Gemma Halliday - Alibi In High Heels

A titled Tabloid Reporter. What was this world coming to?

Though I didn't have a chance to question the Lord any further as my cell rang from the depths of my shoulder bag. I pulled it out and flipped it open, checking the caller ID. Ramirez.

I closed my eyes and did a little mini meditation before clicking the on button.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively.

"Hey, beautiful."

Despite the morning I'd had, I felt comfort wash through me at the sound of his voice. I suddenly really wished he wasn't an ocean away.

"Look, I know what you're going to say and it's not my fault," I quickly said into the phone. "I just found her. And I know it's a huge coincidence the way she was killed with the shoe in her neck and all, well, at least Moreau thought it was, but that's all it is! I swear! I had nothing to do with it. All I wanted to do was come to Paris for Fashion Week and maybe catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, and then the accident and this stupid cast, and now they're taking my DNA, even though they don't have a warrant, and saying I don't have an alibi!"

There was a pause on the other end. Then Ramirez's voice came in a slow deliberate cadence. "Maddie, what is going on over there?"

"Don't you know?"

"No," he said, concern lacing his words. "I just called to tell you I was sorry I didn't get a chance to call you back last night. What the hell is going on? What's this about DNA and warrants?"

Oh hell. I swear, one of these days I'd learn to keep my mouth shut. Obviously today wasn't that day.

Quickly I filled him in on the morning's events, pussyfooting the best I could around my interrogation, lest I reveal just how blonde I'd sounded. I must not have done a very good job, however, because when I finished he was silent. Just the sound of his breath coming in tightly restrained pants.

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"I'm booking the next flight."

"No!" I shouted into the phone. Okay, I'd kind of freaked out facing Moreau, I'll admit. And having Felix show up had been a huge relief. And, I'll admit, the second I'd heard Ramirez's voice I'd instantly felt better. But having him fly halfway around the world just to hold my hand was tantamount to saying that he was right. That I couldn't take care of myself. That I did need a chaperone as badly as he and my mother thought. No way was I admitting that.

"No, really, I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Maddie. You're a homicide suspect."

"Well, sort of, but…"

"Look, I don't want you there alone."

"I'm not alone," I said, glancing over to Felix who'd been pretending not to listen to the conversation up to this point.

"Felix is here."

Silence. Then, "Felix? As in the reporter Felix."

"Uh, yeah."

"The same Felix who got you kidnapped in Vegas?"

"Uh…"

"And the same Felix who gave you a gun last spring?"

"Well, um…"

"And," he said, really gaining steam now, "the same Felix who looks at you like you're dessert and he hasn't eaten in weeks?"

"He does not!" I glanced over at him again. Did he? "But, uh, yeah. That Felix."

"I'll be there by morning." Then he hung up.

I stared at the silent phone in my hand. Then up at Felix, still looking out the window, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Great. Just what I needed. A pissing contest.

By the time we got back to the hotel, I was beat, mentally and physically, the jet lag catching up to me big time.

The front of the hotel was crammed with paparazzi. As if the Fashion Week photographers weren't enough, now every newshound in Europe was covering the sensational death of their favorite supermodel. I could see Felix mentally sizing them up, his hands fidgeting in his lap with nervous energy. If there was one thing Felix hated, it was to be scooped.

The cab driver pulled as close to the front doors as he could manage, then dropped Felix and me off at the sidewalk. I awkwardly angled Wonder Boot out of the cab, sticking the crutches under my armpits and hobbling toward the hotel doors and leaving Felix to pay the fare. Hell, he was related to the queen. He could handle it.

By the time I made it to the glass front doors, Felix had easily caught up and we pushed our way through the crowd. Unfortunately, the lobby wasn't any less populated, the chatter of reporters echoing off the marble floors. I kept my head down and plowed straight for the elevators, letting out a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind us. Two minutes later I was at my door, fumbling in my shoulder bag for my key card.

As it turned out, I didn't need it. The door flew open.

"Oh lordy, Maddie, I'm so glad you're okay!" Mom grabbed me in a big bear hug, knocking both crutches to the ground.

"Mom, I can't breathe."

"Sorry." She stepped back. "I was just so worried. You're on every TV station. Not that I can understand most of what they're saying about you."

"Is it true? Did you stab that model with your shoe?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, waddling up behind.

"Of course it's not true!" Mom shouted, turning on her. Then she paused and leaned in close to me. "Is it?"

"No! It's just a coincidence."

"See," Mom shot to Mrs. R. "I knew it wasn't true. I knew you couldn't do the horrible things the TV says you did."

"What are they saying?" Felix asked, walking into the room behind me.

"They're calling her the Couture Killer," Mrs. R piped up.

Felix winced. "Wish I'd thought of that," he muttered under his breath.

I resisted the urge to kick him. Mostly because I couldn't balance on one foot.

"Who's this?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, gesturing to Felix.

"This is Felix Dunn."

"The reporter?" Mom narrowed her eyes. She knew all too well how I'd felt about my head being pasted on Pamela Anderson's body.

"The one and only." Felix bowed. "I've heard so much about you, Mrs. Springer. It's lovely to finally meet you." He grasped one of Mom's hands in both of his.

Mom blushed. "Oh, well."

"And you," he said, advancing on Mrs. R, "you must be the charming Mrs. Rosenblatt. A true pleasure, ma'am." He leaned down and kissed her hand.

Mrs. Rosenblatt giggled. "I could get used to these European men."

Oh brother.

"Maddie, what exactly happened today?" Mom asked, gathering my fallen crutches for me.

I hopped over to the double bed and sat down, pillows floofing around me. Reluctantly, I filled Mom and Mrs. R in on the events of the morning. I glossed over my run in with Moreau as best I could (in case you hadn't noticed, Mom tended to be a little overprotective) but by the time I was done, she still had her lips clenched together in a tight white line.

"How could they possibly think you had anything to do with this, Maddie?" she asked.

"Wow. Creepy finding her like that. You've definitely got some bad karma issues, bubbee , " Mrs. Rosenblatt said, putting a sympathetic hand on my arm. "You wanna aura cleansing?"

What I wanted was a long hot bath, a handful of pain pills, and a nap. But I had to agree with her, my karma did suck.

"What she needs is a lawyer. The nerve of that policeman questioning you," Mom said.

"It sounds like a set-up to me," Mrs. Rosenblatt offered. "Someone's trying to make you look guilty."

Which, thus far, was working splendidly.

"Who would want to do that to my baby?" Mom asked, her eyes going big and round beneath her powder blue eye shadow.

"You pissed anybody off lately, doll?" Mrs. R asked.

I shrugged. "How could I? I don't even know anyone here. It's got to be a coincidence."

"The real question is who would want Gisella dead?" Felix piped up from the corner.

He'd been so quite I'd almost forgotten he was there, sitting at the mini desk, absently doodling on a pad of hotel stationary. His forehead creased as he went on. "Anyone could have read about your exploits, Maddie, and decided you'd make a convenient scapegoat. The real question we should be asking is who had issues with Gisella? When was the last time you saw her?"