Gemma Halliday - Alibi in High Heels (Maddie Springer 04)

Here's what critics are saying about

Alibi in High Heels:

" ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS is a clever and stylish addition to Gemma Halliday's laughter-infused Maddie Springer series."

- Chicago Tribune

"Halliday is on top of her game, and readers will love Maddie's new adventure."

- Booklist

"If you're in the mood for a fun, fast, easy read cozy, you can't go wrong with ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS ! I wasn't just a reader, I was truly along for the ride. Gemma Halliday has created a delightful reluctant sleuth!"

- Futures Mystery Anthology Magazine

"I started ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS around 2 pm and read non stop until 11 pm when I finished it. The writing was so engaging and so fun that I did not want to put this book down. This is a 5 star book that I HIGHLY recommend to Janet Evanovich fans who are looking for a new author to try that they will LOVE!!! ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS is the best book that I have read in a while, and I can't wait to read more books by Gemma Halliday."

- Fresh Fiction

"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

OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

Viva Las Vegas

High Heels Mysteries:

Spying in High Heels

Killer in High Heels

Undercover in High Heels

Alibi in High Heels

Mayhem in High Heels

Christmas in High Heels (short story)

Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:

Scandal Sheet

The Perfect Shot

Deadline (coming soon!)

SHORT STORIES & NOVELLAS

BY GEMMA HALLIDAY

So I Dated an Axe Murderer (novella)

Watching You (short story)

Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit (short story)

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ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS

by

GEMMA HALLIDAY

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Nook Edition

Copyright (c) 2010 by Gemma Halliday

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.

Nook Edition License Notes

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ALIBI IN HIGH HEELS

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I love shoes.

I mean, I really really love them. If my tiny studio apartment in Santa Monica were, heaven forbid, to go up in a blazing inferno, the one thing I would rush back inside to save would be my favorite pair of strappy silver slingbacks. Granted, I'm single, live alone, and have never been able to keep a houseplant alive, let alone a pet. But still. It's bordering on obsession.

So, it came as no surprise that when an incident of minor Internet fame resulted in a trendy Beverly Hills boutique asking me to design a line of shoes for them, I squealed, squeaked and generally jumped around like a six year old minus her Ritalin. Thus far in my illustrious design career the biggest break I'd had was working for Tot Trots children's shoes where my SpongeBob slippers had been the top sellers at Payless last season. (Something to brag about or bury in a deep, dark corner of my resume? I still wasn't sure.)

But then things got even better when the first pair of Maddie Springer originals was sold to an up-and-coming young actress who just happened to be wearing them when she got arrested outside the Twilight Club on Sunset Boulevard for drug possession. Suddenly my shoes were all over Entertainment Tonight, Access Hollywood , and even CNN. I got calls from the hippest boutiques in L.A. and Orange County, all clamoring to stock my line - aptly named High Heels Seduction.

And then the impossible happened. (Oh yeah, it gets better.) The utterly amazing best thing to enter my life since DSW started carrying Prada. Jean Luc Le Croix, the hottest new European fashion designer, asked me, little 'ol me, to come show my shoes in his fall runway collection at Paris Fashion Week.

Paris!

I had died and gone to heaven.

Not surprisingly, I first had a mild heart attack, then did a repeat of the six-year-old-Ritalin-addict thing.

What was surprising, however, was my boyfriend, Ramirez's, reaction to my news of the century.

"You're going where?" he asked.

"Paris." I sighed the word, visions of the Eiffel Tower dancing in my head.

Ramirez rolled over in bed to face me, his dark eyebrows drawn together. "What do you want to go to Paris for?"

"Are you kidding?" I sat up, covering my bare self with a sheet. Even though we'd been dating off and on for over a year now, I still had my modest moments around Ramirez. Probably due to the fact that I never quite knew what was going on behind those hooded eyes of his.

Detective Jack Ramirez was a homicide detective with a very big gun, a very big attitude, and a very big... well, let's just say that certain parts of his anatomy weren't entirely lacking in the size department either. He was tall, with a compact build that was all tight muscles and hard angles. Dark hair, dark brown eyes, and a dark intense look about him that made men wary and women drool. One white scar cut through his left eyebrow and he had a black panther tattooed on his bicep, the sleek, powerful lines of its back rippling along Ramirez's arm as he propped his head up on one hand, waiting for my answer.

"Why wouldn't I want to go to Paris? It's the fashion capital of the world! The home of haute couture, Chanel, Dior. The Eiffel Tower!"

"Where will you be staying?"

"Jean Luc has set up rooms for all of us involved with the show. We'll be at the Plaza Athenee. It's all taken care of."

"Do you even speak French?"

I waved him off. "I know how to ask where the bathroom is and, 'How much do those shoes cost?' I'll be fine."

"I've heard the French can be pretty rude to American tourists."

I pinned him with a look. "Trust me. For Paris Fashion Week, I can handle a little rude."

"Hmph." Ramirez grunted, then shifted his weight, his half of the bed sheet slipping down his bare torso, exposing a six pack to make Budweiser jealous.

For a moment I completely forgot what we were talking about.

"How long?"

"What?" I snapped my eyes back up to meet his.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Oh. Uh, a couple of weeks. Three at the most. Jean Luc wants me there to help set up, and then of course I'll be there for the full Fashion Week. Maybe a few days after to help him pack up."

Ramirez shook his head. "I'm not thrilled about this."

"Come on, Jack. Why not?" Had he not heard the Paris part?

"Maddie, I don't like the idea of a woman being in a foreign country all by herself."

If the statement hadn't been so blatantly chauvinistic, I might have been touched by his concern.