A Crime of Fashion

by Carina Axelsson

  “Don’t be silly, Rose, it’s only your imagination – as usual,” I heard Claude say from inside. Finally, with a last look straight past Ellie and me, she went back in and locked the door. Whew! Ellie and I breathed out and Sebastian pulled himself in through the window.

  Ellie was next. She climbed up quickly – it took her less than a couple of minutes to get in. Then it was my turn. I went up easily and at the top clasped Sebastian’s waiting hand. He pulled me in and smiled at me. “That was a good idea,” he said.

  “Thanks, I have them all the time,” I mumbled into my scarf, keeping my head lowered as I pretended to readjust it. He’s just being nice, Axelle, I told myself. He’s not solving this case with you.

  The maid was right – Darius’s bedroom was directly above the study Inspector Witt was using. We were in it.

  And she hadn’t been exaggerating – Darius loved to write notes. His bedroom left us with no doubt of that. Differently shaped Post-it notes were layered over every flat surface – walls included. They covered everything. Some were in ink, others in pencil. All were written in his neat spidery scrawl.

  “I wouldn’t light a match in here,” Sebastian said. “I’ve never seen so many notes.”

  While Ellie kept watch at the door, Sebastian and I quickly went through the room. Rapidly I scanned as many notes as I could, hoping to find something, anything, that might lead to Belle. Then I found the desk. I pulled my jacket sleeve down over my hand and switched the desk lamp on, and there, on top of a teetering yet tidy pile of papers, letters and notebooks, was the red envelope. There were four words written on the back:

  Belle

  Le Vau

  passages

  “Strange. Le Vau was a famous architect – but, like, three hundred years ago.” Sebastian was peering over my shoulder. “And passages – what could that mean?”

  I took out my phone and photographed it. “Maybe he found something that links them all together? I mean, have you noticed how precise his notes are? Every single one is very specific. Like, his whole personality seems to be specific.” I pointed to a table at the foot of his bed. “Look, there are notes and books everywhere, but they’ve all been set down in a very orderly, neat way.”

  A door slammed downstairs. The inspector was on his way up. I switched the desk lamp off and slipped my phone back into my pocket. Drat! We needed to find somewhere else to hide so we could keep searching for clues.

  “So…?” whispered Sebastian as we crossed the room.

  “So I don’t think Darius would’ve put those words together on the same piece of paper unless he had a good reason to…”

  “Do you think that’s maybe why someone got rid of him? Because he was onto something?”

  “Maybe…”

  At that moment Ellie called to us. “They’re coming up the stairs now. We have to go!” Gently shutting the door behind us, we followed Ellie down the corridor and into the room next door. “It’s large enough to hide in easily,” she whispered. “I took a quick look.”

  We slipped in just as Inspector Witt reached the top of the stairs. A few moments later his footsteps passed us on his way to Darius’s bedroom.

  “Is this Belle’s bedroom?” I whispered.

  We opened the curtains to let in some moonlight. The room was large and light. A low bed was in the middle of the room and swathes of colourful fabrics, some patterned, some more muted, lay over every surface – much as the notes lay everywhere in Darius’s bedroom. A chandelier made of feathers hung from the ceiling and an artwork of neon light shone over the bed. A guitar leaned against the desk. Even in the gloom, everything somehow seemed young and fresh and fun. A large photo in a silver frame caught my eye. It was Belle – with her father, Patrick, in healthier days, on a beach, turquoise water lapping at their feet. In the background I could make out her siblings Claude, Rose, Darius and, presumably, Dom, as a toddler, playing in the surf.

  “It must be,” answered Ellie. “She dresses exactly like this room looks. Oh my gosh – look at this! It’s her dressing room.”

  I peered in through the door she’d opened. Belle’s dressing room was enormous. Without the lights on it was impossible to make out the far wall. Sebastian switched them on. “No one will see the lights,” he said. “There’s no window.”

  Unlike the jumble of pattern, colour and texture in her bedroom, Belle’s dressing room was ordered and neat to a fault. Everything hung according to colour and length. Shirts, dresses, skirts and jackets all hung in their own sections. Hats were overhead, and behind the cabinet doors her jumpers and jeans were presumably laid out in a similar fashion.

  “And look at her shoes!” Ellie whispered. “There must be at least two hundred pairs!”

  “Make that one hundred and ninety-nine and a half,” I said, pointing to the first cupboard on the left. There was a dark hole where one shoe was missing – apparently one half of a pair of platform heels.

  “Oh, I know that shoe,” Ellie said. “It’s from last year’s La Lune Autumn/Winter collection. They weigh a ton – the heel is solid wood, you know,” she added, as I lifted the shoe off the shelf. “I have the same pair in burgundy, although, I have to say, they look fab in this dark green.”

  “Why do you think one is missing?” I carefully wiped my prints off the heel of the shoe before placing it back on the shelf.

  “Maybe it’s getting repaired?”

  “At this time of the year? Why would she be wearing dark velvet shoes in spring?”

  “Hmm. You have a point. But maybe Belle does her shoe maintenance off season…”

  Suddenly we heard the inspector coming towards the bedroom. I quickly flicked the light off in the dressing room with my elbow as Ellie and Sebastian hid in the racks of dresses. I joined them just as we heard Inspector Witt open the door to the bedroom. His voice carried easily to the open dressing room.

  “We’ve been over all of her rooms, haven’t we, Thomas?” he asked his assistant. “Good. Good. But would you please keep it as it is until further notice?” Then they left, shutting the door behind them. Slowly we stepped out of the layers of chiffon and silk.

  “Axelle, I really need to get out of here – now,” Ellie whispered. “If I get caught in this house my career’ll be over faster than you can say Chanel.”

  She had a point. Besides, my just-started career would also be over if I was caught here, and finding Belle by Friday would become an impossibility. Furthermore, it would only add to my aunt’s woes if her niece was found sneaking around the crime site.

  “You’re right – let’s go.”

  But just as we stepped into the corridor, a maid and Thomas, Inspector Witt’s assistant, were coming out of a doorway at the opposite end. I’d thought they’d all gone back downstairs! Panic seized me – they were probably on their way into Darius’s or Belle’s bedroom. We bent low and quickly moved down the corridor to the next door along from Belle’s. Hoping desperately that the room was empty and dark, I held my breath as I slowly turned the doorknob and slid inside, Ellie and Sebastian just behind me. I breathed a sigh of relief as I leaned my back against the door and heard Thomas pass by. Once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, I saw we were in a library.

  With the exception of the light made by small reading lamps mounted on the bookshelves, the room was dark. But it was smoky and warm and the embers in the fireplace were still glowing. The room was decorated in green, and shelves of books, all on fashion and art, lined the walls.

  “The cushions are made from vintage La Lune silk scarves,” Ellie whispered excitedly.

  It was an interesting room, a muted contrast to the gilded extravagance elsewhere. We were just about to leave when we heard voices.

  “Get down! Someone’s coming!” I said as I ducked behind the nearest sofa.

  Male voices, female voices – even my aunt’s voice – echoed lightly around the room, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Even the way they sounded was strange – as if
they were far away, yet nearby.

  “I can’t make out where they’re coming from,” Ellie said as she peered out of the keyhole. “The corridor is empty.”

  “Then let’s leave now,” I said, moving towards the door, “before our luck runs out.”

  “No. Wait!” Sebastian whispered. “The voices are coming from the chimney. Listen! They’re travelling up the flue. We must be directly over the large room downstairs. If you get close, you can hear quite well,” he said, crouching low and tipping his head towards the hearth.

  I was torn between leaving now – I really did feel we’d pushed our luck – and staying. But, at this point I couldn’t risk missing anything that could help me find Belle. Maybe just two more minutes, I thought, as I leaned down next to Sebastian. Carefully, I listened to the voices float up…

  “Obviously, someone wants to make a fortune on the back of the Juno bag.” It was my Aunt Venetia. “Counterfeiters are such a problem nowadays.”

  “You’re right, Venetia,” Fiona said, “counterfeiters are a horrible, bloodthirsty lot.” Even after so many years in France she spoke French with a heavy English accent. “And to think they’ve taken Belle and now Darius – and how are they to know he has asthma and needs medication?” A short sob escaped her before she gathered herself and continued. “Listen, everyone. With your father being so ill, plus the launch of the bag this week, we must contain the potential scandal. We must find Belle and Darius. We must help the police in their search for the counterfeiters behind the theft. Everything else must wait…we can sort things out later…between ourselves.”

  What was she talking about? What must wait? And what did she want sorted out?

  “You know,” my aunt continued, as if Fiona had never spoken, “the Bulgarian mafia is very much into counterfeit handbags, and let’s not even get started with the Japanese mafia.”

  “What about Darius’s disappearance?” Rose asked – at least I surmised it was her: she was the only other woman in the group. “He didn’t even know what the Juno bag looked like.”

  “Maybe he stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have,” Claude suggested.

  “Darius and his silly books, which nobody except the occasional fashion nerd reads, are totally harmless,” Dom answered.

  “It could have been kidnap for money alone, you know,” Claude continued. “It doesn’t necessarily have to have anything to do with the Juno bag.”

  “Genius, Claude,” Rose said. “If that’s the case, then where’s the ransom note?”

  “For goodness’ sake, can you stop taking photos for one second! All that clicking is getting on my nerves,” Claude hissed. Presumably this was directed at Dom.

  “Belle has always said that the only way to get away from fashion is to disappear altogether. Maybe that’s what she’s done. Maybe she’s gone on holiday somewhere and didn’t feel like telling us,” said a deep voice. And that, I supposed, was the mysterious Philippe de Vandrille. “Although that still doesn’t explain Darius.”

  “Changed track have you, Philippe?” spat Claude.

  “That’s enough, Claude,” Fiona said. “Let’s all try to remain civil with one another, please. I hardly think that Belle would have chosen to leave during the week of the shows and the launch of a handbag she’s been working on for two years.”

  “Certainly not,” my aunt said.

  “Nor would Darius have gone on some mysterious holiday this week – at least not without telling us,” Fiona continued. “He’s been hard at work on his book and has hardly left his room these last few weeks.”

  There was a moment of silence before Rose spoke. “To be honest, I don’t know why we’re all trying to sound so concerned about these different theories, when really all we’re thinking about is It…”

  It? What was she talking about? The disappearances? But then she should have said Them.

  There was another silence, this one swiftly punctuated by my aunt. With her usual lack of tact, she said loudly, “Rose, darling, what are you wearing? It’s the same hue as your face. You seem a bit worked up, actually.”

  “Venetia has a point, Rose,” Fiona said. “Perhaps you should go upstairs and change before dinner.”

  “Anything to change the subject, right, maman?” asked Rose. “If only everyone knew. Well, ignore it if you like, but a serious threat to our family is coming. Poor Belle and Darius are only the beginning! Can’t you feel it? Haven’t you heard it moving through the house like a ghost? It’s closing in on us! The curse is closing in on us!” hissed Rose.

  The curse? I looked at Ellie and Sebastian. Both shrugged their shoulders. This must be the old rumour – the “dark matter” – Victor had been referring to earlier!

  Sebastian and I leaned further into the fireplace, concentrating as Rose continued in an eerie semi-whisper. “We all know what it says: The day shall come when greed and deceit shall rip apart your family and destroy the success you stole from me. One by one, you and your family shall disappear as I have…” With a sob, she continued. “It’s happening, there’s no use fighting! It’s happening! The curse is coming alive! We’re all greedy – and our greed is waking the curse!” Everything seemed to slow down as Rose’s words cast a pall of fear over the room. A heavy silence hung in the air.

  “Listen, everyone, please – let’s stop all of this theorizing,” Philippe finally said, his deep, firm voice cutting through the fog of fear. “It serves absolutely no purpose.” We listened as a drink was poured – for Rose, no doubt.

  “But Rose isn’t fantasizing,” Dom said. “There is a curse – and we’ve all seen it…”

  “Yes, you’re correct, Dom – there is something – we’ve all seen it. But it’s nothing more than a harmless old letter, a childish threat written long ago.”

  “So you think there’s nothing behind it?” Fiona asked Philippe.

  “Absolutely nothing,” he answered after a pause. “However,” Philippe said, drawing breath before continuing, “whatever we may guess or believe or think…the fact remains that we were all present on the evening Belle disappeared – just as we were all present today.”

  “Are you saying it’s more than mere coincidence?” Dom asked.

  “I am.”

  “Which means…?” Claude asked cautiously.

  “Which means that unless there really is a curse or a counterfeit gang…then suspicion will fall on every one of us.”

  A long pause ensued as the room was again plunged into total silence. Suddenly my aunt said, “Honestly, Philippe, I know we’re in fashion but do you have to sound so dramatic?”

  And then a knock at the door was heard. “Inspector Witt is finished for tonight, Madame,” the butler announced. “He’d just like a word with Monsieur de Vandrille in the hall, please.”

  “Thank you, Gerard,” Fiona answered. And then, after another pause: “I suggest we all have a drink before going in for dinner.”

  At that moment I rose to leave from my crouched position – or, rather, I tried to. But my legs had fallen asleep. I lost my balance and fell backwards. Instinctively I reached out, my arms flailing at the chimney mantelpiece, and my left hand found a handle that I clutched desperately. Pulling on it, I straightened myself back up.

  “Coast is clear,” Ellie said from her position at the keyhole.

  But then, just before turning to go out the door, my attention was caught by a small flame flickering to life in the fireplace. Funny – when we’d come in, the embers in the grate had been smouldering, barely glowing. Leaning forward, I saw a book-sized bundle on the grate, small flames licking at its sides. It was tied with a ribbon and had definitely not been there earlier. It must have fallen when I’d pulled the handle by the mantelpiece. As if reading my mind, Sebastian grabbed a nearby magazine and threw it to me. I slapped the flames down and used a pair of fire tongs to retrieve the blackened bundle. I left it to cool on the marble floor in front of the hearth for a few moments before I carefully lifted it and carried it to th
e desk where Sebastian had turned a lamp on. Gently I pulled the burned ribbon away.

  It was a packet of letters. They must have been jammed up behind the chimney damper – the moveable metal plate every chimney flue has for regulating airflow. The “handle” I’d grabbed wasn’t a handle at all – it was the lever controlling the damper.

  Varying in size and weight, the letters looked old. Some of the envelopes had no return address or postmark – they must have been hand-delivered. And in between some of the letters were postcards, tickets and other slips of paper. I turned over a postcard with an old sepia-toned image of the Eiffel Tower on it. Addressed to Chère Maman, it was signed Violette. Who was Violette? And why was she writing to her mother from Paris? (My mother was the last person I’d write to.) Who’d kept this postcard and the letters? And why were they important? Obviously someone in this house thought they were – otherwise why had they been hidden in the chimney flue?

  Sebastian and Ellie peered over my shoulder as I bundled the letters back together with a rubber band I found on the desk. Trying to make sense of the thoughts racing through my mind, I whispered, “The fire died out not long before we walked in here, right? But judging by the amount of ashes in the grate, it must have been burning for some time before that…”

  Sebastian nodded. “And you pulled the chimney damper open…”

  “Exactly. And as it would have been open while the fire was blazing, the flue must have been shut after the fire had begun to die down. In fact, it was probably shut just to hide these letters…”

  “Just before we came in.”

  I nodded. “So if the letters have anything to do with Belle’s and Darius’s disappearances, then Philippe de Vandrille has a point: the criminal must be one of the people we heard in the room downstairs.”