Homicide in High Heels (21 page)

Beth nodded. "Yes." She paused. "She
mentioned that you were thinking about stocking your shoes
here?"

"I think they'd be a great fit."

"Hmm." Beth pursed her lips together.

"What?" I asked.

Her eyes cut to the doorway Liz had just
disappeared through. "You didn't hear this from me…"

These women were too good to be true. Must
be my lucky day as I "wasn't" hearing a lot.

"Yes?" I prompted encouragingly.

"I don't know if I would invest too heavily
in this particular boutique."

"Why not?" I asked.

"Well let's just say I'm not sure it's the
most financially stable business decision."

"Oh?" I asked.

"Let's just say I'd steer clear of it if I
were you."

She was "just saying" a lot of very vague
things, and I had a feeling Liz wouldn't be much longer. Time to
cut to the chase.

"Are you saying that Liz's boutique is in
financial trouble?" I asked, remembering what the blonde clone had
told me about some "unaccounted for" money.

Beth pursed her lips together again but
nodded.

"But it always looks so busy here," I
countered. Which was true.

Beth shrugged. "I guess Liz just doesn't
have a head for business."

"Did she tell you she was in trouble?"

"Well, not in so many words. But I overheard
her asking Kendra for a loan."

"When was this?"

"About six weeks ago."

I perked up. That was right before someone
started paying Lacey blackmail.

"How much did she ask for?"

Beth looked nervously toward the back room.
"Thirty-thousand."

Which theoretically would have covered the
first three payments to Lacey. Which would have meant that two
payments later, Liz could have been desperate.

"But please don't tell anyone you heard this
from me," Beth pleaded. "Especially not Liz."

I did a
zipping-the-mouth-shut-and-throwing-away-the-key motion and nodded
reassuringly at her.

"I'm ready," Liz said, flouncing back into
the boutique, a beautiful navy blue cashmere wrap thrown over her
shoulders. "And, boy, after the day I've had with my suppliers,
those pomtinis are calling my name."

Beth cleared her throat and shifted from
foot to foot as if she'd just been caught, well, ratting out her
best friend. "Yeah, me too."

"Maddie, would you care to join us?" Liz
asked.

I shook my head. "Sorry, I've got somewhere
to be." Even though pomtinis sounded a whole lot better than what I
had planned.

"Okay, well, I'll be awaiting that call from
your manufacturer," Liz said, leading the way out of the store.

I watched them go, my mind turning over the
possibilities. Were Liz's "financial difficulties" due to paying
off a blackmailer? Or, had the financial difficulties been the
subject of blackmail? Was that the "unaccounted for" money they'd
argued about before Liz had fired Lacey? Had Lacey threatened to
expose it? If so, just how far would Liz have gone to protect her
baby?

I thought about stopping at the Starbucks
drive-through. I thought about going to the shoe sale at DSW. I
thought about buying a plane ticket to Brazil. But, as much as I
was dreading this big first birthday party, I realized there was no
avoiding it. Sort of like the pimples that come with puberty or the
high price tag that comes with California real estate. In the end,
it was worth it.

At least that's what I told myself as I
pointed my car toward home and ignored the anxiety building in my
gut.

As I pulled up to my house, I realized that
not only had Marco made good on his word to make this party
memorable—huge, wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube men (yes,
plural) sat in my front yard—he had also made good on his promise
to invite everyone he knew. Because my entire block was
bumper-to-bumper parked cars.

I slowed in front of my house (honestly more
gaping at the waving inflatable tube men than looking for parking),
and a guy in a bright red uniform with the sort of box-shape hat
that belonged on a grinder monkey came running out of my front
door.

"Valet! Would you care to valet your car,
ma'am?" the monkey boy asked.

I cautiously rolled down my passenger side
window. "We have valet parking?"

"But of course! What kind of party would
this be without valet parking?"

I closed my eyes and did a ten count to get
my temper under control, quietly wondered how much I was paying
this valet. "Where are you parking these cars?"

He blinked at me as if not understanding the
question.

"Valet parking indicates a parking
lot
," I enunciated clearly.

"Oh, sure. Yeah, Marco said we should use
the Ralph's lot down the street as overflow."

I could've argued, but I didn't feel like
walking all the way to my house from the Ralph's two blocks away. I
hopped out of the car and handed the monkey boy my keys, figuring,
quite honestly, he was going to be the least offensive thing I
would encounter today.

With my trepidation at an eleven, I open the
front door to my house.

As I had guessed from yesterday, my entire
front room had been turned into an arcade of sorts. I spied my
cousin Molly's two oldest children and her husband, Stan, bopping
between the pinball machine, the vintage Pac-Man machine, and the
cotton candy machine, clearly working his sugar high to become the
top scorer on both of games.

Strong scents carried from the kitchen,
telling me that my Parisian chef was at work. Though I had to admit
they weren't altogether unpleasant. Maybe there would be a high
point to this day after all.

I crossed the living room to the back
sliding doors and into the yard where I could see the bulk of the
festivities taking place. I had to admit Marco knew how to throw
party. The tiki bar was in full swing, surrounded by several of
Ramirez's brothers and sisters-in-law, and children were running
and shrieking all over the yard, going up and down the giant
inflatable waterslide and jumping into the ball pit. I spied Dana
and Ricky feeding each other deviled eggs on the shaded patio,
clearly having made up and gotten back to their usually
honeymoon-ish selves. On the other side of the yard, a pony was
trotting around in a circle led by a cowboy, for whom I sincerely
hope Marco hadn't paid full price. And in the other corner sat Mr.
Crocodile Dundee himself with his exotic animal pen. I spied a
peacock, a small animal that looked like it was a goat on steroids,
and a ten foot long snake wrapped around Dundee's neck.

In the center of it all stood Ramirez, a
baby on each hip. God bless him, I didn't know how Mr. Mom did it,
but they both looked immaculate. They were dressed in the outfits I
had picked out for them—Livvie in a pink, ruffled dress that flared
like a bell around her diaper-padded hips, and Max in a pair of
pint-sized denim jeans and a baby blue button-up shirt—both
complete with teeny tiny little baby shoes in coordinating ivory.
Both kids were giggling and laughing at their surroundings. Even
Ramirez was wearing a smile. Maybe this party wasn't such a bad
idea after all. I mean, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves,
and I didn't see a single clown in sight.

I quickly crossed the yard and gave Ramirez
a quick kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you," I said taking Livvie from
him and giving her a little nuzzle in her soft neck.

"Hey, yourself, Springer."

"Sorry I'm late."

Ramirez shook his head. "No problem. Mama
came early to help get the babies ready. You learn anything
interesting? "

"Possibly," I said, filling him in on
Kendra's lack of alibi and the state of Liz's boutique. I was just
finishing when I heard a high-pitched voice behind me.

"My babies!" I turned to find my mom and
Faux Dad coming straight at the children—arms outstretched, lips in
the puckering position, ready to drop kisses all over their chubby
little cheeks. Though which one of their high-pitched voices had
screamed, "My babies," I wasn't sure.

After an appropriate amount of kissing,
pinching, and squishing, Faux Dad and Ramirez drifted off to the
tiki bar.

I turned to Mom. "How's he doing?" I asked,
gesturing toward Faux Dad. I could see that even though he was
trying to put on a happy face for the children's party, the bags
under his eyes were growing exponentially.

Mom shrugged and averted her eyes.

"That well?" I asked, a pang of guilt
hitting my stomach. I'd hoped to have better news for him by now,
but it seemed all I was doing was running around in circles
lately.

"He's doing the best he can, Maddie. You
know the salon is his life. Without the salon, your stepfather
is…well…just Ralph."

"But we love Ralph," I said, trying to be
more upbeat than my voice came out sounding.

"Of course we do, Maddie," my mom said,
sending me a sad smile. "You love Ralph, and I love Ralph. But the
women of Beverly Hills love
Fernando
. As do their bank
accounts, their credit cards, and their checkbooks. Without those,
I'm afraid the salon won't be open much longer."

Geeze, talk about a guilt bomb. I was just
about to go drown my sorrows in one of the fruity looking drinks
I'd seen coming away from the tiki bar, when I spied my
party-planner du jour.

"…and over here we have the exotic animal
pen," Marco said, waving a hand to his right with flourish. He was
wearing a lemon yellow suit and bright turquoise tie, speaking to a
small group of people I didn't recognize. They all looked in their
twenties, most wearing what I would describe as geek-chic
attire—colorful leggings, beanies, and T-shirts with sci-fi sayings
on them under open flannel shirts.

"…and this lovely little lad and lady are
the guests of honor!" Marco said, doing jazz hands as he bowed and
pointed to Livvie and Max on the hips of my mother and myself,
respectively.

His geek-chic crowd clapped.

"Now, enjoy the party, mingle, and don't
forget to check out our exotic animal zoo!" Marco told them as they
dispersed.

"Marco," I said. "Lovely party." I leaned in
for air-kisses, though as I got to his left cheek, I whispered in
his ear, "And who are those people?"

"The press, of course!"

Mental forehead thunk. I'd had more than
enough of the press for one week.

"You invited the press to my
children's
birthday party at my
home
?!" I hissed to
him.

To his credit, his wide smile only faltered
for a second. "This is your children's big debut party, darling.
Their society moment. What's a coming-out party without a little
publicity, right?"

"They're one. They're not coming out of
anything except their diapers."

But Marco completely ignored me. "That woman
over there?" He pointed to a redhead in neon pink and purple
flannel. "That's Mary Mags who does a fantastic fashion blog,
focusing on tiny tot couture. And the guy next to her does the Big
Baby twitter feed. You know Big Baby, don't you?"

I gave him a blank stare.

"Oh, darling, you must get out more."

"Tweeting is not getting out."

"Big Baby," he continued, ignoring me (for a
change), "is only the most subscribed-to celebrity baby news feed."
Marco leaned in and faux whispered, "He's the one who broke the
news about Suri Cruise's Easter dress fiasco." He made a tsking
sound through his teeth. "So sad."

"Marco, I—"

"And that fine duo over there," he plowed
ahead, "Are FuzzyBunny and BinkyBear."

I looked to where he was pointing, half
expecting a couple in animal costumes. Instead I spotted two more
chic geeks, the female of the two wearing Google Glass and filming
everything in sight.

"Fuzzy who?" I hesitated to ask.

"The famous YouTubers? They get simply
millions of hits for their funny baby videos. The Happy Baby Meets
Cranky Cat series? That is all them." Marco nodded reverently.

I took a deep breath. I counted to ten. Then
I realized I'd been practicing my counting more often than my
children's favorite red monster on
Sesame Street
.

Where was that tiki bar?

I pushed past Marco, handing Livvie off to
one of Ramirez's aunts, and made a bee-line for the tropical bar
wearing what looked like a grass skirt in the center of my lawn.
Luckily, Ramirez must have seen me coming as, good man that he is,
he quickly slid me a pink cup that read "Livvie and Max's First
Birthday Extravaganza" in scrolling letters.

I downed it in one gulp, then asked for
another. By the third, I almost didn't care that my children's
party would be all over the internet in various forms of baby
fashion policing and cranky-cat memes.

And then I heard it.

To anyone else it might have seemed
unassuming enough. But I knew that Australian accented voice, and I
knew the name it was calling.

"Matilda, love, where are you?"

My squick radar shot to a hundred just like
that. I spun around, half expecting to see a ten-foot python
crawling up my leg. Fortunately, she was nowhere to be seen.
Unfortunately, the top to her cage was off and
she was nowhere
to be seen
.

I clutched Ramirez's arm in a claw-like
grip. "Matilda's loose," I whispered.

Ramirez turned to me. "And she is…?"

"Oh, God, please don't let Matilda be—"

Only I didn't get to finish that thought as
I heard the whinnying of a horse from the other side of the yard.
No, not quite a horse. Smaller, fainter, higher pitched…like a
spooked pony.

It all happened in slow motion.

My cousin Molly's son, Connor, sat atop the
pony, which reared up on two legs. Presumably to avoid the ten foot
snake slithering in its path. Connor screamed as he was thrown
backwards through the air…and luckily hit the side of the
inflatable waterslide, bouncing off to land face first in the ball
pit.