Spying in High Heels (4 page)

Ralph's face broke into a smile when he saw me and he lifted a hand in greeting, gesturing inside.

The hostess, dressed in all black right down to her black eyeliner and goth chic black lipstick,, directed me to a linen-sheathed table in the middle of the room where my mother sat, looking down at her watch and pursing her thin lips.

"Maddie, you're late."

I wished people would stop pointing that out.

I leaned down and gave her an air kiss. "Sorry, Mom, there was traffic."

Mom rolled her eyes. While they were the same hazelish green as mine, hers were framed in that familiar pale blue eyeshadow she'd been wearing since before it became fashionable again. She had on a pair of black stirrup pants straight from 1986 and a sweater tank embroidered with a calico kitten on the front. I silently thanked the gods I hadn't inherited her fashion sense.

"You completely forgot, didn't you?" she said.

"I would've remembered."

"Right." Neither of us was truly convinced. "Anyway," she continued as I sat down, "I have a preliminary seating chart I want you to take a look at. And," she added, her eyes taking on an evil twinkle, "I found the perfect place for my bachelorette party."

Uh oh.

"Where?" I asked, truly fearing the answer.

"Beefcakes."

The fear was justified.

"Beefcakes?"

"It's full of…" Mom leaned in close, whispering. "Male strippers." She wiggled her eyebrows up and down in a way that made me queasy again.

"You sure you don't want to have a spa day with the girls instead?" I pleaded.

"Oh come on, Maddie. Lighten up. It'll be fun. Besides, I'm getting married, I'm not dead. I can still appreciate the male form in all its glory."

Yep. I was going to throw up.

"Oh, and we need a final count for the reception. I only ordered one tent for the buffet so I pray it doesn't rain." Mom made a little sign of the cross.

"This is L.A., Mom. It never rains." Slight exaggeration on my part, but since Los Angelinos considered three inches a monsoon, we were probably pretty safe. Not to mention this was July. The weather gods wouldn't dare dump rain in the middle of tourist season. Charlton Heston would be after them with his shotgun.

"So," Mom asked, scanning the patrons behind me, "where's Richard?"

That's what I'd like to know.

"He couldn't make it tonight," I answered instead, hoping she'd leave it at that. I still wasn't sure what to think about Mr. Armed and Dangerous in Richard's apartment, but I knew I didn't yet have an edited-for-Mom version.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said.

Luckily I was saved further comment on my boyfriend's dubious whereabouts as an aproned waiter brought three plates of salad to the table.

"What's this?" I asked, realizing I hadn't eaten since this morning and was suddenly famished.

"Ripe summer pears and crumbled gorgonzola over fresh baby greens," Mom quoted.

I took a bite. Delicious. Okay, so maybe I had to hear about the dreaded bachelorette party, but at least this beat the Hamburger Helper sitting in my kitchen cupboard.

I was stabbing a second pear and making little yummy sounds when Ralph finally joined us. He stooped down and deposited a kiss on my cheek before taking the seat beside me. "Sorry, ladies, I had to take that. Perm emergency."

"Perm emergency?" Mom asked.

"
I
told Francine not to recolor her hair for forty-eight hours after her set, but did she listen to me? No. Now she looks like an auburn-haired French poodle. She's coming in tomorrow morning for damage control."

Mom and I both nodded appropriately.

"So," Mom said, folding her hands in front of her and sitting up straighter in her chair. "Now that you're both here, I have an announcement." She looked pointedly at me. "Guess who's pregnant."

A ripe summer pear stuck in my throat.

There was no way she could possibly know, could she? Was I showing already? Were my boobs swelling? Did I have that rosy pregnant glow? I knew I should have powdered in the car before coming in.

Luckily, before I could blurt out that I was just a little late, Mom ended the guessing game. "Molly!"

I swallowed the pear, relief washing over me. Of course. My cousin Molly. Or as she was known in our family, The Breeder. She'd already popped out three rugrats in four years. I think she was going for some sort of record. Which of course made my grandmother very happy. There's nothing an Irish Catholic family loves more than a prolific breeder.

"That's really great," I said with about as much enthusiasm as a lithium addict.

"Great? It's fabu!" Faux Dad shouted.

Okay, so I was eighty percent sure he was straight.

"Oh," he said, waving his hands in the air, "one of my clients does the most darling little baby baskets. She takes a bassinet and fills it with organic teddy bears and hand-knitted little booties. Stuff so sweet it makes your teeth rot."

"Oh, that sounds perfect! We have to get her one of those," Mom gushed. "What do you say, Maddie? Want to go baby shopping with me?"

Actually I didn't. In fact this whole conversation was making me break out in hives. The more I thought about Molly and her three and a half little munchkins, hand-knitted baby booties, and most of all the unopened pregnancy kit sitting on my kitchen counter, I wanted to bolt out of the room and scream some choice obscenities at my boyfriend for buying defective condoms. Only I couldn't. Because I had no idea where Richard was, and more likely than not I'd just be leaving more messages on his answering machine that Mr. Nobody would later play for his own personal amusement.

"Hey, aren't we missing someone?" Faux Dad asked, looking across the table at the empty seat. "Where's Richard?"

That, as I was about to find out, was the million-dollar question.

Chapter Three

Somehow I survived dinner even with Faux Dad getting all googly-eyed at the thought of a new baby and Mom getting all googly-eyed at the thought of shoving twenties in some young stud's G-string. I still wasn't sure which scenario made me more nauseated.

I took the 405 home, checking the entire way for signs of bad guys, and slowly climbed the flight of stairs to my studio apartment, where I promptly collapsed on my velvet-upholstered futon. I didn't even glance at the EPT. Much. Instead, I called Richard's machine one more time for good measure. I didn't mention that I'd been there earlier or the man with the gun.

I flipped on
Seinfeld
and vegged out as Jerry and George tried to come up with a plot about nothing. I fell asleep fully clothed, trying to fight images of black tattoos, shiny silver .38 specials, and my mother holding a bassinet full of pink baby booties.

The next morning I awoke with a renewed sense of purpose. It appeared I wasn't the only one looking for Richard, which meant I had to step up the search. I was his girlfriend, which theoretically meant I should have the edge, knowing him better than anyone. The trouble was that Richard and I mostly just did couple stuff when we were together—dinner and a movie at the Dome, cruising the Venice boardwalk hand in hand, snuggling under the stars on symphony night at the Hollywood Bowl. Honestly, I didn't really know any of his friends, and now that I was thinking about it, I didn't really know what he did outside of "us" time either. It was a troubling thought.

I started with the short list of people in Richard's life I did know. Namely, his mother. The only problem was, I didn't know her number, and didn't even know her first name to call information. Chances were good it was back at Richard's condo somewhere, but after the run-in with Mr. Nobody, I wasn't especially looking forward to visiting there again.

That left Richard's office. I knew he kept a complete address book on his Palm Pilot and another on his computer at work. The only obstacle would be Jasmine. But I was confident I could come up with some way to get around her. The woman had the IQ of a squash.

So I put on my kick-butt clothes. Black DKNY car-gos, ice-blue baby T, and my prize black two-inch Jimmy Choos with the rhinestone details. Capped it all off with some thick, black eyeliner, I could have doubled for a Bond Girl.

I parked in the garage and by nine-fifteen I was standing in front of Jasmine's desk pleading my case.

"I think I left my cell phone in one of the conference rooms last time I was here. Can I go in and get it? Please? I'll just be a minute."

Predictably Jasmine was enjoying this, her penciled-in eyebrows twitching with amusement. "I'm sorry. But I can't let you go in there."

"Please? I'd ask Richard, but I can't seem to get a hold of him. Really, I'll be super quick."

"I'm sorry, but only lawyers and clients are allowed back there," she said, pointing to the frosted doors. "We can't have just
anyone
roaming around."

"But I really need that phone," I whined. Jasmine shrugged her shoulders as if to say, tough luck, chickie.

I pouted, then faked a thoughtful face as I stared at the frosted doors. I paused, counted to three Mississippi, then opened my eyes wide as if I'd had a light-bulb moment. "I know! Jasmine, you could go get it for me."

She looked doubtful, glancing at her computer screen. Before she could argue the importance of her solitaire game, I rushed on. "Oh please, Jasmine? I really, really need that phone. You'd be doing me such a huge favor. I'd really owe you one."

She bit her oversized lip and stared at me so long I thought maybe she'd forgotten the question. Finally she let out a long suffering sigh. "Fine. I'll go check. But stay right here."

I held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

That was almost too easy.

I waited until she'd disappeared into one of the conference rooms before bolting through the frosted doors and fairly sprinting down the hall to Richard's office. I quickly slipped inside and closed the door after myself.

As expected, there was no sign of Richard, though the scent of his Hilfiger aftershave still hung in the air. I inhaled deeply, suddenly all the more desperate to find him.

The office held three bookcases filled with impressive-looking volumes, and Richard's honey oak desk, situated in the center of the room. His desktop held an oversize leather-bound calendar, a computer monitor, a telephone with about a gazil-lion little extension buttons, a penholder, and a stack of bulging file folders. The message light on his phone was blinking double time. Not a good sign.

I gingerly sat down behind the desk, flicking on the monitor. Luckily, Richard hadn't logged out of the system the last time he'd been here, and it only took a couple minutes of clicking around until I found his address book with his mother's phone number in Palm Springs. I pulled a sticky pad out of the desk, wrote down the number, and slipped it into my back pocket. Mission accomplished. I was actually pretty good at this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

I turned off the monitor, put away the sticky pad and was just about to leave when I caught sight of the stack of files again. Bulging with forbidden documents. I took a quick look over each shoulder in a totally unnecessary move that somehow made me feel safer. Nope. Nobody watching. Just me and the files. Alone.

I tried to resist… but I was only human.

I picked up the one on top, knowing that if Richard ever saw me looking at these he'd have a cow, then give me an endless lecture about client-attorney confidentiality. But this was an emergency. I was
late
. And there was no way I was going to take that damn test and deal with the results without him. He got me into this mess, he was damn well going to be there while I peed on the stick.

Fully justified, I opened the first file.

Worthington v. Patterson. To my disappointment it contained one legal-size document after another. I could have sworn they were written in a foreign language. The only words I understood were "the" and "party." So much for juicy stuff.

I dropped that one back in the pile, hoping that at least one of these included a blackmail demand, death threat, or secret cover-up. I hated to think my snooping was just nosiness.

I picked up Elmer v. Wainsright.

"What are you doing?"

My head snapped up so fast I feared whiplash.

Standing in the doorway was none other than Mr. Nobody. My heart froze in my chest, and I quickly scanned over his body for a gun. Fortunately I didn't see one. And considering how tightly his navy T-shirt and Levi's were hugging the form in the doorway, there wasn't much chance of hiding it from view. He looked like he worked out. A lot. Dana would have been proud.

"Well?"

Well what? Oh, right. What was I doing.

"I was looking for Richard," I squeaked. Suddenly at the sight of him I'd turned into Minnie Mouse. I cleared my throat, trying to convince myself that this guy didn't scare me. We were in a lawyer's office for crying out loud. He couldn't very well kill me here. Right?

I took a step backward anyway. Better safe than sorry.

"What a coincidence," he replied, his voice much deeper and smoother than I'd imagined. "So am I. Any luck?"

I shook my head no, afraid I'd sound like a mouseketeer again if I spoke. This guy seriously flashed "danger" in big, bold neon. And it wasn't just the potentially concealed weapon. It was the hard set of his jaw, the steadiness of his dark eyes as they quickly swept the room, the white scar over his eyebrow that I'd bet my Spigas he hadn't gotten from a paper cut.

He walked slowly over to Richard's desk and glanced down at the file I'd been attempting to read. "Anything good in there?"

"I don't know. I don't speak attorney."

The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly. "Cute."

"Thanks."

He leaned casually against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt, the tattoo on his right arm peeking out again. It looked like a panther. Dark and sleek. With razor-sharp claws. "So you want to tell me what you're really doing here?"

"Nuh uh." I shook my head again.

He grinned. A slow, wicked grin that reached all the way to his dark eyes. It was the kind of grin that made women either cower in fear or want to rip his clothes off.