MaryJanice Davidson: Dead Over Heels

“This is the Beverly Feldman shoe store,” Jessica said. “It’s Betsy’s Graceland.”

I rushed from one gorgeous shoe to the next. Pumps, flats, sandals! Lace, leather, sequins! Ballet flats! I tried to talk but gurgled instead.

Nick picked up a gorgeous pump with white lace and a brown bow. “This one is called ‘Calm.’ So maybe you should buy it.”

“Oh, I’ll buy it. I’ll—miss?”

The saleswoman, an attractive brunette in her thirties, glided over to me. Unobtrusive, yet helpful: just the way I liked ’em. “May I help you?”

I whipped out one of my wedding presents . . . a Black American Express card. I hadn’t even known they made them in black. Turns out if you spend more than—I forget exactly, but I think it was two hundred grand—if you spend more than that with Amex in a year, you get a black card. Sinclair had given me mine the day after we got married.

The saleswoman smiled at it.

“I’d like to see Calm, Dabble, Mystery, Ravish2, Splendid, Adore, Amazing, Angelic, Heaven, Infinite, Neat, Phantom, Goblin, Fairy, and Rosella. Oh, and will you deliver these to my hotel?”

“Of course.”

“You can’t remember to buy milk,” Jessica said, “but you memorized most of the Fall Feldman line?”

“Do not ruin this for me. Do not .”

Once the saleswoman disappeared, Nick took out his gun. I wasn’t sure if he was going to shoot me or himself, and frankly, I had other things to worry about. Luckily, he put it away when she came back, staggering under the load of shoe boxes.

I actually clapped my hands like a kid when I saw her.

That bastard,” Nick fumed in the cab on the way back to the hotel. “He knew what he was getting out of. And he knew what you were sticking me with.”

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t so bad.”

“Six hours of shoe shopping!”

“It was only two.”

“Well, it felt like a thousand.”

“Hey, you wanted to come along on this trip.”

“Yeah, well, I was expecting treachery and betrayal and felony assault. Not this!”

“Knock it off, you two,” Jessica ordered, massaging her temples. “I’ve got a splitting headache.”

In a nanosecond, Nick became a totally different person.

“Babe? You okay? Maybe we better get you back so you can lie down.”

“I’m fine, Nick, it’s not the cancer. I just have a headache.”

Nick was in the middle; I was on his left, and Jessica was on his right. If she hadn’t been so thin, it never would have worked. But it did work, which is why I opened my purse, rummaged, then handed Nick a bottle of Advil. He shot me a look of pure gratitude—I almost fell out of the cab—and shook two into his palm, then gave them to Jess, who dry-swallowed them.

“Thanks for coming along, you guys.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Jessica said, leaning back and closing her eyes.

“She’s only speaking for herself,” Nick added.

“I still can’t decide which pair is my favorite,” I said dreamily. “Infinite, or Fairy.”

“How about Goblin?” Nick muttered. “You just—hey, you’re going past our hotel!”

“Sorry, mahn,” the driver said calmly. “Got to admit, tough to see dis place on de street.”

He had that right. The Grange really blended, which was weird, given how scary and old-fashioned it looked.

“That’s okay,” Nick said. “Just take a left and drop us off around the corner.”

“Not at all, mahn. I will get you dere.” I could see his dark eyes in the rearview mirror, heard him pop the car into reverse, and then we were speeding backward.

“This is a one-way street!” Nick practically shrieked.

“Dis is New York, mahn.”

We came to a shuddering halt right outside the lobby steps, and Nick and Jessica couldn’t scramble out fast enough.

I handed the driver my last fifty and said, “You got some plums on you, big guy. Keep the change.”

He touched two fingers to an imaginary hat and grinned, his teeth very white in his dark face. “Anyt’ing for a pretty lady.”

I got out and watched him drive away.

Now that was cool. Hideously dangerous and illegal, but cool.

“New York, New York, it’s a helluva town,” I hummed, trotting up the steps to catch up with Nick and Jess.

Ispotted Sinclair waiting for us in the lounge; he’d already ordered me a Cosmo. I ran up to him, easily outpacing Nick and Jessica, and flung my arms around his neck so hard he rocked back in his chair.

He kissed my temple and said into my hair, “Did you have fun shoe shopping?”

“Oh my God, you would not believe it!”

He flinched at “God,” rallied, then said, “I’ll believe it very well when the American Express bill comes.”

“Well, I had to replace the one that’s stuck in the wall.”

“Ah, so you only bought one pair,” he teased.

Before I could give him a piece of my mind, or throw my drink at him, Nick and Jess were sitting down at our table. We’d all agreed to compare notes at the end of the evening. Interestingly, now that we were off Nick’s suspect list (not that I truly thought we’d ever really been on it) we were sort of a crime-fighting team.

Maybe he’d hate us again when we all got back home. Maybe he still hated us but was using us to solve a murder, which would be very Nick-like (and cop-like). Or maybe hanging out with us was loosening him up a little. There was absolutely no way to tell.

“You dirty rotten son of a bitch,” Nick started. Okay, maybe there was one way to tell. “You knew what her little errand was.”

Sinclair actually giggled. Giggled. “Which did you like best, Detective Berry? Calm or Infinite?”

Nick stuck a finger in my husband’s face, which was a good way to get bitten. “If I didn’t hate you with every fiber of my being before, I absolutely do now.”

“Somehow,” he yawned, “I will try to recover from the remorse.”

A pretty waitress—short, good figure, gorgeous green eyes, black hair—bounced up to our table. “Good evening, Majesties! May I bring your guests a drink?”

“Hi,” I said, sticking out a hand. Startled, she shook it. “I’m Betsy. This is Nick and Jessica. She’ll have a Screwdriver, heavy on the vodka, no ice. He’ll have a Bud.”

Her hand was clammy and almost uncomfortable to touch, but I held onto my smile and she looked weirdly gratified. “Right away, my queen,” she said, and flounced off.

“That, uh, wasn’t the killer, was it?” Jessica asked.

“I have been unable to locate the killer. Or if I have, I don’t know it yet. But that will change.” Sinclair looked grim. Well, grimm er . “Of that, I can assure you.”

“So, no luck tonight?”

“I believe I just said that.”

“Told you I should have been there!” Nick said triumphantly.

“Don’t gloat, hon, it’s unbecoming,” Jessica scolded him gently. “Besides, we were needed elsewhere.”

He threw up his hands and sank back in his chair. “Shoe shopping!”

“You don’t have to say it like you’d say ‘snake milking’.”

“Given a choice,” he began, when the über-efficient waitress (I bet vampire speed came in handy when you were waiting tables) returned with drinks.

“Thanks a lot, uh—” I squinted, but she wasn’t wearing a name tag.

“Marcia.”

“Thanks, Marcia. Just charge it to our room, okay?”

“Oh, no.”

“Uh . . . will you take a traveler’s check?”