"Right about?" I asked.
"About maybe Gia being the killer's target and not the necklace."
I sipped my coffee. While I had been the one to float that idea last night, it had been born out of trying to alleviate Ava's guilt rather than any real evidence. And in the light of day, I wasn't as sure it held much merit. "If that was the case, then why take the emerald?"
"I don't know. Maybe they just panicked? Grabbed it because it was there? Or maybe they took it to throw the police off. I mean, they're out there looking for a random thief, right? Not someone who might have had a grudge against Gia."
I nodded. "Actually, you're right," I agreed. "That would be a pretty effective misdirect."
"Exactly!" Ava said, some of the light I normally associated with my best friend returning to her eyes. "And, if Costello is telling the truth, Gia had heated arguments with two separate people before she died. Doesn't sound like she was very well liked."
"I think that's a fair assumption," I said, thinking of my one and only interaction with her. "If Costello is to be believed."
"Easy enough to find out." Ava set her teacup down and pulled her phone from her purse, swiping open a search engine.
"What are you doing?" I asked as she did some typing and more swiping.
"Calling Hughie Smart."
I paused, coffee cup midway to my mouth. "You're just going to call him up and ask if he murdered Gia?"
Ava gave me a playful get real look. "No! But I am going to casually ask if he possibly had a disagreement with her coincidentally right before she died." She set the phone on the table as it began to ring on the other end.
"Ava, I'm not sure this is a—"
But that was as far as I got before a voice answered, "Good morning. Smart Models, this is Kelly speaking. How may I direct your call?"
"Hughie Smart, please," Ava said in an upbeat tone. She shot me a smile.
"May I ask who is calling?"
"Uh, yes, this is"—Ava glanced my way again—"Ava Barnett, head of special promotional projects at Oak Valley Vineyards."
I set my coffee down on the table with a clang and shot her a look.
Ava did an innocent palms-up thing before forging ahead. "We're looking to hire a model for our latest social media campaign."
"I see. Well, I can certainly set something up for you to look over our talent list."
"Actually, I was hoping to discuss it with Mr. Smart directly," Ava told her.
"Oh, well, I'm afraid that Mr. Smart is out of the office at the moment."
Ava's face fell. "He is?"
"I'm sorry. May I take a message?" she asked.
"Uh, sure. Can you please have him call me as soon as he gets in?" she asked, rattling off her phone number to the woman.
"Of course. I'll give Mr. Smart the message as soon as he returns."
Ava thanked the woman and hung up, looking dejected. "So much for that."
I shook my head as our food arrived. "Special promotional projects, huh?"
She shrugged as she picked up her fork and stabbed a blistery tomato. "Hey, it's not like Oak Valley couldn't use the marketing."
She had me there.
* * *
After we'd fully gorged ourselves on the sweet, savory, and creamy frittata, I drove Ava to Silver Girl, where I helped her open up the shop and unload all of the jewelry the models had worn in the show, returning the pieces to her glass cases. While the square footage of the store itself wasn't vast, Ava made the most of the space she had, with several long L-shaped cases displaying her wares around the room, as well as hanging racks on the walls. I could feel her anxiety as we carefully placed all of the pieces that had been showcased on the runway back on display. Ava had worked hard over the past few years to grow her jewelry business from an online Etsy shop to a physical location in the heart of downtown, and I knew it would break her heart to lose it all.
I was just wondering how many of her smaller pieces she'd have to sell in order to recoup the loss of the emerald, when the bell over the glass front doors dinged and a young couple walked in, hand-in-hand. They were dressed in casual khakis and T-shirts, looking like typical weekend Wine Country tourists—her in comfortable sandals and him pushing a pair of mirrored aviator glasses up on his head.
Ava straightened from the case of silver grapevine themed pendants she'd been arranging and put a sunny smile on her face. "Welcome to Silver Girl," she told the couple. "Can I help you find anything?"
"We're just looking," said the woman, a brunette with her hair pulled up into a fashionable messy knot.
"Well, if you have any questions, please let me know," Ava offered, stepping behind the counter to allow the couple space to browse.
I busied myself putting the velvet boxes away, shelving them in her small storage closet behind the register. I could see Ava keeping a keen eye on her potential customers as they did a slow tour of the store, eyeing each piece of jewelry before moving on to the next. I hated to burst Ava's bubble, but they looked more like window shoppers than actual buyers.
Once they'd done a full circuit, Ava approached the pair again. "Find anything that interests you? I'd be happy to pull something out for you to try on."
The brunette looked at her companion, then urged him on with a soft elbow to his ribs.
He cleared his throat, addressing Ava. "To be honest, we wanted to see…well, you know."
A small frown formed between Ava's blonde eyebrows. "Sorry, is there something particular you're looking for?"
"Uh…yes. I mean, we were hoping to get a look at the piece." He said the last words on a mock whisper, leaning in toward Ava.
Who was still frowning, clearly trying to grasp their meaning.
"We're enthusiasts," the woman added, looping her arm through her man's. "It's how we met."
"Enthusiasts?" Ava asked.
"True crime enthusiasts," the man clarified.
Ava went pale.
The brunette nodded. "We were hoping to see the murder necklace. Maybe even…try it on?" She looked practically giddy at the idea.
Ava's frown turned into a downright scowl. I could see several scathing responses going through her head as her eyes began to blaze.
Before she voiced any, I jumped in. "As true crime buffs, I'm sure you realize that particular piece is still in police custody. It's evidence."
The brunette huffed and took another shot at the man's ribs. "I told you it wouldn't be here!"
"Okay, okay, you told me." He sent her an annoyed look before returning his attention to Ava. "You don't by chance have any other jewelry that was worn by the dead woman, do you? You know, like the earrings she had on when she was strangled?"
"No!" The word was forceful enough that the couple took a physical step backward.
"What about a replica? Like, maybe another piece like the murder necklace?" the woman asked.
"Uh, maybe you better come back another time," I offered, ushering them toward the door.
"Any idea when the necklace will be released from police custody?" the woman asked as I herded her out.
"Will you be putting it on display then?" the man added.
"Should we leave our number?" the woman persisted.
Ava's icy glare should have said it all.
"Have a nice day," I told them before shutting the glass door behind them and flipping the Open sign to Closed.
I watched them walk down the sidewalk, the woman giving the man's ribs one last jab, before I spun around to face Ava.
She was shaking her head, the expression on her face a mix of anger and defeat. "Did you hear them?" She sighed, falling onto a stool behind the register. "The murder necklace? Is that what Silver Girl is going to be known for now?"
"I'm sure no one else is calling it that," I told her.
She sent me a look. "Clearly you did not see Bradley Wu's column in the Sonoma Index-Tribune today?"
Oh boy. I had not. But I knew Bradley Wu was a syndicated columnist who covered th
e Sonoma food scene and, more recently, local news. He had a sharp tongue, a thing for flowery language, and a witty style that could either be laugh-out-loud entertaining or cringe-worthy, depending on if you were the object of his column or not. "What did Bradley say?"
"He said my 'deadly designer necklace' was an ironic commentary on the 'suffocating trappings of our beauty-obsessed society.'"
I cringed. "At least he called it designer?" I offered, trying to find a silver lining.
She shook her head. "Obviously it was enough to excite the morbid types like them." She inclined her head toward the door. "That necklace was supposed to put me on the map as a local designer. Not as the creator of murder weapons," she moaned.
"They are not your client base," I pointed out. "I'm sure the women at the Links are remembering how beautiful the design was and not what happened to it after the show."
"Fat lot of good that does if I can't sell it," she mumbled.
"Need me to make a chocolate run?" I asked, shooting her a sympathetic smile.
Ava grinned back. "I don't think my waistline can take much more cake." She paused. "But thanks for the thought. And thanks for jumping in to keep me from telling those two where they could shove their enthusiasm."
"Cheer up," I told her. "What do they say—all publicity is good publicity?"
"I'll believe that when I see it," Ava said, staring out at the empty shop.
"Maybe you can use some of the photos I took last night to drum up some business," I suggested. I pulled my phone from my purse. I'd uploaded the pictures from my camera to my cloud drive before going to bed the night before, but I'd not yet had a chance to look through them.
"Maybe," Ava said, glancing over as I pulled them up.
A few seconds later I had several dozen thumbnails on my screen of Ava posing with the designers and models on the runaway and close-ups of various pieces of jewelry.
"What about this one?" I asked, pulling up the photo we'd taken of Ava and Costello's model, Jada, with the sparkling crystal earrings.
Ava nodded. "It's nice. I could post it on social media."
"I'm sure it would sell those earrings."
"Maybe." I could see Ava's mood improving slightly at the thought of a sale.
I scrolled some more, seeing a few photos I'd taken earlier of the models putting on their accessories, trying to capture the behind-the-scenes feel. I paused on one of Gia, a pang of sadness hitting me. She was in her finale gown, makeup not yet done, as Costello helped her into the necklace. I scrolled through a few more that I'd taken of the same scene—one closer on Ava's handmade creation and a couple wider shots, encompassing the chaos of backstage. I noticed Jada in the background of the wider shot, having her hair curled by one of the stylists. The corner of Daisy Dot's colorful outfit was caught moving off frame, and a couple of guys I didn't recognize stood behind Gia—likely crew or wardrobe assistants.
I moved past a few more photos—one of Daisy's models showing off silver bangles, a couple of Costello's other ladies in ornate pendants, several of the models being transformed by hair and makeup. We had another of Gia in that series, having thick eyeliner artfully applied in wings in the same vivid green color as her gem. Again I felt my heart clench for her. She had been strikingly beautiful, and as Costello had said, it seemed like such a waste that she'd been taken so young.
"Is that the same guy?"
"Hmm?" I pulled myself out of my own thoughts as Ava stabbed a finger at my phone.
"That guy. In the baseball cap." She gestured to a man in the background, standing off to the side of the makeup table. "Didn't I see him in another picture with Gia?"
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. I scrolled back a few to the series of her getting dressed.
"There!" Ava stopped me at the wide shot of Costello putting the necklace on the model. She pointed to one of the two men I'd noticed in the background earlier. "Look, he's behind Jada. Doesn't it look like he's watching Gia?"
His body was facing the model. I used my thumb and forefinger to zoom in on the man. He looked tall—taller than most of the models—and he was dressed in a pair of nondescript jeans and a white T-shirt advertising a soft drink. I could see dark hair peeking out underneath a baseball cap, which bore the logo of the San Francisco Giants. His head was angled so that most of his face was shadowed from the camera. All I could really make out was a prominent chin with a deep cleft in it that reminded me of Chevy Chase.
"It does look like the same guy," I agreed. "Probably one of the crew?"
But Ava frowned. "Weren't the crew all Links employees? They'd be wearing the blue polo shirts, right?"
"Maybe he was one of the designers' assistants?" I offered instead.
"Maybe." She scrolled through the next few pictures on my phone. "But he certainly isn't dressed like someone who works in fashion."
I laughed. "That point, I concede."
"Look, there he is again," she said, stopping at a picture of Gia stepping out onto the runway. Sure enough, the guy was standing just off to the side, clearly focusing his attention on the model.
"Is he in any other photos?" I asked, scrolling through more, this time focusing on the background. After looking at another half dozen, it didn't appear he was present.
"He only seemed to show up around Gia," Ava noted.
"Maybe he was a friend of hers?" I offered.
"Or a boyfriend!" Ava said, perking up. She reached behind the counter and grabbed her laptop, quickly pulling up a social media website. "Isn't it always the boyfriend whodunit?" she asked.
"Only when it's not the butler," I joked as I watched her type Gia's name into a search.
She shot me a look. "Laugh all you want, but as I'm sure those 'enthusiasts' would tell you, 60% of crimes are committed by a supposed loved one."
"Where did you hear that statistic?"
"Dateline," she said. "And Keith Morrison would not lie."
I stifled a snicker. "So, did Gia have a tall, dark, and baseball cap clad man in her life?" I asked, leaning closer to see her screen over her shoulder.
"Well, according to this site, she is not in a relationship." She pointed to the little status icon. "But it could have been new."
"Or old," I said. "Maybe he was an ex-boyfriend."
"Ooo, I like that. Exes are much more dangerous."
"Though why she'd invite an ex to her show, I don't know," I mumbled, second-guessing that.
"Wow, she's got a ton of followers." She pointed to a number that had several more zeroes than Oak Valley's social media sites did.
"Looks like she was pretty active on there."
"And took a lot of selfies," Ava noted, going through her photo album on the site.
"Well, she was a model," I pointed out.
"Apparently a well-paid one. Look, she's on a yacht in this one. A private jet to Europe," she said, scrolling through to another photo. "And it looks like she drives a Ferrari. A new one, too." She stopped at a photo of Gia dangling the keys to a fire engine red sports car outside a dealership.
"Wow." I suddenly wished I were about five inches taller and twenty pounds lighter. I was so in the wrong business.
"Seriously, wow," Ava said. She scrolled to the next photo—one of Gia and a couple of other long-legged models posing for a photo shoot on a beach.
"Wait—look at that guy in the background!" I pointed to a guy wearing a pair of sunglasses standing behind Gia, partially obscured by a sand dune.
Ava squinted at the man. "Is that Baseball Cap Guy?"
"Hard to tell," I admitted. "No hat, but he seems tall enough. And he's got that same dark hair and cleft chin."
Ava scrolled through a few more pictures. In almost all of them, Gia was posing alone or with other female models and friends. I noted Jada in a couple of them, and one or two were professional photos of her on the runway. Nothing in any of the pictures hinted at an indication of a relationship with anyone—no romantic dinners, no Valentine's photos, no cute kiss
ing selfies.
But I noticed the same tall, dark haired man in the background of at least four of them.
"It's weird," I said. "This guy always seems to be hanging back from the action, you know? Gia seems to be mostly ignoring him."
"Or maybe she didn't know he was there!" Ava said, putting a hand on my arm.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Gia was gorgeous, posted all about her life on social media. Maybe this guy wasn't a friend at all. Maybe Gia Monroe had a stalker!"
I glanced down at the man who never seemed to be quite facing the camera. I had to admit, it was not a bad theory. "All the photos with him do seem to be in public places."
Ava nodded. "Look—two at runway shows. That one at the beach photo shoot. This one looks like it's some sort of car show."
"So you think this guy found out Gia was doing the charity show at the Links and somehow snuck in to stalk her?" I asked. I knew from personal experience how hard it was to break into the club.
"Or who knows—maybe he knew someone who knew someone who got him in. The point is, he was there."
"And apparently a lot of other places that Gia was," I mused.
"Maybe he decided to take things from stalking to something more violent. It's possible he snuck backstage and, in some obsessed fan moment, attacked her."
It sounded entirely possible. "I wonder if Gia knew about him," I said. "I mean, you think maybe she noticed him hanging around a few times?"
Ava glanced at the array of Gia's selfies. "I don't know." She pointed to one photo of Jada and Gia with their arms wrapped around each other, posing at some red carpet event. "But it looks like Jada and Gia were close. Maybe she'd know?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Twenty minutes later, Ava and I parked my Jeep in the lot behind the Sonoma Valley Inn, where the models and designers were staying the weekend. As we made our way through the lobby and past the bar, it looked largely deserted, the weekend guests already out on winery tours or enjoying the perfectly sunny weather of the mild summer we were having this year.
A middle-aged woman with a soft face and pleasant smile sat behind the check-in counter. "May I help you?" she asked as we approached.
Fashion, Rosé & Foul Play (Wine & Dine Mysteries Book 6) Page 4