Whatever, Xavier!
As for the headbands—Belle’s weren’t the classic, thin black bands of the Alice images we all know. She had teamed up with a famous Austrian crystal producer and had the most eye-catching line of delicate, bejeweled headbands specially designed. They were slim but twinkled like a million little stars as the light reflected off their hand-cut facets. Light blues and pinks, brilliant greens and purples, and more rainbow-colored hues vied with each other for attention. They were beautiful and no two were alike; each model had her own. Needless to say there was a lot of backstage “oohing” and “aahing” as we compared our respective headbands.
Our makeup, on the other hand, was all about the eyeliner. Otherwise our faces were to be left relatively bare. Foundation and powder were kept to a minimum, with only a light dusting of pastel pink blush across our cheeks and a swipe of pink gloss on our lips. It was a very pretty and fresh look, and while I was still wearing way more makeup than I ever did in “real” life, at least—I thought, as I looked at myself in the mirror—I could still recognize myself. And I could walk outside without people looking at me as if I were a slimy-skinned alien with ten legs, which was how I often felt when I left a fashion show with my hair and makeup intact!
As Shawna, the hairstylist, applied the straightening iron to lengths of my hair (it had already been straightened with a blow-dryer, but she needed the iron to get that really stick-straight finish), I leaned back in my chair and wrote a new list in my mind. I had yet to make a big breakthrough, but I did have a few new leads to follow:
The new photo. Why was it delivered to my house this morning and who sent it? Was it meant to be a clue?
Caro Moretti. She’d had some kind of boyfriend trouble with her sister, Clarissa. What had happened? And how did it end? What was their relationship really like?
The newspapers. Why did reports of her death insinuate that Clarissa had been drinking or taking drugs when she fell on the staircase at Dawson Place? Jodi Lipton was certain that Clarissa’s addictions had been under control three months prior to her death. So why did the papers report otherwise? What was their source? And how could this be important?
Clarissa. Why was she scared? What had been frightening her just before she died?
I zoned out for a while as Shawna quietly worked on my hair and Halley snoozed under my chair. But ten minutes later I snapped to when my phone vibrated with new message alerts. My mom was on her way and couldn’t wait to see me in action. Tallulah would also be at the show and was hoping to meet with me afterward. And Charlotte and Charlie from Thunder would be coming as well to watch me walk live for the first time. Argh! As if I didn’t have enough to think about, now I had to worry about not tripping over my high heels and falling flat on my face in front of my mom and my agent!
Speaking of which, my phone vibrated again just as a stylist strapped a pair of incredibly high snakeskin stilettos onto my feet. I contorted myself like a yoga master to reach into my shoulder bag and grab my phone without moving my feet. It was a message from Sebastian:
Holmes, Jane’s house is owned by Johnny Vane.
Hmm…I thought, that was interesting—and it raised a few questions:
Had Johnny bought it for her as a gift? Or for himself as an investment? It was a very expensive house on a very expensive street. How could Jane afford to pay for the upkeep? Did Johnny help her with maintenance too?
I wrote back:
Interesting, Watson.
And then we moved our meeting back half an hour to four thirty. I wanted to make sure I’d have enough time with Tallulah after the show. But before putting my phone away, I asked Sebastian for his help with one last thing:
If possible, could you please check up on news reports (in the social pages) of a quarrel between Caro and Clarissa over a man? Would have happened around 1976, about a year before Clarissa died.
Sebastian:
No problem, Holmes. Will do. See you soon. And good luck with the show!
The volume of the music had shot up, and we were called to get in formation. It was showtime! Like a human rainbow we stood in line, our gorgeous pastel-colored dresses shimmering under the bright lights as Belle gave us one last once-over, adjusting lapels and tightening waistbands with the deftness born of years of styling.
“You all look amazing! Remember, you’re in a magical wonderland. And don’t forget that you’re also strong, powerful, and able to handle whatever anyone throws at you. You’re Alices for the twenty-first century!” Then the first model was called, and within seconds the show was underway.
I was relieved that, even though Josh had been watching the show, I wasn’t singled out for extra attention after all the publicity we’d had that morning. This might partly have had to do with the way Belle had constructed her runway—which wasn’t, in fact, a real “runway,” but actually more of a meandering path through the first floor of the store. This meant that space was more constrained. The photographers had only a second to catch us as we walked past them, and they were too close to the invited guests to call out names or make loud comments.
Apparently Josh had also taken to heart what I’d told him and shown him on my phone earlier. He was careful not to make any eye contact or pay me any undue attention as I walked past him. No doubt some of the photographers were looking to see if he would.
Whatever.
But while the press attention may have been dying down, my phone was still vibrating like mad. A fair number of angry and threatening messages were still coming through on my Instagram and Facebook feeds. I decided to ignore them all.
My mom came backstage and found me. “Axelle, darling, you looked absolutely amazing,” she chirped loudly. “I’m so proud of you!” Mom loves the backstage ambiance and was watching the proceedings unfold around her with great curiosity. As I changed into my own clothes I could see how her eyes took in everything: the buzzing journalists, Belle being interviewed, and even Belle’s backstage mood board. My mom said hi to Ellie and was delighted when I introduced her to a few of the other models I knew. Then she tried to get a few hair and makeup tips while the stylists packed up their equipment.
“Mom,” I finally said, “I have to go. Tallulah is waiting for me. She’s here now.”
“Ooh, that’s lovely, Axelle.” My mom smiled. “Is she going to interview you again?”
“Hmm…yes, she is,” I said, thinking that a discussion of how the case was going might almost be described as an interview.
“Good. Well, I have an appointment I have to dash off to anyway, but I absolutely loved seeing you do your stuff, darling. Listen, should I take Halley with me? She’ll have to sit in the car while I have my appointment, but I’ll be going home after that.”
Halley looked up at the two of us, then barked at me. “I think that means she wants to stay with me, Mom,” I said, laughing. “And just so you know, I’ll be meeting up with Sebastian on the way home. I think we’ll go out to dinner once we’ve dropped Halley off.”
“That’s fine, Axelle. I’m going to a gallery opening but I won’t be back too late. All right?”
I said good-bye to my mom, and taking Halley’s leash, I went to find Tallulah. Instead Josh found me.
“There you are,” he said as he pushed his way across the crowded backstage frenzy. “You looked great. Listen, I have to meet my U.S. record company right now, but can I see you later? Or tomorrow?”
My eyes widened. He’d totally caught me off guard despite Ellie’s warnings. Why can’t I just sink into the floor, I thought. I couldn’t think how to answer.
At that moment, however, Tallulah called me. “I’m sorry, Josh,” I said. “But someone’s waiting for me downstairs. I have to go.” I wanted to disappear before a journalist caught sight of us together. He looked disappointed and was about to say something but then seemed to change his mind. “Fine. I understand,” he finall
y said. I quickly waved good-bye and left.
The La Lunes had invited Tallulah to the show because of her status as a blogger with a huge following. She could sell more items for a fashion brand with a single Instagram photo or YouTube video than any expensive ad campaign in a magazine or newspaper. Come collection time, designers threw invitations and plenty of other freebies her way.
I met her on the first floor in the shoe department at the back of the store. She looked slinky and businesslike as she paced back and forth in her very high-heeled black boots, speaking into her phone. She wore a long, diaphanous black skirt underneath a denim jacket. And the most amazing ear cuff I’d ever seen was on her left ear. It looked like a small group of asymmetrical lightning bolts. I couldn’t make out how the jeweler had set the tiny diamonds to look as if they were suspended.
She waved when she saw me and put her phone away.
I’d made a lot of progress with the case, but until I had something more definite, I thought it better to hold my cards close to my chest. After all, I didn’t have any concrete answers, and I certainly didn’t want to mislead Tallulah at this stage.
At the same time, I knew that I was the only person she could talk to about what she thought had really happened to her brother. I couldn’t deny her the opportunity to talk, so I asked her if she wanted to go somewhere quiet. But she shook her head. “I don’t have the time, but where are you heading now?”
“To the Tube. Bond Street. But I’ll need to use a side entrance to get out of here…” I said as I looked around for the assistant Belle had sent to help Ellie and me earlier.
“Ah!” Tallulah smiled. “I think I know why. Then why don’t we walk to the Tube together? I can cover for you.”
I agreed, and after a moment I found the assistant who’d shown me in. Together the three of us slipped quietly out the side entrance, leaving the chaos of the show behind us. We stepped from the La Lune store into the sunny London day and the civilized elegance of Mount Street. If the paparazzi were still around, they’d be lurking outside the main door.
“I don’t have anything more to tell you, Axelle. I just wanted to quickly say that Gavin is recovering well and the doctors think they’ll definitely be able to bring him out of his coma on Friday. I’ve continued to look through his things again, his phone, any notes I’ve been able to find—he’s going to hate me when he comes to!—in case we missed something, but there’s absolutely nothing as far as I can see.”
“Have you thought any more about the name your brother gave the file of photos?”
“‘Close-up,’ wasn’t it?” Tallulah asked.
“Yes,” I said hopefully. “Can you think of anything that it might refer to? Anything at all?”
Tallulah shrugged her shoulders but kept moving at the brisk pace she’d set. “I can’t, Axelle, no…”
“I’ve looked through the images again and again, but there is no close-up of anything anywhere on the file—at least nothing that I can see.”
Tallulah stopped abruptly and smiled. “Are you sure?”
I looked at her. “Yes, I am. Why?”
“Well, you remember I said the names on his files were sometimes coded?”
I nodded.
“I just wonder whether by ‘Close-up’ he means there is literally something that can only be seen if you look close up.”
“What? Like with a magnifying glass?”
Tallulah shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe…the more I think about it, the more I think it might just be worth a look.”
“But which one? Or is it something about all of them? There are so many images on the file.”
Tallulah laughed. “That’s exactly the sort of thing Gavin loves! Lots of images and only he knows which one, or ones, you should really be looking at!”
She hailed a black cab, and after I’d waved her off, I tugged on Halley’s leash and headed into the Tube.
Sebastian was waiting for me on the platform in Bond Street station, as planned. He was dressed in his usual outfit of leather jacket, jeans, and boots. His hair was tousled, and he smelled fresh and warm. “I’m getting the hang of your city,” he said. “I’m finding my way around more easily every day, and I like it here more and more,” he continued. “I never knew London was such fun.”
“That’s because you’re from Paris,” I teased. “Parisians think only Paris is fun.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at me. “Seriously though, I love all the different neighborhoods, and the Englishness of it all is…well, comforting, somehow.”
He bent down to pet Halley, then took my hand (I didn’t object) as a train pulled in. As the doors opened, he led me into the nearest car and we found a couple of open seats. I smiled, happy that my modeling work was finished for the day. Being with Sebastian is so easy, I thought, as I felt my hand in his. Half the time we didn’t even need to explain things to each other—we just knew. We were on the same wavelength about so many things, and I liked that we were able to just hang out together for ages, talking about all sorts of stuff—or not. We didn’t need to plan anything special to have a good time. Ellie was right. We were good in each other’s company.
So why did he have to live so far away?
“A penny for your thoughts, Holmes?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you thinking about the fact that I don’t sing? And does that bother you?”
He was clearly talking about Josh. “That’s not what I’m thinking about, and no it doesn’t bother me. Like I told you this morning, I think it’s better that you don’t,” I answered.
“Good.” He nodded. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Then he pulled some folded slips of paper out of his inside jacket pocket. “Here,” he said.
They were copies of two articles he’d found about Caro’s broken engagement, and both corroborated Jodi’s account. Caro’s fiancé had left her for Clarissa—and then Clarissa had left her sister’s ex-fiancé after only a few months. Bad blood had developed between the sisters.
“Pretty dramatic, isn’t it?” Sebastian asked.
I nodded. “And not exactly the picture of sisterly love either…”
An email suddenly came through on my phone. It was Jazz, double-checking that I had all of my details for tomorrow’s show for Jorge Cruz. You’re going to have a blast, you lucky girl! she wrote…The gardens at Hampton Court Palace are in full bloom and the weather is supposed to be great tomorrow so I doubt they’ll need the tent after all. Don’t forget to Instagram—you’ve been forgetful the last few days!
Oh and Charlotte is going, so you’ll see her there. Call me if you need anything, anything at all, and anyway, we’ll talk tomorrow morning. Marc Jacobs’s Saturday show should confirm soon, by the way. See ya!
I finished reading the email and slipped my phone back into my shoulder bag.
Two minutes later we were walking out of Notting Hill Gate Tube station.
“I’d like to look at the copies of the news reports of Clarissa Vane’s death again. And I’d like to ask Mr. Rivera a few more questions about the day Clarissa died.”
Sebastian and I had stopped at a deli I liked on the way to the library to meet Mr. Rivera. We sat at an outside table, and after ordering a gelato and getting Halley a drink of water, I pulled out the photo and note I’d received that morning.
“So it’s probably been sent by the same person who sent Gavin the other photo?” Sebastian said.
“That’s what I think, yes. The style is so similar.”
“I agree,” he said as he held a copy of Gavin’s old photo in one hand and the one I’d received that morning in the other. “But why would they send you a picture of the hall at the Dawson Place mansion?”
“I can only guess that it’s because they’re trying to tell me something about Clarissa’s death. That’s also what the note they sent suggests. Tha
t’s why I wanted to look at the newspaper clippings again. Jodi Lipton’s account of Clarissa’s death didn’t quite tally with what I could remember of the newspaper reports we’d read.”
Sebastian set the photos on the table and pulled his notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. He opened the flap of its leather-bound cover and took out the neatly folded copies of the newspaper reports. We unfolded them, laid them out, and carefully reread every one.
They all reported the same basic information: that Clarissa Vane fell accidentally in her home, from the landing on the second floor. She had landed on the stone floor of the entrance hall. Death was instant.
“But they don’t say why or how she fell exactly,” Sebastian said.
I nodded. “Jodi said that the staircase was extremely slippery. She said she’d fallen on it herself. She was absolutely convinced that Clarissa had simply slipped and fallen to her death.”
“As opposed to?”
“This,” I said, as I pushed one of the articles toward Sebastian and pointed to the relevant sentence.
He read it out loud. “…she’d recently been in and out of various rehabilitation centers… Could this have contributed? But why does this strike you as odd? From what we know, she did seem to do more partying than parenting.”
“True, but according to Jodi, Clarissa was totally off the drink and drugs—and had been for about three months leading up to her death. In fact, Jodi was angry that the papers had hinted otherwise. And I trust her firsthand account more than I do anything in the papers…” I trailed off as I thought about what I’d just said. I believed it even more after seeing a totally fake photo of myself in the papers that morning!
I looked at Sebastian. He was suddenly very quiet, and I could see a small frown forming on his forehead. He avoided looking at me; something was clearly irritating him. I had no doubt he was thinking about this morning’s photo too.
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