Homicide in High Heels Read Online Free Page A

about the
idea of "short, sticky people" at first, but as the twins had
gotten older, and less likely to spit up on his designer clothing,
they'd bonded like glue.
    "They're good," I answered for them. "You
want coffee?"
    "Black, lots of sugar," Marco said
nodding.
    "Ditto," Ling added, leaning down to shake a
rattle at Max.
    "You're not working at Fernando's today?" I
asked Marco, ducking into the kitchen and grabbing two mugs.
    Marco shook his head as I returned. "Nope.
It's closed up tight. The police had crime scene tape all over the
doors."
    I cringed, feeling a pang of sympathy again
for Faux Dad.
    "Which is why we're here…" Marco trailed
off, shooting a meaningful look at Ling. She nodded and winked back
at him.
    A "hair-brained scheme" alarm immediately
started going off in my brain, an uneasy feeling in my stomach
mixing uncomfortably with the strong coffee.
    " What is why you're here?" I
prompted.
    "Well, just that we need to help
Fernando."
    "Why do I get the feeling you don't mean by
sending him a sympathy muffin basket?"
    Marco rolled his eyes so far I feared they'd
pop out of their sockets. "No, silly goose, I mean with the investigation ."
    I narrowed my eyes. "What
investigation?"
    "Well, duh!" Ling jumped in. "That tan
chick's murder!"
    "You mean the death that the police are looking into?" I clarified.
    Marco crossed his arms over his chest and
shook his head at me. "Maddie Springer, you don't really mean to
tell me that a murder practically falls into your lap, and you're
not going to investigate?"
    I shook my head from side to side, feeling
my blonde hair whip my cheeks. "No, I am not. My husband is
perfectly capable of figuring this one out on his own."
    More eye rolling. "But your stepfather is
counting on you!"
    I shook my head again. "Oh, no. Don't you
play the family card with me."
    "But what about the salon?" he went on. "The
press is kiiilling him." He drew the word out with a dramatic flair
that could have won him a role on Broadway.
    "I think he'll live."
    "But will his business?"
    I paused. I hated to admit that I'd worried
about the very same thing.
    "Here's the thing," Ling said, jumping in.
"I got inside connections that the police don't have."
    I paused. There was that uneasy feeling in
my stomach again.
    "Okay, I'll bite," I said, sipping at my
coffee. "What kind of connections?"
    "I happen to be good friends with one of the
other players on the Stars."
    "Define friends?" I said.
    "He gets half priced lap dances."
    I had to ask.
    "Okay, so you have an…in with a player," I
conceded. "I'm not sure that really helps us."
    "Of course it does!" Marco said. "We can
pump him for information."
    "'Pump for information?' You have to stop
watching Mark Wahlberg movies, Marco."
    Marco grinned. "But he's so hot."
    "John Ratski is the player," Ling continued.
"He comes into the Galaxy all the time. I'm sure I can get all
sorts of info from this guy."
    I bit my lip. I knew that name. Ramirez had
pointed him out to me at the ballgame the other day. He had a shaky
RBI or BMI or BMX or something like that. But I was pretty sure it
wasn't good.
    "So what kind of info do we think Ratski
has?"
    "Ratski and Bucky are tight," Ling said.
"Like thick Bromance tight. If Bucky confided in anyone about
killing his girlfriend, it's Ratski."
    "Whoa." I held a hand up. "Who said Bucky
killed Lacey?"
    Again I got the duh look from the double
trouble. "Come on, you know it's always the boyfriend who
kills the girl. Don't you watch CNN?" Marco asked.
    My turn to roll my eyes. "Okay, even
ignoring your complete lack of evidence other than television
sensationalism, what makes you think that Ratski will talk to
us?"
    "Leave it to me," Ling said, sending me a
wink. "I can soften him up."
    I bit my lip. Knowing how Ling made her
living, I wasn't sure soften was the right verb. On the
other hand…Marco had a point. While normally all press is good
press, the idea that Fernando's tanning booths were killing clients
wasn't