Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Acknowledgements

  A special callout to the reality television series: Project Runway. After complete emersion with more than fifty hours of viewing, I feel like I know Heidi Klum, host, judge and executive producer of the show, (“Let’s start the show.”); Michael Kors, CFDA –Council of Fashion Designers of America’s Geoffrey Beene Lifetime Achievement Award, (“Hi guys.”); Nina Garcia, Fashion Director, Marie Claire magazine, (“I want that dress.”); Tim Gunn, fashion consultant, television personality, Chief Creative Officer at Liz Claiborne, (“Make it work.”)

  Designers, Fashion, and Runway, television documentary. Again hours were spent learning of the backgrounds and struggles of successful designers. Success doesn’t come easy in the industry. Lightning strikes, maybe, after years of hard work.

  Thanks to Dr. R. Colton, my nephew, for his reconnaissance trip to Bainbridge, Washington.

  A special thanks to Roger and Pat Grady. Their editing skills—attention to detail such as the timeline and checking that events lineup with clues—are phenomenal.

  Thanks to my reviewers: Lorna Prusak and Molly Tredwell

  Jessie, my neighbor’s Bassett Hound, served as my inspiration for Agatha.

  Labeled In Seattle

  Murder by Design Trilogy: Book 2

  MARY JANE FORBES

  Todd Book Publications

  LABELED IN SEATTLE

  A rising fashion star. A once-in-a-lifetime internship. The catwalk to fame is paved with blood.

  Gillianne “Gilly” Wilder just landed her dream internship at a Parisian fashion house. When her body of work catches the eye of a sexy French politician, she can hardly believe her ears when he invites her for a romantic weekend getaway in Milan. And soon she finds herself torn between a fairytale romance and the man waiting for her back home.

  Beneath her new admirer’s suave appearance, Gilly starts to suspect there’s something he’s hiding. And to make her workload and love life even more complicated, she’s received a threatening note that her stalker has followed her overseas. Deep within the glitzy, cutthroat world of high-fashion, Gilly must summon the courage to outshine her competition, claim the love she deserves, and preserve her life before it all comes apart at the seams.

  Chapter 1

  Paris

  THE YOUNG LADY IN seat 23A pressed her forehead to the window, straining against her seatbelt. A sweeping panorama of Paris lay below as the plane circled Charles de Gaulle Airport. Fourteen hours earlier she was waving goodbye to her parents, grandfather, and best friend Maria Delgado standing behind the Seattle airport window.

  Leaning back in her seat she opened her small mirror to check her hair—burnished red, falling around her shoulders. Black lashes fringed green eyes, sparkling in anticipation as she wondered about the world she was plunging into, an internship of six months or more arranged by the fashion industry’s top employment agency located in Paris.

  Gillianne Wilder, had gone from a barmaid employed at an Indian casino on Bainbridge Island across Puget Sound, to winning a $20,000 fashion design competition, to spending six months in Paris. She gave her family $5,000 of her prize money and banked the remaining $15,000 to fund her trip abroad.

  To help bring her dream of being a top fashion designer to a reality, she knew she had to spend time in Paris where the fashion industry began, learning from the best of the best—about fabrics, design techniques, trends, and the business side of setting up her own label back in Seattle. The slight jar of the landing gear locking into place snapped her out of the daydream.

  The landing was smooth and upon exiting the plane she was quickly swept along with the other passengers. She ran her hand down her black pant-suit jacket trying to smooth any wrinkles from sitting so long in the cramped plane. Excitement was suddenly tempered with anxiety—French mingled with English, passengers jockeyed for position in the snaking mob heading in the direction of baggage. She hoped.

  “Bonjour, Gilly! Here. Here.”

  Gilly looked around, her eyes scanning the crowd. Where was the voice coming from? She was sure she heard her name.

  Strange words bellowed from the ceiling. Saying what?

  Oh, God, what have I done?

  “Gilly. Gilly.”

  Her green eyes darted from face to face. Where was the lady?

  “Baggage?” Gilly asked a portly woman squeezing around her, sweat discoloring the dress under her armpits.

  “Tout droit,” the woman replied pointing straight ahead.

  The crowd continued moving at a good clip. Gilly clung to her shoulder bag trying not to trip as her heels clicked over the cement. She couldn’t veer one way or another if she tried.

  “Gilly. Gilly.”

  The voice was closer. Gilly scanned the people pressing outside the rope calling to friends and family, as well as limo drivers holding signs waiting for their passengers to identify themselves.

  There. There was a sign with her name: GILLY. Pushing free of the crush, eyes glued on her name held by a petite, dark-haired French woman waving frantically to get her attention.

  “Bonjour, Gilly. Bonjour,” the woman called out with a wide smile bobbing up and down as Gilly struggled against the crowd to reach her. The woman thankfully took hold of Gilly’s outstretched hand across the rope and pulled her into a warm embrace.

  “I’m Gabrielle. You look just like your picture. You have bags?”

  “One. I sent two cases of clothes to the apartment address in your email.”

  “Bon. See that sign? Keep going. I meet you.”

  “Okay, okay.” Gilly’s heart was pounding, she struggled to breathe, her eyes starting to burn. Take deep breaths. Straighten up. Focus. Think how you got here—classes at the Seattle Fashion Academy, preparing for the competition, sending your first model down the runway. Think about the moment you were declared the winner. Breathe. You can do this.

  Chapter 2

  ───

  GABRIELLE TOOK CHARGE OF the situation grasping one of the suitcases, dragging Gilly by the hand, who in turn dragged her rolling suitcase, the tote bag bouncing on her shoulder. Gabrielle flagged down a cab, shouting the address, directing him to put the luggage in the trunk.

  “We’ll be at the apartment in about twenty-five minutes unless he’s really good,” Gabrielle nodded in the direction of the cab driver, and shooting a reassuring smile at Gilly.

  Looking out the window, Gilly’s first impression was that Paris was a bustling city not unlike Seattle, yet nothing like it at all.

  She was greeted with flowering trees, lavender iris, and a profusion of colorful tulips and bushes lining the sidewalks, outdoor cafes and flower stalls. Little cars, which seemed like toys to Gilly, shot up and down the streets. Buildings were faced with numerous windows most with intricate wrought-iron balconies. The cabbie turned onto a wide boulevard.

  “Gabrielle, is that the Arc de Triomphe or are my eyes playing tricks?”

  “You are right. You did your homework, Mademoiselle Gillianne. Hang on we are at the traffic circle where a dozen streets converge. It’s survival of the fittest or the bravest,” Gabrielle said laughing enjoying the ride with her new client. “We’re now on the Champs-Elysées. The side streets can be very narrow. Barely enough for two cars to pass in opposite directions. Such is the case in front of your apartment building. You’ll see. A good driver may endure a few scratches, but no dents. If need be, insurance is split fifty-fifty. You’ve come on a very beautiful day, Gilly. May sometimes is a bit chilly.”

  “Can we go to a café?”

  “Oui. But first you meet your roommates. They’re waiting for you. Take a look see at the apartment, which you can do standing in the middle of the living room and turning in a circle. Then, Nicole and Sheridan will join us for an espresso at a nice little café down the street.”

  Gilly felt herself relax. She was falling in love with Paris and wanted to jump out of the cab to start exploring the shops, buy flowers, and drink the coffee Gabrielle sugges
ted.

  Veering to the curb of a white stone building the driver stopped, jumped out and retrieved Gilly’s luggage as Gabrielle stepped onto the sidewalk, pulling Gilly by the hand so she wouldn’t get out on the street side. Gabrielle asked the fare and counted out the money.

  “Merci, monsieur.”

  “Follow me, Gilly. Your apartment is on the third floor.” Gabrielle darted in a big red door, around a corner, and started up the stairs, bumping Gilly’s bag on each step. Gilly followed, her bag bumping along in rhythm.

  “Is there an elevator?”

  “Afraid not, no lift in many apartment buildings. I’m also the agent for your two roommates. There was a third but she left. In tears I might add. Couldn’t make it. But that freed up a spot for you. You girls are roughing it with three, but it’s cozy and a good deal considering what you said you could afford. And best of all, the metro is at the end of the block and the fashion houses I have you lined up with are all close to a stop—Dior, Chanel, Giorgio, and others.”

  Stopping on the landing of the third floor, Gabrielle knocked three times flashing a smile at Gilly who was trying to catch her breath.

  “A few more times up these stairs and I should be in great shape if I don’t have a heart attack first,” Gilly said responding to Gabrielle with a smirk.

  Gilly heard excited chatter on the other side of the door. “Come on, come on. Pull the blanket over your clothes, hide the mess.”

  The door flew open and two smiling faces beamed out at Gilly and Gabrielle.

  “Come in. Come in.” A tall brunette, with a decided New York accent, extended her hand to Gilly. “I’m Sheridan and this is Nicole.”

  The girls ushered Gilly and Gabrielle into what appeared to Gilly to be a large living room. She would soon see that the couch was really a futon, a small kitchen was behind one side of a partition and three racks on the other side, two full of clothes the third empty. A door led into a small bathroom—salle d'eau they called it with a sink protruding from the wall. All the walls were white, hardwood floor was washed with white paint, four black wrought iron chairs nestled into a table, and all fabric was maroon. Clean and efficient.

  Gilly found herself turning in a circle as Gabrielle said but didn’t see any beds. “Bedroom?”

  “Mezzanine,” the three women said together looking up.

  Gilly had missed the iron staircase circling up to a loft.

  “The landlady was kind enough to store the wall-to-wall king-size bed. Nicole and I found three sturdy cots in a second-hand shop. The foam mattresses are firm. You just have to be careful or you’ll trip. The stairs can be tricky before that first cup of coffee in the morning,” Sheridan added.

  “Welcome to your new home.” Nicole, a petite, dark-haired, girl with a French accent, late twenties, stood smiling at Gilly.

  “This rack is for your clothes,” Sheridan said. “And the dresser behind is yours. Nicole and I found you the mirror over your dresser. As you can see there’s no room in the bathroom for our makeup and all the other stuff we girls need. This was a small bedroom but we use it as a large closet.”

  “The apartment is a pretty good size given your budgets,” Gabrielle said. “But it’s adequate for sleeping. When you girls make your millions, you’ll have fond memories of where you started. Now, is everyone up for a café crème? Our cappuccino with whipped cream, Gilly. My treat.”

  Gilly was happy to see the girls were wearing jeans with white T-shirts. She hung her jacket on her rack, kicked off her heels and pulled out a pair of red flats.

  Trotting down the stairs and out the front door, the three girls chattered filling Gilly in on the neighborhood, pointing to the metro sign, the pharmacie known to Gilly as a drugstore, and a little grocer. They said they’d fill her in on how they work out the food situation and how to get by on as little as possible for meals. They turned the corner and made their way to a small bistro table in front of a café situated in the warm afternoon sun.

  An awning with large stripes, blue and red, shielded the café’s windows; smaller red umbrellas were anchored through a center hole of the tables not protected by the larger awning. The sidewalk and street were paved with sandstone colored pavers.

  “Want me to order my favorite for you?” Nicole asked looking at Gilly.

  “Oh, please. My head is whirling. Not sure I could even ask for a glass of water. You do call it water?”

  “Close enough, silly,” Gabrielle said giving Gilly’s arm a squeeze. She then laid open her briefcase and removed a pad of paper and a pen.

  A young man approached the table smiling. “Ah, Mademoiselles Nicole and Sheridan, you bring friends.”

  “Oui, Tony. Meet our new roommate, Gillianne, s'il vous plaît,” Nicole said.

  “Hi, it’s Gilly.”

  “And I think you’ve met Gabrielle before.”

  Gabrielle flashed Tony a quick smile and then looked back at her notepad. Nicole ordered four café crèmes, topped with whipped cream and nutmeg.

  Gabrielle handed the top sheet of paper to Gilly. “Here’s your schedule for the rest of the week. Do you have the email I sent you? We’ll put some names, dates and times on it.”

  “Yes, yes, I have it right here,” Gilly pulled a folder from her shoulder bag.

  “You said you wanted to work from the bottom up so to speak,” Gabrielle said. “So the first three weeks will be at the workshops where the clothes are made for one of the fashion houses. You’ll start with the group making samples from the designer’s sketches, then after the designer okays the construction you’ll spend time in patternmaking—how to duplicate a piece for various sizes in the most efficient way, then on to sewing for a few weeks. I know you can sew, but that’s not the point. You’ll learn techniques on how to quickly sew for mass market, refining the methods and techniques for ready-to-wear, and then the finer points of couture. That should round out the first four months.”

  Tony set four large white cups rimmed in gold containing coffee topped with whipped cream and nutmeg along with two sugars and a chocolate covered almond each, in front of the girls. Gabrielle paid the bill, lifted her cup, and smiled at the three girls. “Here’s to a successful internship, Gilly.”

  Gilly took a sip. “Wow, that’s strong. One of these and I’ll be wired all day.”

  “Believe me,” Sheridan said. “You’ll need more like three or four a day the way Gabby gets you working.”

  “Gabby?” Gilly asked. She thought Gabrielle Dupont to be in her early forties.

  “Yes, please call me Gabby. I’m not going to tell you anything about your roommates, Gilly, other than to say they are very smart and beautiful, and I’m sure you’ll learn a lot from each other. I’d like to be a fly on the wall after I leave you today as they tell you about Paris and the fashion business, and then when you begin to share what happens during the day after you crash for the night in your apartment.”

  Gabby finished her coffee, made an additional note on Gilly’s sheet and handed it back to her. “Sheridan is from the States, New York City, so she knows what it’s like to land in a foreign country and not know the language. We have set up a schedule for Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. One of us will be with you at all times except when you’re at work—we’ll see you to the door and home again. On Saturday, Sheridan—

  “Gabby, I’ve switched with Nicole,” Sheridan said. “She’ll help Gilly on Saturday and I’ll take Sunday. A modeling job came up on Saturday.”

  “Modeling. Gilly, you will be asked from time to time if you’d like to model,” Gabby said. “It’s always at the last minute when one of the regular models doesn’t show. You get paid by the hour—it’s a great way to augment your income. Sheridan’s lucky. Being five-ten she is frequently asked to fill in. I noted you are five-seven so you’ll get a few chances.”

  “I’m only five-five,” Nicole volunteered. “I don’t get asked much.”

  “If it happens, notify your supervisor—they know the routine an
d will clock you out,” Gabby said. “It takes a couple of hours, sometimes three, by the time you report for hair and makeup and a quick fitting.”

  “Saturday, the salesperson for the designer, is expecting a big client so it’s a special showing with several models. The fitting generally means a few pins here and there and some double-tape so your boobs don’t hang out,” Sheridan added with a chuckle.

  “Okay, girls, I’m on way back to the office. Gilly, I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow morning. We’ll take the metro to your first assignment which is just around the corner from where I work. Here’s some money for another round of coffee. And, Gilly … welcome to Paris!!”

  Chapter 3

  ───

  Two weeks rushed by, each day a blur of new people speaking rapidly in French. Starting in the patternmaking and new design sampling workroom, women took sketches and tried to extrapolate the designer’s vision of a piece—cutting a pattern and fitting a sample on a mannequin.

  Gilly had already picked up a few new techniques and was quickly adapting to working in a foreign city—if she didn’t understand the words she did understand what they were trying to accomplish from the drawings. Nicole and Sheridan tutored her every chance they had when she was with one or the other. Sheridan, having arrived in Paris four months earlier, was particularly helpful with the critical phrases such as understanding directions, ordering coffee, hello—bonjour, goodbye—au revoir, and the obligatory thank you—merci, and please—s'il vous plaît.

  This morning a fashion house relayed an urgent request for a model for a very special client: five-foot-seven, 127 pounds maximum. She was needed to fill in for a model who called in sick. Gilly was perfect for the assignment and had one hour to whiz through hair and makeup and then twist into the dress. Finished with the beauty end of the preparation, she was rushed into the fitting room and was poured into a long, dark blue velvet gown with a short train.