Gemma Halliday - Spying in High Heels

“Look, there must be some kind of mistake. Richard is not married. I’m sorry, but your information is wrong.”

Ramirez kept his poker face on, his only reaction a slight narrowing of his eyes. “You didn’t know he was married?”

I spun around, my hands flying to my hips, my voice rising several octaves into a range I’m sure my Irish Catholic grandmother would deem inappropriate for a bridal salon. “Do I look like the kind of girl who dates married men?”

Ramirez looked me up and down. He was wise enough not to answer.

“Look, I don’t know who this Amy is, but Richard isn’t married,” I protested again.

Ramirez dropped the poker face, the lines in his jaw softening. On anyone else it might have been pity. But I had a feeling Bad Cop didn’t do pity.

“So, who is this Amy person?” I asked. Yes, I have a morbid sense of curiosity.

“You really want to know?”

No. “Yes.”

He sighed, almost like he didn’t want to tell me any more than I wanted to hear it. “Her maiden name is Amy Blakely. She lives in Anaheim, in a duplex owned by your boyfriend. She works as Cinderella at Disneyland.”

I felt my eye begin to twitch. Richard was married to freaking Cinderella?

Ramirez continued. “Their marriage license was filed in Orange County just over two years ago.”

“Maybe they got divorced? Maybe she’s an ex -wife?” I asked. Only I was beginning to sound really desperate. Like a gambler playing her last chip. If only it landed on red this time, Richard would be single, Amy would be a figment of Ramirez’s imagination and everything would be okay.

Ramirez shook his head. “We haven’t found any record of a divorce. And considering Richard bought a new Z3 for his wife last month, I don’t think we will.”

A Z3? He bought Cinderella a freaking Roadster ? I suddenly didn’t feel so guilty about the platinum earrings. In fact, I wondered how much I could get for them on ebay. Maybe enough to buy a gun. Because I was gonna shoot the bastard.

“I take it she hasn’t seen him lately either?” I asked.

“Doesn’t look like it. Detectives are questioning Mrs. Howe right now.”

Mrs. Howe. To think just minutes ago I’d been contemplating myself in that role. And it was already taken. So what was I, the understudy?

No, shooting was too quick and painless a death for Richard. Maybe a slow poisoning. I wondered if Mom knew where to find arsenic on the internet.

“I’m sorry,” Ramirez said. He looked uncomfortable, as if he might have to deal with a hysterically crying woman.

And he just might. I was quickly going through all five stages of grief. I was past denial (Ramirez wouldn’t make a mistake like this.) and was settling somewhere between anger (A freaking Z3!?) and bargaining (Lord, let her be an ex -wife and I swear I’ll wear the Purple People Eater to my mother’s wedding without complaint.).

I may have been able to overlook embezzling. I may have been able to pretend I didn’t see that condom wrapper on his desk. I may even have been able to overlook the fact that he had killers looking for him. But a wife? That was where I drew the line.

Suddenly the image of Richard being led away in handcuffs didn’t seem all that bad. In fact, I could really get behind the idea of him rotting in jail for, oh, let’s say, the rest of his lying, cheating life. He deserved it. In fact, he deserved worse than that. He was married to Cinderella! He deserved the chair.

I might have spilled my guts to Ramirez right then. Told him about the call from Greenway, my suspicions of Richard’s involvement, everything. But out of nowhere the image of Molly’s sonogram and the deformed Muppet came flooding back to me. Okay, I’m pretty sure that behind all that fuzz was a baby. Growing inside her right now. I wondered, did I have one of those in me? My eyes slid down to my belly, sausaged into the Purple People Eater. I might. And if I did, it was Richard’s Muppet. No matter what he’d done, did I really want the father of my child rotting in jail?

I closed my eyes, took a breath, and gulped back my anger, preparing to perform my very first selfless act in the name of motherhood.

“I wish I could help you, but I’ve told you everything I know.” D’oh, d’oh, d’oh! Being selfless really sucked. Not nearly as satisfying as good old fashioned revenge.

Ramirez sighed again and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. “You sure about that?”

We both knew I wasn’t. But I’d lied so much in the past few days, I figured one more wouldn’t hurt. “Positive.”

“Okay.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Call me if you have any sudden memory sparks.”

I took the card. But I think we both knew it was going into the deep dark recesses of my purse never to see the light of day again. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming here.”

Ramirez paused, did his one eyebrow thing again, then looked me up and down. Despite my anger and frustration, the naked appreciation in his eyes as they settled on my wawas created a heat somewhere in my granny panties region.

His eyes slid up to meet mine and I hoped he couldn’t read the X-rated thoughts suddenly flooding my brain.

The corner of his mouth hitched up again. “Oh, I wouldn’t say it was a total waste.”

Damn. He was a good reader.

Before I could come up with a snappy comeback, Ramirez turned his back to me and walked out.

I staggered over to one of the white sofas and sat down. Or rather, tried to sit, as the gut pincher dress didn’t allow for much bendage in the waist area. I closed my eyes and took in as many deep breaths as I dared without popping a seam. Only the deep breaths didn’t do much good because the longer I sat there the more time I had to think. And the more I thought about what Ramirez had told me, the angrier I became. Richard had a wife. Oh God. That made me the other woman. Richard had turned me into a walking cliché!

As Mom, Molly, and Ms. Rosenblatt came back, tray of colorful beads in hand, I had one eye on the dress and one on the clock. I had to get to Dewy, Cheatum and Howe during Jasmine’s break if I wanted to get any info about that phone call. And I sodid want that information. In fact, I was on a mission now. I was going to smoke Richard out of hiding if it was the last thing I did. And once he showed his cheating little face, I was going to torture him until he sang soprano for the rest of his miserable little life.

Okay, fine, I wasn’t really going to torture anyone. Truth was, I’d never even hit anyone before and I wasn’t too keen on the sight of blood. Just watching those cosmetic surgery shows made me squeamish. So, in reality, torture was out. But it was a nice thought to keep me smiling while I waited for Mom to pick out the perfect beads and for Jasmine’s break to start.

By 12:03 Mom had decided on a faux pearl beading for the Purple People Eater and I gracefully ducked out of Bebe’s Bridal, praying there was no traffic on the 101. For once, the traffic gods were on my side, as there were no accidents and not a black and white in sight. I pulled up in front of Dewy, Cheatum and Howe just ten minutes before Jasmine was due back. I raced into the building, up the elevator, and came to a huffing stop at the front desk.

“Althea, thank God you’re here,” I said.

Althea looked at me, her eyes bulging behind her frames. “M-Me? Why?”

In her defense, I did come on a little strong. I took a breath and started again in a normal person’s voice. (As opposed to a freaked out “other woman.”)

“Listen, I have a tiny favor to ask.”

Althea took a step away from the desk. “What kind of favor?” she asked slowly.