Stolen with Style (15 page)

“Or,” I continued, trying my best to ignore the confused feelings rising in my gut, “someone is lying big-time. Or someone else entirely—someone who's not part of the photo-shoot group—is responsible. Although nothing in the Juice Studios logbook backs that up.” I sighed and looked up as a pair of courting pigeons cooed on a branch overhead. “Anyway, right now Chandra is my strongest lead, so I'm going to concentrate on her for the moment.”

Sebastian's phone suddenly rang, and he answered it. I wouldn't have given it a moment's thought, but then he said, “Hold on a second…” to whoever was on the other end and walked far enough away that he was in no danger of being overheard.

Images of Cleo, the long-legged blond model I'd seen last night with her arms around him, came to mind—and the vision didn't make for easy viewing. And neither did the sudden memory of the text message he'd mistakenly sent me late last night. My stomach did a flip-flop—and not in a good way.

Great. Now I needed a strategy for how to act when he walked back. Uninterested? Smiling and happy?
Argh!
Why was everything so complicated? But in the end I was saved by Pat. Who would have guessed that I'd be thrilled to see her name light up on my phone?

Get going, Axelle. Jared Moor is waiting. And look sharp! SHARP!

I wrote back quickly:

Sharp as last season's stilettos!

To which she replied:

Better be. By the way, where have you been? We didn't have our fashion history lesson. You're lucky it slipped my mind because of the shows. Maybe tomorrow. Now walk well!

“You know what I'm looking forward to?” I asked Sebastian as I slipped my phone back into my shoulder bag and walked toward him. He'd finished his call and was waiting for me. Neither of us made mention of our respective conversations. “Holding the diamond. I really want to see it and hold it in my hands. But if I stand even a chance of getting that far, I have to speak with Chandra.”

Sebastian and I had left the fountain and were now walking at a brisk pace toward Lincoln Center. I had twenty minutes before I was due at Jared Moor, and surprisingly, Sebastian was heading to the same place.

“I'm meeting up with someone,” he said vaguely, studiously training his eyes on the path ahead.

Meeting
up
with
someone?
And
would
she, by any chance, happen to be called Cleo?

Then, with a sigh, I remembered what Ellie had told me about applying my own sleuthing advice to the Sebastian situation. She had a point, I thought somewhat sheepishly. I mean, maybe I was jumping to conclusions. Maybe he was going to meet someone else. Then again, if he really did want to spend time with Cleo, how much could our time together in Paris have meant?

Argh!

I took a breath. “That's nice,” I forced myself to say.

“You said you wanted to speak with Chandra.” Now he was changing the subject. Well, I was happy to go along with that.

I nodded. “Yes, and I think I'll try at the show. She's doing Jared Moor too. But she's not very easy to talk to. I hope I can get her onto the subject without making her suspicious or scaring her off. And I'd like to know whether she really was on a plane yesterday morning at seven thirty. Do you think you could manage to find that out—as soon as possible? I don't want to take anything for granted.”

“Definitely.”

“And if you could also find out as much as possible about where Peter, Chandra, Rafaela, Misty, and Brandon—”

“It was Brandon who danced with you last night, wasn't it? Although he seemed to be stepping on your feet more than dancing.” He was smiling at me faintly, his eyebrows raised.

Now I was the one with my eyes glued to the path in front of us. “Uh, yes, that was Brandon. And, by the way,” I went on, a touch more defiantly, “even if we didn't dance for long, I thought he was really good.”

Sebastian shrugged his shoulders and an awkward silence hung in the air for a moment.

“Anyway,” I continued, mentally shaking myself, “I would like to know as much as possible about where they've all been since the weekend—as well as what they have scheduled for this week until Friday morning. And be sure to include Cazzie—because like I said, given the right circumstances—”

“Anyone is capable of anything. And actually, we only have her word for it that the diamond is missing.”

“Exactly.”

“Anything else?”

I nodded. “Yes. More background information, please—but with an angle toward Cazzie. Assuming that she is telling us the truth when she says that the diamond is missing, and assuming that someone at Friday's shoot did indeed take it, there's still the possibility that the theft is revenge for something Cazzie did. In which case, I need to find a motive. Something she said or did to one of them, for instance… It would probably be something to do with their careers—although it might be something very personal… Do you think your sources can help with that?” As I asked, I realized that his main “source” was probably Cleo. How else had he known where to find me last night?

“I'm sure my source can handle your request,” he answered cheerfully.

I didn't reply.

***

Lincoln Center comprises a collection of several concert halls located around an open square a block away from Central Park on Manhattan's Upper West Side. Sebastian and I walked past the main entrance on Ninth Avenue, then parted ways on West Sixty-Second Street.

“I'm meeting someone at the café on the corner,” he said, nodding toward a Mexican-themed restaurant across the street. “When should I give you a call about the research? Or do you want to meet right after your show?”

“How long do you need?”

“I should be able to pull something together in the next couple of hours.”

“Then why don't we meet after my show? I should be done by about six… Can you meet me at the backstage entrance on Amsterdam and Sixty-Second?”

He nodded and turned to leave, but then paused. Looking back at me, he said, “You know, I'm happy I came… It's fun working together again.”

I watched him, wondering if he might say more, but he didn't. “Yes, it is,” I replied. Then I turned and left.

Our working relationship seemed to be on track. Sebastian and I had slipped into the pattern we'd forged last week in Paris…before the kiss. Maybe he wouldn't be such a distraction after all.

But was that what I really wanted?

***

I received one of Ellie's Instagram selfies just after leaving Sebastian. She was getting her hair done backstage at Jared Moor.

I sent her a text saying I was on my way.

A few photographers were standing on the corner of Sixty-Second Street and Amsterdam Avenue, which was where the backstage entrances to the shows were located. Lenses at the ready, the paparazzi were clearly hoping to catch sight of one of the famous models, like Rafaela or Ellie. Head tucked into the upturned collar of my trench coat, I walked past security, up the ramp, and into the hair and makeup tents put up especially for the shows. From there I was directed to Jared Moor.

Ellie was still having her hair done. She was going to be opening the show—and was therefore chronicling every aspect of her preparations for her Instagram and Facebook followers.

“You have to try these veggie wraps. They are so yummy,” she enthused as soon as she saw me. Then in a whisper she added, “There's a new rumor going around that might be of interest to you—this one's about Tom.” She nodded in the direction of the hair and makeup area, where, sure enough, I could just make out Tom's tall figure behind a cloud of hair spray. “He's hinted that he'd like to retire, move to a tropical island, and quit fashion—not that I believe for a moment that he could stay away for a long time, but…if he took what you're searching for, and it was valuable, maybe it could fund his early retirement.”

“I'm surprised by you, Ellie,” I said teasingly. “You're starting to think in the same suspicious way that I do—even about people you know and like!”

She smiled and took a sip from her drink. “Well, you did want information…and maybe some of your detective style is starting to rub off on me.”

“I'll have to make you a partner.”

“I thought you already had one,” she quipped with an arch of her eyebrow and a giggle.

I opted not to answer, rolling my eyes before heading off to the buffet table.

On my way there I stopped to look at the wall that showed which models would be wearing which outfits and in what order they'd be walking out later. I noticed that Chandra was second to the last, while Misty would be closing the show. Hmm…that was good, because it looked like I was due to walk out for the last time a few outfits before Chandra, which meant that I could change, wait for her to change, and then try talking to her. And because she was nearly the last model on the runway, some of the other models and hair and makeup people should already have cleared out by then. I didn't want to make a scene—but with Chandra so cagey around me, I couldn't imagine it was going to be an easy conversation.

According to his show notes, Jared's collection was inspired by a mix of ballet, Richard Serra's metal sculptures, and “the iconic beauty” of Lee Miller (an American photographer and model of the 1920s and '30s). I read through further colorful references to everything from clouds and Rihanna to nineteenth-century whalers from Newfoundland. Then I looked at the dresses and trousers hanging on the racks and came to the conclusion that, despite all the talk of clouds and nineteenth-century whalers, Jared's clothes were basically smart and sexy.

“So are you still in denial?” Ellie asked when I joined her, two veggie wraps carefully balanced on one small plate and a chocolate cupcake and strawberries on another.

I rolled my eyes again as I stationed myself in the seat next to her, and the hairstylist, Laura, started brushing my hair.

“As Sebastian himself just told me, it's really nice working together.”

Now Ellie rolled her eyes. “You two are such nerds. I wish you'd just get it together and admit you have the major hots for each other. I mean, trust me, Paris was not a fluke. Like, I was there.
I
saw
.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, his deal with my mom wasn't a fluke either.”

“There you're wrong. Give the guy a break.” Before she could say anything else, she had to leave for makeup.

As Ellie left, my phone vibrated. A text from Sebastian:

Chandra was definitely on the flight to Miami, and it left on time, so at 7.30 a.m. she was 33,000 feet above the sea. According to the airline's rules concerning electrical devices, she could not have sent the text to Cazzie. Now I'm trying to find out if there was coverage where she was at that time in case she decided to break the rules.

I texted Sebastian back:

Great! Thanks. I'm going to try to talk to her backstage after the show, at around 6. Please wait outside for me until I appear. If she refuses to talk to me backstage, then I'll have to follow her out. So if you see her exiting quickly, please follow her. She hasn't been very talkative around me, and I imagine she won't be eager to talk to me later either.

He answered:

No problem, Holmes. I'll be on guard duty. And good luck with the show!

Thanks, Watson
, I wrote back.

Have you ever noticed that your phone can be quiet for ages and then suddenly, within the span of a few minutes, everyone is trying to reach you at once? Sebastian's messages were quickly followed by messages from my mom, Pat, and Cazzie.

Hi, darling! I'm so excited about your fashion show. Jared Moor! That's brilliant, Axelle! Jenny and Kathy are coming over any minute. We're going to watch it live-streamed. So exciting! Miss you! XXX Mom

Kathy was Jenny's mom—and when she wasn't working as a pediatrician, she was my mom's number-one shopping partner.

I'll be watching you on Fashion TV, girl. Look sharp! DVF casting tonight at 7 p.m. downtown at her HQ. Details to follow.

I think you can guess who that one was from.

Cazzie wrote:

Hi, Axelle. I just wanted to say that I still haven't heard anything…

I wrote back:

Don't worry—you will. I think I've made a small breakthrough. Will tell you when I see you.

Of course, my small breakthrough regarding Chandra didn't yet amount to much, but I thought Cazzie needed something to hold on to, no matter how minor. Besides, I felt as if there'd been a slight shift in the rhythm of this case. Call me optimistic, but my small breakthrough had me buzzing, which was always a good sign.

I closed my eyes and let Nina, the makeup artist, work her magic.

***

An hour and a half later, we were ready to go. In that last-minute preshow frenzy I was becoming accustomed to, my lips were glossed umpteen times, my face powdered, and my hair tweaked. I'd been slipped into my frock—a short, black wool-twill dress—and was adjusting the most amazing thigh-high leather boots when the music's decibel level shot up. It was showtime!

I walked out twice for Jared. One of those times I was on the runway with Misty. Ironically, she resolutely refused to look at me, instead walking past me with a sort of self-righteous
I'm the victim and you're the nasty one
look on her face. Had she really forgotten that I'd chased her because she'd been threatening
me
and that I'd found her, dusty and squirming, under cardboard boxes? Hardly supermodel-like behavior!

Misty also hogged the end of the runway, standing in front of the photographers and posing endlessly, so that I only had time to quickly turn and then head back. Not that I cared, but it was funny to see how she thought that giving me less time in front of the photographers would bother me. Whatever.