Alibi in High Heels (11 page)

"Hello?" I asked, around a bite of mashed potatoes and thick onion gravy. I'm telling you, these Europeans know how to eat.

"We got it." Mom relayed an address she and Mrs. R had found off a peerage directory website. It was in
Hertfordshire
, which, once Mom pulled up a Yahoo map, she informed me was just north of London.

I thanked her and promised I'd call her later. She said to take my time. After the Cancan display last night, Pierre had warmed to Mrs. R and they were all going on a river cruise up the Seine. I wondered if Pierre had "warmed" or been coerced under influence of champagne. Either way, I told her I hoped she had fun and hung up.

Dana and I quickly finished eating, then paid our bill and asked the waitress the best way to get to
Hertfordshire
. She suggested renting a car and taking the M1 straight up. She gave us directions and pointed us toward a car rental down the block.

Half an hour later, we were squeezed into one of the smallest cars in existence, Dana's knees practically touching her chin as I tried to figure out the gear shift. The thing handled like a tin can on wheels and every time we went around a corner, I yelled, "Lean," to Dana for fear we'd tip over.

By the sheer grace of God I managed to drive her to the airport without hitting anything. Even though I forgot and pulled onto the wrong side of the street twice.

After getting stuck for only fifteen minutes in the roundabout outside the terminal, I finally found my way to the motorway and headed out of the city, toward
Hertfordshire
.

A drive that was actually surprisingly pleasant. Rolling green hills spanned either side of the roadway, groves of tress dotting the landscape and a low, thin fog covering it all like something out of a postcard or an Enya song. Overall it was an effect that, by the time I was passing a large wooden sign that indicated my turn off, had helped diminish the nerves of possibly driving toward a murderer's home.

I drove through a small, quaint village complete with stone chimneys and thatched roofs out of a Thomas Kincaid painting, and up a winding road that led to the address Mom had given me. I made a couple of wrong turns onto overgrown roads that had clearly seen better days, before finally finding the right one. I wound around a grove of trees until a large structure loomed in the distance. My jaw dropped open. It was a castle.

Felix lived in a freaking castle!?

When had my life become a twisted fairy tale?

Granted, it was small by castle standards. A brick structure with green moss growing along the sides. And I could clearly see modern additions had been made - double paned windows, paved driveway and car park, electric lights by the front door. But it still held two large brick turrets that I could easily see Rapunzel throwing a lock of hair from.

I parked my midget car in the massive drive, near a row of green hedges, and approached a huge wooden door that screamed for an alligator-filled moat.

A modern doorbell sat beside the door and I rang it, hearing the sound echo inside. I waited a beat before the door was pulled open and I found myself face to face with dear "old" Auntie.

It took her a moment before recognition registered.

"Maddie. What a surprise," she said, looking behind me as if wondering where I'd come from. She was dressed today in a pair of slim, tailored slacks in a pale peach color that maximized her tan that, if the weather was any indication, was obviously fake. She paired the slacks with a short sleeved, white blouse, the sleeves cut on a bias that showed off the muscular curve of her upper arms. I silently wondered if the castle had a gym built in, too.

"Hi, Charlene. I was wondering if Felix is in?"

A small frown settled between her blonde brows. "Yes. But, I thought you were in Paris?"

"I was. I..." I paused, not really sure how to voice the jumble of thoughts that had been circulating through my head all day. "I need to talk to Felix."

She arched a slim eyebrow, but, ever the polite Brit, stepped back to allow me entry. "Please, come in."

I did, my crutches squeaking against the polished hardwood floor as she shut the door behind me. Inside, the modern conversion of the castle was even more apparent than the outside. In fact, the foyer looked like it could have belonged to any home in Beverly Hills - light airy rugs, sweeping staircase to the right, dark wood side table, and a crystal chandelier hanging above us.

"Felix is in the study," Charlene said, leading the way down a wide hall. "He's been on the phone with his lawyers all day. He was arrested in Paris, you know?" She paused, stopping to look at me. "Of course you know. You were there."

I felt a guilty flush creep up my neck.

"Anyway," she continued, "I flew home with him, though I'm due back in Paris tomorrow. I never miss the Hermes show. Felix is trying to get this matter cleared up to travel with me."

She stopped outside an open door to a large, dark room. "If you'd like to wait here, I'll fetch him for you," she said, flicking on a light for me.

"Sure. Thanks, Charlene."

She nodded, that frown settling between her brows again as she turned. It was clear she wasn't fond of me. But, thankfully, she was too polite to let on. Instead, she swayed those very un-doddering hips down the hall, disappearing to the right.

I took a moment to look around the room she'd left me in. A massive stone fireplace taller than I was stood at one end. Above it were a pair of weapons - a stick thingie with a spiked metal ball at the end and some kind of sword. Very medieval looking. I shuddered. The same hardwood floors continued here, broken up with area rugs in deep burgundies and forest greens. Large, masculine furnishings filled the room, two sofas in dark leather, a pair of club chairs with ornate feet, a handful of end tables and an antique writing desk in the corner. I gingerly perched on the edge of one sofa, feeling like I'd entered a museum where some docent might pop out at any second and tell me to stay behind the ropes.

"Maddie."

My head whipped around so fast I feared whiplash.

"Felix," I squeaked out.

He was wearing his trademarked white rumpled button down and khaki pants, a worn pair of sneakers on his feet. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

I licked my lips, my throat suddenly dry at the sight of him.

"I, uh, need to talk to you. Your phone was off."

He frowned. "The battery died. What's going on, are you all right?" He came into the room and sat down beside me. I immediately jumped up as if he'd shocked me. I licked my lips again as I wandered over near the fireplace. "Me? Yeah, uh, I'm fine."

Again the frown. "What's going on?"

I cleared my throat, not really sure what to say now that I was here. Being careful what I said around Felix was nothing new - let the wrong thing slip out and you were libel to be front page news next to Bigfoot. But being careful he didn't stab me with my own pumps? That I was still trying to wrap my head around.

"Um, well, see, here's the thing. I uh..." I took a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me you were dating Gisella?" I blurted out.

"Ah." He rose from the sofa, taking a step toward me.

Instinctively, I took one back.

He frowned again, this one deep enough to create little lines between his eyebrow. "We went out a couple of times. Nothing serious. I didn't think it relevant."

"Relevant? Felix, she's dead."

His face became a blank. "Yes. I know."

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been in her hotel room before? That you were at the party? Why did you keep this from me?"

"I didn't. When I got the room key, I told you I'd been seeing her."

"You told me you
tricked
the front desk into thinking you were seeing her."

"I never said 'tricked.'"

"You could have told me you were with her at the party."

"We had a few drinks, I walked her to her hotel room. That was it."

"And that was the last time you saw her?"

He paused. Then shook his head. "No. I saw her the night she died."

"The night she died?" I thought back to what Angelica had said about hearing a man in the next room. "Ohmigod, you're Mystery Man?"

Felix cocked his head to the side. "Who?"

"You... you were in her room the night she died. You were fighting. You slept with her, then starting fighting."

Felix looked down at the floor, the toe of his sneaker toying with an invisible spot on the rug. He said in a low voice, "Yes, we fought. She wanted me to accompany her to a party the next night. I said I didn't think we should see each other anymore. She got angry."

"Wait, you were dumping a supermodel?" I asked with a snort. "Why do I find that hard to believe?"

He looked up. "Some men are looking for more than a pair of long legs, Maddie."

I wasn't certain, but I could have sworn his eyes flickered to my own short pair currently half encased in a foam Smurf boot.

"So why sleep with her first if you knew you were going to dump her? That's low even for you."

He shook his head. "I didn't sleep with her."

"Angelica heard you. She was in the room right next door."

Again that frown settled between his brows. "I didn't sleep with her, Maddie."

I let it go, focusing on the more important part. "So, you fought, then what?"

"Then I left her."

"Alive?"

Felix took a step closer.

I backed up again and bit my lip. When had his dimples and rumpled khakis suddenly become so menacing?

He cocked his head to the side, an odd look coming over his features. "No, don't tell me."

"Tell you what?" I asked, my hands starting to sweat at my sides.

"Don't tell me that you of all people think...?"

I threw my hands up in the air. "Well, what am I supposed to think? The necklace belongs to you, you were dating the dead woman. Hell, the story about the stiletto in the jugular was printed in your paper. That's a lot of coincidence, don't you think?"

"Ironic. You talking about coincidence."

I squared my shoulders. "Tell me the truth. Did you kill her, Felix?"

He clenched his jaw, his eyes going dark as he took a step forward. "If I was a cold blooded killer," he said, his voice suddenly growing a hard edge, "do you really think I'd confess it to you?"

I gulped, my heart rate increasing tenfold.

He shook his head, a slight movement, his eyes saturated with some unreadable emotion. "I can't believe you'd doubt me. Not after all we've been through together." His voice went low, almost a whisper. "After you kissed me."

So he hadn't forgotten.

"That was an accident," I said, wiping my sweaty hands on my dress.

Felix raised an eyebrow at me. "An accident?"

I nodded, taking another step backward.

Felix took two forward. "Is that what you think?"

I nodded again. "Look, you don't think I meant to kiss you? I mean, I'm with Ramirez."

"Actually..." He took two more steps forward. "...it looks like you're here. With me."

I gulped, my back coming up against the massive stone fireplace.

"Kinda," I squeaked out.

Felix took one more step forward, until he was standing directly in front of me, his body inches from mine. I could feel the heat coming off his skin, the scent of coffee on his breath.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked, silently checking his person for anything that looked like a weapon. Specifically a stiletto heel.

None that I could see. Or feel. His white rumpled shirt lay carelessly over a frame that felt a lot more solid than I'd ever imagined.

"Being deliberate," he said, his voice deep and barely louder than a whisper.

I held my breath.

"D-deliberate?"

But he didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in, his body pressing into mine. Despite the fear tickling my spine, my body instantly responded. My heart sped up, heat pooling in my stomach as my lungs suddenly couldn't get enough air. I felt his belly rising and falling against mine, in sync with his warm breath on my cheek.

He paused there, his blue eyes never leaving me.

Then he slowly closed the gap between us, his lips moving closer until they hovered a breath away. I tasted coffee and toothpaste, felt his lips brush mine.

I closed my eyes in anticipation of what came next.

His tongue flicked out and tasted my lips, so lightly I wasn't even totally sure it happened, before his mouth covered mine in a soft, slow movement. Nibbling, tasting, nipping. Before I knew what happened, I was returning it, doing a little tasting and nibbling of my own. I must have liked what I sampled, because all on its own my body let out a sigh, sinking into his. His hand slid down my side, resting possessively at my waist as he leaned in, pressing his hips closer.

For a half second, the rest of the world disappeared as I went warm in all the right places. All the twisted thoughts running circles through my mind the past twenty-four hours melted away. All I cared about right now were his lips, surprisingly soft, capturing mine, his hands, warm and oddly tender, holding me. The fact that despite his annoying habit of pasting my head on Pamela Anderson's body, I just might be able to forgive a guy that was this good a kisser.

A damned good kisser.

Then somewhere through the fog of hormones shrouding me, a tiny voice in the back of my head piped up.
What the hell are you doing, girl?
This was a potential murderer. A creep. A tabloid reporter.
Felix
!

I twisted away, breaking the kiss and sucking in large gulps of air.

"What was that?" I asked Felix.

Only it wasn't Felix's voice that answered.

"My question exactly."

I looked past Felix.

And froze.

Filling the doorway, a death look on his granite features, stood Ramirez.

Chapter Eleven

My life flashed before my eyes as I looked from Felix, his lips still wet and swollen looking, to Ramirez, his eyes flashing fire, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"I... we..." I stuttered, taking one giant step away from Felix.

Ramirez did a low growl and I suddenly feared another murder might take place soon.
Very
soon.

"It's not what it looks like," I blurted out. "I didn't even kiss him back!" Much.

Ramirez looked from me to Felix, his unreadable cop face slipping into place.

"Jack?" I said feebly.

But it was too late. I could see all emotion draining from his eyes, being replaced with that dead Cop Face look I'd come to know and dread. Then, before I could stop him, he turned around and stalked out the door.

"Shit." I hobbled after him, my crutches slipping on the over-polished floor. I fumbled with them, then ditched them altogether as I turned the corner, throwing them clattering to the floor in the hallway. "Wait," I called desperately, half hoping half running after him. "Please, Jack, wait," I begged. I was rushing after him so quickly I plunged right into him when he stopped abruptly and turned around.

"Uhn."

He immediately pushed me away, as if suddenly my touch repulsed him. Tears instantly stung my eyes.

"Please, Jack," I pleaded, sure I was two seconds away from a total girly cry-fest melt down if he didn't at least look at me.

"What." He didn't phrase it as a question. And he didn't meet my eyes.

"Look, I am so, so sorry. You weren't supposed to walk in on that."

"Obviously."

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that I didn't expect you. You weren't suppose to be here. What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you, Maddie. I made your mother tell me where you were. I thought you were in trouble." He spit the words out, his voice rough and void of all emotion. He looked past my head down the hallway. "Apparently you were getting along just fine."

"No, I'm not. I mean, I am, but it's not what it looks like."

"Oh, so you weren't kissing him?"

"Well, yes, but he kissed me this time!"

Ramirez raised one eyebrow, that vein in his neck pulsing like a Latin conga dancer. "
This
time?"

Oh. Shit.

I bit my lip. "Uh, yeah. I mean, last time was totally an accident. He turned his head."

Ramirez held up his hands. "You know what? I don't even want to hear it. It doesn't matter."

A lead weight dropped into my belly. "It doesn't?"

"No." And from the flat, dead tone in his voice I had a sinking feeling it really didn't. I had a feeling, as he turned and walked purposefully down the hall, his footsteps echoing, that nothing I did was going to matter to Ramirez anymore. That I could beg, plead, promise six ways till Sunday that I hadn't meant to kiss Felix, that no matter how much I promised I had no idea how what had started out as interrogation had ended with his lips locked on mine, Ramirez wasn't going to forgive me. This was it. The end.

And all because of Felix.

I didn't go back in the room. I couldn't face Felix again. Instead, I scooped my crutches up and prayed he didn't come after me as I quickly hobbled to the front door and out to my mini car, shoving Wonder boot in through a thin veils of tears.

He didn't.

And as I put the car in gear and pulled away from Felix's castle, I prayed I never saw him again. Ramirez was right. Felix brought nothing but trouble into my life. Kidnapping, gunshots, arrest, it was all Felix's fault. Hell, he probably had offed Gisella just to screw up my chance at being a designer.

And now he'd screwed my chances with Ramirez too.

The tears felled in big fat drops down my cheeks as I sped way too fast through the village and back to the M1. As if to match my mood, the fog thickened into menacing rain clouds, a down pour to match my own sobs hitting the tinny roof of the little car, drowning out my hiccupping and keeping me company all the way back to London.

By the time I returned the rental and hobbled back to the Queen's Cozy I was drenched, shivering, and didn't have a tear left in me. I staggered through the door, stripping off my wet clothes, and took a long, almost warm shower. After which I wrapped myself in a towel and collapsed onto the bed.

I stared at the picture of the Queen.

"Your cousin's an asshole," I told her. She didn't respond. I closed my eyes, and contemplated calling Ramirez. But I didn't even know what I'd say. I'd already apologized. Sorry just didn't seem adequate. And, quite frankly, I didn't even know if he'd pick up. He needed some space, right? Just some time. To either forgive me or... well, I didn't even want to think about the "or". The "or" made tears I didn't know I had left well up behind my eyes again.

My love life was seriously in the toilet, my career was virtually over, and I was one DNA test away from being locked up in a Paris prison. I was pretty sure my life could not get any worse.

At the moment, there was nothing I could do about my love life, and unless a miracle occurred and Moreau gave back my shoes, the career things was pretty dismal as well. But, I could at least try to keep my butt out of jail.

I rolled over and grabbed a pad of hotel stationary and a pen from my purse.

As much as I absolutely loathed Felix right now, I had to admit that I still wasn't convinced he'd killed Gisella. Not really. Lying, yes. Cheating, yes. Printing vulgar pictures by the truckload, of course. But stabbing her with a stiletto seemed a stretch.

So if it wasn't me and it wasn't Felix, who did that leave?

I clicked open my pen and wrote "Suspects" at the top of the page. Only I wasn't sure what to write next. Assuming Gisella was actually stealing jewelry from the shows, obviously her accomplice was my first choice for her killer. Maybe he or she had wanted a larger portion of the proceeds. Maybe they thought Gisella was getting sloppy and they'd be found out. Maybe they just plain didn't like her.

I wrote the word "Accomplice" down under "Suspects". The only problem was, I had no idea who the accomplice was. So, I put a big question mark next to that one.

Okay, so who did I know that might have had a grudge against Gisella? Her agent? Suppose Donata was the accomplice. To be any kind of agent, she had to have had lots of contacts all over Europe. And it was the agent that had booked Gisella in the Jean Luc show in the first place. I was beginning to like this theory.

Of course, there was always the angry, jealous boyfriend theory, too. I wrote Ryan's name down next to Donata's. Unrequited love, jealousy - both classic reasons for wanting someone dead. And didn't they always say on
Law & Order
that it's usually the boyfriend?

And, while we were talking jealousy, how about Angelica? I added her name to the list. We only had her word for it that she hadn't gone in to see Gisella after Felix left. It would have been easy for Angelica to slip out of her room and lure Gisella to the tent unnoticed.

I paused, my pen hovering in mid air. Why the tent, I wondered. What had Gisalla been doing there so early? Was she meeting someone there?

Then a terrible thought occurred to me. When I'd walked into the tent, she hadn't been alone. Jean Luc had been there, too. I'd assumed at the time that Jean Luc had come in just before I had. But what if he'd been there all along? What if he'd been the one to stab Gisella? Why, I couldn't imagine, but he had both ample opportunity and means. I wondered just how well Jean Luc had known Gisella and what kind of history lay between the two. He had mentioned how difficult she was to work with. Had he just meant this show, or were there others?

Reluctantly I wrote his name down, too. Then stared at my list.

One thing was certain. It was time to go back to Paris.

* * *

It was dark by the time my plane landed again at Charles De Gaulle. It took a cab to the hotel and let myself into my room. A small part of me had hoped a pissed off cop might be waiting for me there, but that was dashed quickly enough as I entered the dark, empty room. Ramirez's bags were gone. No note. No sign he'd even been there except for the lingering scent of his aftershave in the bathroom. I inhaled deeply, telling myself I was not going to cry again. Instead, I pulled off my dress and changed in to a pair of black capris and a black long sleeved DKNY logo T. I slipped on a sliver ballet flat and added an extra layer of eyeliner to my eyes to compensate for the slightly red, puffy look. I took a blow dryer to my hair, but even that didn't help the French braid plus rainwater thing I had going on, so instead I pulled it back in a messy ponytail before grabbing my crutches and heading out to Le Carrousel du Louvre.

The first person I saw when I arrived back on the site was Dana. She was sitting with a group of the other models outside the tent, sipping Perrier through a straw.

"Mads!" She jumped up and dragged me to the side, just out of earshot. "What happened?" she asked, her voice low. "Did Felix do it? Did you confront him?"

I felt that lump form in my throat again, but quickly pushed it back down and filled Dana in. She was such a good friend that when I was finished I thought I saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Mads, I'm so sorry." She leaned in and gave me a long hug. "Don't worry. I'm sure Ramirez will come around. That man is nuts about you."

I wasn't so sure. But somehow, it was comforting to pretend. "Yeah?"

Dana nodded. "Of course. Just give him a little time."

"Right. Thanks. I'm fine. Really." I sniffed back tears -
so
not convincing. "Is Jean Luc around?"

Dana nodded. "He's in the workroom. He got a case of plain black pumps that he's trying to convince himself will work for the show."

I cringed.

It must have been visible because Dana said, "I know. So lame. I tried them on with my silk dress and ohmigod, total clash. I think Jean Luc's about to slit his wrists."

"I'll go see what I can do."

I left her sipping her bubbly water and ducked inside.

Jean Luc was, as Dana said, about one Xanax away from suicidal. He was pacing the room, a pump in each hand, shouting in French to poor Ann who was furiously dialing up numbers on her BlackBerry. He stopped when he saw me, throwing his hands in the air.

"Maddie, thank God you're here. These are all I could get on short notice." He held up a pair of black pumps with pointy toes. "Hideous, aren't they?"

I bit my lip. "Um, well, I guess they're not
that
bad."

"Please tell me you can do something with them, darling? If not, I may be forced to swan dive from the top of a very tall bridge."

"I can try," I hedged.

"We'll get you anything you need. Just please make these knockoffs into something that doesn't scream 'off the rack' when my girls wear them down the runway. I'll be the laughing stock of Fashion Week!"

I took one pump from him, turning it over in my hands Already ideas started to brew about how to embellish it for Angelica's outfit in the finale. Granted, they were a far cry from what I'd originally planned, but they beat barefoot.

"Jean Luc, I was actually wondering if I could speak to you for a moment?"

He put up one finger. "
Un moment
." He turned to Ann and barked out a quick stream of orders in French. Ann nodded and I could mentally see her ticking items off a checklist before she scurried off to fulfill Jean Luc's every demand.

Once she was gone, he turned to me again. "Not only do we have to find shoes, but now Becca is scared to go on, worried someone will commit random violence on her, too. Models," he said shaking his head.

I hesitated, wondering if I should share just how un-random I suspected Gisella's death was. "You know, it's possible that Gisella wasn't just an innocent victim. We think she may have had something to do with the necklace going missing," I said slowly, watching Jean Luc's reaction.

He nodded. "Oui. She was much too careless."

"I meant, she may have had something to do with it that goes beyond careless."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "But I thought the police found the necklace in one of her coat pockets?"

"Yes," I conceded, "but I'm not sure it was put there by mistake."

Jean Luc blanched, pulling out a fresh roll of antacids. "Please don't tell me I hired a thief."

"How well did you know Gisella?"

Jean Luc shrugged. "How well does anyone know anybody these days? We worked together. I certainly didn't socialize with the girl."

"Had you worked with her before?"

"Once. Gisella has been on the circuit for quite a while now. I had always heard nasty things about her temperament, but, once Donata took her on last year, she starting hitting some of the bigger campaigns and making a name for herself. Honestly, I would have been a fool not to jump when I had the chance to book her. She was in Cannes when I was doing a photo shoot, so Donata asked if I'd like to have her for the day."

"Out of curiosity, anything go missing from the site that time?"

His forehead wrinkled like a Shar Pei as he tried to think. "Not that I remember. But then again, it was a swimsuit shoot. Not a lot of accessories involved."

I nodded. "You said she didn't start booking real jobs until she started with Donata. What do you know about her?"

"Donata? She's very well respected. I think she used to be a model herself, but I don't know the details. Of course that was eons ago," he said, rolling his eyes. "But she's done well as an agent. She has a good stock of girls. I've used a few. I believe Angelica's with her, as well."

"Really?" Small world. And something Angelica had failed to mention when she'd said Gisella was burning up her cell minutes hounding her agent for a cover. If Donata was sending Gisella out to jobs instead of Angelica, I saw another mark in the motive column for Angelica to want Gisella out of the way.

"Do you have any idea what Gisella was doing out at the tent that morning?" I asked.

Jean Luc shook his head slowly. "Gisella was never early. Not a morning person, as they say. I have no idea."