Deadly in High Heels Read Online Free PDF Page B

might, but today was clearly not that day.
    "Yeah, I'm okay," I lied, sniffing back those tears. I turned my head away from my friends, heading out of the Lost Aloha Shack and back toward the hotel. Even with the tears mostly unshed, I was going to need to do a mascara reapply before I was fit for human eyes again.
    "Did you know her?" Ramirez asked, his tone softening.
    I shook my head, even though I knew he couldn't see me, as the tropical breeze blew my hair side to side. "Not really. But I'd seen her practicing. Everyone seemed to agree she was the front-runner of the contest."
    "You think that's why someone killed her?" my husband asked, always the homicide detective.
    "I don't know. It's possible, I suppose." I didn't mention that was one of Marco's current theories. The last thing that would reassure my husband as to my noninvolvement was to mention Fablock Holmes.
    "Well, I'm sure that the local detective in charge of the case will figure it out."
    I could read between the lines as well as any Rhodes Scholar. Ramirez didn't want me to get involved. Which was fine. I had no intention of getting involved. Okay, yes, I asked a few questions with Marco, but I was sure that Detective Whatshisname was perfectly capable of figuring out who had killed Jennifer. And I wasn't involved. I was just asking a couple of questions.
    Questions any person who might've happened to find a dead body would want answered.
    "Maddie…" I heard Ramirez's voice through the phone. "Please tell me you will leave the investigating to the professionals."
    "Fine," I agreed. I made my way up the front pathway to the lobby doors of the Royal Waikiki. Just outside, this time well within the twenty-foot radius security had given her, the same protester from yesterday was flashing a sign that read: Fashion Is Death . On any other day, I might think that was a little extreme—I mean, I'd suffered for fashion, and sometimes, if the heels where high enough, fashion did hurt —but I'd never seen it kill anyone.
    Until today.
    "So, I have your promise that you will not get involved, right?" Ramirez pressed on the other end of the line.
    I rolled my eyes. "I'm not getting involved, warden ."
    "I'm serious."
    "Yeah, I got that."
    "Maddie, repeat after me: I, Maddison Louise Springer—"
    I rolled my eyes so far I could see my blonde roots "You're joking."
    "Do I need to get on a plane and fly out there?" Ramirez asked
    While he was being ridiculous, I could clearly picture his face right now. Black eyebrows drawn down, lips pinched together, that vein bulging in the side of his neck. In a way it was touching that he cared so much about my well-being. And I knew it was probably killing him that he was an entire ocean away, and there was nothing he could do to personally ensure my safety.
    So I let the Neanderthal act go and played along.
    For now.
    "Fine. I, Maddison Louise Springer…"
    "Promise not to get involved."
    "Promise not to get involved," I repeated. The fact that I was crossing my fingers behind my back was something Ramirez did not need to know.
    Ramirez let out a sigh that could only be interpreted via cell phone as relief. "Good. So, where are you off to now?" he asked
    "Well, everything having to do with the pageant has been put on hold," I said glancing around the lobby and spying at least two plainclothes officers still milling around, talking to employees. "Honestly I'm not sure if it's even going to go on as scheduled or not. We're sort of in limbo, waiting to see what the police tell us."
    "Well, just remember, while you're in limbo—"
    "I know, I know. I won't get involved. Geez, I'm stubborn, not deaf."
    I could feel Ramirez's grin through the phone. "All right, kid, just stay out of trouble, okay? Go relax. Get a pedicure or something, huh?"
    I was just about to protest that a pedicure seemed a little frivolous in light of the murder investigation going on around us, when I spied a familiar face crossing the lobby. It was Ruth Marie