Alibi in High Heels by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday [Halliday, Gemma]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Contemporary, Fiction, Romance, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery Fiction, Murder - Investigation, Humorous Stories, Paris (France), Women Fashion Designers - California - Los Angeles, Women Fashion Designers
ISBN: 9780843958355
Publisher: Making It
Published: 2007-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I spent the rest of the day doing what I could to turn plain black pumps into designer worthy creations. Little embellishments here and there helped, but the more I looked at them, the more they looked like plain black pumps that someone had tried to embellish. It was a depressing thought that these were what would go down the runway with my name attached to them.

By the time I finally finished the last one, I was beat. Dana and I shared a cab back to the Plaza where I hobbled up to my room and promptly collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed, spilling half a dozen pillows onto the floor in the process.

Only, tired as I was, as I closed my eyes, I couldn't sleep. Part of me kept listening for my phone to ring, silently willing Ramirez to call. Wondering what I'd say when he did. That is, if he ever did.

I had almost convinced myself to pick up the phone and dial his number, pleading for the zillionth time for forgiveness, when the door to my room flew open.

"Maddie, I'm so glad you're back," Mom cried, plopping down on the bed beside me. "We need your advice."

I groaned into my pillow as I felt Mrs. Rosenblatt sit on the other side of the bed, her weight causing me to roll toward her. "I'm kind of tired, Mom. It's been a long day."

"I got me a hot date with Pierre tonight," Mrs. R said, completely ignoring me, "and I can't decide what to wear."

I peeked my head up. Then let out an involuntary, "Eek!" as I took in Mrs. Rosenblatt's outfit.

She was dressed in a muumuu, of course, this time in a shocking green color with pink hibiscus flowers printed haphazardly across the front. Her Lucille Ball red hair was piled on top of her head in a frizzing lump that looked like blue birds should be nesting in it, and a pair of pink and green plastic palm tree earrings hung from her ears. She'd followed Mom's more-is-always-better philosophy of eye shadow application, drawing a thick green line from her eyelashes all the way up to her eyebrows, and, if I wasn't mistaken, a fake little mole made of black eyeliner pencil sat on her upper lip. All in all, she made an excellent drag queen.

"I like the green dress," Mom continued, pointing to Mrs. R's current outfit, "but she's afraid it's a little too subtle."

I raised an eyebrow. Compared to what? A neon sign? "Where's he taking you?" I asked instead, propping myself up on my elbows.

"Some fancy schmancy place on the Champs Elysees. He says they got the best authentic French cuisine in Paris. Though, I told him there's no way I'm eating a snail. I got them suckers in my garden back home. They are not food."

I had to agree with that one.

"So can you help?" Mom asked.

I looked down at Mrs. R's outfit again, suddenly wishing I had a pair of sunglasses handy.

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