by Patti Larsen
What did Vivian know that I didn’t? “Is she a suspect?”
She shrugged, delicate and rather fragile inside her designer suit, looking the most frail, the most lost I’d ever seen her. It was my turn to reach for her and I did, taking her elbow in one hand. She didn’t fight my touch, but didn’t collapse as I feared she might. What was her relationship to Grace that she had such a powerful reaction to the woman’s plight? A plight that I had, as yet, to even confirm? Or, did Vivian know full well her friend was a suspect, might even be the murderer, and that was her motivation for coming to me?
Vivian had to know if Grace did it, if she killed Faith, I wouldn’t protect her even if I did like her as much as was already obvious. But, as the Queen of Wheat visibly strengthened, I realized I actually didn’t care if Grace was guilty or not. Because for me this wasn’t about the designer I’d come to admire and like.
“Not for Grace,” I said softly, surprising myself. “For you, Vivian. For what you did for Mom.” Well, that was the excuse. Sheesh, had I really gone soft on my dislike for my old foe? I guess so.
She shook her head, though her old animosity and coldness didn’t come back. “Lucy has always been good to me. Kind. I couldn’t let them ruin her.”
So she had been the source of my mother’s renewed confidence. I’d know it intellectually, but it was nice to have confirmation from the monarch’s mouth.
“I’ll do what I can.” Oh, Fee. “No promises. And Vivian, if Grace is guilty…”
She swallowed, wouldn’t meet my eyes. “If she’s guilty, Fee, she needs to be punished. But if she isn’t… if she’s accused of Faith’s murder, this could ruin her.” She finally looked up, blue eyes so open I wondered how I’d ever disliked or misjudged her. “Thank you.” Vivian gently freed herself from my grip and backed away, touching her cheek, her hair, smoothing the front of her suit. “Your best is all I ask.”
All I could do was watch as she spun then and left, closing the door far more softly behind her than she’d entered, conflicting emotions at war inside me while I wondered how I was going to explain my nosiness to Crew in a way he’d understand.
***
Chapter Thirteen
I returned my attention to the note to distract myself from the inevitable confrontation with my sheriff boyfriend, though just reading the patched-together scraps of shredded paper meant I was taking steps that would likely end in him grinding his teeth and sighing a lot. Oh well, I could live with him being annoyed with me and figured at some point he’d be asking me for input anyway, right?
I skimmed the contents, taking in the gist if not the full details the first time through. Apparently, Noel had concerns about Faith, though the bulk of the contents were missing. When I forced my eyes to slow down and read what Mila had managed to fit in some semblance of order, it read:
You have to, Henry—her usual tricks—just listen for once—Faith’s plans to—pay attention this—Noel.
I frowned at the missing parts, realizing Mila must have only retrieved portions of the note and, when I flipped it over, understood the lack of connective tissue. She’d taken the bits she’d found and carefully and completely taped them down to a fresh piece of paper, creating a solid backing for what little remained. And while there wasn’t much to go on, it was suspicious enough that when the front door opened at the exact moment I frowned my way through trying to figure out who to talk to first, I almost pounced on the very woman who had written this particular note in the first place.
She seemed shocked by my sudden approach and I did my best to dial back my enthusiasm just before I blurted out a demand she tell me what it was she had against Faith. In fact, her reaction actually gave me the moment I needed to double-take and check myself before I could put myself in a position to be accused of breaking into her room and stealing her things. Because I hadn’t, after all. I was just taking advantage of Mila’s misappropriation of information. That didn’t make me a bad person.
It didn’t.
“Miss Fleming.” Noel paused, staring at me, her face pale, dark circles even more pronounced as she looked at me as if I were going to bring her harm. “Are you all right?”
Whoops. “Fine,” I said, tugging hard on my curiosity. I must have seemed downright dangerous for her to ask me like that.
Instead, she softened just slightly, hesitating before speaking again with compassion in her voice. “I heard you were there. When they found Faith.”
Ah, that was what she meant. I nodded, mind spinning to find a way to use that moment of her weakness to my advantage. “Poor thing,” I said. “I’m sure they’ll find who did it.”
Noel flinched and her ranking in my suspect pool notched up a place or two. “I’m sure they will.” She swallowed, the uncomfortable silence between us growing. Now, my father taught me if you wanted someone to tell you information but they weren’t super forthcoming you should always stay quiet. The guilty hated a vacuum, and I don’t mean the floor cleaning variety. Weight on a conscience had a way of blurting itself out through the lips of those who had secrets to keep, and I’d used this technique in the past with great results.
This time, though? Nada. Zippo zilcheroonie. So, either Noel had nothing to do with Faith’s death or she didn’t feel guilty for killing her. I had a hard time believing the woman was that icy cold, especially with fear showing behind her big eyes. Just like I struggled to believe someone her size could wrangle even Faith’s slim body up a ladder to hang her. Then again, fear and rage gave us the sort of strength we wouldn’t normally command and, to be honest, while Noel looked skinny and weak, she could have been much stronger than she appeared.
When she shifted as if to go, the tension between us at the kind of height that meant she was going to beat a retreat, I offered up the scraps of note, showing her the pieces taped together. She frowned this time, anger surfacing, and when she met my gaze hers was shadowed, darkened.
“Where did you get that?” She didn’t try to defend herself, came across instead as indignant and professional.
“In your trash,” I said. “While I was cleaning your room.” Yeah, little white lie, Fee. Nice job. “I saw Faith’s name and, naturally, it made me wonder. Considering you threw this out, Noel, I’ve done nothing wrong.”
She looked like she wanted to argue but shrugged instead, thin shoulders working under the heavy wool of her wrap. Despite the thickness of the fabric, I could still make out the hard lines of her bones protruding through her skin as if someone stretched her far too thin for her own good. “It’s hardly a secret I’ve had issues with Faith Leeman.”
If she said so. “Were you at the lodge when she was killed?”
Noel’s frown didn’t fade. “I don’t have to answer that,” she said. “Good night, Miss Fleming.”
Yeah, I could have followed her, poked and prodded her further. Almost did. Except, while I stood there considering that course of action, I was interrupted. And not in a nice way. In a jump out of my skin and shriek like a little girl way.
“I think she killed that girl.” Mila had somehow appeared behind me, leaning over my shoulder, staring at the now empty staircase with those huge, wide eyes of hers. What the actual what? I’d thought she’d gone back up to her room. Where had she been hiding? I caught at my throat with one hand, gasping for a breath, shaking a bit from the shock of her sudden appearance. Mila didn’t seem to notice she’d upset me, head tilting to one side like a dog listening for a distant sound only she could hear. “I’ve been watching her.” Her head turned on a slow swivel, eyes meeting mine in that glazed and staring way that was really starting to freak me out. “There’s something wrong with her, Fee.”
Pots and kettles, Mila.
“I’m sure the sheriff will be happy to have this.” I backed out of the young woman’s space, though she drifted after me, keeping the distance the same as before, a magnet on an unerring trajectory and for the first time I actually had a worried thought. Then shrugged it off and tried a s
mile. “Meanwhile, I’m going to have to ask you not to break into other guest’s rooms.” Wow, did I just say that? She didn’t know I was going to tell Crew. But she had to understand I didn’t condone her activity.
Mila shrugged, dreamy smile responding to my weak and worried one. “If you say so, Fee.” She hugged me suddenly but let me go when I squeaked in shock, drifting away like she knew I’d had my limit of her attention. She climbed the stairs for real this time, again leaving me to wonder where she’d gone if not up to her room earlier, shuddering to think she’d lingered in some unseen place, watching me. And again that thought perhaps she wasn’t here for Grace crossed my mind.
Crushed in relief as the front door opened and tall, dark and divinely delicious walked through.
***
Chapter Fourteen
It was inevitable we ended up downstairs in my apartment, Crew with a beer in one hand, me pondering the uncomfortable quiet that he settled in when I told him about Mila’s snooping. He examined the note before sighing and setting it aside.
“I’m going to have to talk to her,” he said.
I nodded. “I know.” Why did I feel protective of her, anyway? She’d stalked Willow mercilessly, though I’d felt sorry for Mila since we’d met and despite her following the star around, she’d never done any actual harm. But she could hurt my business with her illegal activity. I really needed to go upstairs and kick her out right now. That’s why my feet felt glued to the floor.
Crew took a long drink before setting down his bottle with a soft glass on tile thud, staring at the rim with those serious blue eyes, bangs growing out just enough I felt the itch to just reach out and push his hair back so I had an excuse to touch him. Fee. Focus.
“I’ll see what else I can dig up about Noel,” he said. Wait, what else? He was already on to her? “After I have a chat with your nosy guest.” He laughed then, soft and low and graveled, my favorite, before leaning forward and tugging me toward him, tucking me in between his knees, free hand on the small of my back, eyes level with mine where he perched on the stool at the counter. “If I arrested everyone in town for nosiness, I wouldn’t have a girlfriend.”
Smarty pants. “Are you okay with me helping?” I didn’t mean for that to come out in a little girl voice and cleared my throat before trying again with a bit more force behind my words. “Vivian doesn’t like taking no for an answer.”
“And you care oh so much about what Vivian French wants, right?” Crew’s humor didn’t fade. “It has nothing to do with the fact you can’t stand that someone else came across a dead body and you had to find out secondhand.”
Grumph. Now he was just being snarky.
“Like I’d be able to stop you,” he said, not even sighing like he usually did. “Just be careful. Scratch that.” He shook his head, the ends of his black hair just starting to curl from length shining as he did. Growl. He was so deliciously distracting. Dead body? What dead body? “How about you keep me in the loop and we’ll worry about the rest if and when someone tries to kill you.”
Okay, he sounded reasonable enough, but there was tightness around his eyes and that particular little hop of his jaw that told me he was doing his best to be understanding while lingering worry and doubt lived beneath the surface. Fair enough.
“I have one question,” I said, knowing I was totally changing the subject and yet not, really. “About Jill?”
Crew did sigh this time, and when he looked down and away, the jaw hop turned to a jump, the twitch under his eye instantly registering as anger. But he did a great job of hiding it otherwise. If I hadn’t made him furious myself a time or two (or six or, well, you know) in the past I might have missed it. “Jill’s been… struggling with authority lately.”
Huh. “What does that mean?”
Crew shrugged, eyes locked on mine, before taking a slow drink. He didn’t speak, just stared at me like I should know what he meant while frustrated irritation almost made me poke him.
Leave it to my handsome sheriff boyfriend to change the subject. “I do like Noel Lewder for this, at least as a possible suspect.” He reached for his notebook and flipped it open, frowning at his handwriting before going on. “Turns out she used to be a model, repped by Henry Ostler. She had some kind of breakdown last year during Fashion Week in New York. Henry dropped her and Grace fired her from her line. She started a blog bashing the industry and seems to blame Grace for some reason, not Henry, though it sounds like it was his decision to cancel their contract that ended her career.”
“But why kill Faith Leeman?” Where was the motive to murder another model?
“Noel and Faith had several public fights when the blogger decided to go after some of Grace’s favorite models directly.” He closed his notebook and tucked it back into his pocket, still frowning slightly but from thought, not upset. “Noel’s been bashing Grace and Faith, claiming that the designer’s choice to use larger models, and I use that term loosely, is a sham, that Grace is as demanding of those who work for her as any other.”
Hmmm. “But is that enough motive to kill Faith? We’re obviously missing several pieces of the puzzle.” We. Ahem.
Crew didn’t correct me, though his eyes took on that sparkle of laughter that told me he caught the slip up and found it amusing. “No offense, but from what I’ve seen, many of the models I’ve met seem a bit high strung. And I’ve seen people kill for less.”
True.
“As for Jill,” Crew stood up, finishing his beer before his sentence, “let me handle it, okay? She’s working some stuff out. She’ll either shake this off or move on.”
Shake what off? I didn’t get to ask, the sound of the front door upstairs opening catching my attention. Fine, we’d talk about it later. And we would talk about it, make no mistake, Crew Turner.
When I reached the foyer, my boyfriend following close behind me, Petunia wriggling between my feet to make it to the newcomers faster than either of us, I found myself half-smiling, half-grimacing at Grace. The designer was in whispered conversation with Libby by the front door as if they’d entered together in the midst of what looked like a heated argument and came to an abrupt halt when their voices dropped below audible. It reminded me of seeing Libby with Henry earlier today, but I didn’t mention it. Grace waved at me, offered her own sad smile, though, so I knew she wasn’t unhappy to see me. She looked tired, worn thin, but still in control while Libby was a visible mess, her assistant shaking as she turned and saw me watching. The young woman hugged herself abruptly, falling instantly silent, almost sullen as she dropped her gaze to her feet while Petunia waddled to her side and sat next to her, panting her smiling pug smile up at the silent Libby.
The door opened before I could talk to Grace, Vivian slipping inside, instantly hugging her friend around her shoulders. If looks could put someone in the ground, the one Libby flashed at the Queen of Wheat would have buried Vivian so far beneath the earth she might have made it halfway to China. But was that jealousy or something else entirely?
“Grace.” I ignored Libby and Vivian both, offering a hand which she took and held gently in hers. “I’m so sorry about Faith. Are you okay?”
The designer shook her head, dabbing at her nose with a tissue held in her other hand while Vivian stood there and supported her as if she’d fall over at any moment.
“I will be,” Grace said, voice thick with grief. “It’s all been such a shock.”
“The show must go on, though, I assume.” Crew sounded just a touch cynical, though he had his professional face on. “You’d like me to clear the crime scene so you can continue the show?”
Grace seemed shocked, paled out. “I don’t know if I can go on,” she whispered while Vivian glared at him.
“I’m sure some of the others might be so jaded,” she snapped, “but Grace has a soul.”
I waved her off, trying not to let my temper get the better of me. “Vivian.” She scowled at me, gaze flashing to me instantly. “You’re well aware Crew has
been put in this position before. He’s doing his best to anticipate. That’s all.”
Yikes. I didn’t need to defend him. He was a grown man and sheriff. I hoped he wouldn’t be offended. As for Vivian, she relented, sniffing softly before hugging Grace in a swift, protective motion.
“You had questions for Grace, Fee?” Vivian’s eyes locked on mine. “Otherwise I want to get her to bed.”
Right, she was at the annex, not here at the main house. I hadn’t expected to see her or Libby tonight. Vivian must have learned a thing or two watching me poke my nose in where it wasn’t wanted. I glanced at Crew who didn’t comment. His expression seemed calm enough, whole body quiet and collected, not a hint of anger showing. So I took the plunge and the initiative and nodded.
“Can you tell us what happened with Noel Lewder and why she held such animosity for you and Faith?” Way to just jump into heavy duty questions, Fee. I should have asked Grace to the sitting room, let her take a load off, even gotten her some tea. Instead, I blurted out the big question at the top of my head and did my best not to wince when I finished.
Grace took it, well, gracefully. “I’d heard she’s in town,” she said, swallowing and stiffening a little, as if trying to pull herself together. “She’s been bitter over losing her contract with Henry and blames me for it, despite the fact I had nothing to do with it. Apparently, Faith told her I was the one who demanded he fire Noel. I did no such thing. I simply decided not to use her for my next show because she’d become so painfully thin.”
“Against brand,” Vivian said, like that needed to be made clear.
Grace nodded, touched her friend’s hand. “Exactly. But Noel turned it into a vendetta against me and Faith and has been writing horrible things about us ever since. Not that it’s altered my choice to continue to use more normal sized models. If anything, her vitriol and near hysteria has proven to me that I’m on the right track. I want men and women who have bigger goals and dreams to represent my line. College students, professionals. People who take their lives seriously and treat modeling with reverence, not desperation.”