my throat but held it in just long enough for the elevator doors to open at the sixth floor and let out fine feathered friend off.

Luckily the giant water fowl had lightened my husband's mood considerably.

"You know," Ramirez said as soon as we were a lone again, "Hawaii does have a police force."

I knew. I'd met most of them. Twice.

"Sorry?" I said. Though it came out more of a question.

He turned around to face me, just enough Bad Cop still in his eyes that I had to fight the urge to fidget.

"Really sorry?"

If I didn't know better, I'd have said I saw the corner of his mouth twitch up like it was fighting a smile.

"Do you know what it took for me to get here? I had to leave our kids with my mom. I hate leaving the kids."

"I know," I said. And I did. I'd been missing my munchkins the entire time I'd been here. "And I know I should have called you the second Desi's body was found. It's just that between Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt showing up here, and staying in my room I might add, then the uber full pageant schedule, and the idea of a killer on the loose…alone time to call home has been scarce."

Ramirez's eyes softened a little. "These pageant people are running you ragged, huh?"

I shrugged. "Sort of."

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "You okay?"

I fought a lump in my throat. For all his Bad Cop scariness, I knew it was only because he was worried about me. I nodded. "I've missed you," I told him, and I meant it.

"Me too." He leaned down and placed a slow kiss on my lips that warmed me right down to my toes.

When the elevator let us out at the twelfth floor, I slid him a sideways grin. "You know, we probably have another hour or two before Mom and Mrs. R get back to the room."

Ramirez shot me a look. "You're not getting off that easy," he said, but I noticed the corner of his mouth twitch upward again.

Something told me I could get off that easy if I wanted to. And while part of me was dying to continue that kiss in a more private setting, another part was dying to get his perspective on everything that had happened since the start of the pageant. He was, after all, a pretty darn clever homicide detective. It was possible, even likely, that he might recognize an important detail that I'd overlooked.

Then again, it was also possible that the first part of me would win, and I'd tear his shirt off with my teeth the minute I got him alone.

We stepped into the hallway to see Maxine alone, struggling to open the door to her room. She was wearing an orchid-print sarong and high strappy heels, with a flower tucked behind her right ear. She looked up as we approached, her eyes widening slightly when she saw Ramirez, a reaction I totally understood. "Oh, Maddie, thank goodness it's you. I'm having a little trouble getting into my room."

As I made the introductions, I couldn't help but notice that Ramirez didn't once look at Maxine's orchids. Gotta love the guy.

"I have to tell you," she said, "I'm sort of nervous about walking around by myself, but Whitney wanted to stay to watch the dancers, and I have a bit of a headache, so I came back here to lie down. I'm not being dumb, am I? I mean, what could happen between there and here, right?" She gave a nervous little laugh.

"You should probably stay with a buddy," Ramirez told her.

Maxine's eyes got wide. "Oh, I do. Whitney and I have been roomies from the start."

Ramirez looked at me, his eyebrow raised. I gave a little shrug.

Maxine held out her keycard. "Do you think you could help?"

Ramirez took it and two seconds later pushed her door open. She breathed a little sigh of relief. "I must have been trying it backwards. I'm such a goof sometimes. Thank you so much."

He stepped inside and took a quick look around the room before handing her the keycard. "Make sure the door locks behind you," he told her.

We said goodnight, waited until we heard the click of the lock on her door, and a moment later let ourselves into my room. I switched on the lights, noticing immediately that the shopping bags were gone, the beds smoothed to perfection in their absence. There weren't any tikis or odd tchotchkes in sight. Just a new box of breathing strips on the bathroom counter—Mrs. Rosenblatt must have picked it up on her shopping trip. That in itself would go a long way toward juju cleansing, as far as I was concerned.

Ramirez took an approving look around. "Nice digs."

I grinned. "Wait'll you see the view from the balcony."

He stepped through the double glass doors onto the balcony, and I heard him whistle. "Sweet."

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I called.

After a few minutes, he came back into the room, his hair slightly tousled from the ocean breeze. "I could get used to this," he said, his eyes softer now as they roamed the room. That is, until they landed on a pile of papers sitting on top of the dresser. "What are these?" he asked, taking a step toward them and fingering the one on top.

I leaned forward for a better look. It was the business card that Surfer Dirk had given me.

"Oh, it's just Dirk's phone number in case I wanted a surfing lesson."

He turned very deliberately to face me, one eyebrows raised. "And this?" He held up a signed photo of Jay Jeffries.

"Uh, Jay Jeffries’ photo?"

"And room number," he observed, the second eyebrow joining the first at his hairline.

I kicked off my heels and lowered myself onto the edge of the bed, willing myself not to look guilty. Again. "I can explain all that."

"This—" He held up a third scrap of paper, Detective Whatshisname's card. "—I get. This—" He held up Surfer Dirk's again. "—I think I can put two and two together. But
this
—" He held up Jeffries' photo with two fingers like he was afraid of getting cooties from it (which might not have been too farfetched). "—I'd
love
to hear an explanation for." He dropped it and crossed his arms over his chest as he sat down beside me.

"Okay, first, I didn't write that room number," I told him. "Jay Jeffries did. He's one of the judges. And he hits on anything with two legs and a pair of boobs."

"Not making me any happier," Ramirez said.

Was that jealousy I heard in his voice? Cute. "You don't need to worry about him," I said. "He knows where he stands with me. Which is nowhere."

Ramirez gave a noncommittal grunt. "And you kept his room number because…?"

"It's not what you think. It was just in case I needed to question him later about…" I trailed off, realizing he'd just caught me confessing to exactly the kind of investigating he'd been accusing me of. Damn. The man was good.

He gave me a knowing look, but there was definitely a hint of a smile behind it now.

I scrunched my nose up in defeat. "Fine. Guilty as charged!" I held my wrists out in a mock surrender to handcuffs. "I, Maddison Louise Springer, have been investigating a murder. Happy?"

"Hardly," he answered, the smile widening. He stretched out on the bed, leaning on one elbow, and regarded me with an assessing stare. "Okay, lay it on me, Springer. What do we know?"

I pulled my legs up and crossed them beneath me. "We know we have two dead beauty queens, both of whom were seen meeting someone on the beach the night before their bodies were found. We don't know who that someone is, but I'm pretty sure the second one was probably a man. And we know that someone wanted Miss New Mexico to win this competition, so much so that the judges were instructed to inflate her scores."

"And we don't know who that someone is?" Ramirez said.

I shook my head. "Could be someone from corporate. Word is they've sunk a lot of money into this pageant."

"Doesn't seem like it should be hard to find out where that instruction came from," Ramirez said.

I nodded. "None of the judges seem to know. It was just passed down the line. And of course, whoever issued the order wouldn't want to be identified anyway."

Ramirez considered. "Seen by whom?" he asked finally.

"What?"

"The nighttime meetings on the beach. Who saw them?"

Oops. I was ready to tell all, as long as
all
didn't include my traipsing around the hotel grounds alone at night and disguising myself as a bush to get a clearer view. "They're reliable witnesses," I said with deliberate vagueness.

Ramirez's eyes narrowed. "You won't be doing that again, will you?"

"Not a chance," I said immediately.

The muscles in his jaw tightened, hinting that Bad Cop was not pleased. I couldn't really blame him.

"I only saw Desi on the beach," I added. "I didn't see Jennifer. Miss Delaware, that's Whitney, saw Jennifer from her hotel window." I thought some more. "But no one has a bad thing to say about Jennifer. With the exception of Miss New Mexico, everyone seemed to like her. I can't figure why anyone would want her dead."

He scrubbed one hand across his face and sighed. "So who's the front-runner now that Desi's out?"

"Whitney. And she stands to make a small fortune as Miss Hawaiian Paradise. Which is kind of a shame, because there's a distinct possibility that Whitney is actually too old for this competition." I hesitated. "But it's not just the contestants. There's a woman with a very bad attitude named Donatella Curcio who's been on the hotel grounds since day one protesting all things fashion and beauty, and it turns out
she
was disqualified from this very same pageant two years ago under false pretenses."