Killer in High Heels

fly.

“Shit.” Ramirez turned around and rebuttoned. Again.

“Yeah, you shoulda put a sock on the doorknob or somethin’,” Mrs. R. said as she crossed the room and dug into her suitcase. “Then we’d know you had some lovin’ going on in here.”

“Duly noted,” I muttered.

Mom cleared her throat, looking from my askew bra to Ramirez, standing awkwardly in the corner.

“Oh, Mom, this is Jack Ramirez.”

“Oh, so you’re that detective,” Mom cooed, grabbing his hand and pumping it up and down. “Maddie’s told me so much about you. And, between you and me, I’m relieved she’s dating again. It’s been too long. It’s not good for a girl to go that long. I know. Once Ralphie had to go away to this wig convention in Sarasota and I was all alone for the whole week, and well, I saw this commercial for this little thing they called a pocket rocket-”

“I got ’em!” Mrs. Rosenblatt said, raising a pill bottle above her head.

Ramirez and I did a simultaneous sigh of relief. Nothing like visions of your mother with a vibrator to kill the mood.

“Come on, Betty,” Mrs. Rosenblatt said. “We got a good hour of keno left before our flight leaves.”

“Okay. Nice to have met you,” Mom called as the door closed behind her.

I flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Ramirez laid down beside me and let out a big sigh. “You do realize that I’m going to have to shoot the next person who walks through that door.”

I nodded. “I think you could probably claim self-defense at this point.”

He sighed again, wiping a hand across his face.

“So, I guess you’re not in the mood anymore, huh?” I asked.

“Honey, I’m male. I’m always in the mood. I’m just waiting for the next crazy to walk through the door before I go through the trouble of doing my fly up again.”

“Okay, here’s a thought,” I said, rolling over to face him. “What do you say we go away somewhere?”

“Go away?” He raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah,” I said, sitting up. “I know, it’s a bold move seeing as we’re not even really…I mean I’m not officially your…I mean it’s not like we’ve ever even…” I paused. I took a deep breath. Then I went for it. “I hear Palm Springs is lovely this time of year.”

“Oh yeah?” Ramirez propped himself up on his elbow.

I nodded. “Very romantic.”

“Oh, so you want romance, do you?” he said, grinning until that dimple dropped into his cheek again.

“I wouldn’t mind a little romance,” I answered coyly. “Besides, think of it, you and me alone. No work, no nosy friends,” I added with emphasis, pointing to the door. “Just the two of us. What do you think?”

“Sounds won-der-ful,” he said, drawing out the word.

I felt myself go giddy.

“There’s just one problem.”

I frowned. “What?”

Ramirez got up and crossed the room to Mrs. Rosenblatt’s open suitcase. He grabbed one of Mrs. R.’s purple and pink polka dotted socks and handed it to me.

“I don’t think I can wait that long,” he said. He leaned in close, his eyes doing that dark and dangerous thing, his voice going middle-of-the-night husky. “Lock the door.”

Gemma Halliday

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