Gemma Halliday - Alibi In High Heels

I thanked her and promised I'd call her later. She said to take my time. After the Cancan display last night, Pierre had warmed to Mrs. R and they were all going on a river cruise up the Seine. I wondered if Pierre had "warmed" or been coerced under influence of champagne. Either way, I told her I hoped she had fun and hung up.

Dana and I quickly finished eating, then paid our bill and asked the waitress the best way to get to Hertfordshire. She suggested renting a car and taking the M1 straight up. She gave us directions and pointed us toward a car rental down the block.

Half an hour later, we were squeezed into one of the smallest cars in existence, Dana's knees practically touching her chin as I tried to figure out the gear shift. The thing handled like a tin can on wheels and every time we went around a corner, I yelled, "Lean," to Dana for fear we'd tip over.

By the sheer grace of God I managed to drive her to the airport without hitting anything. Even though I forgot and pulled onto the wrong side of the street twice.

After getting stuck for only fifteen minutes in the roundabout outside the terminal, I finally found my way to the motorway and headed out of the city, toward Hertfordshire.

A drive that was actually surprisingly pleasant. Rolling green hills spanned either side of the roadway, groves of tress dotting the landscape and a low, thin fog covering it all like something out of a postcard or an Enya song. Overall it was an effect that, by the time I was passing a large wooden sign that indicated my turn off, had helped diminish the nerves of possibly driving toward a murderer's home.

I drove through a small, quaint village complete with stone chimneys and thatched roofs out of a Thomas Kincaid painting, and up a winding road that led to the address Mom had given me. I made a couple of wrong turns onto overgrown roads that had clearly seen better days, before finally finding the right one. I wound around a grove of trees until a large structure loomed in the distance. My jaw dropped open. It was a castle.

Felix lived in a freaking castle!?

When had my life become a twisted fairy tale?

Granted, it was small by castle standards. A brick structure with green moss growing along the sides. And I could clearly see modern additions had been made – double paned windows, paved driveway and car park, electric lights by the front door. But it still held two large brick turrets that I could easily see Rapunzel throwing a lock of hair from.

I parked my midget car in the massive drive, near a row of green hedges, and approached a huge wooden door that screamed for an alligator-filled moat.

A modern doorbell sat beside the door and I rang it, hearing the sound echo inside. I waited a beat before the door was pulled open and I found myself face to face with dear "old" Auntie.

It took her a moment before recognition registered.

"Maddie. What a surprise," she said, looking behind me as if wondering where I'd come from. She was dressed today in a pair of slim, tailored slacks in a pale peach color that maximized her tan that, if the weather was any indication, was obviously fake. She paired the slacks with a short sleeved, white blouse, the sleeves cut on a bias that showed off the muscular curve of her upper arms. I silently wondered if the castle had a gym built in, too.

"Hi, Charlene. I was wondering if Felix is in?"

A small frown settled between her blonde brows. "Yes. But, I thought you were in Paris?"

"I was. I…" I paused, not really sure how to voice the jumble of thoughts that had been circulating through my head all day. "I need to talk to Felix."

She arched a slim eyebrow, but, ever the polite Brit, stepped back to allow me entry. "Please, come in."

I did, my crutches squeaking against the polished hardwood floor as she shut the door behind me. Inside, the modern conversion of the castle was even more apparent than the outside. In fact, the foyer looked like it could have belonged to any home in Beverly Hills – light airy rugs, sweeping staircase to the right, dark wood side table, and a crystal chandelier hanging above us.

"Felix is in the study," Charlene said, leading the way down a wide hall. "He's been on the phone with his lawyers all day. He was arrested in Paris, you know?" She paused, stopping to look at me. "Of course you know. You were there."

I felt a guilty flush creep up my neck.

"Anyway," she continued, "I flew home with him, though I'm due back in Paris tomorrow. I never miss the Hermes show. Felix is trying to get this matter cleared up to travel with me."

She stopped outside an open door to a large, dark room. "If you'd like to wait here, I'll fetch him for you," she said, flicking on a light for me.

"Sure. Thanks, Charlene."

She nodded, that frown settling between her brows again as she turned. It was clear she wasn't fond of me. But, thankfully, she was too polite to let on. Instead, she swayed those very un-doddering hips down the hall, disappearing to the right.

I took a moment to look around the room she'd left me in. A massive stone fireplace taller than I was stood at one end. Above it were a pair of weapons – a stick thingie with a spiked metal ball at the end and some kind of sword. Very medieval looking. I shuddered. The same hardwood floors continued here, broken up with area rugs in deep burgundies and forest greens. Large, masculine furnishings filled the room, two sofas in dark leather, a pair of club chairs with ornate feet, a handful of end tables and an antique writing desk in the corner. I gingerly perched on the edge of one sofa, feeling like I'd entered a museum where some docent might pop out at any second and tell me to stay behind the ropes.

"Maddie."

My head whipped around so fast I feared whiplash.

"Felix," I squeaked out.

He was wearing his trademarked white rumpled button down and khaki pants, a worn pair of sneakers on his feet. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry at the sight of him.

"I, uh, need to talk to you. Your phone was off."

He frowned. "The battery died. What's going on, are you all right?" He came into the room and sat down beside me. I immediately jumped up as if he'd shocked me. I licked my lips again as I wandered over near the fireplace. "Me? Yeah, uh, I'm fine."

Again the frown. "What's going on?"

I cleared my throat, not really sure what to say now that I was here. Being careful what I said around Felix was nothing new – let the wrong thing slip out and you were libel to be front page news next to Bigfoot. But being careful he didn't stab me with my own pumps? That I was still trying to wrap my head around.

"Um, well, see, here's the thing. I uh…" I took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me you were dating Gisella?" I blurted out.

"Ah." He rose from the sofa, taking a step toward me.

Instinctively, I took one back.

He frowned again, this one deep enough to create little lines between his eyebrow. "We went out a couple of times. Nothing serious. I didn't think it relevant."

"Relevant? Felix, she's dead."

His face became a blank. "Yes. I know."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been in her hotel room before? That you were at the party? Why did you keep this from me?"

"I didn't. When I got the room key, I told you I'd been seeing her."

"You told me you tricked the front desk into thinking you were seeing her."

"I never said 'tricked.'"

"You could have told me you were with her at the party."

"We had a few drinks, I walked her to her hotel room. That was it."

"And that was the last time you saw her?"

He paused. Then shook his head. "No. I saw her the night she died."

"The night she died?" I thought back to what Angelica had said about hearing a man in the next room. "Ohmigod, you're Mystery Man?"