“What? So that was it?” I was with Sebastian and we were at a cheap and tasty pizzeria in the old city centre. I was starving now. As I looked at the menu it suddenly seemed like ages since I’d had breakfast.
Sebastian had arrived by train from Paris the previous night and was staying at a simple Pensione not too far from where Ellie and I were based. I’d rung him earlier to tell him what had happened and he’d been waiting for me on his rented Vespa when I left the studio building.
Because the studio management and Amare magazine had yet to release any kind of official announcement about Elisabetta’s death, there were no journalists or nosy neighbours outside, which I was grateful for.
Sebastian and I hadn’t wasted a second in zooming off and grabbing something to eat. And while I wanted to show him the tarot cards, first we rehashed my morning at the studio.
“And are you sure they were saying toxicology?” Sebastian asked as we both bit into the Margherita pizzas we’d ordered.
I nodded and pulled a string of clingy mozzarella off my chin before answering. “Yes. My booker, Tomasso, and Benoit, the hairstylist, confirmed it – although, strangely, Benoit didn’t seem surprised.”
“How do you mean?”
I explained what Benoit had told me about his and Elisabetta’s party past. “But he said that for the most part she’d stopped that sort of thing years ago; he was sceptical that Elisabetta would have partied so hard last night…”
Sebastian watched me for a moment quietly before suddenly smiling. In the dim light of the pizzeria I could see the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. He was leaning back in his chair and ruffling his thick brown hair in that way he had. I had a good idea of what he was going to say…and yet he looked so totally cute and irresistible sitting there in his leather jacket that I was caught between two desires: one to steer him off the course I was pretty sure he was about to set out on, the other to kiss him.
As it was, neither of my desires became a reality. Sebastian moved in faster than I did.
“I think,” he said, “that you feel that you’re onto something… I bet you can’t help but wonder if Elisabetta’s death wasn’t from natural causes, but something more mysterious. And that, if so, you’d like to find out what and why. Am I right, or am I right?”
Sebastian, like Ellie, thought that I was always on the lookout for a new case to solve. I pursed my lips as I considered this. Okay, so maybe, possibly, they had a point. But, still, I wasn’t about to head off on a wild-goose chase without a good reason. After all, I was in Milan, it was sunny and warm, and I finally had some time to hang out with Sebastian. Besides, I was due to fly to Tokyo on Monday. And if for any reason I wasn’t back home in London, punctually, on Saturday evening, to see my parents before flying to Japan, I’d be grounded – for life. My mum would make sure of that. Anyway, it wasn’t as if anyone was calling to ask me to figure out what had happened to Elisabetta…
“You’re so wrong, Watson,” I finally said. “I’m not on the lookout for a new case. I’m simply telling you what went on today at work.” I took another bite of my pizza.
Sebastian laughed. “I don’t buy that for a minute, Holmes.”
“Suit yourself.” I shrugged my shoulders and avoided eye contact.
Sebastian went quiet for a moment. “Supposing, for the sake of argument,” he continued cautiously, “that Elisabetta’s death wasn’t due to natural causes or some kind of overdose or allergic reaction…” He was smiling at me now and leaning across the table on his elbows. His voice was a whisper and his eyes were full of mischief. “How do you think she died?”
Ignoring how totally kissable he looked I answered as drily as I could. “It sounds to me as if you’re the one craving a case to solve, Watson.”
“Au contraire, Holmes, I’m looking forward to all of the sightseeing we have planned… But, simply out of curiosity, I’d like to know what you think…”
“Well, Watson,” I said, “I’ll humour you for the moment…”
“Right,” he smiled, “because you haven’t been asking yourself the same question.”
“So,” I continued, ignoring him, “based on the symptoms I witnessed Elisabetta suffer, I would hazard a guess that she was poisoned.”
“Hmm, poisoned, you think…?”
I nodded. “The dry throat, the pain, confusion and nausea—”
Sebastian suddenly looked at me through narrowed eyes. “You’ve already been doing research, haven’t you? You’ve been online and started looking stuff up…”
I blushed.
Sebastian threw his head back and laughed.
“I had time to kill while I was at the studio. And besides, it fits with the police wanting to run toxicology tests.”
“Of course, Holmes, so does the idea that she may have celebrated with drugs.”
“Very true, my dear Watson, although, if her good friend Benoit thinks she stuck to a glass of champagne at most…”
“You tend to believe him?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Why not? Anyway, I doubt I’m right about poisoning. We can follow the story in the papers and I’ll be sure to extract more details from my agency when they hear anything.”
The image of the dancing skeleton on the tarot card suddenly flashed into my mind. Death. It was tempting to weave it into what had happened at the studio this morning. I hadn’t shown Sebastian the cards yet, and I was curious to know what he thought.
“There is something I found…not that I’m saying it has anything to do with what happened at the studio this morning, but still…” I reached into my rucksack to pull out the tarot cards, but I suddenly felt my phone vibrate and reached for that instead.
“That’s funny,” I said to Sebastian as I looked at its lit-up screen. “It’s a number I don’t recognize – an Italian number with a Milanese city code.”
“Take it,” Sebastian said. “Maybe it’s someone from your agency calling from a different extension.”
But it wasn’t. It was Ugo Anbessa, the fashion designer.
To say I was surprised to have Ugo Anbessa on the other end of my phone was an understatement. This day was turning out like some kind of twisted April Fool’s. First Elisabetta’s death, then the tarot cards, and now Italy’s hottest fashion designer was calling me. I stepped out of the pizzeria so that I could speak more freely.
“I’m sorry to surprise you like this, Axelle, especially as we’ve never met, but it’s important. I was given your number by Cazzie Kinlan in New York.”
Ugo’s accent was heavy, unmistakably Italian, and he spoke rapidly. I had to concentrate completely on what he was saying in order to understand him. “I called her just now to ask her advice and she said there was only one person she thought could help me – and that person is you. And I’ve heard that you are here, in Milan, grazie a Dio.”
Cazzie Kinlan? Why had she given Ugo my number? If it had something to do with modelling then surely Ugo would have spoken with my agencies about it…
Cazzie Kinlan was the young editor-in-chief of the US edition of Chic magazine. A few months ago, in NYC, I’d helped her out of a tricky situation involving a stolen black diamond. Cazzie knew I solved mysteries and she knew my modelling was a cover. So if Ugo wasn’t calling me about modelling, then surely it was about Elisabetta?
“I also heard through the grapevine that you were shooting for Amare this morning…”
“Um…yes…” I answered, intentionally vague. I wasn’t about to begin explaining that I had been shooting for them until circumstances had dramatically curtailed the day’s work and forced me out of the studio. In the event I didn’t have to – Ugo’s next comment showed me that he was totally up to date.
“To me, hearing that you were here in Milan and at this morning’s Amare shoot was like a sign from destiny. I’ve hear
d about what happened in the studio this morning, Axelle…”
I didn’t reply. Word travels fast, I thought.
As if he read my mind, Ugo said, “The police told me. They were just here, at my home. And that’s why I’m calling you. You see,” he continued, “I’m in a bit of a…situazione difficile. Do you understand? It concerns the death of Elisabetta Rinconi…” He went quiet.
“Yes?” I said.
“The thing is, the police seem to think that she may have been poisoned…they’ve even gone so far as to suggest that she might have eaten something here, in my house, last night, that made her ill. Per favore, Axelle, I need your help…”
I listened in stunned silence as Ugo briefly told me what he knew… The police had just been to his house to question him and said the pathologist’s initial findings indicated poisoning. “But that is not the worst!” Ugo wailed – although Elisabetta being dead, and most likely intentionally poisoned, seemed pretty bad to me. “The thing is that I have a plant growing on my terrace and the police think that it could be the source of the poison.”
“Really? What kind of plant is it?”
“It is something called monkshood. It is beautiful. In fact, the intense blue of its petals inspired one of the key colours of my last Spring/Summer Ventini collection —” He cut himself short as he stifled a cry. “But who knows how Elisabetta could have ingested it – it’s not as if I put it into my ravioli and serve it to my guests!” He let out a long sigh before continuing, his voice rising in exasperation as he spoke. “The problem is that until they’ve figured out exactly how she died it seems I’ll be labelled suspect number one. Please, Axelle, you have to help me! I promise you I have no idea how she ate the plant, but I didn’t give it to her! Why would I want to kill her? We were close friends – best friends, even! Our lives have been intertwined ever since we met at fashion design school…right up until today.”
I agreed to go straight to Ugo’s apartment. I needed to hear everything about the party – and he was too upset to tell me calmly over the phone. Besides, there’s no substitute for seeing people up close when they’re being questioned. Often they can tell me more by what they don’t say, than by what they do.
I walked quickly back into the restaurant, and told Sebastian that we had to get going. He raised his eyebrows in answer, a knowing smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Is this what I think it is?”
I nodded as I pulled my rucksack over my shoulders. “I might have a new case.” I was about to say that we didn’t have a second to waste, when a pang of guilt suddenly shot through me. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror just next to me. My brown eyes looked back at me, excited, but a little hesitant. If I took on this case, Sebastian and I might as well forget all about our Milanese sightseeing plans. How would Sebastian react? After all, the same had happened in London last week and this trip was meant to make up for that one…
Sebastian caught my eye. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.
“About our sightseeing plans?” I asked.
He looked at me and nodded quickly before turning round to reach for our helmets at the corner of the banquette.
“And?” I asked. He still had his back to me and he didn’t answer straight away.
An uncomfortable thought popped into my head, a thought that had worried me before. Namely that one day Sebastian would get fed up with me changing our plans at the last minute, and leave. But what could I do? Say no when people asked me to solve a case? Besides, I wanted to solve my cases with him. It was more fun.
“You won’t believe it, but this case has to do with Elisabetta…” I said, in a blatant attempt to interest him.
He turned back to look at me. “Why am I not surprised?” Stepping slowly towards me, his eyes locked on mine. “So you won’t be able to let it go, will you?”
His expression was unreadable, but I knew there was no way I could let this case go – whether he wanted me to or not. I slowly shook my head. “Not really, no.”
Suddenly he bent down and brought his face centimetres away from mine. I could smell his leather jacket and the woodsy scent of his skin. His blue eyes held mine; they were dark and steely. He looked so serious. What was he thinking?
Suddenly, he broke into a dazzling smile and quickly kissed me on the lips before pulling back. “In that case, what better way is there to see a city than when we’re searching for clues?” he laughed.
He’d been joking all along!
“Don’t look so surprised, Holmes. I just wanted to make you sweat for a minute. I should have known something like this would happen. Our first twenty-four hours here have gone too smoothly.”
Whatever guilt I’d felt immediately evaporated. I punched him in the arm as we left the pizzeria. “As if I was sweating,” I answered back. “I’d solve this case with or without you, you know.”
Sebastian laughed. “I know. Mysteries first, me second.”
“It’s not quite like that.”
“Isn’t it?” His words were teasing but I thought I saw a flicker of something more serious in his eyes.
I didn’t answer.
He was quiet for a moment as we walked out to his Vespa. “Oh, and Holmes?” he suddenly said.
I looked at him in reply.
“I like it when you go all prickly on me. You look cute when you’re being tough.”
I stuck my tongue out at him and put my helmet on.
As Sebastian and I whizzed across Milan, I tried to fill him in on what Ugo had told me, yelling in his ear whenever we stopped at a light. My head whirled with thoughts of the new case and I was caught by surprise at how one phone call could change the course of my day – and probably my whole week.
I told Sebastian that, according to Ugo, the police were running with the theory that Elisabetta was poisoned. “Well spotted, Holmes, it’s just as you’d suspected.” The roar of his scooter as we surged forward drowned out the rest of our conversation.
Ugo Anbessa lived in the lively and beautiful Brera district in central Milan, on a very chic and relatively quiet street called Via Lovanio. I hopped off the back of Sebastian’s shiny black Vespa and took my helmet off. I shook out my hair (actually, considering how frizzy and wild it is, even on a good hair day, I didn’t so much shake it loose as set it free from the confines of the helmet) and then, while Sebastian parked his scooter, I looked up at the top floor of the stone and brick belle époque building in front of me. Verdant vegetation spilled over the elegant stone balustrade of the top floor penthouse, which (remembering how he’d described it to me) I presumed to be Ugo’s.
“Are you ready?” Sebastian stood by my side. “And by the way, what’s our official reason for being here? Just in case someone asks?”
“Ugo suggested we keep things simple and say that he and I are working on a project together. Because I’m here modelling anyway it shouldn’t raise too much curiosity. People will assume we’re working on something fashion related. Oh, and if anyone asks, you’re my assistant on the project.”
“Your assistant? How about your partner, Sherlock?”
“I’m still Holmes to you, Watson!” I yelled in his ear as a delivery van roared past us.
After walking into the elegant foyer of Ugo’s building, we were buzzed through a second door by a camera intercom system. A tiny mirrored lift whisked us skyward and opened directly into the marbled entry of his penthouse apartment. As we waited in the apartment’s grand hallway, I peered through the open doorways and spied lush and extravagantly coloured rooms painted in deep tones of tobacco, cognac and Chinese red. Baroque chests, lacquered Chinese screens, and large religious paintings of the Virgin Mary sat side by side with brash contemporary artwork, tables carved from petrified wood and shaggy handmade rugs. I even spotted a mirrored disco ball hanging from the living room ceiling. Opposite me F
rench doors opened onto the wild growth of his terrace and its vibrant turquoise tiled floor.
Moments later, we heard the click clack of stiletto heels behind us. Sebastian and I turned at the same time and I reached to shake the hand of the person coming towards us. “I’m here to see Ugo,” I started to say, but the words never made it past my lips.
“Hi, I’m Francesca Ventini, I’m Ugo’s assistant,” said the tall, curvy apparition in front of us, as she reached out for Sebastian’s hand. “You must be Axel? Ugo told me you were bringing your assistant,” she added unenthusiastically as her gaze swept rapidly over me.
She locked her large hazel eyes back on Sebastian, batted her long, dark lashes for a moment and then pushed up the sleeves of her crisp white jacket, revealing her perfectly tanned, honey-brown Mediterranean skin.
What really annoyed me, though, was that rather than correcting her about whose assistant was whose, Sebastian went along with it!
“It’s great to meet you,” he said as he reached for her outstretched hand.
To say that I was irritated was an understatement. I nudged Sebastian sharply in the ribs, then stepped in between him and Francesca.
“Actually, Francesca,” I said, “I’m Axelle.” I made sure to emphasize the correct pronunciation, rhyming it with the verb excel and not the car part. “And Sebastian is my assistant,” I continued. “If you could please let Ugo know I’m here I’d very much appreciate it.”
She towered over me in her heels and looked at me as if I was no more than a splash of tomato sauce that had just landed on her white jacket. She raised her eyebrows before she answered. “Ugo will be here in a moment, he had to take a call. But I’ll show you in.” She turned and we followed her into the living room. “If you’d like to wait here…” She motioned to a large sectional sofa covered in black suede. “Or, Sebastian, you can follow me and we can get some drinks?”
Model Under Cover--Dressed to Kill Page 4