"Fine," I yelled, really gaining steam now. "Fine, you know what? If this day means so little to you, I don't want to spend it with you anyway."

"Jesus," Ramirez mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Look, I have to work, okay? We can celebrate some other day."

"Right. Like last night."

Ramirez gave me a blank look.

"Do you even know what we were supposed to be celebrating last night?"

He pursed his lips together. "If I say no, you're going to be mad right?"

"Wrong. I'm already mad."

"Swell."

"And it was my birthday. We were supposed to be celebrating my birthday last night."

Ramirez frowned. "Your birthday was in October."

"Exactly!" I threw my hands up. "You had a case then, and we had to cancel. We've had to cancel three times since then. It's February and I'm still waiting for my October birthday dinner. At this rate, we'll be celebrating our first anniversary when we're ninety."

"Exaggeration, much?" he countered.

I clenched my jaw. "Sleeping on the couch, much?"

Ramirez threw his hands up. "Look, Maddie, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry. But unless this case solves itself in the next two days, my hands are tied."

"Fine." I picked up my macaroni bowl and stalked to the bedroom. "Enjoy your nap," I threw back at him. Then added, "On the couch!" and slammed the door behind me.

I'd like to say that I slept the long, satisfied sleep of those who have had the last word. But, the truth was, having the last word isn't nearly as satisfying as having your husband cuddled up beside you. In fact, getting the last word, much like being married to a cop, isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I spent the entire night tossing and turning, feeling guilty for yelling at him. The more I didn't sleep, the more I realized how unfair I was being. It wasn't as if Ramirez chose to work on our anniversary. He was right; there wasn't much he could do about it. And it wasn't fair to Peach's family to put her murder on a backburner just because we had plans. As much as the demands of his job were unreasonable, so, I realized, were my expectations.

By the time the sun finally peeked through the bedroom curtains, I felt like a regular heel. I stumbled out of bed and toward the scent of coffee in the kitchen. I blinked at the full coffee pot. Even after our fight, Ramirez had made me coffee before he left for work. That's it, I was officially the worst wife ever.

But, I had an idea how I could make it up to him.

Something he'd said last night had stuck with me, and I suddenly knew exactly what I was going to get Ramirez for our Valentine's anniversary.

I grabbed the phone and dialed Dana's number.

Three rings into it, I heard a groggy, "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey. It's me."

There was pause. "What time is it?"

I glanced up at the clock over the sink. "Seven."

Dana groaned. "Way too early."

"Sorry. Late night?" I asked.

"Film premier. We didn't get in until three."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. My feet are killing me, my head hurts, and I feel like a squirrel has been nesting in my mouth all night. You know, being the girlfriend of a movie star isn't always all it's cracked up to be."

"You too, huh?" I mumbled.

"What?"

"Never mind. Listen, want to meet me for coffee? Say, half an hour?"

I heard rustling on the other end as Dana pulled herself out of bed. "If there's caffeine involved, I'm so there."

Forty minutes later I was showered, dressed in a pair of jeans, my favorite pink blouse with white pinstripes down the front, and a pair of silver, sequined pumps, sitting at a table at Starbucks as Dana sipped her non-fat, no-sugar, soy decaf latte across from me, listening to my brilliant plan.

"I know what to get Ramirez for our Valentine's anniversary," I told her.

"What?" Dana asked, licking latte off her lips.

"A day off."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "And how are you going to do that?"

"Simple. I'm going to solve this case for him."

Dana barked out a laugh. "Oh, yeah. Simple."

"Okay, maybe *simple' isn't exactly the right word," I conceded, "but I'm sure we can do it."

The truth was, I had helped Ramirez on cases before. In fact, there had been at least one time when I'd actually cracked the case wide open for him. Not that I was a Sherlock Holmes by any means, but, at least in this case, I did have one advantage.

"You knew Peach," I pointed out to Dana. "That's a distinct advantage to us."

Dana bit her lip. "I didn't know her that well. I mean, she was kinda more of an acquaintance than a good friend."

"But you know enough about her life to have some clue as to who could have wanted her dead?"

Again with the lip biting. "Maybe?" Dana said. Though she didn't sound quite as confident as I might have hoped.

"Okay, let's go at this in an organized way." I grabbed notebook and pen from my purse. I wrote the word *suspects' at the top of the page. "Ramirez said the crime felt personal to him."

"Right!" Dana agreed. "A crime of pa.s.sion."

"So we should start with those closest to Peach. Did she have a boyfriend?" I asked.

Dana nodded. "Yes!" she said triumphantly. "I met him at the store once. Vic something."

"Perfect!" I said. I wrote *Vic Something' on the paper. "What about family?"

Dana shook her head. "Sorry. No idea."

"Okay, well, what if her death was business related? Who else works at the store?"

"There's Gage. He's her business partner. Peach ran the place, but Gage came in to do the books and inventory and stuff like that."

I wrote the name down. "Anyone else Peach spent time with?"

"Oh! Celia!"

"And she is?" I asked, writing the name down.

"Her roommate. Peach told me they shared a place in Echo Park."

I wrote *roommate' next to Celia's name. "Got an address?"

Dana frowned and shook her head. "Sorry."

"That's okay," I said looking down at the list. "This is a good start. So, who do we question first?"

Dana shrugged. "I say the boyfriend. Crime of pa.s.sion and all."

I nodded. "Suspects, here we come!"

Chapter Three.

Unfortunately, our enthusiasm proved to be greater than our actual knowledge about the suspects. Without Vic's last name or number or anything about him, it was a little hard to track him down for an intense interrogation. Instead, we decided to go back to the Pleasure Den and see what we could find out about the boyfriend there.

As I pulled my little red Jeep up to the curb outside the shop, we could see crime scene tape still lying on the ground just outside the doors. The neon *open' sign was shut off, but I could see movement inside the shop. Dana and I knocked on the gla.s.s door, and a minute later a guy wearing an earring in his eyebrow and a flannel shirt that looked stained in at least three different places came to the door.

"We're closed," he yelled through the gla.s.s.

"I know. We wanted to talk to you about Peach," I shouted back.

"What?" He put a hand to his ear.

"We want to talk about Peach!"

He shook his head. "I can't hear you!"

"PEACH!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

The guy jumped back. "Oh." He pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, pulling it open a crack. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Hi. I'm Maddie Springer and this is my friend, Dana. Um, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about Peach."

He frowned. "Why? Are you reporters?"

"No," Dana said, shaking her head. "We're helping the police with the investigation."

I elbowed her in the ribs. "Uh, sort of. We'rea"

"She's married to the detective in charge," Dana said, pointing at me.

I shrugged and did a feeble little laugh. "Uh, yeah, anyway, we just wanted to ask a couple questions about Peach if you don't mind."

He bit his lip, probably trying to figure out what sort of official capacity the wife of a police detective had, but finally nodded. "Yeah. I guess so. Come on in." He opened the door, letting Dana and I through before locking it behind us again.

The place looked much the same as it had yesterday, the only difference the faint dusting of black powder on several of the surfaces near the cash register. Apparently CSU had covered all robbery bases after all.

"What do you want to know about Peach?" the guy asked, crossing his arms over his chest and taking a wide, defensive stance.

"You're Gage?" I guessed.

He nodded.

"And you were Peach's business partner?"

Again with the nod, but he didn't speak. This was going to be harder than I thought.

"So, what, exactly was the partnership?"

Gage shrugged. "It was a 50/50 split. I'm not exactly a people person-"

Shocker.

"- but Peach had the personality to deal with the public. I was more behind the scenes. I did the ordering, books, inventory. Peach did all the customer service stuff. She also did some product development."

"Product development?" I asked, hoping I didn't live to regret the question.

"Peach was very creative. She came up with a few original items. Our personal ma.s.sagers do very well, and her line of latex wear is selling off the charts," he said, gesturing to the wall of rubber clothes I'd noticed the day before.

"So, business is good, then?" Dana asked.