Alibi in High Heels (6 page)

"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.

Chapter Six

Jean Luc's phone went right to voicemail, so I left him a message touting Dana's abilities and the number of her booking agent. Then I snapped my phone shut and headed for the lounge where Felix and his filly were seated in club chairs, sipping cocktails. Felix was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, a mellow look on his face like the cocktail was doing its job already. The woman sat forward in her seat, talking animatedly, her hand stopping to rest on Felix's arm every so often. Such a perfect little scene of romance in Paris that I almost hated to interrupt.

Almost.

"Felix?" I called as I approached.

His eyes swept toward me. "Maddie, I was just waiting for you."

Yeah, I'll bet. I looked over at the blonde, her dress hugging a chest that made my barely B's look like bug bites.

"Any luck, love?" he asked.

"I talked to one of the other models. Angelica."

"And? Any news?"

"Sort of. I have a favor to ask of you." I looked at the blonde again. "Maybe we should speak in private?"

Felix looked over at his companion. "No worries, love. I've already told her everything. Maddie, this is Charlene Fellows. Char, this is Maddie, the designer I was telling you about."

Charlene put out a slim manicured hand. "Lovely to meet you," she said, her British accent matching Felix's.

I shook it, surprised at the strength of her grip. "Pleasure," I muttered.

"Funny, you don't look like a killer," Charlene said, giving me an up and down, her eyes settling on Wonder Boot.

"I'm not!" I protested. Maybe a little too loudly. Two guys in business suits at the next table stared at me over their glasses of chardonnay. "Look, it's just a coincidence. I swear."

"Maddie, she was just kidding," Felix said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Charlene gave me a wan smile.

I faked one back. Though I'm not entirely sure I pulled it off.

"And how do you two know each other?" I couldn't help myself from asking.

Charlene laughed. "Oh, I've known our little Felix all my life. I'm his Auntie."

I think I swallowed my tongue.

"Maddie, I told you I was accompanying my aunt Charlene, didn't I?"

Accompanying his dear old auntie? Yes. The fact that said Auntie could double for a playboy bunny? No. Definitely not. Not, mind you, that I cared who Felix spent time with. I didn't. He could be dating the entire squad of Lakers girls for all I cared.

So I wasn't entirely sure why my stomach did that clenching thing again as Auntie Charlene laid her hand to rest casually on Felix's knee.

"Uh huh, sure. Only I wasn't expecting someone so..." Stacked. Flirtatious. Slutty. "...young."

Charlene laughed again, a sound some men might call tinkling. Me - I found it fake as hell.

"Well, Felix's father was the oldest. Twenty-five years later my father remarried and he and his new wife adopted yours truly. Turns out my nephew is actually two years older than I am. Isn't that a lark?"

Quite. And, I noticed that the 'adopted' part meant they weren't really blood relatives at all. My eyes rested on Charlene's groping hands again as my stomach rolled and I wondered if the milk in my morning coffee had been spoiled. Clearly I was coming down with something.

"So, what kind of favor?"

"Huh?" I snapped my eyes back up to meet Felix's.

"You said you needed a favor from me?"

"Oh. Right." Only in the face of Auntie I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to blurt out I'd like to use his lock picking expertise to break into a murder victim's hotel room. I wasn't entirely sure I trusted her.

And not just because she was fondling her nephew's thigh.

"Um, I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes, Felix?"

"Auntie made dinner reservations for us. We were just about to leave. Is it urgent?"

Considering Gisella wasn't coming back to the room and the police had likely already done their worst to it, not to mention the fact that I really had no idea what I might look for in there anyway except maybe some clue to Mystery Man's identity, I figured urgent didn't exactly describe the situation.

"No," I conceded. "Not exactly."

"Oh, why don't you come with us?" Charlene suggested. She turned a big beauty pageant smile on me that was all teeth. "I'm sure it wouldn't be any bother to change the reservation for three."

"Thanks. But no thanks. I, uh, I'm not feeling all that well. I've got a little stomach thing going on."

"Oh, too bad," Charlene said. Then gave Felix's thigh a squeeze. "I was so looking forward to getting to know one of Felix's little friends."

My turn to flash the fake smile.

"Tomorrow, then?" Felix asked, rising from his chair. Auntie Charlene did the same, quickly linking one arm trough Felix's.

"Sure. Tomorrow."

"Right. I'll call you in the morning then. 'Night, Maddie."

"'Night," I said to his retreating back.

Wondering why the hell the sight of Charlene's mini-dress encased hips wiggling back and forth beside Felix's should make that bad latte rise like bile in my throat.

* * *

I got back to my room and, considering my ill state, promptly ordered a bowl of chicken soup from room service. There. That oughtta shut my stomach up.

I then chucked the crutches and settled down on the chaise by the window to check my messages.

The first one was from Mom, saying she and Mrs. R had printed out a ream of papers on Gisella and to call her as soon as I got in.

The second message was from Ramirez. I felt that clenching sensation in my gut fade as his deep voice filled my ear.

"Hey, it's me," he said. "I'm at the airport. I booked a seat on the red-eye. I'll be there by morning."

Okay, so I know I'd put up a fuss about him coming over, but in all honesty, it made my little heart go pitter patter that he was racing across an ocean to be by my side.

That is until he added, "Don't do anything stupid until I get there."

I stuck my tongue out at the phone as it clicked over. "End of new messages." I deleted both of them, hung up and tried Mom's cell. It went to voicemail, so I left a message of my own saying I was in the room.

Since room service still hadn't made it up with my soup, I grabbed the remote and flipped on the TV to wait. Unfortunately, the first thing that hit the screen was a picture of my own face staring back at me. I sat straight up, stabbing a finger at the volume control. The sound filled the room, but I couldn't understand a word they were saying. Damn. I strained, trying to pick out any phrases from the
French for the Traveler
book I'd picked up in the airport. Unfortunately they clearly weren't asking where the bathroom was or what time the train arrived, so I was out of luck.

The only thing I did understand was the headline that shot across the bottom of the screen in English as the picture switched back to the anchor at the news desk:

The Couture Killer Strikes Paris

* * *

I was in the Le Croix tent. Flashbulbs going off, music pumping through the speakers, models in various states of undress running back and forth behind the stage. The show was in full swing. Jean Luc barked orders from one end of the room, a long line of models standing at the head of the runway, waiting for their cues to strut its length for all the world to see.

Suddenly, Ann grabbed me. She said something in French to me, which I didn't understand in the least. I shook my head, tried to tell her I couldn't understand her. But she just kept talking, getting more and more upset. Finally some English came through.

"You're next!" she told me.

I looked down. I was wearing one of Jean Luc's creations - the bright blue ruffle skirt that I'd seen him fitting Gisella for earlier.

Ann shoved me ahead of her, toward the runway, to the front of the line of waiting models.

"Wait!" I cried. "I'm not a model, I don't know how to do this!"

But it was too late. She pushed me through the white flap and onto the runway.

The lights were blinding, I couldn't see a thing except the white flashes of cameras going off. I couldn't make out faces, but I knew the tent was packed. I heard a chorus of voices oo-ing and aw-ing. I took a tentative step forward. Then anther, feeling my way down the runway through the blinding spotlights. I finally felt like I was getting the hang of it. People started clapping and I started strutting in earnest.

Until my toe hit something.

I tripped, falling forward, my arms splayed out in front of me to break my fall. Which seemed to go on forever. The ground was suddenly miles away from me. And as I looked down to see what I'd tripped over, I heard myself scream.

There, lying beneath me was Auntie Charlene in a pool of blood. With a stiletto heel sticking out of her neck.

* * *

I sat straight up in bed, my heart pounding, my ducky jammies sticking to my sweaty body.

I was not on a runway. I was not falling. I was not looking down at a pool of blood. I was in my hotel room, surrounded by ruffles and very civilized French decor. I closed my eyes, letting my head fall back on the pillows and I took great big gulps of air, trying to reign in my heart rate from Autobahn to something slightly less hectic than L.A. freeway.

First a stomach bug. Now nightmares. Come on, girl, get a grip.

Throwing off the covers, I set my one good leg down on the ground and hopped into the bathroom.

One steamy hot shower and three layers of mascara later, I was feeling more like myself again. I slipped on a white, empire waisted sundress, a red cropped cardigan, and one red sandal with white beading along the strap and just the teeniest tiniest half inch heel. I know, if Doctor Ponytail saw it she'd probably have a cow. But considering half the population of France thought I was a murderer, I needed a little something to lift my sprits. Even if it was only half an inch.

I was just making my way through a cafe au lait and a pain au chocolat (a croissant filled with gooey, delicious chocolate - do Parisian's know how to do breakfast or what?) from room service when my cell rang and Felix's number popped up.

I flipped my Motorola open. "Yeah?"

"Do you always answer your phone that way?" Felix asked.

"No. I checked the caller ID. I knew it was you."

"Ah. So, you save your most charming self just for me, then, that it?"

I ignored the sarcasm and shot back some of my own. "How was dinner with
Auntie
?"

"Lovely. How was your evening? Stab anyone else I should know about?"

"I hate you."

"Yet you continue to call."

"Hey, you called me, pal."

"Because
you
asked for a favor. Considering which, one would think you'd be nicer to me."

I shoved a large piece of croissant in my mouth to keep from shooting something nasty back at him. Mostly because he was right. I did need his help.

"So, what's the favor?" he asked, as I chewed.

"I 'eed' ur icks."

"What?"

I swallowed the bite. "I need your picks. Your lock picking set. I want to take a look in Gisella's room and it's locked."

He was silent for a moment. Then, "Here in the hotel?"

I nodded at the phone. "Yes."

"Maddie, these aren't the kind of locks you can just jimmy open. You need the key card."

"Okay, how do we make one of those?"

Felix sighed. "Well, first you'd have to know the code for that particular room. Then you'd have to program the card with the proper code."

"Like with a computer?"

"Trust me, these hotels are very secure. We cannot just 'make' a key card."

Damn. I shoved another piece of croissant into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay, how about I go to the front desk and tell the clerk I'm in room 1243 and that I've lost my keycard."

"Hmm..." Felix said on the other end. "That might work. I'm sure the clerk wouldn't check your name against the hotel register and even if he did, I'm sure he wouldn't put it together with the stream of reporters outside all vying for statements about the dead woman whose last residence was room 1243."

"You know, you're a very sarcastic person."

"It's one of my better traits."

I gave my phone the finger.

"Okay, Felix, you come up with a better plan."

He sighed. "Alright, if you're determined to get into Gisella's room, I'll meet you there in half an hour."

"And exactly how will
you
get us in?"

"Trust me." And he hung up.

Trust me - famous last words.

* * *

If I'd had any better ideas, I might have exercised them. As it was, I finished my breakfast, grabbed my crutches and made my way to the elevators and up to room 1243.

Felix was standing outside waiting, fresh pair of rumpled khakis on, his hair a little wet as if he'd just showered.

"So?" I asked as I approached.

He flashed me a smile large enough to create dimples. Then held up a key card.

"No way!"

He nodded. "Yes way."

He stuck the card in the slot above Gisella's door handle. And, amazingly, the little light turned green.

"Okay, spill it, Tabloid Boy. How did you get the card?"

"It pays to be Lord Ackerman," he said, opening the door.

"What about the dead woman, the press, all that? What, just because you're Lord Ackerman, Andre gave you the keycard?"

"No, he gave it to me because I'm Lord Ackerman who told him that I was dating the deceased and had left a priceless family heirloom in the room the last time I'd been in here and didn't trust the police not to make off with it."

"And he bought that?"

Felix gave me a look. Then held up the card again.

I shook my head. Like I said, Felix may be one step above pond scum, but he knew how to think like a criminal. Which, in certain situations, like this, came in very handy.

I shut the door behind myself, flipping on the light switch and flooding the hotel room with florescent light. While the room was situated to get morning sun, the frilly yellow curtains were drawn tight, creating a tomb-like atmosphere that was downright creepy considering the circumstance. The bed was unmade, dozens of tiny pillows having fallen to the floor. Clothes covered the chaise, floor and arm chairs while numerous tubes of lipstick, eye shadows and concealer littered the top of the dresser.