Stolen with Style (10 page)

“I never should have touched that diamond,” Cazzie hissed. “Never! With the commitments and schedule I have, how am I supposed to run around town chasing down the answers to the thief's riddles? But I can't delay finding the Black Amelia—I can't! I need to have the diamond in my hands by Friday when Noah comes back into town!”

“Cazzie,” I said, trying to make her focus, “listen. Please stop. Right now you should just concentrate on finishing the shoot and keeping your ears and eyes open, okay? Let me answer these riddles. Just forward any texts to me as soon as you get them.”

She nodded gratefully.

“Okay, I need to do my next two shots
now
,” I told her. “I don't have a second to spare if I'm going to solve this riddle. Can you talk to Peter and the others for me? Maybe explain to them that Miriam's just called me and asked me to squeeze in a casting before my five-o'clock Jared Moor fitting? So they need to let me do my remaining two shots straight away.”

Cazzie nodded and left. Meanwhile, I could barely concentrate. After reading her new text and my email, my mind was buzzing. But once Cazzie returned to the dressing room and helped me get ready, I somehow managed to go back out into the studio and do the photos. I was relieved when, three quarters of an hour later, Peter declared, “I have the shots. They look great!”

I quickly pulled my own clothes back on, then said good-bye to everyone. A claustrophobic creepiness crept over me as I left. The possibility that one of the people I'd just shaken hands with had sent Cazzie and me those threatening texts and email—and stolen the diamond—was disturbing.

Finally I stepped out of the Juice Studios building and into the fresh air. I let the wind ruffle my hair for a few moments and took a deep breath as I watched Ira sitting in Cazzie's car. He was reading the newspaper.

Fleetingly I wondered if he could be behind the diamond's disappearance. Or maybe an accomplice to it, at least? After all, he was privy to many of Cazzie's conversations and her daily schedule. And he had plenty of time to send texts and emails.

At that moment Ira saw me looking at him. He smiled from the car and gave me a thumbs-up. I waved back, then looked at my watch before my paranoia got the better of me. It was nearly half past two now. My next appointment was the casting at Jared Moor at 5 p.m. But first I was going to follow the directions from Cazzie's lunchtime text and see where they led. I had just over two and a half hours to myself.

Time, I told myself, to start connecting the dots.

After a short subway ride uptown, I found myself standing on Fifth Avenue between Forty-First and Forty-Second Streets, right in front of the famous New York Public Library—the only building on the block.

The riddle spoke of “two lions outside.” And while I didn't know much about NYC, I did know that the city had a famous pair of lions, Patience and Fortitude, and that these two stone giants lay on either side of the staircase leading up to the entrance of the iconic library. As a child, I could remember gazing up at them in awe when my mom brought me here to visit the library. Now the two lions guarding the imposing building seemed to gaze at me, their stony silence questioning my purpose in being here.

I had no idea if these were the lions that the riddle was referring to, but they seemed a good place to start. Especially because I didn't know of any other place in the city with two lions outside.

What really had me stumped, though, was the part about “a lion on the inside.” What could that mean?
Well, Axelle, there's only one way to find out,
I told myself.

I ran up the wide stone stairs and under the impressive columned portico. Once I was in the vast library entrance hall, I gazed up at the stairways rising above me to my left and right, listening to voices echoing around the high marble ceiling. Farther along to my right stood a small stand serving beverages and snacks, and then the entrance to the library shop. Straight ahead, a large gallery space was filled with an exhibition on children's books, and on the left, corridors and stairs led to various galleries, archives, and reading rooms. But no lion—none that was obvious, anyway.

I randomly chose a flight of stairs and stopped at the first-floor landing, unsure of where to turn next. To my left, I saw a library assistant. I stopped and asked about a lion—a
female
lion, remembering the “she has a certain allure” part of the riddle.

“A lioness?” he asked as he scratched his head. “Well…I can't think of one really. I mean, we have souvenirs of our own famous lions, of course—like magnets and things—in the shop downstairs… But our lions are male lions, and you want a female, right?”

I nodded.

“Well, I'm afraid I can't help you, then—unless of course, you want to find books with images of lionesses. I could find plenty of those for you.”

“I think it has something to do with fashion…”

The library assistant shook his head. “Then I'm afraid nothing springs to mind. But I'll be here a while longer, so if you have more questions…”

I nodded. “I'll find you, thank you.”

I turned and thought about the riddle as I wandered through the building, but I still didn't see any lions, and the books I searched didn't help me either. Time was ticking quickly by. I now had only an hour until my appointment with Jared Moor. What lion—or lioness—could the thief possibly be referring to?

Argh!

I decided to step outside for a bit of fresh air, buying a bottle of juice from the snack stand on the way. I found a chair on the terrace outside, a stone's throw from the giant lions, sat down, and ran the riddle through my mind once more. I felt that both the riddle and its answer would probably be fashion-related, simply because the thief was in fashion (assuming that he or she was one of Friday's group). So who could I call? Who knew their fashion better than I did? I took a sip of my juice as I dialed the number of the most obvious choice. Not only was she
in
fashion, but she truly loved it. She was even something of an amateur expert with vintage couture.

“What's up, Axelle?” Ellie asked.

“I need your help.”

“Go ahead. I'm just leaving a casting so I have the time.”

“I know this sounds odd, but do you know of a famous female lion? One that probably has to do with fashion somehow?”

“A famous female lion? A lioness?”

“Uh-huh…”

“I can't think of one off the top of my head… Do you mean like a symbol or a real lion or what?”

“Right now, I think it's a lion that is probably in a book. Maybe a fashion book or something. Maybe a woman in fashion who kept lions?”

“I know that the famous muse the Marchesa Casati kept cheetahs…”

“No, I need a lioness. Or maybe a fashion designer who was nicknamed ‘the lion.' Or maybe…” I trailed off. Something had just clicked in my head. It was the idea of a nickname… My granny had often read the daily horoscope to me, and the word “Leo” had just sprung into my mind. Leo was a sort of nickname for “lion.” What if the lioness the riddle was referring to was a Leo? Like, born in August? Maybe a famous Leo working in fashion? Before I lost my train of thought, I asked Ellie whether she knew of a famous Leo designer or model who had “allure.”

“Allure? That's an old-fashioned word, isn't it? So maybe an old designer… Hey, I have it!” she said excitedly. “The most famous Leo in the fashion world is Coco Chanel. She was born a Leo!”

“Perfect. Thanks, Ellie. I'll start there.” I said good-bye and dashed back into the library to find the assistant. Within minutes I was standing between shelves full of books with an old, slim volume in my hands:
The
Allure
of
Chanel
by Paul Morand.

I quickly posed the book on a shelf, face out, and photographed it—and then I sent the picture to Cazzie so she'd have it ready when needed. A glance at my watch told me I had to go if I was going to get to my casting on time. I carefully replaced the book on its shelf and left. As I dashed under the stone portico and sprang down the entrance steps, I prayed that I'd found the right answer to the riddle.

I rushed out of the library and turned right, then right again onto Fortieth Street. Luckily for me, the Jared Moor design studio was less than ten blocks away, and with the way traffic was moving, walking definitely seemed faster than taking a taxi. My mind was still mulling over the first riddle, hoping I'd gotten it right. A wrong answer on my part would delay the return of the diamond—and that was a risk we couldn't afford. But my answer did seem to fit, so…
Time
will
tell, Axelle
, I told myself.

I rapidly wove my way through the crowds on the pavement and then sprinted across the street just as the cars came galloping past like a cavalry brigade setting off for battle. A thought that had started to form in my mind just before lunch at the studio once again started to bubble to the surface. But, just like at lunch, before I could finish thinking it through, my phone rang, and fashion intruded in the form of Pat Washington.

“Hi, Axelle. Are you on your way to Jared's? You have to be there in ten minutes.”

“Yes—”

She cut me off. “Good, because punctuality is vital: V-I-T-A-L. Here at Miriam's, we don't give a hoot about any of that I'm-a-diva-model stuff. Anyway, I have good news!”

Great
, I thought. The only thing that would constitute good news in Pat's eyes was exactly what I didn't need: more modeling work.

“You had a big ol' empty spot in your schedule for tomorrow morning…”

Yes, I thought, exactly the empty spot I had planned to fill with detective work.

“…which I've now filled with a test!”

Argh!

Now before you start thinking that Pat was referring to some kind of modeling test—with questions like “Which model was responsible for pulling fashion away from the grunge look of the 1990s?”—she wasn't.

What she meant by “test” was a photo test.

“We need to fill your book,” Pat continued.

“Yeah, but I've got stuff I did last week in Paris coming out in French
Elle
and the La Lune advertising campaign—”

“Huh-hum,” she coughed loudly. Even over the phone I could imagine her hand going up like the traffic police. “I know,” she said, “and that's great. But it's not enough, and it sure isn't
soon
enough either. Tony Moreno, the photographer you're testing with tomorrow, is good, and what's more, these photos will be a strong contrast to what you've shot so far. They'll be natural, something that shows you as you are, not too much hair and makeup. Okay?” She didn't wait for me to answer before saying, “Good.”

Great
, I thought.
What
will
she
think
of
next?

A second later I found out. “And now for the second round of good news,” she announced. “Miriam has just flown in from Paris and has arranged for you to accompany her to
Chic: New York
's big sixtieth gala birthday bash—tonight! You'll leave her apartment together at quarter to eight. And Cazzie—as editor-in-chief, she's the hostess—is delighted you'll be going. You've really made a good impression on her!”

If
only
you
knew, Pat.

“And no worries about the clothes or mask—”

“Mask?” I interrupted.

“Yes,
mask
. The theme of the party is
Bal
Masqué au Printemps
. Something about re-creating the famous masked ball the magazine threw when they first launched. Anyway, Cazzie will send something up to Miriam's apartment for you to wear. I'm telling you, she likes you, girl. Okay? Good. So, look sharp tonight, Axelle. Everyone who's anyone in the fashion world will be there. And if you're not the hottest new thing in fashion by the end of this week, then my name's not Pat Washington!”

By the time I'd finished speaking with Pat, I was standing in front of the Jared Moor Building. Following the directions I'd been given, I went around the corner and in through the service entrance at the side. After signing in with security, I took the elevator up to the showroom space, where I was expected.

What then transpired was basically an echo of my experiences last week in Paris. I went in, said hello, changed into a dress, walked in it, said thank you and good-bye, and then left. If they liked the way I looked and walked in their clothes, I'd get booked.

Of course, it wasn't as dry an experience as I just described. I did chat a bit with the design team (they liked my DIY Converses), and I knew the other model at the casting from Paris. The atmosphere was good, with a lot of laughter and high spirits.

Jared himself was young, friendly, and relaxed, despite the frenzied activity going on around him. And dressed as he was—sneakers, black jeans, black T-shirt—he reminded me of what Ellie and I had talked about last night at dinner: the different style vibe between Parisian and NYC fashion.

Like she'd said, “New York fashion always feels minimal and sporty, and has a kind of edgy glamour. But that's the city; it's tough, fast, and fierce. I always feel like there's no time or need for ruffles in the Big Apple—unless, of course, you're Carolina Herrera. She can do a ruffle to die for.”

As I eyed Jared Moor's clothes hanging on the racks at the back of the showroom space, I silently concurred with Ellie's musings. The solid-colored, bias-cut dresses and trouser suits hung languid and lean. No stylistic distraction marred their spare, minimal lines; no loud patterns or unnecessary details confused the eye; and yet the clothes had an edgy elegance that made you think they were the perfect thing to wear if you happened to be a pop star stepping out of your own private jet.

Ha!
I thought.
I'm starting to sound like one of the fashionistas I'm always shaking my head at!

Anyway, by the end of the casting I had a feeling I might get booked. Jared seemed to like my “tomboy vibe,” as he put it.

As I dressed back into my own clothes, one small thing caught my eye. On the clothing rack next to me, a few of the outfits had tags dangling from them, signaling that they'd already been allocated to specific models to wear for the next day's show. Three of the names jumped out at me: Chandra, Misty, and Rafaela. If I was confirmed for tomorrow, I'd be walking down the runway with three of the Black Amelia suspects!

***

It was six thirty by the time I stepped out of Jared Moor. Pat had told me Miriam wanted to leave her apartment at quarter to eight, so I had just enough time to get to her place and shower and change before heading off to the
Chic
party.

Checking my phone, I saw that I had several messages—including an email from Cazzie.

Hi Axelle,

I'm thrilled you'll be joining us tonight at
Chic
's birthday party. I'm only sorry I didn't think of it myself! As you know, my mind is not at its best right now. I hope to make it up to you with the dress and mask I've sent up to Miriam's. They should fit you perfectly—and both are spectacular.

Anyway, back to business. The next riddle follows, so your answer to the first riddle was clearly the right one, and the thief was amazed I had the answer so quickly. I have the feeling they are going to make the riddles more difficult as a consequence. I just hope we're doing the right thing. My nerves are frayed and I'm not sleeping. I pray this will all end well. Half the time I want to go to the police and just let them handle it, but then I remember that if I do that now, my career will be finished, over—not to mention the damage I'll do to
Chic
's reputation. So then I tell myself to just hold on, that we'll—
you'll
—solve this.

Cazzie x

P.S. All of Friday's group will be at the party tonight.

Then came the thief's message and the next riddle:

How lucky I was that you were stupid enough to bring the diamond into the studio without security or a locked box. Just a beautiful stone wrapped in an easily opened case—in your handbag.