Sweetheart in High Heels: A High Heels Mysteries Short Story by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday [Halliday, Gemma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Cozy, Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Short Stories, Suspense, Thriller, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9780985534516
Google: mtdVBgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B004KKXQZM
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Published: 2014-01-10T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

Ten minutes later we pulled up to Peach’s house. It was a small bungalow on a street lined with palm trees, small front yards, and friendly looking garden gnomes. The homes weren’t large, but were big on old Hollywood charm, and I knew the zip code carried a hefty price tag. Just blocks from prime shopping and restaurants, I could see why Peach’s roommate wouldn’t want to leave. But would she be willing to kill to stay, was the question.

I parked my Jeep at the curb and we walked up the paved pathway to Peach’s front door. I gave a knock, and two beats later it was opened by a slim woman with jet black hair and a healthy smattering of tattoos down her sleeveless arms. Her eyes were rimmed in red like she’d been crying, and a tissue was clutched in her right hand.

“Celia?” I asked.

She frowned, her gaze going from Dana to me. “Who’s asking?”

“Uh, my name is Maddie Springer, and this is Dana. She was a friend of Peach’s,” I said, stretching the truth just a little. “We were wondering if we could ask you a couple of questions about your roommate.”

Celia bit her lip. “This isn’t really a good time,” she said. Then punctuated the statement with a loud sniff.

I nodded. “Right. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

Celia turned to Dana. “You were a friend of Peach’s?”

“Um, yeah. We met at the shop.”

Celia nodded. “It’s hard to believe she’s really gone, you know? I mean, it’s like some sort of bad dream or something.”

“The police think Peach was killed deliberately,” I said. “Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to hurt Peach?”

Celia shook her head. “No. Peach was a total sweetheart. Look, why don’t you come inside.”

“Thanks,” I said, as Dana and I stepped over the threshold into the living room.

The bungalow was small but cozy, two big sofas taking up the bulk of the room. A fireplace sat on one wall, a bright stained-glass screen covering its dormant mouth, and the hardwood floor was covered in patterned rugs. The surfaces were free of clutter, and it looked as if someone had recently been on a cleaning binge, not a speck of dust was to be seen anywhere, and a lingering scent of Windex hung the air.

Celia sat on one of the sofas, pulling her legs up under her. Dana and I perched on the opposite seat.

“How long had you and Peach been roommates?” I started.

Celia pursed her lips together. “About two years. We met through a mutual friend just after I moved to L.A. She had a spare room, and I was looking. It worked out perfectly.” She paused, then looked down at her hands. “At least it did.”

“So, Peach owned the house?”

Celia nodded. “She inherited it from her grandmother a few years ago.”

“It’s a nice neighborhood,” Dana said, dropping a subtle hint and leaning into gauge Celia’s reaction.

But Celia just nodded again. “Yeah. I like it.”

“It would be a shame to have to leave a neighborhood like this,” Dana said.

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