through a painted, wooden gate.
I waited. Nothing.
Shit. If he was doing some fancy breaking and entering I couldn’t see from this viewpoint. For all I knew he could have Richard in handcuffs back there. I opened the car door and slunk out, crouching as I ran cross the street. Then realized how ridiculous I must look. Gee, Maddie, that’s not suspicious. I straightened up, throwing my shoulders back and walked around the side of the building as if I owned the place.
The backyard was much more lush than the front, the landscaping done in a mix of tropical birds of paradise, palms, and fat succulent bushes. Small levels had been carved out of the natural hillside, creating a barbecue area, a patioed terrace, and finally an Olympic sized swimming pool. Ramirez stood on the bottom level staring at the swimming pool. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, so I quickly picked my way through foliage to the next level above him. I straightened up to get a better look.
Unfortunately, the uneven ground and my two-inch Choos made for a less than stellar combination. My foot slipped, my arms waving for balance that never came. I pitched forward and, before I could catch myself, let out a little scream.
Ramirez turned just in time to see me flailing like a lunatic, falling right toward him.
“Jesus…” he muttered, before collapsing with an “oof” as I landed on top of him.
I had to admit, landing on him sure beat the ground, though I’m not sure which was harder. His muscled chest didn’t give way an inch. I wondered how many hours a day he spent at the gym.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his nose inches from mine.
I blinked hard, trying to ignore the rush of heat as his muscles wiggled beneath me. “I followed you.”
“Hell, I knew that much. But I figured you’d stay in the car.”
So much for my career as Maddie the fashionable stealth.
I pried myself off of him, awkwardly regaining my footing. Note to self: real Bond Girls don’t wear Choos. “Sorry,” I mumbled, sure I sounded as sheepish as I felt.
Ramirez grunted by way of response, standing up and dusting off the seat of his jeans. I tried not to stare. Much.
“I’ll wear flats next time,” I said instead.
“Smartass,” he muttered. But he didn’t go for his gun, now clipped conspicuously to his belt, which I interpreted as a good sign.
“So, whose house is this?” I asked.
Ramirez’s eyes darkened, the line of his jaw tightening until I could see a little blue vein starting to bulge in his neck. “Hers.” He gestured down to the pool.
I peeked over the edge of the hill at the sparkling blue water, shimmering in the late afternoon sun.
“Eek!”
My stomach clenched, the saltines threatening to make a repeat appearance as black spots danced before my eyes. The manicured landscape swayed in front of me and Ramirez’s arm, suddenly at my waist, was the only thing keeping me from crumpling back down on the rocky ground.
In the pool was a tall, slim woman with clouds of flaming red hair.
Floating face down.
Chapter Four
Red and blue lights flashed through the palm fronds, reflecting off the surface of the swimming pool, which I was so not looking at again. Men in black T-shirts that read “CSI” on the back crawled over the hillside like little ants, stopping now and then to seal a piece of dirt or hair in a Ziploc baggie. Police radios crackled to life every five seconds, relaying indistinguishable messages to the uniformed cops standing guard beside the pool as they waited for the Medical Examiner. And I sat with my head down, trying really hard not to vomit.
“You all right?” Ramirez asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. Only it came out as a muffled, “I five,” as my head was still firmly placed between my knees in a semi fetal position in a teakwood deckchair. I’d been sitting here for what seemed like years, waiting for the backyard to stop spinning and those little black dots to stop dancing in front of my eyes. I had a vague memory of Ramirez carrying me across the yard and radioing for backup, but it was kind of blurry. Like a really bad dream I couldn’t wait to wake up from.
“You’ll be okay, just take a few deep breaths.” Ramirez sat down beside me. Or rather, I heard him sit and felt the heat from his body beside me.
I peeked my head up, careful to look at Ramirez and
“She’s dead, right?” I know, stupid question. But I had to ask. Somehow my mind really, really wanted her to be okay. For this all to be one big mistake or a really bad
“Very dead
“Who is-” I paused, correcting myself. “
Ramirez narrowed his dark eyes at me. I could see him mentally debating whether to treat me like a suspect, witness, or just some dumb blonde who couldn’t balance in her new heels. Finally he opened his mouth to speak, apparently settling on the dumb blonde theory. “Celia Greenway.”
I swallowed hard, trying to decide how best to phrase my next question. “So, uh, she didn’t just slip into the pool, did she?”
Ramirez shook his head slowly.
“You sure?”
He nodded.
“It was… I mean, she…” Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to actually say the word “murder” out loud. It seemed so John Grisham and so
But, instead of tripping over my own psyche, I rephrased the question. “Someone did this to her then?”
He hesitated, taking in the crumpled position I’d been in for the past half hour.
I straightened my spine, trying to make the most of my meager height in a show of bravado I certainly didn’t feel. “I can take it. I’m a tough chick.” Yeah right. I forced my gaze to stay on him, not on the gurney now wheeling away the unfortunate Mrs. Greenway in a human hefty bag.
A half smile quirked the corner of his mouth and he gave in. “Okay. Yes, it looks like murder.”
My stomach lurched again and I resisted the urge to stick my head between my knees.
Ramirez went on. “The official cause of death won’t be pronounced until an autopsy can be done by the ME’s office. But there were obvious ligature marks on the body. Her neck was black and blue.”
“Strangled?”
Ramirez’s gaze drifted to the swimming pool. “Looks like it.”
As sorry as I felt for the poor woman, my mind immediately latched onto Richard, an unpleasant image of my boyfriend blue necked and face down in an OC pool invading my brain. I dropped the brave little soldier act and put my head between my legs again, taking deep breaths that smelled like my leather shoes, chlorine, and the cold sweat I felt trickling down my back.
“You sure you’re okay?” Ramirez asked again.
“Yeah, fine.” Which actually sounded like “yeffen.”
“You’re a really bad liar, you know it?”
“Duly noted.”
“Well, since you’re ‘fine’, maybe you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions about your boyfriend now.”
I froze, a horrible thought slinking through my brain. Ramirez couldn’t possibly think Richard had anything to do with this. I mean, not with Celia’s death. He couldn’t. Could he?
“What kind of questions?” I would have loved a clue to what he was after. But as hard as I tried to read his stony expression, I came up blank. The man should have been cleaning up in Vegas with a poker face like that.
