Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,79

argued that Dog's prime had been past several years and several bongs ago, but I didn't get a chance as she took a right, swinging my body the other direction. I'd be lucky if I didn't have whiplash by the time I got to the studio lot.

"Any idea who killed him?" Mrs. R asked, passing a city bus on the right.

I tried to focus on the question, but given Mrs. Rosenblatt's lack of driving skills, it wasn't easy. Somehow, I heard myself telling her about Caitlyn's visit and the memorial for Dog. I purposefully avoided telling her about my faulty brakes, afraid that it would get back to my mother, but I did end with the bombshell that Dog had been seeing Aunty Mae on the sly. "She claims her husband had no idea, but I'm not so sure he was as clueless as she thinks."

Mrs. Rosenblatt sighed wistfully. "Some people have all the luck. I wish I'd known he was into older women."

I tried to erase that mental imagine before it took hold.

"You know, those network types are wound so tightly," Mrs. R went on. "My fourth husband Lenny's nephew worked at CBS in the nineties. Ended up addicted to cocaine. Just couldn't handle the pressure."

"That's terrible," I said.

Mrs. Rosenblatt screeched the car to a halt behind a motorcycle that had dared to stop for a red light. "For goodness' sake, he could have made that," she complained. "So you think Blick killed Dog to stop him from riding off into the sunset with his wife?"

"And leaving the network." I paused. "Blick said he and Dog were in negotiations over a new contract. It's possible Dog was planning to leave, effectively taking Mae and the whole show with him."

My phone buzzed with a text as Mrs. Rosenblatt switched lanes on the freeway without signaling and almost clipped the bumper on a pickup truck. My stomach knotted like a pretzel, and I made all kinds of silent promises to attend church this Sunday if I made it to the taping alive.

I glanced down at my readout and saw another message from Marco.

Did you see what Tina did?!

I bit into my lip. Yes, I'd still go to church on Sunday, but it's possible it would be to Confession for killing Tina.

What did she do? I quickly wrote back.

My eyes pinged between the traffic on the 101, thankfully parting for Mrs. R's boat as she zipped between the cars, and my phone screen as I waited for his reply.

check informer site. Just posted an hour ago

I did, quickly changing screens and pulling up the homepage for the tabloid.

"Everything okay?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, laying on her horn as red taillights appeared up ahead.

"Hopefully," I mumbled, my eyes scanning an article that had been labeled Breaking News next to Tina's press photo. The headline read, Doggy Z Stiffs Son from the Grave.

After careful investigation, this reporter has single-handedly identified the person who had the most to gain from the death of bagpipe rap icon Doggy Z.

Single-handedly? Try piggybacking on others.

"What's that?" Mrs. R said, leaning over to look at my phone. She swerved just in time to miss hitting a stalled car.

"You just keep your eyes on the road."

Mrs. Rosenblatt made a face. "You're all panicky like my second husband. That's what killed him, you know."

"I thought he had a heart attack on your wedding night."

"No, it wasn't on my wedding night. It was after. As I drove us home from Vegas."

Well, that made me feel better. "Anyway, this is an article in the L.A. Informer about Dog's death."

"What's it say?" Mrs. R asked, thankfully taking my suggestion and keeping her gaze at least 50% on the cars in front of her as she merged right to take the exit.

I read out loud. "At this morning's reading of Dog's will, the contents of his estate were split among his four former wives. For those keeping track, that's a cool four million apiece."

"Whoa. What I could do with that kind of money!" Mrs. R said. "First, I'd buy myself one of those little red Corvettes. You know, like in Prince's song? Then I'd get my own psychic hotline going. It would be way better than Miss Cleo's, and I wouldn't charge nearly as much as she does per minute."

"You'd be great," I said absently as I read on. "But the surprise in the will was the fifth beneficiary named to receive their four million dollar share. The Informer has obtained exclusive information about the 'G-Money'