Fearless in High Heels Read Online Free PDF Page A

approached, and I recognized him as the guy who’d poured our drinks the night before.
    “We’re closed,” he said, spotting us.  
    “I know.  We were actually hoping to ask you a couple questions,” Dana responded, putting her elbows up on the bar.
    The guy raised an eyebrow at her.  “And you are?”
    “Dana Dashel,” Dana said, extending a hand across the bar to him.  “My boyfriend, Ricky Montgomery is a part owner in this place.”
    The bartender looked from Dana’s hand to her, then back at the hand.  “Darwin Watts.  But we’re still closed.”
    “We were in here last night?” I jumped in, hoping to jog his memory into more friendly territory.
    His gaze pinged to me, then narrowed.
    “Yeah.  I remember you.  Cranberry juice.”
    “Right” I said, pointing to The Bump.  “Anyway, we’re looking into the death of Alexa Weston,” I supplied.  Then added, “For the owners.”  Or at least one-sixteenth of them.
    Up went his eyebrows again, his gaze going from Dana to me to Marco (who had, in fact, insisted on stopping by his place for a pink trench coat, a leopard printed fedora, and a black turtleneck that covered his entire neck from collarbone to chin, “just in case”), clearly not totally believing that anyone would trust an investigation to a pregnant lady, a blond in a miniskirt, and gay-lock Holmes.
    “Was Alexa a regular here?” Dana asked, pressing forward. 
    The bartender shrugged.  “I wouldn’t say regular.”
    “But she had been in before?” I asked, jumping on that tidbit of info.
    He shrugged again, turning his back to us as he grabbed another glass that was clearly already clean and started polishing away.  “Sure.”
    “Sure?”
    “I’ve seen her in once or twice before, I guess.”
    “What about her friend?”
    He gave me a blank look. 
    “The girl she was with last night?  The redhead?  Had you seen her before?”
    He shrugged again.  “Sorry.   A lot of people come through here every night.”
    I pursed my lips.  This was getting us nowhere fast.  “Do you know how she paid?” I asked, changing tactics.  If we had the redhead’s credit card receipt, we’d at least have a name.   
    Predictably he shook his head.  “Dude, how am I supposed to remember how every patron pays?”
    “What if I could tell you the drink she ordered?” I asked.  “Could you look up if anyone paid with a credit card for that specific drink last night?”
    He looked from Dana to me. “You sure Ricky Montgomery’s your boyfriend?  ‘Cause I thought I saw him in here with Ava Martinez last week.”
    Dana’s jaw clenched, her eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a thin line.
    Uh oh.
    “Look, if you could just do a quick check, we’ll be out of your hair,” I said, eyeing Dana’s cheeks as they turned from sun-kissed peach to practically purple. 
    “That no good, home wrecking, little slut bag of a-”
    “Easy, girl,” Marco said, putting an arm around her shoulders.  “I’m sure it was just a friendly drink after work thing.” 
    Darwin looked from Dana to Marco, then back to me again, his desire to get rid of us suddenly overwhelming his aversion to questions. 
    “Fine.  I’ll check,” he said turning to the register behind him.  “But we sold hundreds of drinks last night.”
    “She was drinking a Cosmo with a lime twist and two cherries,” I said.
    Marco shot me a look.  “Wow, you’re observant, girlfriend.”
    “I’ve been drinking weak decaf and herbal tea for five months.  I’m living my party life vicariously.”
    The bartender turned back to the register, scanning over the charges made last night.  “Okay, Cosmo narrows it down to two hundred.”
    “You have a list of names?”
    He shot me a look.  “Look, even if she’s sleeping with one of the owners,” he said, gesturing to Dana, “that doesn’t give you clearance to all the receipts.  I could lose my job if I showed you this.”
    “Okay how about this: