Free Mayhem in High Heels by Gemma Halliday Page B

everything on the go."
    "You don't happen to have Gigi's schedule on there as well, do you?" I asked, leaning forward to get a better look.
    "Uh huh. Hang on a sec." She slipped a stylus from the side and stabbed at the little screen. "Gigi wanted to make sure I avoided any conflicts, so I always kept a copy of her schedule."
    "Any idea what she had planned the morning she died?" I know, it was unlikely the killer had made an appointment to murder her. But it was possible someone she'd been meeting with had stabbed her in the heat of the moment. At the very least it might be worth questioning the people who'd last seen her.
    "Let's see," Allie said, pursing her blonde brows together, "no clients that morning. But she had an appointment the afternoon before with Mitsy Kleinburg." Off my blank face, she added, "You know, the daughter of that guy who directed Johnny Depp's last movie? She's marrying some stockbroker in June and the chick is a total nightmare. Changes her mind like every five seconds, then blames us when things get delayed."
    "Really?" I asked, making a mental note. So not everyone had been on hunky-dory terms with Gigi. I wondered just how nightmarish Mitsy could get. Enough to actually kill over a fouled-up table setting?
    Yes, I was reaching. But it was a start at least.
    "I don't suppose you have Ms. Kleinburg's number, do you?"
    Allie bit her lip, then looked up at me through her enviably long lashes. "I'm really not supposed to give it out," she said. "A lot of Gigi's clients are high-profile personalities. I had to sign a confidentially agreement and everything when I came to work for her."
    "Right." So much for Bridezilla.
    "Sorry," Allie said, looking like she actually meant it.
    "Anything else? She didn't have anything scheduled for that morning?"
    Allie stabbed a little more with her stylus. "Just Paul."
    "Another boyfriend?"
    She laughed. "Hardly. Paul Fauston does all our wedding cakes. He was probably delivering the sample that morning that... " She trailed off, her eyes going watery again as she left the rest unsaid.
    I patted her arm awkwardly.
    While I'd yet to actually meet Mr. Fauston, I recognized his name right away. Gigi had said he was the best in the business, creating virtual sculptures out of sugar and egg whites. I may have been iffy about place cards, but the cake was one place I was not skimping. We'd taken Gigi's advice and ordered from him straight off. From what I remembered he had a bakery just a few blocks from Gigi's studio.
    "Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but I've got a test later," Allie said, gesturing toward her algebra book, "and I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night."
    "Of course. Thanks for seeing me," I said, rising from the sofa and crossing the tiny room to the doorway.
    "If you think of anything else, here's my number," I said, slipping Allie my card.
    She took it with a sniff, then shut the door behind me.
    Once back in my Jeep, I opened my purse, pulling out a notepad and pen. While Mystery Rocker Boyfriend was still my number-one suspect, I wrote down Paul Fauston's name. I know. The baker visiting the wedding planner before a cake tasting was hardly in the arena of suspicion. But he'd likely been the last person to see her alive. And it was his cake knife that she'd been killed with. Which definitely bore looking into. Luckily, I had an appointment with him tomorrow to taste that cake sample, an excellent excuse to grill him.
    I felt a little pang in my gut that I'd be doing it alone this time instead with Ramirez, but I shoved it down, telling myself I was a big girl. I could taste wedding cake alone. So what if Ramirez wasn't interested in the minute details of our wedding? As long as he showed up, it would be fine.
    I just prayed he'd show up.
    Under Fauston's name I wrote, Mitsy Kleinburg with a notation, bitchy bride .
    If Mitsy had really been as bad as Allie said, maybe she and Gigi had had a falling out? Maybe Gigi had ordered the wrong hors