Mayhem in High Heels by Gemma Halliday Read Free Book Online Page B

notice.
    Marco was bouncing on his toes in the lobby waiting for us. We quickly filled him in on what Summerville had told us as we walked back to the parking garage.
    "I still think he's a possibility," Marco said when we'd finished.
    "I don't know." Dana shook her head. "From what I heard on CSI , stabbing indicates a crime of passion. Summerville didn't seem all that passionate."
    "You do know that the shows on TV are fiction, right?"
    Dana waved me off. "It's all art imitating life."
    I shook my head. But I did have to agree that Summerville seemed about as over Gigi as a man could get. Which didn't leave much in the way of motive.
    "What about the new guy? The musician?" Marco asked.
    "Maybe her assistant would know who he is?" I said, remembering the way Gigi's right-hand gal had been the designated keeper of the schedule.
    "Any idea how to contact her?" Dana asked.
    I shook my head. "Other than at the studio, no." And considering that place was probably still crawling with real police officers, that was not an option.
    "Google to the rescue," Marco piped up, pulling something from his pocket.
    "You carry Google around in your pocket?" I asked.
    "iPhone. Hello, honey, who doesn't have internet in their pocket these days?"
    I was ashamed to admit the only thing lurking in my pockets was likely lint and a stale sick of gum.
    "What's her last name?" Marco asked, already punching things into his touch screen.
    I scrunched my nose up as I thought back to when Gigi had first introduced us. "Quick. Allie Quick."
    I watched Marco's lips move as he typed it into his phone, silently spelling the name out. A few clicks later, he hit pay dirt. "I've got a MySpace page for an Allie Quick in Glendale. This her?"
    Marco passed the phone forward and I squinted down at the photo on the screen. Sure enough, it was the same blue-eyed blonde who graced Gigi's front office.
    "That's her! Can we call her?"
    Marco snorted as he took his phone back. "Yeah, like she'd put her number on her page. We'll friend her, then message her. What's your username?"
    "Username?"
    "Yeah, your MySpace name?"
    "Um... I don't have one?" I said. Though it sounded more like a question.
    Marco rolled his eyes at me.
    "Geeze, Maddie. I bet you still dial 411 instead of doing Yahoo Local, too," Dana said.
    I declined to answer. Mostly because I had no idea what Yahoo Local was. "I don't do networking sites for twelve-year-olds, so sue me."
    "Well, you do now," Marco informed me, stabbing at his phone with his index finger. "I just signed you up. You are now Maddie626 and your password is Manolo."
    "Swell," I mumbled under my breath. I was now officially a member of the cyber age.
    "K, I messaged her-" He paused. Then annunciated very slowly as if he were talking to a two year old. "Which means sending her an email..."
    I gave him the finger.
    "...telling her that you need to speak with her as soon as possible."
    "Great. So, now what?"
    "Actually," Dana said, stealing a glance at her watch, "I've got to get home. Ricky and I have class tonight and I promised I'd go over our scene together first."
    She was right. It was getting late and, on the off chance Ramirez actually came over tonight, I wanted to be at my studio to pump him for information.
    "Okay, let's wait till we hear back from Allie and go from there tomorrow," I said
    Marco agreed, hopping into his little day-glo yellow Miata with a promise to call me for updates tomorrow from the salon. I jumped on the 101 and dropped Dana back off in Studio City before pointing my Jeep toward the ocean. Of course, it being rush hour (meaning gridlock the entire way down the 405) it took me over an hour before I pulled my Jeep up to my own apartment.
    Where I almost hit my neighbor's trashcan with a lurching halt.
    While I'd been expecting Ramirez's SUV to fill the other half of the drive, the beat up blue Dodge Neon parked there instead had me swerving in surprise.
    As did the man lounging against the dented back fender.