Alibi In High Heels

I nodded at the phone. 'Yes.'

'Maddie, these aren't the kind of locks you can just jimmy open. You need the key card.'

'Okay, how do we make one of those?'

Felix sighed. 'Well, first you'd have to know the code for that particular room. Then you'd have to program the card with the proper code.'

'Like with a computer?'

'Trust me, these hotels are very secure. We cannot just 'make' a key card.'

Damn. I shoved another piece of croissant into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 'Okay, how about I go to the front desk and tell the clerk I'm in room 1243 and that I've lost my keycard.'

'Hmm…' Felix said on the other end. 'That might work. I'm sure the clerk wouldn't check your name against the hotel register and even if he did, I'm sure he wouldn't put it together with the stream of reporters outside all vying for statements about the dead woman whose last residence was room 1243.'

'You know, you're a very sarcastic person.'

'It's one of my better traits.'

I gave my phone the finger.

'Okay, Felix, you come up with a better plan.'

He sighed. 'Alright, if you're determined to get into Gisella's room, I'll meet you there in half an hour.'

'And exactly how will you get us in?'

'Trust me.' And he hung up.

Trust me – famous last words.

* * *

If I'd had any better ideas, I might have exercised them. As it was, I finished my breakfast, grabbed my crutches and made my way to the elevators and up to room 1243.

Felix was standing outside waiting, fresh pair of rumpled khakis on, his hair a little wet as if he'd just showered.

'So?' I asked as I approached.

He flashed me a smile large enough to create dimples. Then held up a key card.

'No way!'

He nodded. 'Yes way.'

He stuck the card in the slot above Gisella's door handle. And, amazingly, the little light turned green.

'Okay, spill it, Tabloid Boy. How did you get the card?'

'It pays to be Lord Ackerman,' he said, opening the door.

'What about the dead woman, the press, all that? What, just because you're Lord Ackerman, Andre gave you the keycard?'

'No, he gave it to me because I'm Lord Ackerman who told him that I was dating the deceased and had left a priceless family heirloom in the room the last time I'd been in here and didn't trust the police not to make off with it.'

'And he bought that?'

Felix gave me a look. Then held up the card again.

I shook my head. Like I said, Felix may be one step above pond scum, but he knew how to think like a criminal. Which, in certain situations, like this, came in very handy.

I shut the door behind myself, flipping on the light switch and flooding the hotel room with florescent light. While the room was situated to get morning sun, the frilly yellow curtains were drawn tight, creating a tomb-like atmosphere that was downright creepy considering the circumstance. The bed was unmade, dozens of tiny pillows having fallen to the floor. Clothes covered the chaise, floor and arm chairs while numerous tubes of lipstick, eye shadows and concealer littered the top of the dresser.

Felix went immediately to said dresser, opening the top two drawers.

'So, what exactly are we looking for?' he asked.

'Evidence,' I replied, crouching down to look under the bed.

'Of what?'

'Well, I'm not going to be terribly picky at the moment. Anything that will clearly state to the police, 'Maddie didn't do this.''

He paused and I could feel his eyes on me.

I straightened up. 'What?'

He shrugged. 'Nothing.'

'Oh, no. Not you, too. You know I didn't stab her, Felix.'

He held his hands up in a defensive gesture. 'I never said you did.'

'Yeah, but you gave me a look.'

'What look?'

'It was a look.'

He grinned. 'Yes, I was looking at you. But I was merely thinking how cute you looked all crouched like a sand crab down there on the floor with your one giant foot.'

I narrowed my eyes at him and thought a really dirty word.

'Maybe I'll just go check the bathroom,' he said. Then called over his shoulder, 'You might want to try the desk.'

'I'd already thought of that,' I lied. I awkwardly hobbled across the floor, my crutch catching on a discarded Wonderbra as I tackled the small writing desk by the window, hoping that whoever Mystery Man was, he'd left some trace of himself behind.

Nothing but hotel stationary and a pen in the first drawer. The second held a mishmash of receipts, postcards, papers and a slim, silver camera. I picked the camera up and turned it over in my hands. It was one of those digital kind that could take either stills or video. I hit the power button and watched as the little screen came to life. I'll admit, I'm not the most technologically clever person on the world. I can work my ipod and check my email, but beyond that, I'm pretty much clueless. So, it took me a few minutes of aimlessly pressing menu buttons before I came to a list of what looked like video files. They were all labeled with names. Rocco. Marcel. Charlie. Roberto. Ryan. Curiosity got the better of me. I scrolled down to the one marked 'Roberto' and hit the play button.

Instantly the sounds of moaning and panting filled the room as visions of naked body parts flashed across the small screen. I cringed, trying not to look as I searched for the stop button.

'What are you doing out there?' Felix called.

'Nothing!'

'It doesn't sound like nothing.

I pressed all the buttons, hoping one would work. Finally one did. Not only making the video disappear, but all the files as well. I stared at the little screen, the words 'No Files Found' where Gisella Does Paris had just been.

Felix poked his head through the door.

'What was that?'

'Just a camera.'

Felix raised an eyebrow. 'Any pictures on it?'

'Nothing you want to see.' I hoped.

He shrugged, then popped back into the bathroom.

I turned the camera off, but on the off chance the files could be retrieved, slipped it into my purse. Quite honestly, I wasn't sure I'd recognize a guy again from the videos Gisella had shot unless I went around asking men to drop their pants. But, just for good measure, I pulled out the hotel stationary and wrote down the names of all her files before I forgot them. While I couldn't remember the dates beside them, I did know they were all made in the last two months, with Ryan being the most recent, dated just two days before Gisella's murder. Which could mean nothing, but at least it was a place to start.

I moved on to the piles of papers in the desk drawer. Most were receipts from taxicab rides, boutiques, restaurants. Almost all were written in French. And though I could clearly make out the amounts she spent, I was