Death on Heels Read online

  Praise for the Crime of Fashion Mysteries—

  The Series That Inspired Two Lifetime Movies

  “Devilishly funny…Lacey is intelligent, insightful and spunky…thoroughly likable.”

  —The Sun (Bremerton, WA)

  “Laced with wicked wit.”

  —SouthCoastToday.­com

  “Byerrum spins a mystery out of (very luxurious) whole cloth with the best of them.”

  —Chick Lit Books

  “Fun and witty…with a great female sleuth.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Shot Through Velvet

  “First-rate…A serious look at the decline of the U.S. textile and newspaper industries provides much food for thought.”

  —Publishers Weekly (starred review)

  “Great fun, with lots of interesting tidbits about the history of the U.S. fashion industry.”

  —Suspense Magazine

  “A thoughtful mystery with an energetic, very likable heroine that will attract new readers to this established series.”

  —The Mystery Reader (four stars)

  Armed and Glamorous

  “Whether readers are fashion divas or hopelessly fashion challenged, there’s a lot to like about being Armed and Glamorous.”

  —BookPleasures.­com

  “Fans will relish Armed and Glamorous, a cozy starring a fashionable trench coat, essential killer heels, and designer whipping pearls.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Grave Apparel

  “A truly intriguing mystery.”

  —Armchair Reader

  “A fine whodunit…a humorous cozy.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Fun and enjoyable…Lacey’s a likable, sassy, and savvy heroine, and the Washington D.C. setting is a plus.”

  —The Romance Readers Connection

  “Wonderful.”

  —Gumshoe

  Raiders of the Lost Corset

  “A hilarious crime caper.…Readers will find themselves laughing out loud.…Ellen Byerrum has a hit series on her hands with her latest tale.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “I love this series. Lacey is such a wonderful character.…The plot has many twists and turns to keep you turning the pages to discover the truth. I highly recommend this book and series.”

  —Spinetingler Magazine

  “Wow. A simplistic word but one that describes this book perfectly. I loved it! I could not put it down!…Lacey is a scream and she’s not nearly as wild and funny as some of her friends.…I loved everything about the book from the characters to the plot to the fast-paced and witty writing.”

  —Roundtable Reviews

  Hostile Makeover

  Also a Lifetime Movie

  “Byerrum pulls another superlative Crime of Fashion out of her vintage cloche.”

  —Chick Lit Books

  “The read is as smooth as fine-grade cashmere.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Totally delightful…a fun and witty read.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  Designer Knockoff

  “Byerrum intersperses the book with witty excerpts from Lacey’s ‘Fashion Bites’ columns, such as ‘When Bad Clothes Happen to Good People’ and ‘Thank Heavens It’s Not Code Taupe.’…quirky…interesting plot twists.”

  —The Sun (Bremerton, WA)

  “Clever wordplay, snappy patter, and intriguing clues make this politics-meets-high-fashion whodunit a cut above the ordinary.”

  —Romantic Times

  “A very talented writer with an offbeat sense of humor.”

  —The Best Reviews

  Killer Hair

  Also a Lifetime Movie

  “[A] rippling debut. Peppered with girlfriends you’d love to have, smoldering romance you can’t resist, and Beltway insider insights you’ve got to read, Killer Hair adds a crazy twist to the concept of ‘capital murder.’ ”

  —Sarah Strohmeyer, Agatha Award–­winning author

  of Kindred Spirits and

  the Bubbles Yablonsky novels

  “Ellen Byerrum tailors her debut mystery with a sharp murder plot, entertaining fashion commentary, and gutsy characters.”

  —Nancy J. Cohen, author of the

  Bad Hair Day mysteries

  “A load of stylish fun.”

  —Scripps Howard News Service

  “Lacey slays and sashays thru Washington politics, scandal, and Fourth Estate slime, while uncovering whodunit, and dunit and dunit again.”

  —Chloe Green, author of the Dallas O’Connor

  Fashion mysteries

  “Killer Hair is a shear delight.”

  —Elaine Viets, national bestselling author of

  Pumped for Murder

  Other Crime of Fashion Mysteries

  by Ellen Byerrum

  Killer Hair

  Designer Knockoff

  Hostile Makeover

  Raiders of the Lost Corset

  Grave Apparel

  Armed and Glamorous

  Shot Through Velvet

  Death on Heels

  A CRIME OF FASHION MYSTERY

  Ellen Byerrum

  AN OBSIDIAN MYSTERY

  OBSIDIAN

  Published by New American Library, a division of

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street,

  New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices:

  80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published by Obsidian, an imprint of New American Library,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  First Printing, February 2012

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © Ellen Byerrum, 2012

  All rights reserved

  EISBN: 9781101575048

  OBSIDIAN and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America

  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.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Sagebrush, Colorado, does not exist, except on the page, though it may resemble a town or two out West and incorporate a memory or two of my own. I am indebted to several people who helped me bring this fictitious town and its people to life. The name Muldoon comes from The Solid Muldoon, a freewheeling and spirited newspaper in Ouray, Colorado, in the late 1800s, but nearly forgotten today.

  I owe a debt of gratitude to legendary cowboy Monty Sheridan and his gracious wife, Ruth Sheridan, for sharing tales of ranching in northwest Colorado and giving me insights into the daunting and challenging life of a modern cowboy. My thanks also go to David Blackstun of the Bureau of Land Management, who was very generous with his time and information.

  My husband, Bob Williams, has been by my side through the entire process: from walking with me through miles of dusty sagebrush to get a feel for the territory, to proofing, copyediting, and challenging me every step of the way on this manuscript. Death on Heels wouldn’t be the work it is without him. Thanks are never quite enough.

  As always, any mistakes in the book are mine, or possibly, creative acts of fiction.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8


  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 1

  “Dying with your boots on is a point of pride in the West, Vic. But these women died barefoot,” Lacey said. “And that grieves me.”

  Digging around the bottom of her small closet, she hunted for her cowboy boots. Lacey wasn’t going to be caught unaware and unshod. Not like those three women.

  Colorado rancher Cole Tucker had been arrested for murder, so fashion reporter Lacey Smithsonian was heading back to the last place on earth she swore she’d ever return: Sagebrush. That meant she would need, among other things, her best, dandified, make-a-statement cowboy boots. And more than a little guts. Lacey was afraid she was really going to stick her foot in it this time. She needed the most fearsome footwear she owned to wade through all the mud. And the mudslinging.

  Tucker can’t be a killer, she kept saying to herself. I loved him. That cowboy wanted to marry me.

  “Where are you going?” Her current boyfriend, Vic Donovan, was right behind her at the closet door. “Is there a secret passage in there I don’t know about?”

  Lacey crawled farther into her closet on her hands and knees, into that dark limbo where old clothes went in disgrace, until they might be useful—­or fashionable—­again. Vic watched her, fidgeting. It wasn’t like him to wait behind, but there wasn’t room in that dark recess for him. There was barely enough space for Lacey. She stretched full length on the floor and finally felt her fingertips brush one of those half-forgotten boots, tucked into the farthest corner. I must have been crazy when I bought these, she thought. However, the boots were surprisingly comfortable, with their stitched, pointed toes and two-inch stacked leather heels. Lacey loved the lift they gave her. And maybe they would also give her courage to—­

  “Darn it! Where’s the other one?” She looked at the single boot in the light and tossed it furiously over her shoulder. “I hate this closet!”

  Vic Donovan dodged the boot. “Really, sweetheart, I don’t think you ought to be going back to Sagebrush anyway—­”

  She ignored him. Somewhere in that cramped cave was her other boot: handmade, calf-high, Western-style, pale green and golden brown leather, with elaborate green and gold stitching that resembled filigree. Showy and cowgirly, they were just worn enough to pass out West for serious boots. Lacey hadn’t tried them on since she’d left that shabby Western boomtown for a better reporting job in Washington, D.C.

  The boots had nothing to do with Cole Tucker’s arrest, and yet somehow they were a tangible link to her life back then. They were solid, stylish, American-made reassurance in tough times. Like Cole. He was a rancher who knew his way around horses, and boots. But not murder.

  Lacey threw more shoes over her shoulder in Vic’s general direction, high heels, sandals, pumps. Vic caught one red high-heeled shoe by its slender leather strap and stared at its worn-down heel.

  “Lacey, you are death on heels, you know that?”

  “Hilarious. I’ll show you death on heels if I don’t find my other cowboy boot. I’m wearing them on the plane tomorrow. Both of them.” She blindly chucked another red shoe. Vic ducked.

  “About that plane flight,” Vic said. “It doesn’t make any sense for you to go.” He surveyed the mess of shoes and boots on her bedroom floor and ran one hand through his dark, curly hair. He dangled her one cowboy boot in the other hand and fiddled with its loose bootheel like a nervous little boy.

  “I’m going. I have to be there for the arraignment on Monday.” She stood up and faced him, wiping her hands. “Besides, you’re going.”

  “That’s different. I was Sagebrush chief of police when Rae Fowler disappeared. I have to talk to the prosecutor. He wants all his ducks in a row and he might call me to testify. When Tucker goes on trial.”

  “For murder.” Lacey gazed mournfully around her bedroom. It was a mess, but there was a bigger one waiting for her in Sagebrush.

  A copy of the Associated Press report on Tucker’s arrest lay on the bed. Lacey picked it up. Pictures of the dead women. A picture of Tucker, taken at some rodeo, looking very dashing on his horse. The headlines about the murders had popped up on the Internet when Lacey was at work at The Eye Street Observer that morning. The photos jarred her memory back to Sagebrush. She’d called Vic at his office. He’d just heard the news himself.

  Only seventeen years old, Rae Fowler was the first alleged victim, found strangled on a lonely country road in Northwest Colorado two years ago. The first of three murders now suddenly charged against Cole Tucker, Lacey’s once-upon-a-time, almost would-be, but never-was, fiancé.

  Rae Fowler was a runaway from Denver, pretty and baby faced, in too much of a hurry to start her adult life. She made her way across the state to Sagebrush, where she lied about her age and waitressed in a bar for a few weeks. Then she disappeared.

  When her body was found, no one could pinpoint how long she’d been dead or how long she might have been in the company of her killer. The police thought the victims were held captive somewhere, perhaps for as long as a week.

  For Sean Victor Donovan, the Fowler murder had been one of those cases that haunts a cop. Even though he left the law enforcement world behind and turned to the more lucrative business of private security in Northern Virginia, he’d be tormented by Rae Fowler’s murder until it was solved. And now it looked like it was.

  “You are over Cole Tucker, aren’t you?” Vic asked.

  “This has nothing to do with that.”

  “Cole Tucker’s accused of killing three women, Lacey. Three. Not just Rae Fowler. And she was murdered two years ago.”

  “Did you know the other two victims?” Lacey leaned against the bed, happy Vic was there, but slightly irritated with him. It was complicated.

  “I used to see them around town. By the time Ally and Corazon disappeared, I had moved on to the Steamboat PD, you know, and then back here to Virginia. Nursing my broken heart and all. Surely you’ll recall my broken heart? All your fault, if you remember.”

  “Then why was Tucker arrested now? Today?”

  “Darlin’, you know after the first forty-eight hours, a typical murder case is colder than Sagebrush in December. Unless the cops find new evidence or—­”

  “Unless someone talks,” Lacey completed his thought. “Who talked?”

  “No idea. They’re keeping it quiet. One of the sheriff’s deputies apparently caught the tip.” Vic moved closer to her. “He told the sheriff, who called the CBI, who alerted the FBI. That’s where the AP caught the story.”

  She simply didn’t believe Tucker did it. It wasn’t possible. Lacey read the story again. “It says the bodies were all found partially clothed. All were barefoot. Stop playing with my boot, Vic.”

  Vic shifted the boot from hand to hand. Lacey grabbed it from him and set it on the bed. “When we found Rae, she was mostly dressed. No shoes. But she’d been out there in the wind and rain for a while. Hard to say what condition they were in when they were dumped.”

  Ally Newport was the second reported victim. At thirty, she was older, presumably wiser, but not quite as pretty as Rae Fowler. Yet dishwater blond Ally was “the belle of the ball,” according to those who had known her. Lacey stared at Ally’s picture: a rather plain face with blank round eyes, but a wide smile softened the effect.

  Vic took the AP wire story and glanced at it. “When Ally hit Sagebrush, she was still acting like she was homecoming queen.”

  “She must have grown up the prettiest girl in a very small town,” Lacey said. “Even smaller than Sagebrush. Any boyfriends?”

  “Plenty. But nothing serious, and no suspects panned out. This was after I left, you know. Hearsay.”

  “And Corazon Reyes?” Lacey pointed to her photo. Corazon was the standout beauty in that unfortunate group. Petite and fine boned, Corazon had long, black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes that twinkled, even in the smudged copy. “What do you know about Corazon?”