Part 2 (1/2)
”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.