I shook my head. "I'm sorry I don't have time until after the Le Croix show today," I said.
I could almost hear his shoulders sag over the phone.
"But, I do have something you can run with now."
"Oh?" And just like that he was back. "Oui, go ahead?"
I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers, and prayed to the saint of little white lies.
"I have incontrovertible evidence that I did not kill Gisella."
This piqued his interest enough that I actually heard him gasp. "What kind of evidence?" he asked, his voice breathless.
"A camera. It belonged to Gisella Rossi. And, it contains proof that not only was she stealing jewelry from her employers, but also that she had an accomplice. An accomplice who most likely killed her."
He was silent a moment, digesting this information.
"What kind of proof?"
"Video files. Gisella tapped her... exploits."
"And you currently have this camera in your possession?"
"I do," I said. Which wasn't a complete lie. I did have the camera. It just didn't contain squat. But the killer didn't know that. And, if my bluff worked, he would do whatever it took to make sure that file didn't get out.
"And you will release this evidence to me after the show?"
I nodded at the phone. "Absolutely. On one condition."
"Oui?" he said. Though I was ninety nine percent sure he'd do anything to get his hands on a story like this.
"I want you to go on the air now letting the public know that I have this evidence, it's secure in the safe in my hotel room, and that I'll be talking to you and making the evidence public immediately after the Le Croix show."
I could hear his frown through the phone. "Why?"
Because I had a plan to catch the killer red-handed trying to steal the camera. But I figured that was a little too direct. Instead I told him, "Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."
He paused for a moment. "Oui, I will do it."
I grinned. Then arranged to meet him in the hotel lobby after the show.
I slipped Gisella's camera out of my purse and opened the closet doors, exposing the little floor safe in the corner. I crouched down and opened it, sliding the camera inside before shutting it and securing the door with a click.
Phase one, complete.
Now, all I needed was a way to catch the thief in the act.
* * *
I made a quick stop in Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt's room (still empty - where the hell where those two?) before riding the elevator back down to the lobby. Luckily I caught Andre slash Pierre at the front desk.
"Good morning," I said doing an awkward one heel one boot hobble.
"Bon jour, Mademoiselle Springer," he responded. He glanced behind me. "Eh, no Rosenblatt?" he whispered.
I shook my head. "No. No Rosenblatt."
He visibly relaxed. "What can I do for you this fine morning then?"
"I wanted to ask if you have security cameras in the hotel?"
He nodded. "Oui, oui. Our guests' safety is of the utmost importance to us. Why do you ask, mademoiselle? You are worried about intruders?"
"Um, sort of. I was wondering..." I paused, unsure how much of my plan to share with him. "I was wondering if there is a camera in the hallway outside my room."
Pierre nodded. "All the hallways are monitored."
"I have a feeling..." I paused again.
"Oui? A feeling?"
"A feeling that someone may try to break into my room today. During the Le Croix show."
His eyebrows shot north. "You have received a threat?"
"Uh, well, no."
"A warning?"
"Not exactly."
He narrowed his eyes. "That Mademoiselle Rosenblatt and her mumbo-jumbo premonitions?"
"Um, no. I just... well, had a feeling."
"Hmm." He thought about that. "Okay, then. We should inform the police, oui?"
"No!"
Pierre jumped.
"Uh, I mean, no. No police. It's, uh, probably just a prank, right? No point in bringing the authorities in for nothing. I just wanted to make sure that should I report a theft later, there would be visual evidence of someone breaking into my room. Should they try to break in."
Pierre sucked in his cheeks, contemplating me. Finally he said, "I will make sure the security team has a camera on your door."
I grinned. "Thank you, Pierre!" I slapped a palm over my mouth. "I mean, Andres."
"Hmph," he said again.
I grabbed my crutches and hobbled across the marble floor (slowly this time, one embarrassing face plant per vacation was enough for me) toward the glass front doors, where the doorman hailed me a cab.
I slid in to 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 happen 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 was 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 mor
ning 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 one. 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 supposed 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 sudden 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.
Disappointment 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 minutes 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 Gisell
a 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.
Alibi in High Heels Page 20