Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,13
struck me as the type to back down easily. In fact, she'd struck me as the type to bulldoze right over you if it meant her column could garner a few hundred likes in the morning.
"Well, we have to at least try," Marco said, glancing back at his phone again.
I let out a big breath, eyes going to my dash clock. I really should be getting to work. My heels weren't going to design themselves.
"Look here!" Marco said. "Angela just checked into Villa Rosé for a daytime TV stars charity fashion show." He turned his phone so I could see the screen. Sure enough, she'd put a little pin icon in the event, adding the note: pumped to be here!
I looked from the screen to Marco's wide, pleading eyes, lashes fluttering imploringly at me.
"Please, Maddie. For Fernando?"
"Fine," I finally relented. "For Fernando."
CHAPTER FOUR
Villa Rosé was a trendy restaurant and event venue located just off Santa Monica Boulevard in a section of West Hollywood that saw more foot traffic than DSW. We circled the block twice before finding a spot in the alleyway behind a vintage clothing boutique. The sounds of the runway music could be heard as soon as we exited the car, filtering to us from the open doors of the Villa.
We quickly pushed our way inside, where, despite the early hour, the room was packed with those looking to see and be seen. Vuitton, Armani, Versace—the gang was all represented in the teetering heels, flowy summer prints, and handbags that cost more than a car. And those were just the fashion spectators flanking the makeshift runway created down the center of the restaurant, where long-legged creatures and daytime TV stars strutted in designer couture for charity. As we threaded our way through the crowd, the brunch cocktails and whispered gossip flowed as freely as the air kisses.
Marco grabbed my arm. "Be still my heart! It's Genie Frank from Heartthrob Hospital."
I followed Marco's gaze to a blonde woman wearing a rose patterned silk dress, chatting gaily with a man holding a microphone. "Dana and I used to rush home from school to watch her while we were in high school." I suddenly felt old.
Marco said, "Oh my stars!" He grabbed my arm in a vise grip. "There are Bunny Chavez and Gloria Chandler. Oh, they're gorgeous. I just love them on As the Heart Turns," Marco gushed.
"Any sign of Angela?" I asked, trying to spot the leggy brunette. "Or, more accurately, Tina Bender?"
"Unh-uh." He stood on tip-toe, which was no small feat in platforms. (No pun intended.) "There are a bunch of people gathered on the back patio, though. Maybe they're out there?"
I nodded, following his lead as he pushed through the buzzing room. I tried not to feel out of place in my jeans and casual knit top. Had I known I'd end up at a fashion show that day, I would have dressed it up a bit more. Added a necklace or something.
Luckily, as we stepped outside onto the shaded patio framed in lush, green ivy, I spotted someone who appeared even more out of place than my casual jeans. She had short hair streaked with purple, a black T-shirt with a picture of Daisy Duck on it, black leggings, and chunky black motorcycle boots.
Tina Bender.
"There!" I said, simultaneously pointing and dragging Marco toward our prey.
Unfortunately, she spotted us when we were halfway across the room (it was hard to miss Marco), recognition immediately lit her eyes, and she tried to bolt. Fortunately, in a packed room, bolting was hard to do.
"Oh no you don't." Marco quickly stepped between her and the exit, narrowing his brown eyes at her. "We've got a bone to pick with you, Bender."
Her eyes darted to the left then right, but seeing as it was wall-to-wall couture-clad bodies, she quickly gave up the idea of escape. Instead, she took a defensive stance, crossing her arms over Daisy Duck and narrowing her eyes right back at Marco. "Okay, fine. Pick away."
"Actually," I said, trying at a calmer tone to defuse the stand-off, "we just wanted to talk to you about a story you're working on."
"What story?" she asked, an appropriately wary note in her voice. She glanced past me, and I could see her eyeing the door to the ladies' room.
"Doggy Z's death," I said.
That got her attention. Her eyes darted back to meet mine. "What do you know about his death?"
"Not a lot," I admitted. "And neither does Fernando."