Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,2

spiked heels, but somehow the Angels always managed.

"Stand by. Testing," a male voice boomed through the speakers above us.

My mother leaned across me and nudged Dana. "Did you know that Angela Gold is in contestant row with Fernando?"

Dana's eyes widened. "Really? Who's the other celebrity?"

A man with a goatee and glasses sitting in front of us turned around to answer. "Doggy Z is the other contestant."

"Shut the front door!" Mrs. Rosenblatt yelled so loudly that everyone around us stopped talking to stare at her. "He's my favorite rapper!"

"Since when do you listen to rap?" my mother asked.

"What? It's the music of the people."

"Your people play bingo at the Jewish Community Center," Mom pointed out.

Mrs. R waved her off. "I'm a woman of the world."

"You're making a scene," I mumbled as conversation was slow to resume around us.

"I take that as a compliment." Mrs. Rosenblatt smiled.

"Look, the contestants are coming out." Mom pointed down at the sound stage.

Faux Dad took his place behind the first podium, and Mom practically bounced in her seat. He was wearing a purple blazer with sparkles that looked like he'd borrowed it from Elton John. His dyed black hair was sleeked back with gel, and his skin looked slightly darker than usual, probably thanks in part to the thick stage makeup. He glanced into the audience, as if searching for us. Mom started to wave until I placed my hand over hers.

"Maybe we shouldn't distract him," I said.

She nodded. "Good point. He needs to get in the zone."

Angela Gold appeared next and took the middle podium as several people in the audience clapped and cheered. She nodded coolly at Faux Dad. Angela was slim, tall, and graceful, with long dark hair that flowed behind her in soft waves. She was dressed in a red silk dress with matching stilettos and had a steely look in her eyes, as if she'd been in the zone for hours already.

"She's ready to do battle," my mother said, voicing my own thoughts.

"Bring it on," Mrs. Rosenblatt declared.

A slim man with pallid coloring wandered onto the set and paused, staring at Faux Dad and Angela with a confused expression on his face. He looked to be only a few inches taller than my own 5'2", and he had on baggy beige khakis, an untucked plaid shirt, and gleaming white sneakers, which all looked oversized and sagging on his thin frame. The deep lines around his eyes said he was at least in his fifties, even if his wardrobe looked borrowed from a teenager. His short, dirty blond hair stood on end, he was unshaven, and he looked half asleep. After a few seconds, he walked over to Trebek's podium and stood behind it. The audience made cat calls and laughed.

A woman's voice from behind us echoed through the studio. "Yo, Dog!"

Several people in the audience began barking. Dog raised a hand in salute.

"They used to do that at all his concerts when he was on tour." Mrs. Rosenblatt giggled. "Isn't it cute?"

Dana winced. "Adorable."

The stage manager appeared as a male voice boomed through the speakers again. "Quiet in the audience during taping, please. Anyone causing a disturbance will be removed for the duration of the show."

While the stage manager tried to direct Dog to his correct podium, a tall man in a dark navy suit hurried toward them. I wasn't sure who he was, but his hair was sparse and more salt than pepper and his face was contorted into an expression of annoyance. As soon as he reached Dog, he started speaking rapidly and gesturing with his hands in a way that did not look happy. Dog frowned, shooting a response back, before the man grabbed Dog's arm and half dragged him to a corner.

Mrs. Rosenblatt leaned forward. "That Doggy Z has such a wicked sense of humor. Ever hear his track 'Dog's Gotta Wee Bone'?"

Thankfully, no. In fact, I knew very little about him, other than having heard his name now and then on celebrity news channels. Usually in conjunction with some legal scandal. "Isn't he British?" I asked, trying to remember.

"Scottish," said Goatee Guy. "He pioneered bagpipe rap."

"Bagpipe rap?" I asked.

"Don't knock it till you try it," Mrs. R said. "The way he blows a pipe will blow your mind."

Goatee Guy pointed at a young man sitting kitty-corner from us on the aisle end. "That's Doggy Z's son over there."

We all craned our necks for a look. The man was attractive, in his early twenties, and dressed in