Deceit in High Heels

By Gemma Halliday and Kelly Rey

New York Times & USA Today Bestselling series!
A dead psychic, a cold case, and a pair of Hollywood's hottest stars have one fashion designer stepping out of her heels and onto the case!

Fashion designer Maddie Springer has always been close to her best friend, Dana. So when Dana's celebrity husband Ricky is chosen for a reading on the Hollywood Psychic TV show, Maddie's thrilled to be at the taping! That is, until the over-the-top psychic, Moira DeVine, suddenly suggests that the accidental death of Ricky's mother years ago was actually murder and promises to name the culprit... right before she herself collapses, dying in front of the viewing audience!

While Maddie has her doubts about whether DeVine was really getting messages from the other side or just acting the part, one thing is for sure—she's not acting dead. And the coincidental timing has Maddie wondering if the two deaths decades apart are related. Could a killer actually have been worried that DeVine had uncovered their crime? With the help of her eccentric family and friends, Maddie digs into the cold case that hits perilously close to home, uncovering secret love affairs, con artists, missing money, and even ties to the mob! Between the suburban secrets from years ago and the shady practices of the recently deceased so-called psychic, Maddie has no shortage of suspects. But is she looking for one killer or two? Where are they hiding now? And can Maddie get to the truth before they strike again...and she finds herself designing shoes from the other side?

The High Heels Mysteries:
#1 Spying in High Heels
#2 Killer in High Heels
#3 Undercover in High Heels
#3.5 Christmas in High Heels (short story)
#4 Alibi in High Heels
#5 Mayhem in High Heels
#5.5 Honeymoon in High Heels (novella)
#5.75 Sweetheart in High Heels (short story)
#6 Fearless in High Heels
#7 Danger in High Heels
#8 Homicide in High Heels
#9 Deadly in High Heels
#10 Suspect in High Heels
#11 Peril in High Heels
#12 Jeopardy in High Heels
#13 Deceit in High Heels

What critics are saying:

"Ms. Halliday is the undisputed queen of the genre: she knows how to blend fashion, suspense, laughter, and romance in all the right doses."
~ Fresh Fiction

"A saucy combination of romance and suspense that is simply irresistible."
~ Chicago Tribune

"Stylish... nonstop action...guaranteed to keep chick lit and mystery fans happy!"
~ Publishers’ Weekly, *starred review*

"Maddie Springer is like a cross between Paris Hilton and Stephanie Plum, only better. The dialogue is snappy and the suspense beautifully interwoven with Ms. Halliday's unique humor. This is one HIGH HEEL you'll want to try on again and again."
~ Romance Junkies

Rating: This story does not contain any graphic violence, language, or sexual encounters. Its rating would be similar to PG-13 or what you would find on a Hallmark Channel movie or TV series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gemma Halliday
• Release date: Dec 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9780463199701

Gemma Halliday

Gemma Halliday is the New York Times, and USA Today bestselling author of several cozy mystery and suspense thriller novels. Gemma's books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, two National Reader's Choice awards, a RONE award for best mystery, and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her large, loud, and loving family.

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DECEIT IN HIGH HEELS

High Heels Mysteries book #13

by

GEMMA HALLIDAY

&

KELLY REY

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2021 by Gemma Halliday

http://www.gemmahalliday.com

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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CHAPTER ONE

I'm telling you, Moira DeVine's a fraud. Dorothy Rosenblatt crossed her bangle-laden arms over her leopard-printed muumuu-clad bosom with a jangle. Have you ever actually watched her show?

Religiously! my mother piped up enthusiastically.

But Mrs. Rosenblatt ignored her. DeVine's no more able to communicate with the spirit world than that bottle of wine over there is. Speaking of which, I'm ready for a refill.

Seemed to me she'd already had a few of those. I noticed my best friend Dana Dashel quietly tuck the bottle out of sight beneath her granite countertop. She caught me looking and gave me a wink as her husband, Ricky Montgomery, slipped an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her strawberry blonde head.

I smiled at them both. They seemed to be settling happily into their new home—a spacious, modern, open plan house tucked away in the Hollywood Hills. While the zip code bordered on pretentious, the house itself was homey, full of charm, and offered plenty of space for any future little SAG members that might come along. I couldn't be happier for them. I'd known Dana since I'd been a gangly teen in middle school, and she'd had the whole moth-to-flame thing going with the boys. She'd parlayed that ability to command attention into an acting career, while my unique fashion sense had blossomed into a career in fashion design.

Now—some number of years later that shall not be specified—we were both happily married, and Dana seemed to be shifting toward putting down roots. We'd spent much of the day before picking out window treatments and furniture for the three spare bedrooms, and I could swear I'd even seen her eyeing the baby section of the furniture store with something like interest.

I hope you don't insult Moira DeVine when she gets here, my mother warned her muumuu wearing best friend. She's on a mission of mercy to help Ricky communicate with his dear mother on the other side.

Really, Mrs. Rosenblatt harrumphed. More like a mission of profit. She gets paid a fortune for being a poseur.

She's only compensated what she deserves for being such a service, Mom said frostily, I, for one, am looking forward to meeting Ms. DeVine. I think her show is very entertaining.

"Entertaining! It's all scripted, and badly, if you want my opinion. Hollywood Psychic, my left ear. She asks leading questions and makes generic pronouncements, talking so fast no one can understand a thing she says, and bam! That'll be $5,000, please. She totally takes advantage of gullible celebrities. She glanced at Ricky. No offense."

Ricky smiled at her. None taken. Like the rest of us, Ricky was used to Mrs. R's eccentricities.

Mrs. Rosenblatt was a robustly figured woman of indeterminate age who read auras on the Venice boardwalk during the week and moderated an online astrology forum on the weekends. Her hair was Lucille Ball red, her outfits as loud and colorful as her personality, and her husbands numbering at least six. And, as she put it, you'd be meshuggeneh to think she didn't have the chutzpah to go for number seven.

"You want a real psychic, Mrs. Rosenblatt prattled on, you're lookin' at one. I can just call up Albert. He can look in on your mother like that." She snapped her fingers, her bangles tinkling gently.

Uh, well, that's a really nice offer— Ricky started, clearly looking as if it was one he wished he hadn't been offered.

And, Mrs. R added, Albert won't charge an arm and a leg to do it, either!

None of us were 100% sold on Mrs. Rosenblatt's psychic abilities, but we all knew about her spirit guide, Albert. He'd been a fact-checker for the New York Times in life and was apparently an errand boy in death.

My mother stuck her hands on her hips. Well of course Albert wouldn't charge anyone. What's a dead guy going to do with money? It's not like there are shopping malls in heaven.

"I'll have you know they have everything in heaven, Mrs. Rosenblatt huffed. Albert told me so. No wonder everyone talks about 'the cloud' all the time."

I had to stifle laughter. I don't think that's what they're talking about, Mrs. R.

No? She frowned. Well, even so, it sounds like eternal Mardi Gras to me. Without the booze, of course. Speaking of booze. She frowned at the now empty spot where the wine bottle had stood.

I can put on some coffee, Dana offered.

Let me help you, Mom said. Isn't there something you two should be doing to get ready for Ms. DeVine?

The camera crew is taking care of everything, Ricky said, nodding toward the living room. I'd walked past several large spotlights, diffusers, and microphone stands when I'd arrived, all being arranged to showcase the reading on camera.

Besides, we're supposed to leave all of our personal things just how they are every day, Dana said. DeVine's assistant said it helps set the right ambiance.

Ambiance! Mrs. Rosenblatt snorted. Who needs ambiance to contact the other side? Did your mother need the right ambiance to talk to you on this plane, Ricky?

Sometimes, he admitted. I wasn't always the easiest kid to raise.

Mom rolled her eyes. Dorothy…

Mrs. Rosenblatt held up both hands in surrender. Alright. Alright.

Look, I cut in. This taping has been scheduled for a long time. Whether you believe in Moira DeVine's abilities or not, it certainly can't hurt Ricky's career any to be featured on her show.

That's true, Dana said with a nod. "His agent said if he cries when she connects him to his mom, it might help him land a role in that upcoming Nicholas Sparks movie."

He'll be crying when he gets her bill, Mrs. Rosenblatt mumbled.

Mom brightened. There's going to be another Nicholas Sparks movie?

Ricky nodded. My agent's been trying to get me the lead.

I think he'd be perfect for a romantic hero, Dana said, turning a pair of loving blue eyes on her husband. "Hollywood Psychic can only help. I mean, Ricky's always been known for action roles, but I think this show could put him in a softer light. You know, really connect people to him emotionally."

Ricky smiled, looking a little embarrassed at his wife's gushing.

Isn't that nice, Mom said with a pointed look at Mrs. Rosenblatt.

Fine, fine! Mrs. Rosenblatt threw up her hands. You won't hear a peep out of me.

We've already heard one peep too many, Mom said. Her eyebrows lifted. Heavily plucked and hunkering over a thick line of baby blue eyeshadow. My mother's fashion sense had peaked around 1983 and had been stuck there ever since. Case in point: her eyeshadow perfectly matched her culottes. Wasn't Ms. DeVine supposed to be here by now?

I glanced at my watch. She is running a little late, isn't she?

Probably just stuck in traffic, Dana offered.

Mrs. Rosenblatt snorted. Some psychic. She couldn't even predict traffic in LA?

You're peeping, my mother told her.

Mrs. Rosenblatt mimed zipping her lips shut and tossing the key over her shoulder.

If only.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell finally chimed, and we all followed Ricky down a short hallway to the front door, where he ushered Moira DeVine into the house.

I'd seen an episode or two of Hollywood Psychic, so I wasn't surprised by her exotic appearance. Chunky semiprecious stone jewelry encircled her neck, fingers, and wrists, jet-black curls cascaded down her back, and elaborate false lashes fringed her green eyes. She wore a flowing caftan in hues of blue and green that floated behind her like wings as she bustled into the room on a cloud of patchouli. She looked the ultimate part of the gypsy fortune teller were it not for the Jimmy Choo heels peeking out from beneath the hem of her caftan. She trailed a long silk scarf that she unwound and dropped to the floor as she entered the room. It was immediately scooped up by the twenty-something man behind her, who clutched it to his chest like a beauty pageant winner grabbing a bouquet of roses. He was slim, had dark hair with frosted platinum tips, and was dressed all in white, looking like a cross between an angel and a Guess model.

Terribly sorry for my lateness, Moira DeVine announced to no one in particular. I'm afraid Chico and I ran into some unexpected traffic.

I noticed Mrs. Rosenblatt's smug glance at my mother.

Apologies, DeVine added. Kiss kiss. All's forgiven. Well, isn't this charming. She paused to take in the home, dropping her oversized handbag on the floor at her feet. Again, Chico leaped forward and snatched it up, slinging it over his forearm.

Ricky cleared his throat. Thank you for coming, Ms. DeVine. I'm Ricky Montgomery, and this is my wife, Dana.

DeVine held up a hand to halt Dana's approach. "Not yet, mon chéri. Tipping her head back, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. First I want to take in the energy within these walls."

Give her some space, everyone, Chico commanded. Let her aura breathe.

Oh, brother, Mrs. Rosenblatt muttered.

My mother shot her a warning glare.

Mrs. Rosenblatt mouthed, What?

After a moment, the psychic opened her eyes to look at Dana. This house has very positive energy.

We think so, too. Dana shook her hand. It's so nice to meet you. Ricky and I have been looking forward to this session.

Naturally. DeVine flicked her fingers at the rest of us. Must all these people be here?

Oh, uh, these are our good friends. Dana turned toward us. We don't mind if they watch the session.

"That's not the question, mon chéri, DeVine retorted. The question is do I mind."

The Hollywood Medium doesn't mind, Mrs. Rosenblatt said pointedly.

I'm such a fan of your show, Mom said, stepping forward.

Moira DeVine halted her progress by closing her eyes again. With a sigh, she touched her magenta painted fingertips to her forehead.

Chico piped up as if he'd gotten a cue. Unacceptable. Unacceptable. This isn't a train wreck to be gawked at.

That remains to be seen, Mrs. Rosenblatt muttered.

Chico either didn't hear her or chose to ignore her. "This is a psychic reading. Only the subject of the reading is permitted in Ms. DeVine's presence."

And the camera crew, Mrs. Rosenblatt mumbled with a snicker.

Mom appeared crestfallen. But I never miss an episode. I'm a real fan. I even bought the Hollywood Psychic Day Planner.

DeVine's eyes flew open. Did you. Aren't you sweet. Kiss, kiss. There will be a DVD course on how to develop your psychic abilities available soon for just $99.95. She smiled. Of course you're more than welcome to watch.

Oh, thank—

From another location, DeVine cut in. But I must say, you do have a wonderful aura. DeVine accepted my beaming mother's handshake, turned to Mrs. Rosenblatt, and hesitated. But suddenly I sense skepticism.

How about that, Mrs. Rosenblatt said. "You do have some psychic abilities."

Unacceptable. Chico tsk'd and shook his head. Unacceptable. Doubters may not remain in the room. Off you go.

Oh, I'm not a doubter, Mrs. Rosenblatt said. I'm a believer in true psychic abilities. In fact, my spirit guide Albert—

I'm Maddie, I said, stepping forward with an outstretched hand.

Moira didn't take it. Instead, she took a step back, sucking in a breath. Oh, my.

Chico leaped forward. What is it? What can I do? Should I clear the room?

Your aura. Moira's eyes narrowed at me. Your aura is very cloudy.

Uh… I withdrew my hand. I'm sorry?

Forgiven. She dismissed me with another flick of her colorful fingers.

I might have pointed out that wasn't actually an apology, but before I had a chance, the director of the TV show bustled in from the living room.

There you are! he said, relief clear on his face.

Here I am. DeVine smiled haughtily, as if allowing him to bask in her presence.

We should have started shooting half an hour ago, he said. We're all set up. We need you now.

Chico stepped between the two and touched Moira's arm gently, as if he were stroking a baby bird. Do you need some time, Ms. DeVine?

Moira glanced at the antsy director. No, it's alright. I can proceed now.

But what about your special blend? Chico asked, eyeing the director.

Special blend? I repeated to Mom in a whisper.

Herbal tea, she whispered back. She drinks it before her sessions. Says it helps her talk to the other side. It's her trademark.

Look, we only have a few hours of daylight, the director cut in, clearly already put out.

I'll get it ready in a jiffy, Chico promised. He raised his arm and snapped his fingers. Could someone put on a kettle for Ms. DeVine's special blend?

I'm something of an herbologist myself, Mrs. Rosenblatt jumped in. What sort of herbs are in that tea?

It's a custom blend, Chico said airily. With touches of native cornflower, Roman chamomile, Indian ginger root—

He was interrupted by Mrs. R's snort. Sounds more like a remedy for gas, she declared.

Mom shushed her immediately, but I noticed Moira DeVine's face redden. I could practically hear her mental calculation about calling off the session. I didn't want that for Dana and Ricky. Come on, Mrs. R. I put a hand on her shoulder to turn her around. We'll let them get on with the taping, and I'll bet we can watch from the kitchen. There's probably even another bottle of wine in there.

I'll go with you, Dana offered. Maddie's right. I'm sure they can set up a monitor in there so we can watch. Then Ms. DeVine can have Ricky's aura all to herself.

We trooped into the kitchen and settled in on stools at the counter while Dana found a fresh bottle of wine and some glasses.

Moira DeVine seems a little…intense, I remarked while she poured.

That's not the word I'd use, Mrs. Rosenblatt said.

She's very exotic, my mother said. Don't you think?

She's very dramatic, Mrs. Rosenblatt told her.

One of the crew members appeared with a monitor, which he set up on the counter, carefully taping down the cables that snaked along the floor. After a quick video and sound check, he disappeared again.

I think she plays the part well, Mom said. She really looks like a medium.

That's just show business. Mrs. Rosenblatt took a sip of wine. I think she's rude. She wouldn't even shake Maddie's hand!

It's fine, I said. It doesn't matter.

You don't have a cloudy aura, she assured me. I would have noticed. I'm very attuned to such things.

Dana set out a platter of vegetables and dip, another of sliced fruit, and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

I hate to see vegetables and fruit go to waste, Mrs. Rosenblatt said, reaching for a cookie. Did you make these, dear?

Dana shook her head. These are store-bought, but if you've got a good recipe, I'd love to give it a try.

I blinked at her. You're baking cookies?

Why not? she asked. Fresh-baked cookies make a house smell wonderful. And I figure it's time I learn my way around a kitchen.

I've got a no-fail recipe, Mom said. I'll email it to you.

Mrs. Rosenblatt narrowed her eyes. You wouldn't be learning how to bake cookies to feed a little one, would you?

Oh! My mother clapped her hands. Isn't that wonderful!

No! Dana frowned. It's not like that. It's just, well, we have this new house, and it just feels right to make it more of a home. That's all.

Mm-hmm. Mrs. Rosenblatt drank some wine. We'll see about that.

Dana shot me a pleading look that practically shouted Rescue me!

I could empathize with her desperation, having been the target of the tag team of Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt many a time before myself. I helped myself to a cookie and changed the topic. How's the show going, Dana? Last year, she'd landed the part of a booty-kicking PI in a female-forward reboot of the '70s Charlie's Angels series, Charlotte's Angels. Filming had recently begun on the second season.

She flashed a grateful smile. "Really well. The cast is great, and the director is so easy to work with. She glanced at the veggies and fruit then took a cookie herself. That's not always the case, as you know."

Oh, I know. I shuddered, thinking of the movie she'd filmed in Moose Haven, Saskatchewan with a tyrannical director who had wound up dead in his trailer. But that was a whole other story.

My stunt double is incredible, Dana added. She used to be a gymnast or something. Anyway, when you see my character, Charlotte Benson, doing split jumps to kick two bad guys in the head at the same time, needless to say, it's not me. I'm actually standing off-stage watching her in awe.

Split jumps, Mrs. Rosenblatt mused, chewing on another cookie. Those could come in handy. Maybe she could teach me how to do that.

Oh, I… Dana bit her lip. I'll ask her.

In the meantime, I think I'll buy some of those Lululemon yoga pants, Mrs. Rosenblatt said, delighted. You need the right clothes for the job. I always say—

Shhh. Mom pointed. Look, they're getting started.

We turned our attention to the square monitor on the counter, where Moira DeVine was settling into an armchair while hair and makeup people orbited her like satellites, primping and fluffing.

Chico entered from her left, carrying a mug with little tendrils of steam curling upward. Your special blend, m'lady. He placed it carefully at her side and stepped back, arms in parade rest.

Did you see that? Mom asked reverentially. He's so devoted to her.

Mrs. Rosenblatt rolled her eyes. "Did you hear that? Who does he think she is? The Queen Mother?"

Moira held the mug with both hands, blew on it, and took a sip. Ugh. Her face twisted. This is much too hot. And it's bitter.

I'll fix you another, Chico offered as Ricky took his seat. The hair and makeup crew approached him, did a token nose powder and ran a comb once over his hair, and moved away again.

There's no time for that. We're taping in two minutes. Moira looked at Ricky. Do you have any of your mother's possessions?

He placed a silver brooch and a perfume bottle on the table between them.

Chanel. Moira nodded approvingly. She had good taste.

He saved his mom's perfume? I asked, curious.

Dana nodded. They found it in her room after the fire. He wanted to have something of hers to remember her by.

Rolling, the director called out.

What a lovely— Moira started to say.

And action! the director called.

Immediately the psychic gripped the arms of her chair, arched her back, closed her eyes, and tossed her head side to side. I feel spirit coming over me. I give myself up to spirit.

Is she serious with this? Mrs. Rosenblatt asked with a frown.

Shhh. Mom leaned forward, entranced. This is how she makes the connection.

"She does this every time? Mrs. Rosenblatt asked. I hope she has a good chiropractor on the payroll."

What do you mean, after the fire? I asked Dana quietly. I didn't realize Ricky lost his mother in a fire.

She nodded. When he was five. He and his dad went to the movies, and his mother, Beth, was home alone, asleep in the bedroom, and that wing of the house caught fire. They weren't able to put it out in time to save her.

My eyes prickled with unshed tears. That's awful.

I know. Ricky honestly remembers very little about her, Dana said. His father remarried soon after Beth's death, and he was raised by his stepmother. In that same house, actually. His dad's an architect, and he repaired the damage.

I see a lovely dark-haired woman, Moira DeVine intoned. With dark eyes. She's showing me bees. Is there someone with a connection to bees who might be coming through for you?

Bees? Ricky repeated. Not that I know of.

The bees could be a symbol, Moira backtracked. Spirit speaks to me in symbols. Perhaps the letter B? Do you know a dark-haired woman with a name starting with B who's passed?

My mother. Ricky sounded impressed. Her name was—

Bonnie, Moira said with a nod.

No, it—

Brenda.

Beth, he said.

Yes! She practically pumped her fist in triumph. I told you it had to do with bees.

Brother, Mrs. Rosenblatt muttered.

She's so proud of you, Moira went on. She's saying you grew up to be so handsome, and she's very proud of your acting career.

Oh, come on, Mrs. Rosenblatt said. What mother wouldn't say that?

Shhh. My mother laid a finger against her lips. We'll miss something!

Ricky watched the psychic with rapt attention. I couldn't tell if he believed what he was hearing or was playing it up for the camera. Or possibly a little of both. Even a doubter might be swayed with a chance to talk to the mother he'd lost so young.

She's asking if you remember a red Mustang, Moira went on. She loved that car.

Dana gasped.

She hated it, Ricky said. My dad said she made him sell it.

Moira tipped her head sideways. Yes. That's right, she hated that car. Strong emotions are coming through.

Mrs. Rosenblatt's bangles jingled when she put both hands on her waist. Is anyone actually buying this?

Shhhhhhh! Mom waved her off.

Guess so, Mrs. Rosenblatt muttered.

I bit my lip to hide a smile.

Your mother says you'll get the part you desire, Moira said. But you must be patient. She looked off into the middle distance with a faint smile. Although she says patience has never been your strong suit.

Ricky's eyes welled with tears. He sniffled. It's true.

There's the Nicholas Sparks part, Mrs. R said. He's more believable than she is, I'll give him that.

He's not being believable, Dana whispered. He's emotional. She frowned at the monitor, and I could tell how badly she wished she could be in the room holding his hand