By the time we got back to the hotel, I was beat, mentally and physically, the jet lag catching up to me big time.
The front of the hotel was crammed with paparazzi. As if the Fashion Week photographers weren't enough, now every newshound in Europe was covering the sensational death of their favorite supermodel. I could see Felix mentally sizing them up, his hands fidgeting in his lap with nervous energy. If there was one thing Felix hated, it was to be scooped.
The cab driver pulled as close to the front doors as he could manage, then dropped Felix and me off at the sidewalk. I awkwardly angled Wonder Boot out of the cab, sticking the crutches under my armpits and hobbling toward the hotel doors and leaving Felix to pay the fare. Hell, he was related to the queen. He could handle it.
By the time I made it to the glass front doors, Felix had easily caught up and we pushed our way through the crowd. Unfortunately, the lobby wasn't any less populated, the chatter of reporters echoing off the marble floors. I kept my head down and plowed straight for the elevators, letting out a sigh of relief as the doors closed behind us. Two minutes later I was at my door, fumbling in my shoulder bag for my key card.
As it turned out, I didn't need it. The door flew open.
"Oh lordy, Maddie, I'm so glad you're okay!" Mom grabbed me in a big bear hug, knocking both crutches to the ground.
"Mom, I can't breathe."
"Sorry." She stepped back. "I was just so worried. You're on every TV station. Not that I can understand most of what they're saying about you."
"Is it true? Did you stab that model with your shoe?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, waddling up behind.
"Of course it's not true!" Mom shouted, turning on her. Then she paused and leaned in close to me. "Is it?"
"No! It's just a coincidence."
"See," Mom shot to Mrs. R. "I knew it wasn't true. I knew you couldn't do the horrible things the TV says you did."
"What are they saying?" Felix asked, walking into the room behind me.
"They're calling her the Couture Killer," Mrs. R piped up.
Felix winced. "Wish I'd thought of that," he muttered under his breath.
I resisted the urge to kick him. Mostly because I couldn't balance on one foot.
"Who's this?" Mrs. Rosenblatt asked, gesturing to Felix.
"This is Felix Dunn."
"The reporter?" Mom narrowed her eyes. She knew all too well how I'd felt about my head being pasted on Pamela Anderson's body.
"The one and only." Felix bowed. "I've heard so much about you, Mrs. Springer. It's lovely to finally meet you." He grasped one of Mom's hands in both of his.
Mom blushed. "Oh, well."
"And you," he said, advancing on Mrs. R, "you must be the charming Mrs. Rosenblatt. A true pleasure, ma'am." He leaned down and kissed her hand.
Mrs. Rosenblatt giggled. "I could get used to these European men."
Oh brother.
"Maddie, what exactly happened today?" Mom asked, gathering my fallen crutches for me.
I hopped over to the double bed and sat down, pillows floofing around me. Reluctantly, I filled Mom and Mrs. R in on the events of the morning. I glossed over my run in with Moreau as best I could (in case you hadn't noticed, Mom tended to be a little overprotective) but by the time I was done, she still had her lips clenched together in a tight white line.
"How could they possibly think you had anything to do with this, Maddie?" she asked.
"Wow. Creepy finding her like that. You've definitely got some bad karma issues, bubbee," Mrs. Rosenblatt said, putting a sympathetic hand on my arm. "You wanna aura cleansing?"
What I wanted was a long hot bath, a handful of pain pills, and a nap. But I had to agree with her, my karma did suck.
"What she needs is a lawyer. The nerve of that policeman questioning you," Mom said.
"It sounds like a set-up to me," Mrs. Rosenblatt offered. "Someone's trying to make you look guilty."
Which, thus far, was working splendidly.
"Who would want to do that to my baby?" Mom asked, her eyes going big and round beneath her powder blue eye shadow.
"You pissed anybody off lately, doll?" Mrs. R asked.
I shrugged. "How could I? I don't even know anyone here. It's got to be a coincidence."
"The real question is who would want Gisella dead?" Felix piped up from the corner.
He'd been so quite I'd almost forgotten he was there, sitting at the mini desk, absently doodling on a pad of hotel stationary. His forehead creased as he went on. "Anyone could have read about your exploits, Maddie, and decided you'd make a convenient scapegoat. The real question we should be asking is who had issues with Gisella? When was the last time you saw her?"
"Yesterday. Jean Luc introduced me to her right after she lost the necklace, then I did a fitting for her shoes right before we left for the night."
"Hold on." Felix stopped me. "Go back. What necklace did she lose?"
"Lord Ackerm-" I started. Then checked myself. "I mean, uh… yours."
Felix lifted an eyebrow. "Mine?"
Oops. "Uh, Jean Luc didn't tell you?"
He shook his head from side to side. "Care to fill me in?" he asked, leaning forward.
I quickly relayed the scene I'd witness the day before between Gisella and Jean Luc. When I finished, Felix looked deep in thought.
"So, the necklace goes missing, then Gisella ends up dead."
"I betcha it was stolen." Mrs. R nodded sagely, her chins (plural) bobbing up and down. "You know France is crawling with them cat burglars."
I rolled my eyes. "Only in Carey Grant movies."
"But then, why kill her after they already stole it?" Mom asked, pursing her drawn-in eyebrows.
"Good point. Why kill her if they'd already gotten away with the necklace?" I asked.
"I say we start with the necklace anyway. It's our best lead," Felix decided.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting to recover it, would it?" I asked.
Felix shrugged. "It's insured. But, yes, I wouldn't mind if it showed up."
"I have an even better idea," I offered. "How about we just leave this to the police?"
Three pairs of eyes turned my way.
"So they can arrest you?" Mom asked, voicing everyone's thoughts.
"But I'm innocent."
Silence.
"I am!"
Mom reached over and patted my arm. "Of course you are, baby. We believe you."
I looked around the room. Clearly I was outnumbered.
"Okay, fine. Where do we start?"
Taking Felix's suggestions, Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt decided to find out all they could about Gisella by doing some serious Googling downstairs in the hotel's business center. Felix said he had some things he wanted to check on (though I suspected he really wanted to call in the story to his editor at the Informer) and would meet up with me in the lobby later that afternoon. For lack of a better direction, I decided to see if there were any new developments at the show site. In lieu of actually braving the paparazzi (not to mention risking a run-in with Moreau) I dialed Jean Luc on his cell.
He answered on the third ring.
"Yes?" he barked out, his voice tense.
"Hi, Jean Luc. It's Maddie."
"Oh," he answered on a sigh. "Maddie. Are you all right? What happened to you?"
"I'm fine. I'm back at the hotel."
"Thank God! I was afraid they'd taken you into custody."
I winced. Not yet. "Have there been any new developments since I left?"
Jean Luc sighed into the phone. "Not that I know of. They've been back and forth with their evidence bags all day. Maddie, I swear I'm on the verge of a breakdown. They've taken every last pair of your shoes into evidence."
I grabbed a bed poster for support. "They've taken my shoes?" I repeated, hoping I'd heard him wrong, visions of my Paris debut fading faster than a bad dye job.
"Can you believe it? What am I supposed to do, send all the models out barefoot? Good God, this isn't some mall, it's Fashion Week!"
I felt a mini-heart attack coming on. This could not be happening.
Jean Luc's voice got high and whiney as he continued, voicing my exact thoughts. "This cannot be happening to me! Not only do I have to find a replacement for Gisella when everyone who's anyone is already booked, but now I've got to contend with barefoot models, too. I cannot believe this is happening to me." I heard Jean Luc unwrap another antacid and crunch down loudly on it.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Okay, so they'd taken my shoes. It was fine. They'd dust them, process them, whatever it was they did with evidence, and see that I did not kill Gisella. So, really, this was a good thing, right? (Am I the denial queen or what?)
"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" I asked.
Jean Luc paused. And I could hear the silent question.
"I didn't do it!"
"No, of course you didn't, Maddie."
Why was it no one sounded completely convinced when they said that?
"Look, I didn't even know Gisella."
Jean Luc sighed again. "Honestly, I'm not sure any of us knew her that well. She tended to keep to herself. That is when she wasn't complaining. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn't exactly the easiest person to work with."
"How about the other models? Was she particularly close with any of them?"
Jean Luc paused and I could picture his eyebrow furrowing together. "Close, yes. Friendly, no. She spent most of her time with Angelica. But they had a very love-hate relationship. Mostly hate. Angelica was jealous of Gisella's contracts and rumor has it Gisella apparently fueled this by stealing Angelica's boyfriend."
I perked up. Stolen boyfriend was a strong motive for a stiletto to the jugular.
"Is Angelica there now?"
"No, she left about an hour ago. Said she was going back to the hotel."
I crossed my fingers. "Any idea what room she's staying in?"
"1245."
"Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything new."
Jean Luc promised he would and hung up as he crunched another chalky tablet.
I hopped into the bathroom, splashed a little cold water on my face and added a fresh swipe of Raspberry Perfection to my lips before grabbing my purse and crutches and making for Angelica's room.
Five minutes later I was knocking on the door to room 1245. I could hear a loud bass beat playing inside, but no one answered. I waited a couple of beats, then banged my fist on the door again. This time it opened a crack, the security bar still in place.
A redhead with Casper pale skin, thick curls and huge brown eyes appeared. "Yeah?" she asked, her accent an indistinguishable (at least to my ears) eastern European.
"Angelica?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"I'm Maddie Springer. I'm doing the shoes for the Le Croix show."
Angelica's eyes went round as recognition dawned. "You! The murderer!"
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't do it!"
"They said on TV that you did."
"Don't believe everything you hear on TV. Listen, can I come in?"
"I don't think so."
"Please?"
"You might kill me."
If I hadn't been holding a pair of crutches, I would have thrown my hands up in exasperation. As it was, I just said a silent curse on the head of all misinformed reporters.
"Look, I didn't kill her. If I had, do you think the police would have let me go?" Never mind that it had been touch and go there for a few minutes.
Angelica chewed her plump bottom lip while she thought about this.
"Listen, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Gisella. Jean Luc said you knew her?"
Angelica sunk her teeth into her lip for another beat before shutting the door and lifting the security latch. She pulled it back open wide, allowing me entry.
"Okay."
"Thank you."
"But keep your hands where I can see them."
I tried not to roll my eyes as I stepped into the room. It was a carbon copy of my dollhouse, only her ruffles were a pale sky blue and the place looked like housekeeping hadn't been there in weeks. Clothes covered every available surface, empty mini bar bottles spilling out of the trash can, and a hip-hop punctuated with a lot of "yo bitches" played from an iDock on the dresser. Out of habit, I crossed to the windows, futilely looking for a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower as Angelica turned the music down.
"So," she asked, plopping down cross-legged on the bed, "what do you want to know?"
"Jean Luc told me that you and Gisella were close?"
Angelica smirked. "Well, we weren't BFF's or anything," she responded, the Americanism seemed oddly comic coming through her thick accent.
"You'd had some issues with her lately?"
"Bitch stole my Sam away."
Unlike Jean Luc it was clear Angelica had no problem speaking candidly about the dead woman.
"Sam?"
"Someone I was dating."
I perched on the edge of the desk. "What happened?"
Angelica shrugged. "It wasn't like I was even that into Sam. Totally cute, but short term, you know? Anyway, the first time Gisella sees me at a club with Sam, she starts flirting all over the place. The next thing I know, Sam's telling me we should see other people and then they show up together at the Posner opening."
"When was this?" I asked, gauging her reaction. I had to admit, didn't exactly seem heartbroken over the guy, casually picking at her nail polish as she spoke.
"A couple months ago."
"And was she still seeing Sam?"
Angelica laughed. "Hardly. She dumped Sam after a few weeks. Like I said, it was all about stealing what I had. Gisella was like that. She didn't want anyone to have something that she couldn't have. She was always jealous of me."
I raised one eyebrow. "Really?" Jean Luc had indicated that their relationship was the other way around.
Angelica nodded, her red curls bobbing up and down. "Sure. When I landed the cover of Elle, she was livid. She was on the phone to her agent fifteen times a day trying to get her own cover. And then when I was booked for Jean Luc's show, she had to be booked too."
"But I thought she was Jean Luc's lead model?"
Angelica's eyes narrowed. "Was. I'm the lead now." Her lips curved into a little smile that I wasn't sure reached her eyes. With friends like this, Gisella didn't need any enemies.
"So," I said slowly, watching her reaction, "she gets the lead in the show and she steals Sam? Some friend, huh?"
Angelica shrugged her bony shoulders, curling one leg under her frame. "Like I said, I'm the lead now, so it all worked out."
Yeah, except for poor Gisella.
"If Sam was history, do you know if Gisella was seeing anyone new?"
Again with the shrug. "I couldn't say. Though, she was with a guy at the Hotel de Crillon party a couple nights ago."
I perked up. The one where she'd worn the necklace. "You were at the party, too?"
Angelica nodded. "Everyone was there."
"Did you know the guy Gisella was with?"
"No. But he was cute. Average height I guess. Sorta dirty blond hair."
"Did you catch his name?"
She shook her head. "Sorry. Gisella didn't introduce me."
"Did you notice the necklace she was wearing?"
"Well, duh!" she said, shooting out another Americanism. "Everyone noticed the necklace. Gisella made sure of that. She told everyone that Jean Luc was letting her keep it in the safe in her room."
Great. So a room full of people who knew exactly where to find it. Sorry, Felix, I had a feeling the necklace was long gone.
"When was the last time you saw Gisella?" I asked, changing tactics.
Angelica cocked her head at me. "You know, the police already asked me this stuff?"
Right. They would have. And, as sure as I was that Moreau was on the wrong track, I had a feeling he was covering that track very carefully.
"Humor me."
Angelica grinned. "All right. Last night. After the fittings were over. I saw her in the bar, then later I heard her in her room."
"You heard her?"
"Uh huh. Her room is right next to mine."
I glanced at the shared wall. "What exactly did you hear?"
"She had a guy in there. At first I just heard her voice. A lot of giggling, you know. Then some moaning and tumbling around. It was quiet for a few minutes after that. Then the fighting started."
"Fighting?" Now we were getting somewhere.
"Uh huh. He never raised his voice much, but I could tell it was a man. Now, Gisella, she was shouting, yelling, throwing a terrible fit."
"When was this?"
Angelica pursed her lips, letting a thoughtful frown settled between her brows. "I first heard her go in a little after midnight. But the fighting started closer to one."
"Could you hear what they were arguing about?"
"She was saying that she didn't deserve this. That she was a supermodel. That she wasn't going to take it lying down."
"And did he respond?"
"I'm not sure. Like I said, she was doing most of the yelling."
"What happened next?"
"That's it. I heard the door to her room open and slam shut, then nothing. She was silent."
"But you never saw the guy?"
She shook her head. "Like I cared who Gisella was screwing."
I thought about the implications of this new information. Maybe it had been quiet after Mystery Man left because Gisella was already dead. Was it possible that she'd been murdered in her room? I thought about the pool of blood on the runway. Not likely. But she could have been drugged, unconscious. Maybe he'd left, only to come back later, drag Gisella to the runway, then kill her. Either way, Mystery Man bore some looking into.
I thanked Angelica and left her room. As soon as I stepped into the corridor again, I heard the bass beat resume. At least Angelica wasn't taking the death of her friend too hard.
I glanced to my right. Gisella's room. No crime scene tape, no policemen guarding the door. I looked down the hallway to my left. Empty.
Gingerly I hobbled over and tried the doorknob. As expected it didn't budge. On a whim, I shoved my own keycard into the slot. No green light. Obviously not going to work. Unless I had a lock pick in my purse, I wasn't getting into Gisella's room. Which, of course, I didn't.
Luckily, however, I did happen to know someone with a full set.
As soon as I stepped off the elevators into the lobby, I spotted Felix. He was leaning against a marble pillar, his back to me, talking to a blonde woman I didn't recognize. She was tall, almost the same height as Felix in her heels, long blonde hair, expertly colored with trendy highlights shot throughout. She wore a black dress that looked painted on her slim form. Tanned skin, long legs, one of those women men instantly drool over and other women instantly hate.
As I watched Felix lean in closer and drape an arm around the woman's waist an odd sensation shot through me. I wasn't exactly sure it was it was but it came with a satisfying vision of clawing the woman's perfect blue eyes out.
I didn't get to examine it any further, though, as my cell started singing from the depths of my purse. I pulled it out, checking the caller ID. Dana.
"Hello?"
"Maddie, ohmigod, what's going on there?"
"You heard, huh?"
"Are you kidding, it's all over every station! I was on the stepper at the gym and almost fell over when they showed your face on CNN."
"CNN? Are you kidding?"
"Maddie, they're saying you're a suspect." She paused. "You're not really a suspect, are you? I mean… you didn't do it, right?"
"Why is everyone asking me that? I did not stab a woman with a shoe! I would never do that." I paused. "Again."
"Right. Of course not."
"Look, it's just a coincidence." Though the more times I said it, the harder it was becoming to believe. But being "set up" sounded so melodramatic. Outside of a Robert De Niro movie, was anyone ever really set up?
"So, what happened?"
I glanced across the lobby. Felix was whispering something in the woman's ear now. Something that made her laugh and toss her hair over one shoulder. My stomach did that funny clenching thing again.
I ignored it, instead filling Dana in on my day, ending with the conversation I'd just had with Angelica.
"So, the mystery man did it," she said when I'd finished.
"Maybe. Or the jealous model. Angelica could have done it herself and made the whole Mystery Man thing up."
"What about Jean Luc?" she asked.
"What about him?"
"Well, maybe he killed Gisella. I mean, he admitted himself that she was a pill. Besides, look at all the free publicity he's getting. His name is, like, everywhere."
I shook my head. "No, Jean Luc is freaking out right now. Angelica's the show's new centerpiece, but he's still short one model. And everyone in Europe is already booked for Fashion Week."
"Ohmigod, me!" Dana squealed. "Me, me, me! I could totally fill the spot."
"You? Dana, you're an actress, not a model."
"Big diff. I played a model in that pilot last spring, Runway Rascals. And I've done a few mall things and boat shows. I could so do this!"
"I don't know, Dana…"
"Look, I have experience, I'm available and I could totally help you clear your name. Please, please, please!"
I'd like to say it was the please that got me. But in actuality, the idea of having a friend on my side here was just too tempting. Between the foreign language, foreign press and foreign police officers watching me like a hawk, I was feeling just a wee bit ganged up on. Call me selfish, but against my better judgment I felt myself saying, "All right. I'll suggest it to Jean Luc."
Dana did a squeal so high I was pretty sure poodles from Santa Monica to Marseille yelped in protest.
"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, Maddie! I'm gonna go start packing right now."
"I said I'd suggest it," I reminded her.
But she didn't hear me. She'd already hung up.
I looked up to see Felix guide Miss Long Legs over toward the lounge, his hand flirting with the small of her back. I told my clenching stomach that I so did not care who Felix fraternized with as I keyed in Jean Luc's number and prepared to convince him that one beach blonde aerobics instructor from L.A. was the perfect addition to his European collection.