Killer in High Heels

I cracked one eye open, surprised to see the sun setting over the Excalibur castle outside the window.

“What time is it?”

“Time to par-teee. I just banked at blackjack. A thousand bucks! I am the blackjack queen. Mads, you gotta play this game with me. That clerk, Jim, convinced me to play with him and at first I was like ‘no way,’ but then he said, ‘it’s easy,’ and I was like, ‘will you show me?’ and he was like, ‘sure.’ So I did. And I like totally hit a ten and the dealer said, ‘now what?’ and I totally said, ‘hit me,’ and he totally said, ‘okay,’ and then I like totally got a jack and then totally won. A thousand bucks, Maddie. How totally great is that?”

I blinked, cracking the other eye open. “My dad is a drag queen.”

Dana stopped jumping up and down. But to her credit, she didn’t even ask if I was drunk.

“Say what?”

I propped myself up on my elbows, and told Dana about my morning in Henderson. And the fact my dad had been harboring a Victoria’s secret all his own.

“Wow,” she said when I was done. “I knew a tranny once. Dolly. She worked the corner of Hollywood and Vine.”

“Great. Thanks. That really helps.”

“Do you think your mom knows?” Dana asked.

I thought about it. If the way she’d gone five different shades of pale when I mentioned Larry was any indication, it was altogether possible.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you think you should call her?”

“No!” I sat bolt upright. “No. There is no way I want to talk to my mom about this. I’m doing denial right now. And if I talk to Mom about it, it’s real. And there goes my healthy denial.”

“Um, I’m not exactly sure denial is actually considered healthy,” she said, her eyebrows drawing together.

I looked her straight in the eye. “Dana, my dad wears go-go boots. Trust me, denial is my friend.”

“Okay, if you say so.” She sat down on the bed beside me. “So what do you want to do now?”

My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since this morning. “Right now, I want food.”

Since Dana hadn’t eaten either, being too distracted by her like-totally-banking blackjack streak, we decided to hit Broadway Burger again. And even though the patty melt with extra mayo was calling my name, visions of my father in a girdle drove me to follow Dana’s lead and order a soy burger with extra sprouts instead. While the clerk made our sandwiches, I told Dana about the seven messages from Ramirez. She agreed. He was getting what he deserved.

We took our sandwiches to a table near the window and Dana immediately dug in, making little yummy sounds as she tucked a stray sprout back into her mouth.

“Ohmigod, this is so good,” she moaned.

I sniffed my burger, wrinkling up my nose. “It smells like lawn trimmings.”

“No it doesn’t! Maddie, it’s so good for you. It’s full of heart-healthy soy and antioxidants.”

I sniffed it again. “I don’t know…”

“Just eat it,” Dana prompted, moaning her way through another bite.

I took a tiny nibble. “It tastes like lawn trimmings.”

“It has seventy-five percent less fat than a beef burger.”

I looked down at my midsection. Still girdle free. For now. “Seventy-five, huh?”

Dana nodded.

I held my nose and ate the lawn trimmings.

By the time we got back to the room, Marco was back from Gay Paree, loaded down with shopping bags and wearing a jaunty black beret.

“Bonjour, my lovelies,” he greeted us.

“How was Paris?”

“Magnifique! You likey the hat, oui?”

“It’s totally you,” I said honestly.

“Dana, some guy called for you while you were gone,” Marco said, pulling a miniature Eiffel Tower on a key chain out of a shopping bag. “Roco? Rambo?”

“Rico?” Dana asked, her eyes lighting up.

“Yep. That’s the one. Deep voice. Sounded like a total cutie.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me to tell you that ‘Mac,’” Marco said, doing little air quotes with his fingers, “said your background check cleared and he’ll pick up your ‘LadySmith’”-more air quotes-“for you on Friday.”

Dana sighed and clutched her hands to her heart. “How sweet is that? I love that man.”

“What’s a LadySmith?” Marco asked, planting his hands on his hips. “Is this some new kind of sex toy?”

“It’s a gun,” I told him.

Marco took a tiny step away from Dana. Considering his run-in with her stun gun, I didn’t blame him.

After Marco finished unpacking his Paris souvenirs, Dana and I filled him in on my adventures of Father Knows Best meets Bosom Buddies. He made the appropriately shocked sounds when I mentioned my dad’s go-go boots and the appropriately appalled ones when I mentioned Turtleneck’s tasteless loafers.

“So,” he said when we’d finished, “do we think Larry killed his roommate then?”

“No!” I said a little more loudly than I’d meant to. “No, I don’t think Larry killed anyone. Besides, the police said it was a suicide.”

“Oh, pooh.” Marco waved me off. “They always say that when they don’t know who did it.”

While Marco tended to oversimplify things, I wasn’t totally convinced he was wrong.

“Monaldo,” Dana said, rolling the word over her tongue. “I wonder if that’s Italian.”

“It sounds kind of Portuguese to me,” Marco said. “I dated this Portuguese guy once. Made the best Polvo I’ve ever tasted. I’m talking to die for, dahling.”

“No, no. I’m pretty sure it’s Italian.” Dana crinkled up her brow. “Wasn’t one of the guys in The Godfather named Monaldo?”

Mental forehead smack. “He’s not from The Godfather.”

“This is just like that pilot I shot last season. Mafia Chicks,” Dana said. “You know, all these Vegas clubs are run by the Mob,” she insisted.

“Oh my god, Maddie!” Marco gasped. “Is your dad in the Mob?”

“No! My dad is not in the Mob. There is no more Mob in Vegas.”

Dana and Marco both looked at me. Then at each other.

“Oh honey,” Marco said, “you are so naive.”

My left eye began to twitch.

“Look, I’m sure this is all nothing. Just a misunderstanding. Larry was probably just upset about his roommate today. And it must have been a shock seeing me again after so long. I’m sure if I could just sit down with him for a few minutes, Larry would be able to explain everything. Besides, maybe it was just a car backfiring. Right?”

Hey, what do you know? I’d successfully made the leap into denial.

“I think we should go check out that club again,” Dana said.

Marco squealed. “Vegas clubbing! Oh, can we, please? Pretty, pretty please, Mads?”

I shrugged. It seemed like as good a place as any to catch up with Larry. And who knows, maybe once I got him alone, he really could explain everything. “All right. Let’s go to the Victoria.”

Marco jumped up and clapped his hands. “Eek! Just give me ten minutes!”

Chapter Seven

Two hours later, Marco put the finishing touches on his club outfit of black leather pants and a form-fitting purple tank top, with three strands of silver chains around his neck. Capped off by the black