Free Killer in High Heels by Gemma Halliday

saying he jumped.”
    I looked up at the roof. Then down at the body. He must have taken a hell of a leap to land that far out from the building. “No gunshot wound?”
    She shook her head. “Nope. None that they’ve found so far. The only other thing he said was that the guy was naked.”

    My eyebrows headed north again.
    Dana shrugged. “I guess people do weird things when they’re suicidal.”
    I watched the guy in the coroner jacket place the tarp on a gurney and wheel it to his black van. I wondered if Hank slash Harriet had anything to do with the gunshot on my answering machine. Did my dad know Harriet? He must know Lola if her phone was registered under his name. And I didn’t like the way Lola had run away. Not the actions of an innocent person. Innocent people stayed and talked to the police when their roommates jumped off rooftops.
    Since Dana had gotten all she could out of Officer Baby Face, we decided to drive by Lola’s house on the off chance she’d run all the way to Henderson.
    All the lights were off in the house as we idled at the curb, and the driveway was empty. Just for good measure, I jumped out and peeked in the garage windows. No car.
    “What now?” Dana asked.
    It was late, I was tired, and one dead body is really my limit in any given day. So we headed back to the hotel. Besides, now that the police were on the scene, I was feeling just the teeny tiniest bit better. If Larry were in trouble, the cops would get more out of Lola than I could.
    If they could catch her.
    By the time we arrived at the New York, New York, Dana was still itching to try her hand at the slots. So after we valeted the Mustang, I left her feeding quarters into a video poker machine and made my way up to our room alone. I promptly crashed into a deep sleep, punctuated by Amazon women in white go-go boots pushing people off rooftops.

    Somewhere around five A.M ., I was awakened by the sound of a foghorn blaring through the room. I opened one eye, peering through the darkness. Dana was spread-eagle on the rollaway, her long limbs falling off the sides. Marco was lying on his back in the other double bed, wearing a sleep mask that would have made him look like Zorro if it weren’t powder blue and trimmed in lace.
    I blinked a couple more times and realized the foghorn was Marco. Snoring. I groaned and put a pillow over my head. It didn’t help. I got up and put a pillow over Marco’s head. Still didn’t drown out the sound. Good god, no wonder the man was still single.
    I gave up and dragged myself into the shower instead. An eon under the hot water slowly woke me up. I followed a quick mousse and blow dry with mascara and lip gloss. I added a little concealer under my eyes to mask the fact that I’d been awakened before the sun, but I’m not sure it hid much. Instead I put on some extra high heels to compensate, my silver strappy sandals with the butterfly buckle, paired with a white knit dress and Bandolino jacket. When I slipped out of the room, Marco was still snoring and Dana had fallen off the rollaway.
    I made my way down to the casino level in search of food. Even at this hour the place was full of people. Some were tourists getting a jump on the day, but most were still dressed for the previous night on the town. Whoever said New York was the city that never slept hadn’t been to Vegas. Vegas was the city on NoDoz.
    I debated for about half a second between a protein-infused fruit smoothie at the Mango Hut or the $3.99 pancake feast at the American Restaurant. In all honesty, it was a no-brainer.

    After three cups of coffee and a stack of buttery, syrupy pancakes tall enough to rival the Empire State Building, I was feeling a little bit better. Funny how sugar and caffeine can do that for you.
    Better, that is, until my purse began singing the William Tell Overture. I dug around for my cell. “Hello?”
    “What the hell are you doing in Vegas?”
    I cringed. Ramirez. “Having a girls-only