Killer in High Heels

gunshot.

The back wall of the house was rimmed in green hedges, beyond which stood a sliding glass door. There I hit the jackpot. No curtains. The back door looked into a kitchen and family room, both immaculate and filled with more typical suburban-issue furniture. Flowers, chintz and lots of honey-oak wood. I wondered again if I had the right house. It hardly looked like a showgirl and a suicidal drag queen lived here. I was just about to try the latch to see if suburbanites kept their back doors locked when a man walked into the family room. (Scaring the bejesus out of me, I’m not ashamed to add.)

I quickly ducked down behind the hedge, hoping the meager leaves gave me cover.

The man was short, with a closely clipped crown of brown hair surrounding a bald palette. He wore a turtleneck, cords, and loafers with little tassels on them. He was either gay or needed to stop allowing his mother to dress him. I was too far away to actually see his eyes, but he seemed to be crying, the backs of his hands swiping at his cheeks as his chest heaved in and out.

Not two seconds later a tall redhead walked into the room. My heart sped up. Lola.

I scuttled a little closer, leaning into the hedge as the man walked into the kitchen. Lola followed, her back to me. I still hadn’t gotten a good look at her face, but she was wearing the same go-go outfit from last night. And she was waving her arms around at Turtleneck Guy. He buried his head in his hands and started crying again. Then he did a few arm waves back.

It looked like they were arguing about something, and I’d be hard pressed to say who was winning. Turtleneck Guy had stopped crying and was now yelling in earnest at Lola. I inched closer to the glass door, straining to hear what they were saying. No such luck. The thick glass not only insulated from the Vegas heat, but also from snoopy long-lost daughters. All I could hear was the muffled sound of raised voices.

I moved along the back of the house, hoping to at least get a better look at Lola’s face. Only I was watching the argument so intently, I didn’t see the dog toy lying behind the hedge until my foot came down on it. The loud squeak of my heel hitting a fake squirrel echoed through the yard. Both Turtleneck and Lola froze.

Uh oh.

Turtleneck made for the back door with Lola close behind him. I turned to make a run for it…then caught my heel in a garden hose.

“Uhn.” I did a face plant into the hedge. I scrambled to stand up, but not fast enough.

“Who are you?”

I sheepishly turned around. Caught red handed.

Turtleneck’s face was all purple and blotchy, his eyes swollen and rimmed with dark circles like he hadn’t slept. Lola was still inside, though I could see her red hair hovering at the sliding door.

“Me? Oh, uh, I’m the…meter reader?” You would think that with all my years growing up in Catholic school I would have learned to lie a little better than that.

Turtleneck narrowed his bloodshot eyes at me. “Did Monaldo send you?”

“Uh…” I searched his eyes, wondering if that would be a good thing or a bad thing. “Yes?”

Ahnt. Wrong answer. Turtleneck shot a look back at Lola, which I could have sworn held something close to terror. But before I could ponder it more, the barrel of a gun was shoved in my face.

“Whoa, holy crap!” I took an involuntary step back.

“You tell Monaldo we’re through,” Turtleneck said, waving the gun. “Hank’s gone and we’ve had enough of him. We’re done, you hear me?”

“Hey, I don’t even know Monaldo,” I said, throwing my hands up in surrender. Why I had to pick that particular moment to become a convincing liar, I will never know. “I lied. I swear I have no idea who you’re talking about. I’m just here looking for Larry Springer. I, uh…” I paused, watching the gun barrel waver unsteadily at my head. “I think he might be my father.”

Turtleneck Guy blinked, obviously taken aback at this. The gun lowered. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he had a chance, Lola stepped out onto the patio.

“Maddie?”

I looked up, really seeing her face for the first time. Strong jaw, long straight nose, face that seemed just a little too wide, framed by her long red hair.

Then I felt my eyes widen as I looked at hers. Round, soft, and a distinct hazel color that could go golden brown or emerald green depending on how much purple eyeliner you applied.

Just like mine.

Chapter Six

I blinked, realization hitting me like a fat woman diving for the last pair of half-priced mules at a Nordstrom super sale as I stared at Lola. Broad shoulders, slim hips, fleshy cheeks. Adam’s apple.

I did a couple of dry gulps.

“Maddie?” he said again, this time in a voice that was distinctly male.

I licked my lips and moved my mouth. Only no sound came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Uh, yeah.” I paused, staring at those familiar green eyes again. “Larry?”

He quirked a corner of his lips, rimmed in ruby red lipstick. “Most people just call me Lola now.”

I nodded, feeling my eyebrows pinch together in a way that screamed for Botox, as my brain searched for the appropriate emotion. I’m pretty sure shock would have worked. Or surprise. Maybe even anger. But all I felt as I stared at my dad in a mini-skirt and go-go boots was relief that he wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I got your message.” I couldn’t help staring down at his boots. Gucci. At least now I knew where I got my fashion sense.

Lola slash Larry bit his lip, little flecks of ruby red dotting his teeth. “Right. Sorry about that. I, uh, I shouldn’t have called. It was stupid. Everything’s fine now.” Only the way his eyes darted to Turtleneck’s in a silent exchange didn’t quite jive with his words.

Now that the gun wasn’t pointed at me, I noticed how badly Turtleneck’s hands were shaking. He shifted the gun from one hand to the other, as if not really sure how to hold it. And he kept glancing around the yard like he was expecting the bogeyman to pop out from behind an azalea bush any second.

Larry didn’t look a whole lot more composed. Up close I could tell he was a lot older than I’d originally put Lola. Makeup-covered bags rested under his eyes, his chin showed a hint of gray stubble, and the distinct outline of a girdle sat beneath his stretchy white top, holding in an unflattering middle-aged spread.

But I kept going back to his eyes, so like the ones I saw in the mirror every morning that it was kind of unnerving. Okay, it was very unnerving. It was almost like seeing the fifty-year-old version of myself if I were ten inches taller and had let this mustache thing get out of control.

A million and one questions begged to be answered as Larry and I stood there silently contemplating each other. Were the mini-skirt and heels why he’d left Mom and me? Why hadn’t he so much as called for twenty-six years? Did this mean he wasn’t a rock star? Oh god. Was my dad a stripper?

And what was with the gunshot? Why had he run away from me last night? And last, but not least, who the hell was Monaldo?

Since I wasn’t quite sure I was ready to hear the answers to the other questions, I started with the latter.

“Who’s Monaldo?”

“No one,” Larry said, a little too quickly. He gave Turtleneck a warning look and the gun disappeared back into his cords.

O-kay.

“I saw what happened to Harriet last night,” I said, switching gears. “I’m sorry.”

Turtleneck heaved a dry sob and buried his face in his hands. Larry just bit his lip again.

“Was he your…” I trailed off, my gaze resting on his miniskirt.

“Roommate,” Larry supplied. And I hate to admit I was slightly relieved. I wasn’t sure I could deal with having two daddies at the moment. Especially when one of them was dead.

Instead, Larry gestured to Turtleneck. “Maurice and Harriet are-were a couple.”