Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,7

when Max and Livvie helped put away the dishes, all bets were off.

I finally found it in the cupboard full of Tupperware and had just cut the pizza into triangles when Ramirez came back into the room.

"I'm on my way," he said into the phone before stabbing it off.

I must have groaned out loud, as my husband shot me a sympathetic look.

"Sorry," he repeated.

I shook my head. "No, it's fine. I know. Duty calls." I was proud of how supportive I sounded, even if I had to shove pepperoni into my mouth to keep the sarcasm out.

"I'll make it up to you later," he told me, grabbing a slice to go.

"You'd better." I handed him a paper plate. "Do you think you'll be very late?"

He shrugged into his jacket. "Not sure. Sounded like a high profile case."

"Dead celebrity?" I read between the lines.

He nodded. "Before you ask—no idea who yet. Unresponsive in their home. Sounds like a possible drug overdose."

I felt a pang of sadness for whoever it was, even though the phenomenon was not uncommon in LA.

"Wake me when you get home," I said, imagining he wasn't looking at an early evening.

He nodded, gave me a quick kiss, and grabbed one more slice of pepperoni pizza to go before heading out the door.

I tried to look on the bright side—the twins and I could have some precious Mommy & Me time together instead. Given my husband's line of work, I'd learned to expect nights like this. And while I didn't love them, they came with the territory and I was used to making the best of them. I loaded pizza onto a couple of plates that I took into the living room, where we all watched Woody and Buzz together. Then I cleaned up the kitchen and shuttled the kids into the bathtub for an extra sudsy and bubble filled bath time. After they were all clean and snug in their footed pajamas, I read them Green Eggs and Ham and Clifford Goes to School, two of their favorite books. I was all ready for a third book, but they were sound asleep before I could start it. My watch said eight o'clock. I wandered into the living room and tried to decide what to do for the rest of the evening.

Ramirez hadn't texted, so I assumed as expected, he'd be home late. I sat down on the sofa with a second glass of wine. In theory, it would be a good time to work on the latest sketches for a pair of vintage inspired two-toned pumps I was designing, but I wasn't feeling motivated that night. I flipped on the TV and indulged in a couple reality shows my husband wouldn't be caught dead watching. After I'd had my fill of romances between yacht crews and long-distance fiancés, I switched to the local news to see if Ramirez's drug overdose had hit the media yet.

A blonde, perky-looking reporter in a pound of makeup chatted about the upcoming election, the price of gas, and the rising temperatures for the weekend. I was only half paying attention, the long day and the wine doing their thing to make my eyelids feel heavy.

Until the perky woman said, "And in other sad news today, we've just gotten word about the death of a Los Angeles icon."

I sat up, suddenly fully awake as a picture of a man flashed on the screen beside the newscaster. It was a face I knew well—having spent the better part of the afternoon looking at it.

Unshaven, craggy wrinkles, glassy stare.

Doggy Z.

CHAPTER THREE

I flicked back and forth between news channels for a while, hopping from one story about the dead rapper to another. The details were scant, so I picked up my phone, checking social media for more. From what I could glean, Dog had left the Jeopardy! taping and been dropped off at home by his son. A few hours later, he'd ordered Chinese food, and the delivery driver said he'd found the front door unlocked and Dog lying on the floor a few feet away. Dead of an apparent drug overdose.

I thought back to Dog's behavior during the taping. I'd suspected he was high then, though I'd half thought it was just him perpetuating the persona his fans expected of him. I felt a pang of guilt that we'd all seen him acting funny but no one had intervened. Of course, there was a big difference between looking like he'd indulged in a couple puffs of