Stolen with Style (20 page)

“You will have the diamond, Cazzie. I'm sure of it. So far the rumors are only online. You'll have to ride this out, but it will all end well.”

“I'm just so incredibly stressed. I want this all to be over. I want to hand Noah his diamond back and pretend this never happened.” She was close to weeping.

“Cazzie, listen, whatever else we can say about the thief, they've stuck to their plan. They said they'd give us three riddles and so far we've had two—both of which we've correctly answered. I'm sure we'll get the third one soon, and I have no doubt that we'll be able to answer that one too. We just have to believe we'll get to finish this treasure hunt and that the prize at the end is the one we're hoping for.”

***

The show went well, although I was on automatic pilot for most of it. Our hair had been left more or less natural—just nicely textured, really. Some of the girls had been given loose, messy chignons that looked as if they'd pinned them up themselves—never mind the fact that it had taken a professional hairstylist an hour to achieve the look. The makeup was pretty, young, and shiny. For once I didn't feel too overly done up.

I'd just finished changing into my own clothes and had stepped back out into the general backstage area when I bumped into Chandra. We'd signaled to each other from a distance during hair and makeup, but we hadn't had a chance to talk.

In stark contrast to when I'd first met her, she now seemed relieved to see me.
What
a
difference
a
clear
conscience
can
make
, I thought.

“Thanks again for last night, Axelle. I'm sorry I was so rude to you before, but now you know why. Have you made any progress?”

“A little…”

“Maybe you'll make more now at my place,” she said as we headed toward the exit together. “I won't be able to sleep until you've found it.”

“I'll let you know as soon as I do.”

“And you still haven't told Cazzie anything—about me, I mean?”

I shook my head. “No, not yet, but I'm afraid I'll have to as soon as I have the whole mystery solved.”

She looked away as she answered. “That's okay. I'll be able to bear it once I know you have the diamond and have figured out who took it from me. But to just tell her that I took it as a joke, and that we still don't have it… I couldn't bear that.”

Me
neither
, I thought.
Me
neither.

***

“Hey, Axelle, how's it going?” It was Peter, the photographer, and he (together with Brandon) was photographing the contents of Misty's shoulder bag. Fortunately she was busy removing her makeup. She'd ignored me all through hair and makeup, as well as out on the runway.

Photographing the contents of a model's handbag was something Peter liked to do for fun and was somewhat known for. He claimed that what a model kept in her handbag revealed her personality. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Chandra had been cornered by a journalist and was answering questions. Peter and I chatted while I waited for her.

“I've heard you've been busy since Tuesday's shoot,” he said. “I tried to option you for something for tomorrow, but you're shooting
Teen
Vogue
. That's great!”

Peter was as upbeat as ever, his camera strung around his neck, and dressed in his usual dandy manner. He was a pro at simultaneously taking photos and carrying on a conversation. “What else have you got lined up for today?”

“Well, I've got Jorge Cruz later, and until then I have some different appointments scheduled,” I answered.

“Good, good. Then I'll see you at the Jorge Cruz show. But not backstage like here—I'll be in the audience. Jorge is a friend of mine. It should be good fun. See you there!”

I finally managed to leave the backstage chaos and had just stepped outside when I heard a familiar voice call my name. It was Brandon.

“I tried calling you yesterday,” he said after catching up to me. Today he was wearing a black sweater and ripped jeans. The casual ease of his clothes set his tall, athletic build and long, dark hair off to perfection. I saw more than a few people glance at him as we stood talking. “But I didn't have any luck getting through. How are you? I saw you walk the show,” he added with a nod toward the tents, “and I thought you did super well—although I have the feeling that doing well at modeling isn't something that interests you too much.” He was smiling as he said this.

“I thought I'd ask if you have any time to catch a movie, or maybe I could show you around the city a bit,” Brandon said as he took a step closer to me. “Or maybe I could take your portrait. I'd love to photograph you.”

Great. I was in the middle of solving what seemed to be an unsolvable case—I had to find the Black Amelia by seven o'clock tomorrow night—and I was being asked out! Spending time with Brandon was out of the question. But what was I supposed to tell him?

Basically, there was only one thing. “I'm sorry, Brandon, but I need to take another rain check. I have a ton of work for today, and I have to talk to my agency about my schedule for tomorrow…”

Brandon smiled at me and shook his head. “Don't worry. I had to try. But, listen…I may be way off base with this, but if you want my help—with anything—just let me know, okay?”

Now I felt really lame. I'd brushed this totally sweet, gorgeous guy off twice, and yet he was telling me that he'd be happy to help me with anything—“anything” being a clear euphemism for my detective work. At least that's how I read it, although Brandon was too discreet to say anything more direct. But why would he want to help me?

“Like I told you Tuesday night, it's because I think you're interesting.”

“I didn't ask why.”

He laughed. “You didn't have to—I could read it on your face. And don't worry about the two rain checks. I'm patient.” His eyes were now serious.

I suddenly saw Sebastian waiting for me at the bottom of the exit ramp.

So did Brandon. “Right. I won't keep you. See you later.” Then he turned and vanished.

“Was that your dance partner from Tuesday night?” Sebastian asked when I reached him.

“Yes.”

The wind was blowing his already tousled hair every which way. I allowed myself to be distracted by him for a moment. Then I forced myself back to the task at hand. From his jeans pocket, Sebastian took out a piece of folded paper and handed it to me. On one side he'd written a timetable with names and columns that showed, more or less, where everyone from the group would be working tonight and tomorrow, and on the other side he'd made a list with every suspect's contact information.

“I think it's pretty accurate,” he said. “I got most of it by phone—I spoke directly with the agencies.” Remembering how he'd passed himself off as a cobbler for the case in Paris last week, this didn't surprise me. “And the rest of it,” he continued, “I found online.”

I quickly perused the schedules while we waited for Ellie and Chandra to come out, but annoyingly, everyone's time seemed to be well accounted for over the next day and a half. I'd been hoping to find a large gap of time that might indicate a dramatic diamond delivery. If indeed the last riddle led me straight to the diamond, surely the thief would need a block of time to hide it somewhere.

But nothing obvious could be gleaned from the schedules I had. I didn't see how any of the group would be able to keep on top of their agendas, let alone discreetly drop a diamond off somewhere as well.

Wishful
thinking, Axelle,
I told myself.
Did
you
really
think
things
would
suddenly
be
so
easy?

When Chandra and Ellie finally appeared, the four of us climbed into Chandra's waiting Escalade. Twenty minutes later, we drew up to the curb outside her building.

The next hour flew by. Sebastian, Ellie, Chandra, and I took turns standing in for one or another of the group. Chandra's large sofa cushions stood in for the others. I kept my earbuds in, rewinding and fast-forwarding the recordings I'd made on Tuesday as needed. I literally listened to everything again, starting with Cazzie. Then I placed myself, Ellie, Sebastian, and Chandra into position according to whatever I heard.

And while it was impossible to replicate the experience of being in the studio last Friday exactly, I hoped the exercise could shed some light on who might have seen Chandra disappear into the dressing area just after the fire alarm rang. Someone had to have seen her take the diamond to know it was in her handbag and then steal it themselves.

So those were the crucial few minutes of Friday that I was focusing on with this reenactment—and I hoped that having Chandra present might bring more information to light.

But in the end, that wasn't the case.

Chandra claimed that before slipping into the dressing area, she waited until Cazzie, Trish, Tom, Rafaela, and Misty were at the windows looking at the scene below.

“And what about Peter and Brandon?”

She walked to the chair we were using as a substitute for Brandon's computer station and sat at it, facing what would be the set area of the studio. “Peter and Brandon were still at the computer like this, with their backs to the windows everyone was looking out and to me,” she explained. “They wanted to finish whatever they were doing before getting distracted by everything going on outside—they said as much. The others were looking out the windows at the bottom of the studio, also with their backs to me. At that moment I was standing in between the two groups of people. And I'm sure it was like that because I remember thinking,
Perfect, no one will see me. None of them are looking my way!
”

Frustration swept over me like a cold wind. This was no help at all!

“Plus, all the commotion and the ringing alarm masked any noise I would have made crossing the wooden floor. The thing is, if I'd noticed someone looking at me, I probably wouldn't have gone into the dressing area.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Next, we reenacted the moments after she stepped back into the studio from the dressing room. But, again, it didn't tell me much. Chandra didn't really remember where the others were, except to say that some had walked back near the set and others were still standing at the windows.

“So if someone had walked past the curtain divider, because, for example, they were walking away from the windows and back toward the set or hair and makeup area, could they have seen you?” I asked.

“I doubt it. The divider was pulled shut,” she answered.

I thought of how, at the studio on Tuesday, Cazzie and I had looked out through the tiny space between the curtain and the wall as we'd watched Misty walk over to Brandon. If we'd been able to look out through such a narrow space, then unless the curtain had been pulled completely up against the wall, someone could have looked in and seen Chandra at the table, taking the diamond out of Cazzie's bag. But who?

As befitted the fashion world, the diamond seemed to have been stolen discreetly, simply, and stylishly—and I was unable to find a chink in the thief's armor. No clumsy explanation, no out-of-place step.

So far my plan to re-create the Friday session had failed spectacularly. Okay, maybe not spectacularly—after all, I did have a better idea of how things must have happened within those few minutes. But I was certainly no closer to having a clear suspect.

And just when I thought things couldn't possibly get any worse, they did.

“I'd love to stay and help some more, but I really have to get going,” Chandra said.

“Me too,” Ellie added. She was putting her things back in her shoulder bag with one hand while applying moisturizer to her face with the other. “I've got to baby my skin or it won't survive the week. Do you know how rough it is on our faces to go through three to five makeup changes per day? And for a whole week? I mean, one Fashion Week for any face is, like, equal to at least four non-fashion weeks condensed into one. It's murder—no detective pun intended, Axelle.”

“Thanks, Ellie.”

I watched as she left, the door shutting behind her with more certainty than it seemed I'd ever feel.

As Chandra moved about the living room, straightening her chairs and cushions, Sebastian and I talked through what we'd learned one more time, but nothing came of it except more repetition of what little we already knew. I was wondering how to move forward when my phone vibrated. I'd received a new text forwarded by Cazzie.

One last riddle: See the work of Azzedine Alaïa, Missoni, and Ralph Lauren at the Fashion Institute of Technology. You'll understand what I mean when you're there. This should keep your undercover model entertained in between shows. But never fear—you'll see the diamond later.

Below it, Cazzie had added a message for me:

Axelle, I have no idea what this is about! Off the top of my head, I can't think what the work of these three fashion houses have in common. I'm sorry! Once you're at FIT, let me know if you need more help. It must be something obvious that has to be seen.

I'm also sorry that you're mentioned in this. The thief is clearly aware that you've been helping me. I have heard rumors going around that you're here in NYC to solve a case. Thank God no one seems to know precisely what it is yet, though. Although with those blog entries today, I'm worried that it won't be too difficult for someone to make the connection to me.

Presumably I'll get the diamond back once this riddle is answered. I tried writing back to the sender as soon as I could—I wanted to make sure I'll get the diamond by 7 p.m. tomorrow—but I was in the basement of a building for a show when it was sent, so I only got the message when I was back on the street. I wrote back right away, but I was too late—the account was already closed!

So the rumors about me working a case were indeed spreading…and the thief was personally baiting me on this one. That was new.

There was nothing to do but go to the Fashion Institute of Technology. Sebastian shrugged his shoulders when I asked him where FIT was, so I quickly asked Chandra for directions.

“You can take the subway up and get off at the Twenty-Third Street station on Seventh Avenue,” Chandra said. “The FIT is only a few blocks from there.”

It was now two o'clock, which meant I still had two hours before I had to be at Juice Studios to start my hair and makeup for the Jorge Cruz show.

“Then let's go,” I said as I slipped into my trench coat and grabbed my shoulder bag.

Chandra went down with us, and I promised to send her word about the diamond as soon as I heard anything.

“Thanks,” she said. “I won't relax until I know you've seen it with your own eyes.”

But would that ever actually happen?

***

“You're thinking something, Axelle. What is it?”

Sebastian and I had quickly walked to the subway station Chandra had mentioned and were now on an uptown train. We only had a few stops to make, but I'd sat down because a thought had come to me as we got on the train.

“Hmm…I'm not sure, just that this last message is a bit off—compared to the others, I mean. It's as if the style is different or something…”

“You mean because the thief mentioned you personally?”

“Yes, but…I think there's more to it than that.” I was scrolling through my phone, reading Cazzie's forwarded messages with the riddles. I couldn't really put my finger on what I was looking for, just that something about this new one seemed different.

Sebastian sat next to me, and together we dissected them.

“The others have more precise directions. Like this one here,” I said, as I scrolled back to the very first riddle:

There are two lions outside, but there is also one inside—and she has a certain allure. Find it and photograph it…

I then scrolled to the second riddle. “And this one…”

Donna Karan

Marc Jacobs

Céline

Rhymes with power, find the…and photograph it. I'll text you again at 9:30 p.m.

“Do you see what I mean? The thief ended both of those riddles with a command because they wanted a specific answer.”

“I think you're on to something. And the third riddle?”

“Here.”

See the work of Azzedine Alaïa, Missoni, and Ralph Lauren at the Fashion Institute of Technology. You'll understand what I mean when you're there. This should keep your undercover model entertained in between shows. But never fear—you'll see the diamond later.

“This last riddle doesn't ask for anything specific, does it?” I continued. “Just ‘see' and ‘You'll understand what I mean when you're there.' That sounds more like a threat than a command. It's not driving us toward a specific answer in the way the others do…but why not? Besides, Cazzie couldn't think of anything that linked the three fashion houses in any obvious way… And why ‘This should keep your undercover model entertained in between shows'?”

“You're right,” Sebastian said. “That is odd. It doesn't fit with the style of the others. And what does keeping you entertained have to do with anything?”

“Exactly. What does keeping me entertained have to do with anything? Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless they want to keep me away from someone or something… But what? And I don't even know who they are. Why would they worry?”

At that moment we arrived at our stop. Gathering our things, we jumped off the train and bounded out of the station.

“Can I see that schedule you made again?” I asked as I strode to the side of the nearest building, out of the flow of the foot traffic.

From the inner pocket of his leather jacket, Sebastian pulled out and unfolded the same piece of paper he'd shown me after the DKNY show. As he held it against the side of the building with his hands, I quickly scanned it—and my stomach fluttered with nerves.

Everyone from the suspect group was at this moment all the way uptown at the same show, Alexander Wang. Trish and Tom were doing hair and makeup, and Cazzie was there to see it. Peter was there shooting more backstage photos for his book—with Brandon's help—and Chandra, Rafaela, and Misty were walking the show.

But they'd all been together at the same show this morning—DKNY—and I had been there. So why did I suddenly feel that the thief was now trying to keep me away… And away from what? I stood silently while Sebastian spoke.

“But if I was able to find out all this information about their schedules,” he said with a wave of his paper, “then surely the thief must know that you
weren't
booked to do Alexander Wang. So why would they worry that you may show up? Like you said, it doesn't make sense, because you don't even know who they are.”

Nothing had made sense so far…and yet I was buzzing. There was something about this message…

“Unless maybe they thought there was a chance you'd go to the show just to keep tabs on the group. And then maybe they thought you might see something you shouldn't,” he continued vaguely.

His words caught me by surprise…
See
something
… Could that be it? With a sharp intake of breath, I turned to Sebastian. Finally, something in this frustrating case made perfect sense—and I couldn't believe the simplicity of it all.

“You're a genius, Watson.”

“Are you changing your mind about me?”

His eyes told me he was flirting again. But I was too hot on the trail to be derailed. Ignoring his question, I said, “You suggested that maybe the thief didn't want me to
see
something I shouldn't see.”

“Yeah, but what? Like you said, you don't even know who they are.”

“You're right, I don't. But maybe the thief is trying to keep me away from seeing something…something they must feel could give them away. Why else would they need to lead me off course?”