I slid into the seat and gave the driver the address of Le Carrousel du Louvre, before pulling out my cell and dialing Dana’s number. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?”
“I’m at the tent already. I had a six a.m. fitting. You?”
“I’m on my way there now. I’ll see you in a few minutes. And, Dana?”
“Yeah?”
I couldn’t help a grin. “We’re catching a killer today.”
Dana did a little squeal of excitement in my ear, before hanging up.
I settled back down into my seat, crossing my fingers I wouldn’t live to regret this as a mix of anticipation, fear, and excitement churned in my stomach. No matter what else happened today, one thing was for sure.
The show must go on.
Chapter Eighteen
The ride to Le Carrousel du Louvre took longer than normal, as the streets were packed once we neared the Le Croix tent. I finally had the driver drop me off down the block and hopped along on my crutches to get through the milling crowds. At the entrance I was stopped by two security guards who looked like Popeye clones – both sporting crew cuts and forearms larger than most model’s thighs. They went through my shoulder bag and did a cursory pat down before allowing me entry. Which, I honestly found a little ridiculous, considering both Gisella and Donata had been killed by shoes, not handguns or switchblades. Though, I’m pretty sure they knew if they laid a hand on the guests’ footwear, there’d be mutiny.
Once I passed inspection, I hobbled through the tent, toward the backstage area. The newly constructed runway gleamed under the spotlights, three rows of white folding chairs lining either side. Two of Le Croix’s assistants were making their way down the aisles, placing programs on the chairs as Ann looked on, talking into her headset to someone about there being too many red hues in the lighting setup.
I passed her with a cursory wave (which she was too busy to return) as I rounded the runway and went through the curtains separating the staging area.
Whereas the runway was in a state of quiet anticipation the backstage area was already bordering on manic chaos. Hair being teased, makeup applied with quick practiced strokes by a team of professional artists, and last minute adjustments being made to sew, pin, and tape the girls into their first outfit.
I spied Dana in a director’s chair in front of a mirror, getting bright green eyeshadow swiped along her lids. Huh, what do you know? Maybe Mom and high fashion weren’t that far off from each other.
“Hey,” I said, coming up behind her.
She opened one eye. “There you are. Hey, Jean Luc’s looking for you. He said he heard on TV that you were doing an interview after the show?”
Wow, news traveled fast. On the upside that meant Marcel had kept up his side of the bargain. While I’d fibbed to him about my motives for getting the story out, I sincerely hoped that I did have the exclusive of a lifetime to give him once this was all over. I mentally crossed my fingers that Pierre’s cameras were rolling as I filled Dana in on my plan.
By the time I got to the end, her eyes were shadowed in a dramatic sweeping green and Jean Luc was shouting for “the shoe girl”. I gave Dana’s arm a squeeze and told her to break a leg while I went off to fit my makeshift footwear on the models.
The rest of the morning went by in a blur of clothing, shoes, accessories, and a myriad of last minute crises, each one prompting Jean Luc to pop antacids as if he were growing a garden of ulcers in his gut. By the time I heard the sounds of people filtering into the tent, taking their seats in anticipation of the big show, I was a nervous wreck. Not only due to Jean Luc’s infectious anxiety, but even more so, to what lay ahead afterward. And who might, at that very moment, be breaking into my hotel room to steal decoy evidence.
Which is probably why I jumped about a mile into the air when he came up behind me.
“Maddie.”
I turned quickly.
Felix stood behind me. Close behind me. Instinctively I took a step back. I hadn’t seen him since the incident at the castle and my cheeks instantly flooded with heat at the sight of him now.
He was dressed in his usual khakis paired with a white button down. Though I supposed as a concession to the fashion vibes crackling through the air, he’d slipped a dark brown blazer over the top and traded in his Sketchers for a pair of dress shoes. Overall, the effect was a casual sophistication that, I had to admit, he pulled off well.
“You look a little flushed.”
My hands immediately went up to my fire-filled cheeks.
“Me? Oh, uh, well, Jean Luc’s had us running around all day.”
Felix nodded. Then handed me a bottle of water. “You look like you could use this.”
I took it, making a conscious effort not to skim his hand as I did. “What are you doing here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Jean Luc invited me. A sort of peace offering for the mess with the necklace.”
“A mess you started. Did Jean Luc know you were dating Gisella?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Felix looked heavenward. “We’re not going to let that one go are we, love?”
“No we’re not.”
“Look, I told you, we went out a few times. It was nothing serious.”
I unscrewed the top from the bottle. “You never did say why you broke it off.”
Felix paused. “No, I didn’t.”
“Well? Come on. For a guy who makes his living prying in other people’s private lives, you’re nuts if you think I’m gonna let you clam up now.”
He gave me a long hard look. Then, “There was someone else.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite the ladies man. Another model?”
“No.”
“Actress?”
“No.”
“Come on, who is she? How long have you been seeing each other?”
Felix’s gaze didn’t waiver, his entire body suddenly rigid, at attention, focused entirely on me. “Perhaps I worded that incorrectly. I wasn’t seeing someone else. There was just… the hope of someone else.”
I cocked my head to the side. “The hope?”
“She…” he faltered. Then cleared his throat. “I suppose I’m destined to admire her from afar. But, as long as I am, it’s hardly fair to lead anyone else on.”
A bad feeling churned in my stomach, one that warned I never should have started this conversation. I looked left and right, searching for any way out of it.
But before I could find one, Felix did a short humorless laugh. “You really don’t know, do you?”
I bit my lip. “Felix, I don’t think-”
He didn’t let me finish, instead taking a step forward, his voice low and laced with emotion. “And here I thought I was being pretty obvious.” His eyes finally broke their unnerving contact with my own, lowering, settling on my lips.
I sucked in a breath.
Oh. Hell.
I instinctively licked my lips, my throat suddenly drier than my mother’s elbows in January. I tried to take a big breath of much needed oxygen, but my lungs suddenly felt two sizes too small. Especially with Felix standing so close. It suddenly felt like he was everywhere, closing in on me, suffocating me. I opened my mouth to speak. But only a little squeaking sound came out, like I’d swallowed a mouse. I wet my lips again.
“Stop doing that,” Felix whispered.
“What?” I squeaked again.
“Moving your tongue along your lips.”
“I…” I trailed off. I had no response for that.
“A man only has so much self control, Maddie.”
The mouse in my throat piped up again.
Felix’s eyes went dark and heavy, his breath coming faster. “Maddie, I-”
“Maddie, dahling, there you are!”
I gave myself a mental shake, Jean Luc’s voice breaking the way-too-intimate moment Felix and I were having in the middle of a crowded room.
Disappointm
ent welled in Felix’s eyes, though he covered it well, taking a step back and casually running a hand through his ever-disheveled hair.
“Maddie, sweets, love, darling, we have got a problem. We are talking show stopper here, honey.”
I cleared my throat, willing my cheeks to stop burning. “Yes?” I asked, addressing Jean Luc.
What little hair the man had was standing on end, a sheen of perspiration covering his forehead, his pupils dilated to an unhealthy size. “It’s Angelica. She broke a heel. Damned cheap pumps! You’ve got to do something, now! She goes on in ten minutes, God help us all.” He paused, spotting Felix for the first time. “Oh, hello Lord Ackerman, I trust you are enjoying the circus, no?” he said, gesturing around himself.
Felix gave Jean Luc a curt nod, his eyes still on me.
“I’m on it,” I promised.
“You are a lifesaver. I swear if I can get through this day without killing myself, I will die a happy man. Now, go, go, go!” he shooed me.
I went, capping my water bottle again as I tried not to meet Felix’s penetrating gaze. I wasn’t sure what he’d been about to say, but I was certain I didn’t know how to respond. He had to be joking, right? I mean, this was one of his sick jokes. He was teasing. He was just playing with me. He was…
I turned around. He was still standing in the same place, his eyes on me, hands shoved in his pockets, a look in his eyes that was surprisingly vulnerable, making his boyish good looks that much more endearing. I’d never seen Tabloid Boy like this. Teasing, yes. Playful, yes. Even infuriatingly selfish, self absorbed, preoccupied. But never laid this bare.
I snapped my head back around. This was all too much.
I took a sip from the water bottle in my hands, my mouth going Sahara on me as I threaded my way through the makeup chairs, wardrobe racks and general chaos to where Angelica was holding a broken heel in one hand and trying to zip up a black baby-doll dress with the other.
“Heel emergency?” I asked.
Angelica nodded. “Sorry. I tripped over a makeup case.”
I pulled a tube of superglue from my pocket. “No problem.” I applied a thin layer to the heel, sticking it back in place. Were she going on a day trip to the mall, no way would this hold. But, for a two minute strut down a runway, it would do.
“Love the outfit,” I said, gesturing to the dress. It featured a high, empire waist and a flowing bell shape, al la vintage Audrey Hepburn. Totally sixties chic.
“Thanks. It would have been better if we’d had a real necklace to go with it,” she said, adjusting the piece of costume jewelry around her neck that Jean Luc had found as a last minute replacement for the real deal, still squirreled away in Moreau’s evidence vault along with two dozen pairs of my very best work.
A thought I shoved to the back of my mind, lest I break out in tears right then and there.
“Damned, Gisella. Even dead she’s still screwing me over,” Angelica mumbled to herself.
“Well at least she can’t steal any more boyfriends away,” I reasoned.
Angelica cocked her head at me, her red curls flopping to the side. “What?”
“Like she did with your boyfriend, Sam.”
She grinned at me, showing off a row of ultra-white teeth. “I never said Sam was a man. Samantha was my girlfriend.”
Mental forehead smack.
“Oops. My bad. I guess I just thought…” I trailed off. Considering the type of files on Gisella’s camera, I’d just assumed that we were talking about a guy here. I never guessed Gisella might be stealing a woman away from Angelica. I guess I assumed Gisella only swung one way. Something I supposed I shouldn’t have.
But in my defense, “Sam” wasn’t exactly the most feminine name. Had she said “Sally,” I so would have been right there with her.
Angelica waved me off. “No biggie,” she said, doing another of her Eastern European Americanisms.
“Angelica, you’re on,” Jean Luc shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and propelling her into the wings where Ann shifted her into line.
I watched her go, taking another sip from my water bottle. Sam was a woman. Somehow that new bit of information seemed like it should be significant. But I wasn’t quite sure how.
As the swell of music filled the air, cheers erupted from the tent. Ann gave Angelica the silent, “Go,” and Angelica took her first step out onto the runway, instantly barraged by flashbulbs. The steady pulse of music continued as bits and pieces of information that I’d collected over the past week turned over each other in my head, like puzzle pieces that didn’t quite fit together. I took another sip of water.
I watched Jean Luc herd models into line, Ann shouting into her headset, giving each model a, “Go,” on cue. Dana fidgeted in line, looking nervous, but gorgeous in her teal silk number. She turned and I gave her a reassuring “thumbs up” as Ann shoved her onto the runway. I couldn’t help the little swell of pride as I heard the crowd “oooo” and “ahhh” over my best friend.
Model after model began returning from the runway, their stoic expressions transforming to panic the second they emerged backstage, quickly stripping off their outfits and shoving their long limbs into the next look. They were each immediately attacked by a waiting team, hair was teased, clothes flew, shoes shoved on tired feet, all to the loud, steady bass beat of the music pumping through the hidden speakers.
I took another sip of water. The chaos of the room, not to mention the last week, was getting to me. I felt my hands starting to sweat, my heart beating a little faster.
And then there was Felix. He was standing off to one side, his back to the runway as he leaned casually against the wall. His hands were still shoved in his pockets, his eyes watchful, taking the scene in, no doubt trying to mentally come up with a sensationalized slant to the whole thing to run in tomorrow’s paper. Typical Tabloid Boy.
So why were my cheeks flushing again? I bit my lip, the loud music, the crowded room, Felix’s revelation, all suddenly feeling like they were closing in on me. I was getting seriously claustrophobic. I took another sip of my water.
I took a deep breath, in and out, trying to get the flush under control as I watched Auntie Charlene appear at Felix’s side. He turned and gave her a smile, his adorable Hugh Grant dimples punctuating his cheeks.
I shook my head. Adorable? Where had that come from?
Charlene leaned in close, whispering something in Felix’s ear. A frown creased his features, then he glanced my way.
Immediately, my eyes hit the ground, loath to be caught staring at him. I took another sip from my water, then peeked back up at him through my lashes. Only he was gone. Charlene stood in his place. Staring straight at me. Her pale blue eyes almost looking as if she were watching me.
I closed my eyes, the warm flush turning into an all out sweat. When I opened them again, the room started to spin, models dancing before my vision, Jean Luc’s anxious form fuzzy and in triplicate. I tried to take deep, steadying breaths and took another drag from my bottle.
And still Charlene continued to focus my direction. Eyes watchful. Pale features placid. Body rigid with tension. Charlene. Charlene…
And then the last piece fell into place in my brain with an almost audible click. Charlie. Charlie hadn’t been a man, Charlie was a woman.
I felt myself sway on my feet as my crutches slipped out from under me.
“Easy there, Maddie.”
I blinked hard, my vision blurred like I was looking at the world through a sheet of waxed paper. I saw Charlene’s face hovering just above mine.
“You?” I asked, my voice sounding a million miles away to my own ears. “You and Gisella… that night… the necklace…”
“You look a little flushed, Maddie,” she said, her voice echoing in that infuriatingly polite British tone.
I blinked again, trying to control the double visions hitting me harder than a vodka martini on an empty stomach. I looked down at the water bottle still in my hand.
The
water.
I let the bottle drop, the contents splashing onto my toes as sweat broke out on my brow. What was in the water?
Felix. Felix had given me the bottle… He and Charlene… It couldn’t be.
The room began to spin again as I whipped my head back and forth, scanning the backstage area for Felix. What had he done to me?
“Easy, now, Maddie,” Charlene said, her blue eyes flat as she stared down at me, her manicured claws digging into my arm to hold me up. “Don’t you worry, love.”
I watched a slow wicked smile spread across her features as the room closed in on me.
“I’m going to take good care of you.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but I was suddenly too weak to move my lips. The best I could do was let out a pathetic, strangled sound in the back of my throat.
Just before everything went black.
Chapter Nineteen
I have had the misfortune in my life to be knocked over the head, shot, whacked unconscious, and, last but not least, nearly strangled. (What can I say? Mrs. Rosenblatt is right. My karma really sucks.) But drugged was a new one even for me.
And as I slowly blinked my eyes open, one painful movement at a time, not an experience, I decided, that I ever wanted to repeat. My mouth felt like I’d been eating cotton balls, my eyelids almost too heavy to lift. And my head pounded louder than a heavy metal drummer. I groaned. Bad idea. The sound vibrated through my skull, causing stabs of pain to slice through my brain.
“Maddie?”
I froze at the sound of the familiar voice calling my name. I took a breath and forced my eyes open. They moved as if under water, slowly, blinking a few times before the person who’d spoke came into focus.
“Mom?” I croaked out.
“Oh, thank God, Maddie, you’re alive.”
I did some more blinking, trying to get my bearings as the drummer quickened his pace. I was in a hotel room, which looked a lot like mine except for the fact that the color scheme was a dusty rose instead of my sunshine yellow. A pair of matching Vuitton suitcases were lined up by the door, the closets conspicuously empty.
High Heels Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-5) Page 98