Mayhem in High Heels Read Online Free PDF Page A

me. And have I had a hell of an afternoon."
    "Oh, man, tell me about it," she shouted. "I just finished that cartoon reading and my throat is so raw! You would not believe the high, squealy voice they wanted me to do. I mean, please, do flamingos even talk that way?"
    "Listen," I said, "I need pedi therapy. Want to meet me at Fernando's in twenty?"
    "God, yes."
    * * *
    Fifteen minutes later I pulled my car down Beverly and parked on the street, a block south of Fernando's Salon.
    Mom met Faux Dad a couple years ago when, after twenty some years of being a single mother, she'd decided to reenter the dating scene with a whole new look. She'd gone to Fernando's where Faux Dad had used his cut and color talents to not only give her a stylish makeover, but to win her heart as well. Mere months later, they'd exchanged vows in a beautiful ceremony with yours truly as the maid of honor. Which shocked the hell out of me, let me tell you, since at that point I'd been 99% sure Faux Dad was gay. But, as dads go, he's been stellar. Mom glows like a teenager, her roots have never looked better, and I get all the free pedis I want. What more could a girl ask for?
    As I pushed through the glass front doors of Fernando's, I saw that this season's theme was Rock 'n' Roll retro. Think Happy Days and the Fonze.
    In addition to Faux Dad's talents with a blow dryer, he was also a bit of an amateur interior decorator. (See what I mean? For a straight guy, he totally had the queer eye.) He'd painted the walls in alternating vibrant pinks and blues, with a smattering of old vinyl records tacked up along the ceiling. The reception desk was a chrome and formica piece that looked straight out of a '50s diner, and the stylist stations were each adorned with cardboard cut outs of Marilyn Monroe and James Dean. From somewhere doo wop was being pumped into unseen speakers, and the front chairs had been upholstered to look like they were wearing giant poodle skits. I suddenly had the urge to order a double malted, Daddy-o.
    "Mads!"
    Faux Dad's receptionist, Marco, came gliding in from the back. Marco was slim, Hispanic, and wore enough eyeliner to single handedly keep Maybelline in business.
    In keeping with the theme, he was wearing skintight blue jeans, ending a good two inches above his white socks, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket, a la West Side Story . His jet black hair was slicked back from his forehead and on his feet were - I kid you not - roller skates. He skidded to a stop just inches from me, leaning on the reception desk for balance.
    "Dahling, it's been ages since you've been in. Color touch up?" he asked, eyeing my roots.
    Self-consciously, I fluffed my hair. "No. Actually, I wanted to see if you could get Dana and me in for pedis."
    Marco frowned. "You know it messes up my whole schedule when you drop in like this, Maddie." He consulted his big black book.
    "Pretty please, Marco. I need comfort today."
    "Oh?" He lifted one drawn-in eyebrow. "Do tell, honey."
    Marco was the current frontrunner for biggest gossip in all of L.A. County. I knew if I told him, within minutes it would be on every blog, Yahoo! loop, and MySpace bulletin in cyberspace. But, since the press would be running with it soon enough anyway, I figured I'd give him the pleasure of breaking this particular story.
    "It's Gigi Van Doren."
    "She's your wedding planner, right?"
    "Was."
    "Was?" There went the other eyebrow. "What happened?"
    "Someone killed her."
    Marco took in a shocked breath, his hands flying to his mouth. "No!"
    "Yes. This morning. Ramirez and I walked in to taste the cake and found her there."
    "Heart attack?" he asked.
    I shook my head. "Not unless it was brought on by a knife in her back."
    "Oh, my God, the poor thing!" Though Marco's eyes were shining like he'd just won the gossip lottery.
    "Ramirez is with her now. So... a pedi-worthy emergency?"
    "Good, God, yes! I'll fit you both right in. Come on, come soak and tell Auntie Marco all the gory