Stolen with Style (23 page)

I awoke with a start. I'd forgotten to draw my curtains shut the night before, so by 7 a.m. the sun was streaming in through my windows.

I reached for my phone and checked my messages. Cazzie had answered late last night:

Studio 7 will be yours from 6 p.m. onward. And yes, the images were dark. See you tomorrow.

Then I saw that I'd already received an answer to the other text I'd sent last night, also positive.

Perfect
, I thought, yanking on my robe and heading to the bathroom. As I stood in the shower, I started writing notes to myself on the steamed glass:

9:00 a.m. Teen Vogue

4:30 p.m. Sebastian meets me in Central Park after shoot

5:00 p.m. Hair and makeup call time for The Isle at Juice Studios—all suspects present

7:00 p.m. (approximately) Finished at The Isle show

Immediately
afterward
Meet
with
suspect
at
Studio
7

Seen this way—in the friendly, steamy environment of my shower—my plan looked short and tidy. But how, I wondered, would it all end?

***

The good weather held for the
Teen
Vogue
shoot. The sun that had streamed through my window at 7:00 a.m. was still shining at nine, so Central Park it was; no alternative location needed.

The clothes were all summer outfits, colorful and bright. This meant that, with the cool breeze and crisp spring temperatures, I'd be chilly while shooting outdoors. But I knew from the location shoot I'd done in Paris last week that I'd be able to warm up between shots in the comfort of the heated location van, and the stylist would no doubt have a large coat of some sort that I could throw over myself while my hair and makeup were retouched or the lighting was tweaked.

Makeup and hair were easy and light, with pretty lipstick colors allowed to make a summer statement. The various tones of bright pink popped off the computer screen, I noted when, between shots, we all went back to the location van parked (thanks to a special permit) on one of the winding roads that crisscrossed the park.

The van was large and comfortable, with a dressing area in the back. Regular hissing sounds emanated from the steam machine the stylist's assistant was using to iron the clothes I'd be wearing. In the kitchen area, a buffet breakfast had been laid out on the tiny countertop when I arrived in the morning, and later lunch was brought in too, delivered by a caterer direct to the van.

The photographer, Blue Koslowski, along with her digi-tech assistant and the
Teen
Vogue
editor, held regular strategic huddles at the dining room table about their ideas for the shoot. Meanwhile, Olaf the makeup artist and Tiina the hairstylist worked on my look at a table set up for that purpose between the kitchen and dressing areas. And even though we were in a van, this area looked pretty much like it had in the studios where I'd worked.

Over the table, which was set against the wall, hung a large mirror—as large as the wall allowed anyway—with strong lights all the way around it. A comfortable folding chair was at my disposal. Olaf and Tiina's respective assistants had carefully placed their various tools (hairbrushes, hairpins, hair spray, eye shadows, blushes, foundations, makeup brushes, and so on) in neat, tidy rows on the white towels they'd first laid on the table.

Even though I was the only model on this particular shoot, I still had plenty of downtime.
Teen
Vogue
didn't like to rush things, and their main concern was that the images looked good—however long that took. But they knew I had to be at Juice Studios for The Isle show at 5 p.m. We spaced the shots accordingly, the weather held, and (for once!) everything went according to plan.

After a fun day of shooting around some of the park's more famous landmarks—including the Bethesda Fountain I'd walked past with Sebastian the other day and the Alice in Wonderland statue—we finished the seven shots for our story and called it a day.

“Send me an image if you can,” Pat had ordered me by phone at lunchtime. “I want to see what the story looks like. And I'm going to ask them in exactly which issue it will run. Believe me, Axelle, a shoot like this will propel you to the top in no time! I'm telling you, girl, give me another week and you'll be, like, ‘London, where?' You are going to have such an exciting year!”

I also got a text from my mom:

Axelle! Darling! Wonderful news about shooting
Teen Vogue
! I am so proud of you! And remember, if your career starts to really take off, don't think you have to rush back to London. I'm sure we can organize a tutor for school. I'll call you later. Love, Mom

I silently prayed to the fashion gods, thanking them that my mom and Pat were separated by a very large ocean. The thought of the two of them together on the same continent, working to propel my modeling career, was too much to bear!

***

Sebastian met me at the van at the end of the shoot. Both Olaf and Tiina checked him out through the windows before giving me their approval.

“He's really cute,” Tiina gushed.

“And I love his leather jacket,” Olaf added.

There were some laughs and teasing from Blue and the rest of the crew as I blushed and bounded out of the van.

Sebastian and I were happy to see each other, the air finally cleared after last night. But there wasn't any time to pick up where we'd left off before I had a call from Pat. I had to be at Juice in twenty minutes.

We ran to the nearest subway station and jumped on a downtown train. On our way, I explained to Sebastian that I had an appointment just after the show. I also asked if he'd mind waiting for me until I was out.

“An appointment? This has to do with the suspect, doesn't it?”

I shook my head.

“I don't believe you,” he said. “I have the feeling you're planning much more than you're letting on—but you're not going to tell me anything, are you?”

I shook my head. “No. I have to do this alone. I'll be fine. Just wait for me outside the studios.”

“Of course I will. But why don't we call the police? Just so they know. Or maybe Cazzie can call them.”

Again, I shook my head. “Why would they come? I don't have proof that any of this ever happened. The diamond is in the
Chic
safe, soon to be reunited with its owner—and he has no idea that it was ever stolen. Cazzie won't call them, not as long as I have nothing concrete to tell her. And there's no way Sid Clifton and
Chic
will want to call in the police unless I have proof—something I doubt I can get now.”

“You sort of have a point…”

“Like I said, just wait for me outside the studios. If I need to reach you, I'll text you. Okay?”

Sebastian nodded.

***

The Isle was clearly considered one of the hottest fashion shows of the week. I could see that as soon as we approached Juice Studios. The street was packed with cars and paparazzi. Bloggers were already crowding the pavement around the studio entrance, and onlookers were swiveling their heads in every direction, hoping to catch a glimpse of a famous face. And the show wouldn't start for at least another hour!

But I still didn't have a moment to spare—I was already ten minutes late. Sebastian and I parted ways in the middle of the excited crowd on the street. After a quick wave, I turned and cleared security before disappearing through the studio doors.

Chandra and Ellie were waiting and motioned for me to join them where they were having their makeup done. Tom's assistant—the same one who'd worked on my hair the day before at DKNY—greeted me enthusiastically before sitting me down and starting to prep my hair.

“You look more like yourself,” Ellie whispered to me under the din of the hair dryers. “That must mean you've solved the case.”

I nodded. “I think so. I'll know for sure after the show.”

“I don't suppose you're going to tell me anything?”

I shook my head and smiled. “You know my policy.”

“Then maybe we can meet up later. See how it all goes, but this is my last show of the day, and The Isle is giving an after-party at the Mercer Hotel. Everyone will be there, but they have plenty of quiet corners where we can catch up.”

Chandra, sitting on my other side, also asked whether I'd solved the case yet. When I told her that I'd know later, she asked me to please keep her posted.

“Because if you do know who did it and Cazzie goes public with it all, I'll look like the biggest idiot in the fashion world,” she fretted.

“I wouldn't worry too much, Chandra,” I said. “First let me nail the thief—if I can—and then we'll speak with Cazzie. Don't forget that
Chic
won't want this story going public any more than you will.”

***

Peter and Brandon were backstage, and although we waved at each other, they were concentrating on the famous faces: Misty, Rafaela, Chandra, and Ellie, among many others. I did catch Brandon watching me at one point, though, and he smiled when our eyes met. I wondered what he was thinking.

A little later, Rafaela and I were seated next to each other at the makeup table.

“Miss D! How are you?” she said as she high-fived me. I started trying to count her tattoos again, but this time I only made it to six before I lost track. She was effervescent and looked incredible. “Rumors, rumors, have you heard them? And are they true?” She laughed.

“You see, Axelle, I knew you were here working on a case. I knew it. Didn't I say it? ‘She's here on a case,' I said. ‘Be careful!' And it turns out I was right. The only thing I don't know is what it could be about. But it must have been something that happened at that
Chic
shoot on Friday, because on Tuesday you were asking us so many questions about that day.”

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. “Rafaela, has anyone ever told you you're prone to dramatics?”

“Prone to dramatics? Hmm…I like it. ‘Prone to dramatics,'” she repeated. “I think I could make a new tattoo out of that.” Then she high-fived me again and left, trailing a cloud of glittery powder behind her.

The show finally started. From the runway, I saw Cazzie wink at me. Because of the text I'd sent her last night, she knew I was up to something, but not what. I hadn't wanted to get into details until I spoke with her in person. And that didn't seem likely to happen until after I'd finished solving this case.

Brandon and Peter were sitting in the front row, snapping away, while Chandra, Misty, and Rafaela wowed the crowds with their style. Trish and Tom were backstage, quickly retouching the models between their turns on the runway.

All the suspects were present, and with a bit of luck—and if my instincts hadn't failed me—I'd soon be on my way to downloading my case notes to the folder named “Solved.”

As soon as I'd done my last turn on the runway, I changed into my street clothes. Then, taking my shoulder bag, I left the backstage area without saying good-bye to anyone. I found my way to the stairwell—the elevators had too many people around them—and began to climb to the seventh floor. Glancing at my watch, I saw it was 6:45 p.m., which was perfect. I wanted to be in Studio 7 ahead of the meeting time I'd scheduled with the thief.

The eerie green-tinged fluorescent lighting of the windowless stairwell did nothing to boost my confidence.
Everything
will
be
fine
, I told myself.
You
have
the
advantage
of
surprise.

Finally I reached the seventh floor. As promised by Cazzie, the door to the studio was unlocked. I pushed it open and walked through. Twilight was just giving way to night. The studio glowed as the sun set, the last of the day's light streaming in through the enormous windows. I looked at the huge spotlights standing around. More than ever, they looked like misplaced dinosaurs. I carefully stepped over their electrical cables as I moved beyond the lights and past the set.

The desk for the editing computer was standing exactly where it had been last Friday and on Tuesday, with the executive chair in front of it. Ditto the hair and makeup table; everything was placed as I remembered it. So far, so good.

Now I wanted to check the dressing room. The wide-wooden-plank floor creaked as I crossed the room. I slipped behind the curtain and took a long careful look around. Here, too, everything was as it should be. Then I half sat, half leaned on the long table under the windows and waited.

Finally, I heard someone come in.

“Axelle? Are you here?”

“I am,” I answered.
Stay
calm, Axelle,
I told myself,
stay
calm.
“And you made it. That's great,” I said as I stepped out from the dressing area.

“Of course I did. Did you doubt me?”

We met and greeted each other. Our voices rang out in the cavernous studio, at odds with the still surroundings. “Are we going to stay here?” asked the person I thought was the thief. “It's a bit creepy, isn't it? I thought we could maybe join the others at the Mercer or something.”

“Actually, I have something I'd like to show you first. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

I took my laptop out of my shoulder bag and carried it to the digi-tech table by the set. There I opened it up and placed it exactly as Brandon's had been placed last Friday.

My computer quickly hummed to life and the screen lit up.
Now
it's time for my surprise,
I told myself.
Do
it
now
.

“I thought it might interest you to know how I figured out that you stole the diamond,” I said in as normal a voice as I could.

I was about to turn and face them. I wanted to look squarely into the face of the diamond-stealing shadow I'd been chasing all week. I wanted to watch the thief try to come up with an excuse.

But before I could turn and finish what I wanted to say, a flash of movement in the computer screen caught my attention. It happened in exactly the same way it must have happened last Friday afternoon, when the thief sat facing the computer and saw Chandra's reflection as she stole into the dressing area to take the diamond.

My reflexes took over, and I moved without thinking. Thanks to the reflection in the computer screen, I had the advantage of being forewarned. With a rapid turn, I ducked and managed to deflect the hard blow of Brandon's fist.

But not quite quickly enough—his hand brushed against my shoulder and we both lost our balance and fell to the floor. I rolled away from him and scrambled as quickly as I could in the direction of the door, but he was grabbing at my shoes and clawing at my legs. I kicked him hard and tried to pull myself up, but it wasn't easy. Finally, with a swift kick at his hand with my heel, I got up and ran. But instantly he was up too, already just behind me. As he reached for my back, I swept down and grabbed one of the electrical light cables from the floor, pulling it up to trip him. As he fell, I toppled the nearest light onto him for good measure.

At that moment the door burst open and I heard Sebastian. “Axelle!”

“I'm here.”

He ran to me and held me. “Are you okay? Where's Brandon?”

I wanted to ask him how he knew it was Brandon, but the words got stuck in my throat. A scream rose up instead as, over Sebastian's shoulder, I saw Brandon getting up, his face enraged. He'd managed to free himself from the light and was coming at us.

“Behind you!” I yelled as I dived toward Brandon's legs.

But Sebastian hit him first. He pivoted and, with a hard punch to the face, knocked Brandon back down.

I grabbed at the cable nearest my feet and dragged it, along with the attached light, toward Brandon. Then, with Sebastian pinning him down, we started tying him as tightly as we possibly could. Brandon struggled madly for a moment—but then all the fight suddenly seem to dissolve out of him… And that was when he started to talk.

By the time Cazzie dashed in, with Ellie and Chandra just behind her, Brandon had confirmed everything I'd suspected.

***

I was at the
Chic
building near Times Square. But this time I hadn't been ushered into Cazzie's white office. Sid Clifton himself had opened the door to a conference room on the penthouse floor of his building. Now Cazzie, Chandra, Sebastian, and I sat with him around one end of an enormous table. This present meeting, however, had been convened only after we'd spent a long time answering questions at Juice Studios for the discreet police unit sent to untangle our mess.

After Cazzie had come running into Studio 7, she'd called Sid straight away. It was time to tell him what had happened and to ask for his help in dealing with it. He had the power to keep the story from leaking—at least until his publicists could hear all the facts and come up with a less sensational way of presenting the story to the press.

Sid had directly contacted someone he knew within the police force, and that officer and his team were the ones who'd showed up at Juice Studios about half an hour after Cazzie first called Sid.

After each of us, including Ellie, had told the police our version of events, along with all of our contact information, we were free to leave—but with a warning that we might be needed for further questioning. Brandon was arrested on a charge of theft.

As the only one of the group who wasn't directly concerned with the case, Ellie had opted to go home, while Sid had requested that the rest of us meet him here.

Somehow, with all of this going on, I'd remembered to call Miriam to ask her to tell Pat not to worry that I hadn't checked in with her after The Isle show. I quickly brought Miriam up to date and was more than relieved when she promised to look after everything for me—including Pat—and that she would try to keep my day tomorrow as free as possible.

“You have one show in the afternoon—Carolina Herrera has confirmed…although I suppose I could cancel it if you really need me to.”

“No. I'll do it. It will give me a break from all this.”

“And at some point, Axelle, you should come to the agency so that we can discuss how you want to handle the press, should the story leak. It's Saturday tomorrow, but we'll be open because of the shows. We could meet in the morning, perhaps? Before your show? And then you could have the late afternoon and evening all to yourself.”

I agreed and thanked her.

“You deserve it,
ma
petite
Axelle. And tell me, did it happen like I told you it would?”

It took me a moment to realize she was talking about how I solved the case. “Absolutely,” I said. “It happened just like that.” I remembered her gesture last night and snapped to myself. “You were right.”

***

Sid was as commanding a presence in his conference room as he'd been at his
Chic
party on Tuesday night. He was studied and methodical, and his gray eyes seemed to miss nothing. As I watched him listening to Cazzie, the thought occurred to me that he'd probably make a good detective.

He seemed a bit disappointed with Cazzie—not that he said anything. But I had the feeling he would have liked to be made aware of what was happening at his magazine much earlier. Of course, everything had turned out all right, and with a bit of luck and some strong-arming, Sid would probably manage to keep the story out of the press. And no doubt Cazzie's career would continue on its upward trajectory.

Chandra appeared to feel relief and guilt in equal measure. I wouldn't have been surprised if she decided it was time to sail off around the world again. I also doubted whether she'd ever play another practical joke.

Sid Clifton did seem curious about me, though. He knew the La Lunes well and had heard from them about how I'd found Belle and her brother Darius. He asked question after question about my hunt for the diamond and its thief.

“I admit this case was an odd one,” I said, “starting with the fact that I couldn't find a single concrete clue—not one. And because it was a double theft, the tracks of the second theft were nearly impossible to find because the first theft hid them for so long. Not that I really think of what you did as a theft, Chandra,” I added with a nod in her direction.

“I still can't believe it was Brandon,” Cazzie said, rubbing her hands across her face in exhaustion. “Then again, I'm glad it's him and not one of the others. Considering I've known them all for so long, I'd be devastated if it were one of them. But still, why Brandon?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Revenge, first and foremost. Remember, you yourself said you've stepped on some toes and that occasionally you've thrown your power around—and apparently Brandon felt you'd done that to him. While Sebastian and I tied him up, he spoke bitterly about the unfairness of the fashion world. He'd presented his photography portfolio to you numerous times, only to be flatly rejected every time.”

“But I only remember him submitting once! And I told him nicely that he needed more experience, needed to refine his technique and style.”

“Ah! But do you remember what else you said after telling me you might have stepped on some toes?”

Cazzie shook her head.

“I'll tell you. You said: ‘I've never intentionally hurt or angered anyone enough to inspire revenge… At least,
not
that
I'm aware of
.' And there lies the distinction—because you were unaware that Brandon had in fact submitted his portfolio to you numerous times
anonymously
, only to be soundly rejected each time.”

Cazzie stared at me wide-eyed from across the broad conference table.

“And don't forget,” I continued, “that Brandon was responsible for most—if not all—of Peter's photo retouching. I'm not saying it was an even partnership, but sometimes it must have come close. And Brandon never got much credit for what he did. That's bound to give rise to frustration, isn't it? Especially when, all day, every day you're surrounded by people who are so successful in such tangible, visible ways. Remember, he is the only one of the group not to have yet succeeded on his own merit. But success needs a strategy and lots of hard work too, doesn't it? I think he may have lost sight of that along the way…and cracked a bit.”

“Wait, aren't we jumping the gun a bit here? Start at the beginning. How did you work out that Chandra took the diamond originally?” Sid asked.

I smiled. “Frankly, it was through repetition.”

Sid looked nonplussed.

“I mean by listening repeatedly to my recordings. It was a good lesson in learning how the smallest vocal inflections can, in fact, give a lot away.”

“But how did you get them all to talk in the first place?” Sid asked.

“I found out from Cazzie that a fire alarm had gone off that Friday. So on Tuesday's shoot, I took that as my starting point for a bit of undercover detective work—not that I ended up fooling everyone. Rafaela in particular—and Brandon too, by the way—were quite vocal about me being present to solve a crime, not to model. Although in hindsight, I suppose this gave Brandon an ostensibly innocent way to find out whether I really was looking for him or not.

“But, regardless, I managed to get some questions in while recording their responses. And then I literally listened to everything I'd recorded again and again. That was how I got onto Chandra's trail. I remembered something odd that she'd said—triggered by something similar that I'd overheard during dinner at the
Chic
party.”

“And then?” Cazzie asked.

“And then I realized that if she had taken the diamond—and I totally believed she had—she didn't have it anymore.”

“Because?” Sid asked.

“Honestly? Well, first because she told me she didn't have it, and I was inclined to believe her. But also because of a text Cazzie received on Tuesday morning from whoever had the diamond. It was sent at 7:30 a.m.—exactly when Chandra's plane was midway between here and Miami. When I realized that, I knew that she was either working with someone—”