Kasey Michaels: High Heels and Holidays

"Me?" Valentino looked, as Maggie might write in one of her Saint Just mysteries, suddenly pale to the marrow. "I didn't kill him. You killed him. Didn't you?"

Alex got to his feet, holding out a hand to Maggie. "I think we're done here, sweetings. Neither of them killed Jonathan West or, as would naturally follow, Francis Oakes. To question them further would only muddy the waters for Left –tenant Wendell, who most certainly will be interviewing them shortly."

"Agreed. Just one more question, Alex." Maggie looked at Bryon who, ridiculously, seemed the more intelligent of the two men. "Why did you send Jonathan a dead rat?"

Gates and Bryon exchanged looks, and then answered in unison, "We didn't send Jonathan a rat."

"No, I thought not. Thank you, gentlemen," Alex said as he tucked his cane under his arm. "And remember, gentlemen, when the constable arrives, that the truth shall set you free. Or some such drivel. Maggie? Shall we be on our way?"

Maggie was still feeling pretty darn good when she and Alex got back to her condo. In fact, she was almost giddy—right up until the moment she walked in to see all the suitcases piled in the living room.

At that point, her mood rose to the nearly euphoric.

"Going somewhere, Faith?" she asked as she saw—mercy of mercies—Brock's small traveling cage.

Faith laid her full-length pink faux fur coat over the control panel of the treadmill. "Oh, Maggie, you're back. Good. Yes, I'm going somewhere. Noreen invited me to hide out with her at her lodge up in Stowe until the murderer is caught. I think she said Stowe. Somewhere up there, anyway. Oh, and she wants to interview you for her show. You know, the murder mystery author turned potential victim? You need to do it, Maggie, it would be great PR."

"Not happening, Faith, thanks anyway," Maggie said, grabbing the container of M&M's and frowning at how few of the colorful candies remained, none of them blue. "Is that what you talked about in today's interview, Faith? The fact that you're also a potential victim? You cried, didn't you. You always cry."

"Noreen's hoping for a daytime Emmy," Faith said, ignoring the insult, probably because she thought it was a compliment. "I hope so—for her sake. She's a lovely woman."

"So you two struck up a friendship this afternoon? You and Noreen."

"Oh, yes, definitely. You can't know how overcome I was by her show of friendship—offering to harbor me in my hour of need. She even escorted me back to my apartment. She was absolutely mad about the decor—we'll be taping a video tour for her audience, to air before Christmas, naturally. I picked up a few more things, my boots, my ski togs, and she'll be sending a car for me in—oh, twenty minutes. I just have time to redo my makeup. Excuse me."

Maggie, tongue literally stuck in cheek, watched as Felicity toddled back down the hallway on her four-inch heels. "You're welcome, Faith, I was happy to have you," she muttered, then gave in to impulse and tried on the faux fur. She had to admit it really did feel good, even if she was pretty sure she looked like cotton candy on a stick.

"It's not your color, my dear," Alex said, walking in unannounced, as usual. "And not nearly elegant enough for you."

"Saved by the belated sucking up," Maggie told him as she slipped out of the fur and draped it back over the treadmill. "Faith's flying the coop, she got a better offer."

Alex smiled. "You are having an enjoyable day, aren't you?"

"It's definitely better now than it was when it started out this morning, I'll say that. What time is it?"

"Mr. McCrae should be arriving in approximately ninety minutes, if that's what you mean."

"It is. That gives us time to eat something, and I want to shower and change. There are still leftover lunch meats and salad from last night. Do you think Sterling wants some?"

"Sterling, as a matter of fact, is out celebrating with George and Vernon and two new friends, having spent an enjoyable afternoon of their own performing good deeds."

"Oh. So the Santas for Silver thing is going all right for him? I told you I checked it out on the Internet. And you were worried. Sometimes, Alex, you're like a mother hen with one chick when it comes to Sterling. Not that I don't think it's sweet."

"Well, actually—ah, Felicity. I hear you're leaving us. Maggie and I are, of course, devastated."

"Yeah, right. I may cry myself to sleep tonight," Maggie grumbled.

"You think you're being sarcastic, Maggie, but you really do love me," Felicity said, kissing Maggie's cheek. "I know what you did, honey, opening your home to me out of your concern for me, and I mean it when I say thank you. Friends forever, remember? We made that vow."

Maggie felt her spine melting, as usual. They had been really good friends, once. "Yeah, okay, Faith. Friends forever."

"Good," Felicity said, slipping into her fur. "In that case, let me remind you that you still owe me a house-warming present—a big one, because that's a top-of-the-line treadmill over there. Now, gather up Brock for me and call for the doorman to help with these bags. I don't want to keep Noreen waiting."

"Sucker," Maggie groused under her breath as she went hunting for the mutt. "I never learn. I've got a great big S frigging tattooed on my forehead."

But ninety minutes later Felicity was already well on her way to Stowe, Maggie had had that shower and a huge rare roast beef sandwich on rye, and she was more than ready for Bruce to show up and watch Alex— help Alex—with one of his famous Viscount Saint Just denouement scenes.

"Good cop or bad cop?" Alex asked her as Socks, who'd remained on duty just for this purpose, buzzed twice, then twice again, signaling that both Bruce McCrae and J.P. Boxer were on their way upstairs.

"I'll follow your lead," she told him. "But I do need to get a couple of licks in, if you don't mind. If we're right about all of this, it could have been me, you know, and not poor Francis. All set, Steve?"

"Here they go, Dumb and Dumber ride again. I should have my head examined—except that you guys always seem to make it work. Get him talking, get him to say something incriminating. But make it fast, okay?" Lieutenant Steve Wendell, who really did owe Maggie one, picked up his can of soda and retired to the kitchen, out of sight but not out of earshot while Alex opened the door for their company.

"Where's Bernie?" Bruce asked as he shrugged out of his coat—one of those ridiculous khaki raincoat things with epaulettes on the shoulders, flaps and pockets everywhere, and cinched by a wide belt. Talk about looking like Secret Squirrel. Jeez.

"She was unavoidably detained at the office," Alex said smoothly, then offered their guests drinks.

Okay, Maggie was nervous now. She'd been excited, but now Bruce was here, sitting directly across from her. The killer.

"Um, Bruce? Bernie told me. You know, about your manuscript? Gosh, I'm sorry. She rained all over my last manuscript, too. I don't know what's wrong with her. She used to be more understanding."

Bruce sat forward on the couch, his fingers laced together, as J.P. began rubbing his back. "I know. That call I got this morning? It was like a slam to the solar plexus, you know? I worked so hard on that book. I love that book—sweated blood over it. I just don't understand her problem. That's why I was glad she invited me over here tonight." He accepted a glass of wine from Alex, looking up at him. "Bernie said it was your idea that she move in here with Maggie and Felicity. So you really think this Nevus guy could be after Bernie, too?"

"In point of fact, no," Alex said, and then inclined his head to Maggie, who took it from there. How nice for Bruce to provide their segue for them. And how smart of Alex to have gone back to Valentino and Bryon with just one more question.