Gemma Halliday - Mayhem in High Heels (Maddie Springer 05)

Here's what critics are saying about

Mayhem in High Heels:

"I love how Gemma Halliday intertwines laughter and romance with grit, suspense and murder. Her characters have incredible depth, which makes you feel like you know them on a personal level. Her story, MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS , sparkles with charm unlike any other murder mystery."

- Romance Junkies

"Funny and appealing, Halliday's hapless detective is a pleasure to watch as she somehow manages to solve another mystery."

- Booklist

"Do not wait -- rush right out and get MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS and join Maddie and her gang for a thrilling mystery adventure!"

- Romance Reviews Today

"Fans will no doubt enjoy the last in this fun series but be sad to see it end."

- Enchanting Reviews

"This fifth and final installment in Halliday's High Heels series is wonderfully entertaining, with an absorbing and complex mystery. Her pleasingly non-ass-kicking heroine -- with her entourage of quirky and fascinating family and friends -- makes this a fitting finale to these fun stories."

- Romantic Times, 4 stars

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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MAYHEM 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.

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MAYHEM IN HIGH HEELS

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There's just something about weddings. Something about tulle and lace being spun into fairy tales. Something about friends and family gathering to welcome a new member. Something about gawdy bridesmaid dresses, embossed invitations, and five dozen lilies in strategically placed crystal vases that make grown women turn into squealy second-graders, men have nightmares of chains wrapped around their ankles, and mothers get misty eyed at the slightest provocation.

"Mom, you're crying again," I said, pulling a tissue from my purse and handing it to my mother, lest her caked-on black mascara streak down her cheeks for the third time in as many minutes.

"I can't help it, Maddie. They're all just so beautiful."

I looked down at the array of place cards on the slick, black conference table at L'Amore Wedding Planners.

"They're place cards."

Mom nodded, her eyes shining. "I know. Aren't they lovely?"

I looked down again, chewing on a piece of Doublemint as I narrowed my eyes at the squares of paper. Personally, I was having a hard time telling the difference between the white, linen, embossed cards and the snow, woven, stamped cards.

"They are... nice."

"Oh, Maddie, they're breathtaking!" Mom squeaked out, holding the tissue to her face.

"Honestly, I don't know that we even need place cards, Mom. Jack and I want to keep things small. Intimate."

"And what's more intimate than hand-stamped place cards at each guest's spot?" asked Gigi Van Doren, the proprietor of L'Amore and grand dame of all things wedding. Her pen hovered just above her ever-present clipboard, eagerly awaiting the go-ahead to order several dozen.

I put Gigi anywhere from her early forties to late fifties - one of those women who seemed to defy time and age altogether. Pale blonde hair pulled back from her face in an artful French twist, cool blue eyes steady beneath a pair of rimless glasses, tailored suit fitting a body that spoke of regular pilgrimages to the gym. Or the plastic surgeon. But what had endeared me to her right from the first were the pointy toed, four-inch, black leather pumps on her feet. Prada. The woman knew style.

Still...

"What do you think, Dana?" I asked my best friend.

Dana pinched her strawberry blonde brows together, staring at the array as if she were taking a calculus test. "They are nice. Can I see the ivory-edged ones again?"

"But of course." Gigi signaled to her assistant, Allie, a blonde, blue-eyed twenty-something, who produced another indistinguishably whitish square of paper from her case, sliding it across the table.

Dana picked it up and let out a wistful sigh. "Oh, these are so romantic." She held the square up to the light, gazing at it like it might turn into Prince Charming on the spot.

"That one's my favorite," Allie agreed.

"We can watermark it with anything you like - the date, hearts, even your photograph. Very intimate," Gigi assured me.

Hmmm.

"Exactly how much are these intimate water-marked cards going to cost?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at Gigi as I snapped my gum between my teeth.

She shrugged. "Inconsequential. Hardly anything. Besides, how can you put a price on a beautiful occasion like your wedding day?"

"She's right, Maddie," Mom chimed in, dabbing at her eyes. "It's your wedding day. You can't put a price on that."

Maybe I couldn't. But I was pretty sure my groom would have something to say about it.

Six months ago Jack Ramirez, L.A.P.D. detective and the last person in the world I expected to believe in happily ever after, proposed to me atop the Eiffel Tower in Paris. It was the single most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. Or, I ventured to guess, anyone outside of a Meg Ryan movie. He'd picked out the most gorgeous ring on the planet, and, once I'd given him my tearful "yes," we'd spent three days of bliss in Paris, wrapped up in each other's arms, floating down the Seine, feeding each other chocolate eclair s, holding hands under the most romantic sunsets in the world.

But, like all good Meg Ryan movies, it had to come to an end sometime. Once we'd gotten home the reality of being engaged had started to sink in.

Ramirez works homicide, carries a very big gun, has a very big tattoo, and a very big... well, let's just say I'm really looking forward to the honeymoon. He's not your typical family man, and the whole commitment thing is a new gig for him. For that matter, it was a pretty foreign concept for me, too. So far the biggest commitment I'd jumped into was a ficus tree. And that was plastic.

But when I'd shown my newly adorned left ring finger to Mom and Faux Dad, as I affectionately called my stepfather, reality didn't so much sink in as hit me like a cheap pair of loafers to the gut. Saying the word "wedding" to my mother was like saying " Haagen-Dazs " to a Weight Watcher. She was foaming at the mouth within seconds, planning a ceremony to top all ceremonies, appropriately scheduled for this coming Valentine's Day. Suddenly the romantic moments Ramirez and I had stolen in Paris were turned into a whirlwind of reception halls, bridesmaid dresses, honeymoon packages to Tahiti, gardens versus churches, lilies versus roses, prime rib versus chicken kiev. And currently, white, snow, or ivory watermarked place cards.