Fashion Faux Paw

by Judi McCoy

  “That’s what I was thinking,” said Julie. “But you and I don’t do the choosing. Maybe she knows someone, who knows someone, and so on. Either way, I have an errand to run. I’ll be back soon.”

  Yasmine tottered toward them in six-inch platform heels, Jojo and Klingon in tow. When Ellie saw that the model couldn’t handle getting them into the pen without throwing herself off balance, she ran to help.

  “Here, let me do that.” She grabbed the leashes. “I’ve been meaning to ask, how is Klingon doing?”

  The model shook her head and her coal black curls danced. “Not very well.”

  “Is that the reason you missed the Mizrahi party?”

  Her dark brown eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t let him go home without me. He’s not sleeping or eating, which tells me he misses Lilah. Since he’s probably the only one on the planet who does, I don’t know how to help him.”

  Ellie had yet to talk about the murdered designer with Yasmine, and she sensed this wasn’t the time. “Does he have any symptoms other than the eating and sleeping problems?”

  Yasmine shrugged. “He just doesn’t warm up to me. Won’t let me cuddle him or give him an ear rub—you know, the things animal lovers do to make their pets feel secure.”

  Her explanation brought tears to Ellie’s eyes. Rudy had told her the agony he’d gone through when he thought he would lose her. Klingon had to be miserable without his forever mom, even if she had been a not-so-likable designer. “Maybe I can help you come up with something.”

  “That sounds great. I know you have a handle on what dogs are feeling, and I’d really like a read on the little guy.” She crossed her arms. “One more sad thing: I can’t keep him. My building allows just one animal per unit. I managed to convince the super he’d only be with me for couple of days, but when the show is over, he has to go.”

  After that, Yasmine walked off, her dark orange suede skirt trailing, and Ellie glanced in the pen. Lucy, Jojo and Klingon were mini Schnauzers, identical salt-and-pepper dogs with big attitudes. It was probably time she asked Vaughn if Lilah had family, and if so, were they willing to take Klingon into their home.

  Sighing, she turned to have another chat with Vivian, and someone called her name. The voice made her wish she could shrink to Lilliputian size, but it was too late. She was caught.

  She put on her game face and smiled.

  “Mother, what are you doing here?” Ellie asked, vowing to keep her cool. “I thought I told you the ticket-holders weren’t allowed backstage.”

  “You did, but I met a very nice man who said it was fine after I told him we were related. He was such a tease. He thought I was your older sister.”

  Ellie gave an internal eye roll. Thanks to chemical peels, Botox, Juvéderm, five-hundred-dollar cut and color hair appointments, and her diminutive size-four figure, Georgette Engleman blah-blah-blah-blah Frye could easily pass for forty, not the fifty-nine she would be tomorrow. How lucky for her.

  “But where’s the judge? I can’t believe you left him alone in that crowd of fashion junkies.”

  “Stanley and his electric scooter are fine. He’s checking out the shows we plan to see, finding each of their start times, that sort of thing.” Georgette clasped both hands to her heart. “I cannot thank you enough for those tickets.”

  “Mom, it was no trouble, really.” Her mother smiled at someone standing behind her and Ellie felt a hand on her back.

  “Why, Vivian, how nice to see you,” said Georgette, her tone sugary sweet.

  “Mrs. Frye, it’s good to see you, too. I’m so happy you took my suggestion to heart. It’s wonderful to see you in Chanel, and I love the shoes.”

  Ellie followed Vivian’s quick once-over and noted that her mother wore a light gray suit with a standup collar and pearl buttons, and a pencil skirt that ended at the top of her knees. Her shoes, matching suede pumps with pearl buttons across the top, were Louboutin.

  Georgette preened under Viv’s first-rate observation. “Ellie is so lucky to have a friend like you. When do you think you can convince her to go shopping for a new winter wardrobe?”

  Viv poked a finger in Ellie’s back, her way of saying “Go ahead and shoot her.” Instead, Ellie stepped back and did a three-sixty turn. “Come on, Mother. I did good for today. Wool, silk, cashmere, and the colors complement my hair and fair complexion. Viv said I look great.”

  Viv continued before Georgette could comment. “I have an idea, Mrs. Frye. Why don’t you and I find the judge and see what he’s learned about today’s shows? I hear he’s giving you one original for your birthday, and I’d love to help you pick it out.” She gave Ellie a sidelong glance, as if to say you owe me big-time and steered Georgette away. “I can’t wait to see what’s on the schedule.”

  Ellie had yet to catch her breath when Clark Fettel, parting a group of models, bustled over. The line of six women, each wrapped in a black plastic cloak, each crowned with huge pink rollers, marched behind a determined-looking woman with a short brown bob.

  “Ms. Engleman, we need to talk,” he said, ignoring the women he’d passed so rudely.

  Ellie watched the models file by. “Who’s that hairstylist leading the conga line?”

  “That’s Karen Hood.” He raised an eyebrow when Ellie did a double take. “You mean you haven’t met her? She’s famous, does all the big heads, if you get my meaning. Between her and Eduardo, they probably take care of a dozen covers a month.” He narrowed his reptilian eyes. “You should make an appointment. Her precision cuts are worth every penny. I’m sure she could do something with that mop you call hair.”

  Clark’s nasty comment didn’t faze her. When she tamed the frizz and kept it trimmed, her russet hair was one of her best features, and she’d taken extra time today. Sam loved her hair, and Viv said the same. Perhaps Clark, with a left-to-right comb-over that did nothing to hide the top of his skull, was jealous.

  Steeling herself, she decided he was having a bad day, which she would use to her advantage. “I’m curious, Clark. Where were you when Lilah had her attack?”

  “That’s the spirit, Triple E. Catch him off guard and make him sweat.”

  His eyes grew round, the gray irises darkening to pewter. “I don’t believe that’s any of your business. Now, I have a question—”

  “You do understand that I’m asking for our employers, Nola and Morgan, don’t you?”

  He inhaled a gasp. “You think I had something to do with that—that—bitch’s murder?”

  “I don’t know, which is why I’m asking. Nola and Morgan are positive Jeffery is innocent, and I promised to help him out of the jam. Right now, I’m simply speaking with anyone that I heard had a problem with Lilah, and I’ve been told you were one of those people.”

  Hands on his hips, he huffed out a breath. “That’s ridiculous. People have disagreements every day. So what if I got into it with Ms. Perry once in a while?”

  Ellie pulled her notebook from the pocket of her slacks and found Clark’s page. “I was told she poked fun at you behind your back, embarrassed you in front of your superiors, made you the butt of sarcastic jokes and—”

  He made a grab for the notepad, but she jerked it from his reach.

  “Atta girl. Make him work for it.”

  “Who told you those hurtful things? Yasmine? I saw you talking to her a moment ago, and I knew she was out to get me. Or was it Eduardo?”

  “Yasmine has never mentioned you, and I have yet to talk to Eduardo, but maybe I should.”

  “About Lilah Perry? Of course you should. He and Lilah had a dustup three months ago, when she was dressing Phillipa Bloom and she took it upon herself to add another color to the girl’s eye shadow. When Eduardo saw what she did he blew a gasket.” Clark shuddered. “Those Latin men have vicious tempers.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Where were you when Lilah was onstage breathing her last?”

  Clark’s lower lip thrust out in a pout. “Standing behind the c
urtain on the opposite side of the stage. I saw what happened, and I wasn’t upset, or angry, or—or—anything. The bitch was dead.”

  “I don’t like the way he’s tossin’ that word around. It’s an insult to all female canines.”

  Ellie refused to smile. Rudy was correct, but she doubted Clark would appreciate the comment. “And before that, earlier in the day, when Jeffery King brought over the swag bags?”

  “I helped him put them together at the office; then I stayed there while he and the assistants carted them off.” His expression hardened. “Why?”

  “I guess you don’t read the papers. The coroner’s report said that Lilah died from coming in contact with peanut—”

  “Peanut oil.” He tsked. “Everyone knows that.”

  “But did you know they determined the oil came from one of her perfume strips? And they think someone who had contact with the gift bags was able to get hold of the scented strips and doctor them?”

  When Clark’s face folded into a question mark, she decided to ask the big question. “You and Jeffery were in line for the same job, weren’t you? So with him out of the way . . .”

  His confused expression shifted to anger so quickly Ellie had to blink. “You think it was me! That I framed Jeffery King for the murder?” His voice jumped a hundred decibels. He took a step back. “That’s—that’s crazy.”

  “You’re the one who’s crazy, Fiddle-faddle. Tell him I said so.”

  When she jotted a notation in her notebook, he gasped.

  “What are you writing about me? Are you saying I should be brought to trial like a—a—common felon?”

  “I take notes on all my conversations when I’m on a case.” This was the first time she’d ever truly “grilled” someone and she was beginning to enjoy it. “All you have to be is truthful, and I won’t have any reason to mention your name to the cops.”

  He clenched his hands into fists and she swallowed. Was Clark Fettel a violent man? If she continued to prod, would he take a swing at her? She’d gone to a lot of trouble with her makeup and wasn’t about to let this nutcase mess it up.

  “I think we’ve discussed everything we need to, don’t you?”

  His eyes narrowed to slits, then strayed to something over her shoulder and opened wide. “Yes, I think so,” he said, backing away. “At least, for now.” He took a few stumbling steps before running away.

  Ellie took a deep breath before turning around. People in this place knew how to sneak up on a person like nobody’s business, and she couldn’t imagine who Clark Fettel would be fearful of.

  “Ms. Engleman?”

  She spun on her heels and almost bumped into the new arrival. “Oh¸ Mr. Prince,” she sputtered. “I didn’t see you there.”

  An imposing man with a thick shock of white hair, her employer wore a pale gray Armani suit with an open-collared bright orange shirt. It would have looked ridiculous on someone like Clark Fettel, but on Morgan Prince, well, it actually looked . . . princely.

  “Apparently Clark did. What was that all about?”

  “I was going over some questions that needed answers and he wasn’t willing to cooperate. Why would he run like that when he saw you?”

  Morgan shrugged, his broad shoulders bunching the fabric of the suit. “Clark and I don’t exactly get along. Nola seems to think he has potential, but I’m not so sure.” His generous lips tightened. “Was he bothering you?”

  Ellie shook her head. “He’s a bit pushy, but I can handle him. Were you aware he didn’t get along with Lilah?”

  “I knew it. But then, she had so many enemies it wasn’t a surprise. You spoke with her, so you must realize she had what some might call an acerbic personality.” He cocked his head. “How are you coming along with the investigation?”

  “I’m still in the questioning stage with a few people, but there are a couple I consider possible suspects. Unfortunately, I don’t have anything concrete to report.”

  She walked to the chairs and he followed. When she took a seat, he did too, leaving a chair between them. “Sorry if that isn’t what you wanted to hear. It’s just that there are so many suspects I can see why the cops simply zeroed in on the first person that made sense.” She crossed her legs and wrapped her hands around her knee. “You and Nola have told me you believe Jeffery King is innocent, but what makes you so certain?”

  Morgan got comfortable and rested an arm along the chair back. “Jeffery’s worked for us since he graduated college, and his efforts have been impeccable. I pride myself on being able to read people, and so I knew he had a good work ethic and a creative mind.”

  He pursed his lips. “When he came to us with his suspicions of Lilah and what she’d done with Kitty’s designs, he explained them logically and never lost his temper. It was unfortunate he had no proof to support his accusations, and when we told him so he let the matter drop. We simply didn’t get the impression he’d resort to violence.

  “Once he told Lilah what he thought of her he never mentioned the incident again. That’s why Nola and I are sure someone else did her in.” He thinned his lips. “Someone like Marcus David.”

  Marcus David? Before Ellie could answer, the three mini Schnauzers wandered over with Rudy beside them. “Uh, Ellie, think you could give Klingon a cuddle when you’re done talkin’? He’s really down in the dumper.”

  “I, um, I’ll look into it,” she told Morgan, wondering if Rudy was right about the designer.

  “Klingon, Triple E. He needs a little lovin’.”

  She gave the dogs a slow once-over, hoping to do as her boy asked. But she couldn’t tell which was Jojo, which was Klingon, and which was Lucy.

  Morgan saw her inspecting the dogs and said, “I understand Yasmine’s been watching Lilah’s little pal.”

  “Yes, and the poor boy seems to be depressed. She told me he’s not eating and he doesn’t sleep. Yasmine says he really misses his mother.”

  Morgan stood and picked up one of the mini Schnauzers. Taking his seat, he held the pooch on his lap and ran a hand over his ears and down his back.

  “Are you sure you have the right dog? Is that Klingon?” asked Ellie.

  He flipped the metal ID tag and took a look. “That’s the name on his tag.”

  Klingon licked Morgan’s hand, then nestled into his thighs, his actions completely different from what Yasmine had reported.

  “He seems to like you. He’ll be needing a home, you know. Yasmine told me she won’t be able to keep him after the show is over, and I have yet to hear from Detective Vaughn. He’s supposed to be checking with Lilah’s family to see if any of them will take the little boy.”

  “I’ll talk to Nola. Maybe she’ll agree to a new dog in the house.”

  “That would be a nice gesture. Especially since he looks so happy to get your attention.”

  Morgan stood and passed her Klingon, then nodded. “We’ll see. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have a long day ahead of us. We’ll talk later.”

  She scratched the underside of Klingon’s chin and the dog heaved a sigh. “You seemed to like that man. Is he someone you could live with?”

  The dog rested his body against her chest. “I guess, if my mom is gone.”

  She’d never heard Klingon’s voice before, so his answer was encouraging. “He seemed to like you. Maybe you could get along with him and another woman.”

  “But I want Lilah.” The dog shuddered in her arms. “Why can’t I have Lilah?”

  “No one can get her for you, baby boy. Your mom is at rest, waiting for you in a better place.”

  The words brought a tear to her eye. She was sorry it was the best she could say.

  Chapter 13

  “There’s another nose job, and it’s a bad one.”

  Ellie sighed.

  “And the girl wearing that long red dress is chin implant number two. She’d probably look like a turkey without it.” Viv’s voice was just above a whisper. “Any idea where they found a plastic surgeon who does such me
diocre work?”

  Ellie put her hands to her temples and rested her elbows on her knees. It was close to noon, break time for the big shows, so many of the models had dropped by to munch a carrot stick or three. Vivian had the perfect seat to conduct her blatant commentary on the facial sculpting in which so many of the models had taken part.

  “Viv, really—”

  Vivian jabbed her in the ribs. “I’m serious. Take a look at the cheek implants on that girl with the bare midriff. The one sifting through the fruit salad. Talk about razor sharp, they’re like a knife edge, or a—oops—cheek implant number three just joined her.”

  “Not every model has had work done, you know. Just ask Patti Fallgrave.”

  “Cheech’s mom? I thought she gave you a list of repairs she had done.”

  “Dental work, which anyone with an overbite would take care of, and some hair stuff, but that was it.”

  “Okay, fine. Some of the big-name women were born beautiful, but a lot of them weren’t. It gives a normal girl hope. Get a new nose or chin and you too can be a supermodel.”

  “What about the photogenic part? You have to look great in the eyes of a camera, and don’t forget being six feet tall and thin as a stick.”

  Viv shrugged. “All right, I’ll give in to the height issue, but it’s still fun to see who’s had what done.”

  Ellie hissed another sigh. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? What happened to escorting my mother and Stanley?”

  “You expected me to have lunch with the exterminator?” Viv shivered. “You’ve got to be kidding. Your mother is a royal pain in the you-know-what. I don’t see how that sweet old judge can love her, let alone put up with her.”

  “Oh, come on. Georgette’s not that bad,” Ellie said, thinking hard to find one of her mother’s better qualities. “She’s honest. That’s a plus.”

  “Honest? Her honesty cuts like a Wüsthof knife.” Viv inhaled a gasp. “And speaking of knives—there’s a fourth cheek implant.” She gave Ellie another elbow jab. “Really. Take a look.”