Stolen with Style (14 page)

I nodded as I took my phone out and started writing him a text with the names of all the suspects.

“Great. I want to hear about the riddles.”

But as soon as we stepped out of the service corridors, Miriam spotted us.

“Sebastian! I didn't know you'd arrived!” Miriam said when she saw him. “Axelle, you've been keeping him a secret.” She winked at me.

I didn't say anything. Instead I finished writing the text I'd started.

Miriam looked at her watch and then proceeded to nix any plans Sebastian and I had about discussing the case. “It's time for you to go home, Axelle. You need your beauty sleep. You have a big day tomorrow—including your first New York City fashion show. And I want to get back now too. I'm feeling the jet lag.” She turned to look at Sebastian. “Can I get my driver to take you somewhere?”

Sebastian mumbled something about meeting someone. Visions of Cleo danced through my mind, but I left it at that and we all said good-bye.

“
À demain
, Holmes,” he whispered. “We'll have to talk about the case tomorrow, but send me the names so I can get started with the background checks.”

“I just did.
À demain
, Watson.”

***

As I made my way to my bedroom, my phone suddenly vibrated with a text message. Taking it out of my clutch, I saw it was from Ellie.

I just heard something that might interest you. Apparently, a long time ago, at the very start of her career, Chandra was caught stealing a necklace from a shoot. Supposedly it was hushed up by her agency, and she has since changed her ways. You said your case is about something missing, and she was there, so I thought you might want to know… Not that I think she'd do anything like that now. I mean, why would she? And who knows if she really did it then? It's just a rumor, after all…

Who told you?
I wrote back.

A model I was just talking to. She's older—like thirty or something—and is having a kind of renaissance with her career at the moment. She just shot an Italian
Vogue
cover. Anyway, she was a bit tipsy and started talking about Chandra when she saw her near us, and she very quickly brought that up. She sounded jealous of Chandra, and I think it made her feel good to know that about her. She claims she was there when it happened.

Hmm…something else to look into tomorrow
, I thought, just as my phone vibrated for a third time. This was quickly followed by yet another message—and both were from Sebastian.

The first one read:

Where are you? Are you ready to go? I am when you are. Seb x

Huh? What was he talking about? But then I read the second one, and the meaning became all too clear:

Sorry, Axelle. That wasn't meant for you—ignore it! I can't wait to get going on the case! See you tomorrow. Seb

My stomach suddenly lurched to my mouth, and for a second I felt sick.
Calm
down, Axelle. Calm down. It's Sebastian, remember? Mom's spy.
I had to remind myself that I was still furious with him. The surprise of seeing him at the
Chic
party and the excitement of chasing down Misty together had begun to erode the wall of disappointment and anger that had built up over the last few days. And if I was honest, the feel of his hands around my waist as we'd danced might have had a teeny-weeny bit to do with it too… Not that any of that mattered. Clearly, what mattered to Sebastian now was Cleo.

And
why
does
that
matter
to
you, Axelle? You're not jealous, remember?

Shut
up!

After washing the makeup off my face, I pulled my earbuds out of my shoulder bag, thinking that I could listen to the audio recordings I'd made at the studio before I fell asleep. But jet lag got the better of me, and as I closed my eyes, my last thoughts were of the diamond, the suspects, and Sebastian. Their images turned stiltedly in my mind, as if seen through a broken kaleidoscope. Any kind of conclusion—about anything—seemed a long way off. How would it all end? I wondered.

The loud ringing of my phone pierced the morning calm. Eyes still shut, I answered.

“Wake up, Axelle! You've got to get going to Tony Moreno's studio! I knew this would happen. You let a model go to her first big fashion party, and what does she do? She oversleeps the next morning!”

Pat was like some kind of fashion rooster, crowing at the crack of dawn, I thought as I slowly came to. Strong sunlight seeped in around the edges of the thick curtains hanging at my bedroom window. Clearly it wasn't the crack of dawn—I had slept late.

“Girl, are you listening?”

Thoughts of Misty and her crazy attempt to scare me away from Brandon came back to me…along with something else. But what? What had I wanted to do so desperately last night? Why had I wanted to get back to Miriam's?

“And don't even try to use jet lag as an excuse because models can't. C-A-N-apostrophe-T! Besides, you've come the wrong way for that. It really only works flying east.”

Argh!
The recordings, of course! I'd wanted to listen to the recordings I'd made at Juice Studios. There was something I'd overheard during the dinner last night…

“Do I have to call Miriam to get you to wake up and speak?”

“No, no, I'm here, Pat.” Someone had said something that made me think, and it felt like it could be important… I'd meant to try to find the connection, but sleep had overwhelmed me. As soon as I could, I'd have to listen to those recordings…

Pat rambled on with details about today. First I had to test with Tony Moreno; then I had a break before my first New York show—Jared Moor—at Lincoln Center. Ellie and I would be doing Jared Moor together—along with Misty, Chandra, and Rafaela.

“And it seems you'll have a fitting at some point for Diane von Furstenberg—probably after Jared Moor. That should be confirmed later this morning. And if there's time, I want to give you a short fashion history lesson—something I like to do with new girls. Anyway, you'll be busy, don't worry.”

I
wasn't
, I thought.

I finally said good-bye to Pat and then dashed into the bathroom to shower. I only had forty minutes before I was due at Tony's studio—which, considering he was way downtown, didn't give me much time.

All kinds of thoughts bounced around in my mind. I had to see Sebastian. When had we made plans for?
Had
we made plans? Had he started with the background checks? And why hadn't Cazzie texted or emailed me yet? Or had I missed something in my morning haste? With that thought, I slowed down long enough to take a deep breath and prioritize. First, I told myself I had to make it to Tony Moreno on time—or I'd have Pat breathing down my neck all day!

After making sure I had everything I needed in my shoulder bag, I quickly stopped by the kitchen to wolf down the bagel with cream cheese and glass of fresh juice Nicolette had put out for me. “You're not in New York if you don't have a bagel for breakfast,” Nicolette said as I grabbed an apple to take with me. I called good-bye to Miriam, thanked Nicolette, and shut the door behind me.

Downstairs, my phone vibrated as I flew across the lobby.

It was a text from Sebastian:

I've started on the background checks. Meet outside the Frick Collection at 12:30? Corner of 5th + 70th. Does that work for you?

It did. That would be right between my morning test shoot and mid-afternoon Jared Moor show. I wrote back to tell Sebastian that and then raced out of the building's Gotham darkness into the bright Manhattan morning sunshine.

***

The studio Tony Moreno had rented for the morning was on Watts Street in SoHo, in what looked like an old mechanic's garage. It was clearly a conversion, I thought, as I walked past the derelict gas pumps and found my way into the surprisingly sunny studio.

Besides Tony and his assistant, there were a hairstylist, a makeup artist, and a clothes stylist—all of whom, like me, were doing this to get some photos for their portfolios.

After we all had a look at the fun, colorful clothes Gemma, the stylist, had pulled for the shoot, Tony convened a meeting. I sat at the makeup and hair table while Tony, Gemma, Lisa the hairstylist, and Jimmy the makeup artist stood over me, discussing how to capture the look they wanted. From what I gathered, it was going to be girly and pretty—limited makeup and natural hair, paired with colorful, fun clothes and a clean background. There'd be some softer backlit shots later. They pored over the magazine tears they'd brought as inspiration for a few minutes, and then the final details were decided.

The morning passed quickly. After each shot, we'd run to Tony's computer to watch him edit it a bit (he was his own digi-tech guy) and see what we could improve on with the next shot. By mid-morning I'd emailed a couple of the shots to Pat—with Tony's permission—as proof that I was being productive. In the subject line I'd written “Passion for Fashion”—although, for all I knew, Pat would find the irony in that as opaque as a pair of black winter tights.

Because we didn't have long to get enough shots done—we had to give the studio up at noon—and because my “natural” hair and makeup weren't at all time-consuming, I didn't have the usual lengthy downtime or prep time to spend on my “other business.” But I popped my earbuds in whenever I could. I reminded myself to concentrate on
how
the robbery was done—as opposed to by
whom
—and over the course of the morning I carefully went through every word I'd recorded yesterday until I finally found what I'd been looking for.

Again, the image of a small nugget of gold glittering in the gravel of a stream came to mind. Buried in the recordings was a random comment that could hold the key to this case—and I wasn't sure I would have picked up on it if the snippet of conversation I'd overheard last night hadn't triggered something in my memory.
Hmm
…I was quietly humming, excited by the thought that I might have a new line of inquiry for my investigations. Without thinking, I pulled my earbuds out and, smiling, looked in the mirror.

“I know,” Jimmy said as he made minor adjustments to my hair with the sharp-tipped handle of his comb. “Isn't fashion the most amazing thing?”

***

A little while later, I received an interesting bit of information in an email from Cazzie. She'd copied the Friday page from the Juice Studios logbook and emailed it to me in its entirety. It showed that nobody, apart from the group working with Cazzie, had been logged as going into Studio 7 while the shoot was going on.

Of course, someone could still have snuck in…but even if they had managed to get past the reception desk and walk unseen into Studio 7, they would have needed to know where to find the diamond—and if they hadn't been working on the shoot, that didn't seem likely. The logbook also showed that two cleaners had gone up in the evening to prepare the studio for the next day, as Cazzie had said, and that she had left an hour later than the others in the
Chic
group.

Cazzie wrote:

Difficult as it is for me to believe, I think I have to assume that one of the group is responsible. Juice was careful to respect my express wish that no one—even studio staff—enter the studio without speaking to me first. The logbook seems to corroborate this.

Also, Juice confirmed to me that everyone else listed as coming and going into the Juice building that day was known to them—and I personally know and recognize virtually every name in the logbook for that day too…

While in some ways the confirmed sighting of a wild card might have made things easier, at least now I felt reasonably sure—like Cazzie—that the Black Amelia had indeed been taken by one of the suspects on my list. And that, in turn, gave more credence to the idea now running through my mind.

I left Tony Moreno's studio feeling more positive about which direction to take the case. The random comment I'd found in my recordings played over and over in my mind. I was sure that this previously overlooked detail was a key clue.

I walked to the nearest subway station and caught a train going uptown. After a transfer, I arrived at the station on Sixty-Eighth Street and Lexington Avenue. I was now in the heart of the Big Apple's famed Upper East Side. Under bright, sunny skies, I walked the few blocks to the corner of Fifth Avenue and Seventieth Street.

“So, Holmes, how's it going?” It was Sebastian—and annoyingly he looked good. Why did he seem like a bigger distraction now than he'd ever been on his scooter in Paris? And after I'd decided that he shouldn't
be
a distraction!

“Axelle?”

Not that I was about to let him know that.

“Where are we?” I said, swiftly changing gears in my head.

Of course, I knew that we were on the corner of Fifth Avenue and East Seventieth Street—about ten blocks south of the Met where we'd been last night—but I didn't know anything about the huge house behind us.

“Well, that's the Frick.” Sebastian nodded in the direction of the mansion. “They have an amazing collection of eighteenth-century French decorative arts,” he said. “If it had been raining, I would have suggested going in there. According to my sources, it's quiet and guaranteed to be fashionista-free—especially during Fashion Week.

“But I thought if the weather held—which it has—we could cross the street, grab a hot dog, and go into the park.” He smiled at me—that heart-stopping, totally cute smile of his. “And it won't take long to walk to Lincoln Center from here. You wrote in your text this morning that you're doing the Jared Moor show.”

“I am, at two thirty at Lincoln Center. You're as resourceful as ever, Watson,” I said as we crossed Fifth Avenue.

“Yeah, well, don't let it distract you.” He flashed me his smile, then laughed.

Very funny. Now he was a mind reader too.

As we walked to Central Park, I quickly filled Sebastian in on the basic information concerning the case. He'd been with me in Paris when I'd received the initial call from Miriam, so he had an inkling about it. But until now, he'd heard none of the details—apart from receiving the list of names I'd texted him last night.

We bought hot dogs and drinks from the vendor on the corner, then went into the park. And while the weather wasn't anywhere near hot—it was a crisp early-spring day, after all—there was no breeze, and the strong midday sun was actually nice. Within five minutes we were seated on a bench beside a large, round pond—the same one where the mouse Stuart Little raced his boat in the movie I must have watched a hundred times when I was tiny. Central Park was beautiful, and even I had to admit it was a worthy rival for Hyde Park, my all-time favorite park at home.

“So,” he asked, “who shoots first?”

“How about I play you my recordings?”

“Sounds like you're asking me on a date.”

“Trust me, if I were, you'd know it.”

“Ouch—but I like your sense of authority.”

I ignored that and handed him one of my earbuds, while putting the other one into my own ear. We started on our hot dogs as we listened.

“Well, there's not a lot for you to go on, is there?” Sebastian asked a while later as I put the earbuds back into my shoulder bag.

I shrugged my shoulders and said nothing.

He narrowed his eyes and watched me. “Don't tell me you've managed to extract something from that—or do you have something else to go on that I don't know about?”

I smiled.

“I know that look… You know who took the diamond, don't you?”

I shook my head. “No…but I have a good idea who it might be.”

“But you're not going to tell me?”

“Maybe. But first let me hear what you've found out.”

He looked at me intently for a moment or two before breaking into a smile and saying, “I detect a possible chink in your theory, Holmes… Because if you really have a strong idea of who might have taken the diamond, what's the point of hearing what I have to say?”

“Touché, Watson.” I laughed.

“Well,” Sebastian began, “I've found out how Misty knew her way around the museum so well last night.”

I shook my head as I recalled our bizarre pursuit of one of the world's top supermodels through the labyrinthine staff corridors of the Met.

“She dated a chef,” he continued, “who often did—and for all I know, still does—catering there. So naturally, if she was there for a fashion event that he was catering, they would meet up. She'd been seen disappearing with him into the corridors, and she would even pop into the kitchen on occasion. It's no big deal, but I was curious to know how she knew her way around.”

“Good point, Watson. Thanks for that.”

“On a more relevant note, it seems that Peter Van Oorst's father used to be a jeweler.”

“What? Really?”

Sebastian nodded. “He later moved into dealing in antique silver, but he was trained as a jeweler, and for a large part of Peter's childhood, that was what he did.”

Sebastian had done a thorough job of combing through everything he'd found on the Web—and he'd managed to find interesting facts about a few of the suspects. And while I wasn't sure that knowing Peter's father used to be a jeweler led anywhere, the information nevertheless added a new facet to Peter's character sketch. Now, for instance, I knew that Peter probably had a good idea of the real value of the Black Amelia. Whether that had induced him to take the diamond was another matter.

Sebastian had also found out that Peter was compiling a book of his photography—candid fashion shots, many of which were taken backstage during the fashion shows.

“Which is why,” Sebastian explained, “he'll be backstage at so many shows this week—together with Brandon, who is very interested in his own photography. No one has seen much of his work, but they say that he'd like to move into fashion photography full-time at some point. He's thrilled to be learning so much from Peter, apparently.”

Sebastian hadn't found anything drastically new or different from what I already had on Trish and Tom—although Trish did like antique jewelry. “If you check out her Instagram page, you'll see she's always wearing some sparkly piece when she's out on the town… And by the way,” continued Sebastian, “her makeup line is very successful.”

Interestingly, he had stumbled across rumors of a rivalry between Rafaela and Chandra—although only as unsubstantiated gossip on some blogs. And he'd also dug deep enough to find out about Chandra's supposed “theft” long ago at that shoot Ellie had mentioned. He'd thought that might be a good lead and looked a bit crestfallen when I didn't jump on it.

“So I haven't really given you anything new to go on, have I?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, you never know…”

He shook his head as he looked at me. “I know you have something in mind, Holmes, so are you going to tell me what it is or do I have to drag it out of you?”

“I'll tell you.” I smiled. “But I think you'd better hear this again first.” I handed him one of my earbuds as I began to explain. “So, at dinner last night, one of the fashion editors was talking about her experience designing at Alexander Wang when she said something like:
‘They were all so engrossed with finishing the top of the dress that I was able to quickly add my own little flourish to the skirt without anyone really noticing. When they finally stood back and looked at it, they loved it. Nobody had seen a thing…'
And that triggered my memory,” I continued, “because listen to this…”

I searched my phone to find the section of the recording I needed. “This was Chandra's answer when I asked her where she was when the alarm went off:”

I don't know. The mirrors by Trish and Tom, I guess. I'd just walked off the set, like Rafaela and Misty. I was waiting to get my makeup retouched, and then it went off. It certainly got everyone's attention. They were all engrossed in what was happening.

“Do you hear the similarity?”

“The engrossed bit, you mean?” Sebastian asked.

I nodded. “What's also curious about Chandra's version of events is that she makes no mention of seeing the old lady being wheeled into the ambulance. Why not?”

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe that just didn't capture her attention.”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. I mean,
everyone
mentioned it. Even Peter and Brandon mentioned seeing the ambulance leave—and by most everyone's account, they ran to the windows later than the others because they were working at Brandon's computer. And Chandra's time is still less well accounted for than the others. So what was she doing? What else could she have been looking at? And again, if she did look out the windows right after the alarm rang, why didn't she mention the ambulance?”

“Okay…so the fire alarm goes off, and Trish and Tom are doing makeup and hair on Rafaela and Misty,” Sebastian said. “Peter and Brandon are at Brandon's computer editing the photos they've shot so far, and Cazzie is in the dressing area checking on the iron she thinks is burning… Is that right?”

I nodded. “Correct.”

“And Chandra says she was just hanging out, waiting?”

I nodded. “And none of the others can remember where exactly she was or what she was doing after she walked off the set—while they pretty much remember what all of the others were doing. Trish and Tom did confirm that Chandra had been around their table for a while, but they didn't know where she'd gone once they started working on Misty and Rafaela.”

“And presumably she saw Cazzie go into the dressing area?”

I nodded. “Cazzie remembers seeing her. She ran past Chandra on her way to the dressing area—and made eye contact with her.”

“And Chandra knew Cazzie had the diamond with her?”

I nodded. “She was standing next to Cazzie when Cazzie slipped the diamond's case into her handbag. Although in all fairness, everyone else also saw Cazzie slip the case into her handbag and go into the dressing area with it. To my mind, what definitely works against Chandra is her lack of a solid explanation of her actions during the crucial few minutes before and after the fire alarm rang. And she made that comment about all the others being ‘engrossed' by the action in the next building.

“It's as if she's standing somewhere observing them, instead of observing the fire like everyone else. Why? And she helped Cazzie pack up the clothes—something no model would ever do. So again, why?” I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath. “And her love—and knowledge—of magic tricks, something Cazzie herself has witnessed many times, means Chandra probably has an advantage over the others when it comes to actually stealing something…”

“And the rumor?”

“About the necklace she took?”

Sebastian nodded.

“As far as I'm concerned, it's just that—a rumor. I have no way of knowing if it's true or not. For all I know, someone could have seen her take something as one of her practical jokes and embellished the story a bit… But anyway, even without the rumor, right now Chandra is the best lead I've got. It all fits quite well.”

Sebastian leaned back with a sigh. “So where's the chink?” he asked, running his hand through his hair.

I stood up and started walking south through the park with Sebastian following. With a glance at my watch, I saw that I only had three-quarters of an hour before I had to be at Lincoln Center for hair and makeup. Fortunately, it was only about a twenty-minute walk from where we were now.

“This is the chink,” I said as I handed him my phone.

Quickly he read the text—the first one Cazzie had been sent yesterday morning, before the
Chic
shoot.

“I'm not following you—unless you don't think Chandra could have written something like that.”

I shook my head. “I always run with the premise that, given the right set of circumstances, anyone is capable of anything.”

“Do you have many friends?” He laughed.

“Very funny, Watson.”

We turned off the main path and walked toward the Bethesda Fountain, the most famous fountain in the park according to my mom, who, on our last trip here, had insisted on taking my picture in this very spot. In fact, she keeps the photo on her bedside table at home, even though I'm half the size in it that I am now. Sebastian and I stood on the terrace, watching a colorful, lively assortment of grannies, joggers, children, lovers, and students wander around the fountain below and the edge of the large lake just beyond it.

“Anyway,” I said, “presumably the text I just showed you—which Cazzie received yesterday morning—was sent by the person who stole the diamond, correct?”

“That would make sense…”

“Well, the text was sent at 7:30 a.m.”

“And?”

“And at seven thirty, Chandra was apparently high in the sky between here and Miami, where she'd been shooting the day before. Obviously, I can't jump to any assumptions without all the facts, but if that's true, it seems unlikely she sent that text,” I said. “I mean, maybe it
would
be technically possible—I need to find out for sure—but even so, it doesn't feel right. Why would she risk it when she could just wait 'til she landed?”

“But like you said, that text was probably sent by whoever has the diamond…”

I nodded. “So maybe Chandra is working with someone…or…”

I looked at him. Our eyes met, and for a fraction of a second, he looked at me in that way he had in Paris. Whatever we were talking about was forgotten. His blue-gray eyes darkened and I thought our conversation was about to head off in a totally different direction, but then Sebastian looked quickly away. It all happened so rapidly that I wasn't even sure of what I'd seen.