Alibi in High Heels by Gemma Halliday Read Free Book Online Page A

genius, by the way," I said, as Felix steered me through the crowd, signaling for a taxi. "The whole pretending to be Lord Ackerman. Really got Moreau's attention."
    Felix gave me a funny look over his shoulder as a black and white cab pulled up to the curb. "I wasn't pretending."
    "What do you mean you weren't pretending?" I asked, slipping onto the vinyl seat.
    Felix spoke to the driver in French, giving him the address of the hotel, before turning to me.
    "I really am Lord Ackerman."
    I snorted. "No you're not. You're Felix."
    He didn't say anything. But the tell-tale amused twinkle I'd come to associate with his teasing was noticeably absent from his eyes.
    "Ohmigod, you're serious? Lord Ackerman?"
    Felix nodded slowly.
    I turned to Felix, pretty sure my mouth was unattractively gaping open. "You've got to be joking. What, did you buy the title online or something?"
    Felix did a wry grin. "Worse. I was born into it. On my father's side, a quite distant cousin of the queen's."
    "The queen ? Wait, are you trying to tell me that you're actual royalty?"
    "Oh don't worry, only about a hundred people would have to die before I'd come close to the throne."
    "So, hold on here. " I held up one hand. "You're telling me that Gisella's half-million dollar diamond necklace was on loan from you ?"
    Felix nodded slowly, carefully watching my reaction. Which I'm pretty sure was a cross between pure shock and total disbelief.
    I'll admit, I'd never really known that much about Felix's background. I knew his mother was Scottish, which is where Felix claimed he inherited his "thriftiness" as he called it. Though, I'd pointed out to him on more than one occasion that tipping a waiter in nickels wasn't thrifty, it was downright cheap. All I knew of his father was that he was English and Felix had inherited a good deal of family money from him at some point. And, apparently, a title. I'd always referred to Felix as a "cheap rich guy." But I'd never imagined him as an actual member of the aristocracy.
    A titled Tabloid Reporter. What was this world coming to?
    Though I didn't have a chance to question the Lord any further as my cell rang from the depths of my shoulder bag. I pulled it out and flipped it open, checking the caller ID. Ramirez.
    I closed my eyes and did a little mini meditation before clicking the on button.
    "Hello?" I asked tentatively.
    "Hey, beautiful."
    Despite the morning I'd had, I felt comfort wash through me at the sound of his voice. I suddenly really wished he wasn't an ocean away.
    "Look, I know what you're going to say and it's not my fault," I quickly said into the phone. "I just found her. And I know it's a huge coincidence the way she was killed with the shoe in her neck and all, well, at least Moreau thought it was, but that's all it is! I swear! I had nothing to do with it. All I wanted to do was come to Paris for Fashion Week and maybe catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, and then the accident and this stupid cast, and now they're taking my DNA, even though they don't have a warrant, and saying I don't have an alibi!"
    There was a pause on the other end. Then Ramirez's voice came in a slow deliberate cadence. "Maddie, what is going on over there?"
    "Don't you know?"
    "No," he said, concern lacing his words. "I just called to tell you I was sorry I didn't get a chance to call you back last night. What the hell is going on? What's this about DNA and warrants?"
    Oh hell. I swear, one of these days I'd learn to keep my mouth shut. Obviously today wasn't that day.
    Quickly I filled him in on the morning's events, pussyfooting the best I could around my interrogation, lest I reveal just how blonde I'd sounded. I must not have done a very good job, however, because when I finished he was silent. Just the sound of his breath coming in tightly restrained pants.
    "Hello? Are you still there?"
    "I'm booking the next flight."
    "No!" I shouted into the phone. Okay, I'd kind of freaked out facing Moreau, I'll admit. And having