Gemma Halliday - Undercover In High Heels

“Who are you?” she demanded. “I have my own wardrobe person, you know?”

“Right. Um, listen, could we come in for just a minute?”

She put both hands on her slim hips, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why?”

I glanced nervously over my shoulder. I wasn’t sure how long Mom could keep Ramirez occupied, but I had a feeling even she had her limits. “I need to talk to you about your stalker.”

Mia blew a short puff of air through her ruby red lips. “What, you trying to sell a story to the tabloids? Think you can get a quote from me or something?”

“No, no. Nothing like that. I…” I paused, not sure how to voice my idea without sounding like a bad Scooby-Doo episode.

But Dana jumped right in. “She has a plan to catch the killer.”

Gee, thanks, Shaggy.

Mia arched one slim, professionally shaped eyebrow at me. “So you’re a wardrobe assistant and a detective?”

“Look, can I please just come in for a minute to talk?”

I could tell she still had her doubts, but luckily her curiosity won out over skepticism. She stepped aside, silently allowing us entry. We navigated the two metal steps and quickly shut the door behind us.

“So?” Mia sank down into one of her velvet-covered sofas, arms draped casually over the back in a practiced pose straight out of a Marlene Dietrich movie. “What do you want from me?”

I gingerly perched on the sofa opposite, glancing out the brocade-covered windows to make sure the coast was still clear. Just a couple of grips smoking cigarettes. So far, no Bad Cop.

So far.

“Maddie has been helping the police investigate the murders, ” Dana started.

“Really?” Mia eyes roved my person, taking in the leather and clashing heels. “ You’re working with the police?”

“Uh, well, sort of.” I shot Dana a look. “Loosely.”

“We’ve already questioned tons of suspects and narrowed it down to someone on the set, ” Dana continued.

“I’m not surprised.” Mia snorted. “They’re all jealous of me. Any one of them could want me out of the picture.”

“So you think the killer really is after you?” I asked.

“Of course! Veronika was just a stand-in. Who’d bother with her?”

I paused, wondering if I should mention Veronika’s extracurricular activities on the set. But I figured at this point, what did I have to lose?

“We think Veronika may have had a little side business going on. Blackmail.”

Mia raised both eyebrows and gasped out loud. “Blackmail? Who on earth was she blackmailing?”

I shrugged. “We’re not sure.”

“But we’ll find out, ” Dana piped up beside me. “Maddie’s a totally good detective.”

Mia turned to me. “Oh?”

“Um, well…”

“Don’t be so modest.” Dana chucked me on the shoulder. “She’s helped the police lots of times before. And we always get our man. Right?”

Mia’s lips quirked up; she seemed truly amused at this. “Just like the Mounties, huh?”

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, we have a small favor to ask. We think we might be able to find the identity of your stalker if we catch him in the act, so to speak.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“In the act of trying to harm you, ” Dana supplied.

“You want to use me as bait?” Mia’s voice rose to a level of shrill just slightly below dog whistle.

“No, no, ” I reassured her. “He’ll only think it’s you.”

“I’m the bait, ” Dana said proudly.

Mia gave her a slow up-and-down and made a face. “You seriously think someone would mistake you for me?”

“They mistook Veronika for you, ” I reminded her.

She sucked in her cheeks, thinking this over. “What do you need me to do?”

I felt my stomach lurch-maybe at the relief of getting her cooperation (no small hurdle, as the last week had taught me), or maybe at the thought that we were actually going to go through with this Lucy-and-Ethel scheme.

“All we need you to do is stay away from your trailer tonight.”

Mia frowned. “Why?”

“I’ll pretend I’m you, ” Dana chimed in, “and after we wrap, I’ll go into the trailer, seemingly alone. Only Maddie will be watching from the bushes, ready to call for help as soon as the killer appears. But if he sees two of us, well, he’ll know I’m a fake. So we need you to stay out of sight.”

“Can you do that?” I asked.

Mia nodded slowly. “All right. You really think this will work?” she asked, watching me carefully under her sculpted brows.

I took a deep breath. “I hope so.”

The rest of the day passed in slow motion as I hid out in the talent trailer, drinking coffee, playing solitaire on the tiny laptop computer, and feeling the bundle of nerves in my stomach escalate higher than the price tag on a pair of Blahnik originals. I diligently ignored the piling messages on my voice mail from Felix, all of them promising bodily harm if anything happened to his Neon, and none of them using language I could repeat in polite company. But they paled in comparison to the escalating threats from Ramirez. He’d gone from a peeved, “Where the hell are you?” last night to this afternoon’s growling, “Goddammit, Maddie, call me or I swear to God I’m going to…” Then it trailed off into Spanish curse words. I almost felt bad. I almost gave in and dialed his number. Almost. If he had any inkling I was within ten feet of the set, he’d probably cuff me to a radiator somewhere and throw away the key.

Instead I kept a close eye on the windows, watching for any sign of Bad Cop or his buddies in blue. None. Though my heart leaped into my throat when I saw a swish of black hair disappear into Blake’s trailer. I think I forgot to breathe for two full minutes until Kylie skipped out, wearing the black wig for her scene as Tina Rey’s evil twin sister from Baltimore.

By the time the sky was beginning to turn a dusky blue, I was nursing my fifth cup of coffee and my nerves were strung tighter than Felix’s wallet.

“Hey, ” Dana said, popping her head in the door.

I yelped, spilling coffee on my wrist. “Geez, you scared me.”

“Oops, sorry. Next time I’ll knock.”

I wiped at the coffee with a napkin. “You finished?”

Dana nodded, stifling a yawn. “Yep, we’re done blocking. Ricky and Mia are shooting their last scene, and then we’re a wrap.”

And Operation Bait was a go. I felt those nerves do another flip and sipped at my drink.

Dana stretched and yawned into her hand. “Man, I am beat. Any more of that left?” she asked, gesturing to my cup.

“I’ll make a new pot. Stand-in work more tiring than you thought?” I asked, slipping a filter into the Mr. Coffee in the tiny kitchenette.

Dana nodded. “It’s exhausting. Plus I had kind of a late night last night.”

“At SA?”

“What?”

“Sexaholics Anonymous? That’s where you were last night, right?”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Right.”

I paused, a scoop of French roast hovering over the basket. “You were at SA last night, right?”

Dana shifted on the sofa and gave a nervous laugh. “Where else would I be?”

“Oh, no. Don’t tell me-that extra with the cute butt? The PA with the van? Please tell me it’s not a grip?”

“No! Geez, none of the above. I’m celibate, remember?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Just promise me one thing. Promise me that this new stand-in job of yours is not the product of your sleeping over at the shifty-eyed AD’s house.” “Maddie, please!” For the first time in her life, I thought I saw Dana blush.

Yikes. This was more serious than I’d thought. I was about to further lecture my best friend on just what Therapist Max would have to say about all this when the trailer door burst open again. I jumped, spilling coffee grinds onto the counter. Maybe I should switch to decaf.