Stolen with Style (8 page)

“So the diamond was in the safe until you ran down to fetch it after lunch?”

Cazzie nodded. “Although, actually, it wasn't directly after lunch. First Trish and Tom retouched the makeup and hair, and then I got the girls dressed. Then I went down. It was at around 3:00 p.m.”

“And then?”

“I came back up here with it in my handbag. That one,” she said, pointing to her Mulberry satchel bag sitting on the trestle table next to mine. “I came straight back in here with my handbag, and then I took out the diamond—it was wrapped in a velvet pouch inside a clasped box. It's a custom-made leather case—easy to open—and the diamond slid right out of the velvet pouch into my hand. I called Chandra to me and fastened it onto her hand. We stood exactly where you and I are standing now.”

“And then Chandra went out on set wearing the Black Amelia?”

“Yes. And we took the photos.”

“And then you put it back into the safe?”

Cazzie wrinkled her brow. “No…I was going to, but after I took it off Chandra's hand, Rafaela wanted to quickly try it on, and I let her. Then I removed it from her hand and slipped it back into the velvet pouch and then into the case. I put it in my handbag because I intended to go straight back downstairs and put it back in the safe. But then I stopped at Brandon's computer. Peter and Brandon were looking at the shot we'd just done, and I wanted to have a quick peek…”

“And during all of this, you're sure your handbag didn't leave your arm?”

Cazzie nodded. “Positive.”

“And did anyone see you put the diamond in your bag?”

“Well, Chandra and Rafaela, obviously. Misty too. I'm not sure how much the others saw, but theoretically any of them could have seen me slip the diamond into my handbag.”

“And did anyone get close to your handbag at this time?”

Cazzie shook her head.

“So after taking a quick peek at the shot you'd just done, you took the diamond back to the safe downstairs?”

Cazzie shook her head. “That had been my intention, but as I turned to leave, I smelled something burning and thought it was the iron—we leave the iron on all day for freshening up the clothes you girls wear. Anyway, I ran in here to check, but it wasn't the iron. It was a fire.”

“A
fire
?”

She nodded. “There was a fire in the building next door. Suddenly we heard an alarm going off, followed a few minutes later by police and fire sirens. I tell you, it really made us jump, because this corner of the city is always so quiet. Nothing ever happens here.”

“Hmm… Well, I want to hear about the fire, but first let's backtrack a bit. What did you do with your handbag when you dashed in here to check the iron?”

“I set it down there. Just as it is now.” Cazzie pointed to the far corner of the small trestle table that was against the left-hand wall of the dressing area. “On Friday, like today, I also had the iron set up on that corner of the table. My handbag was literally right next to me as I checked on the iron.”

“So no one could have tampered with it while you were in here?”

“No way. Impossible. No one came near it.”

“Right. So you dash in, set your handbag down, and check on the iron, which is okay. And then?”

She paused for a moment as if rewinding the event in her mind. “And then, as I was turning the iron off, the fire alarm rang.”

“And what did you do when the fire alarm rang?”

“I ran to the windows to see what was going on,” she said, pointing back into the main studio beyond the curtain divider.

“What? You didn't look out of these?” I pointed to the windows just opposite where we stood.

Cazzie shook her head. “Those blinds are fixed. The owners of the studios don't want to take any risk of having models ‘unintentionally' photographed from one of the neighboring buildings. So I went back out into the studio area.”

“Right. So you left the dressing area to look out the windows of the studio, leaving your handbag—with the diamond in it—on the trestle table?”

“Yes.”

“And what did you see from the windows?”

“The firefighters were busy battling the flames in the building next door. People were evacuating it, and we saw someone being wheeled into an ambulance. We wondered whether we'd be evacuated from the studios too, but they called from downstairs to say that the fire was well contained and under control. We didn't have to worry.”

“So while you were standing at the windows you wouldn't have noticed anyone come into the dressing area after the alarm went off?”

She shook her head. “I feel like such an idiot. But there really wouldn't have been much time for anyone to come in here and take the diamond from my bag. And while we didn't all run to look out of the windows at the same time, I think I remember everyone being there together in the end.”

“Was the curtain drawn across the dressing area like it is now?”

“Yes, it was. That much I'm sure of. It was pulled closed the whole day for privacy. We pushed the folds aside a bit to come in and out—like we did just now when we came in.”

“And how long after the alarm rang did you come back here to fetch your handbag?”

“About five minutes later, I'd guess. Like I said, there wouldn't have been much time for someone to come in here and take it.”

“And when you came back, did you check to see if the diamond was still in your handbag?”

“Sort of… I did have a quick glance in my handbag, and I thought I saw the diamond's box, so I didn't look further. And from that moment on, I kept my handbag on my arm. It didn't seem necessary to take the diamond back to the safe anymore because everyone was getting ready to leave.

“We'd finished for the day, and we were all a little distracted and restless after the fire scare. The girls quickly changed into their own clothes, and Peter and Brandon packed up their equipment. Trish and Tom did too—and Chandra very sweetly helped me pack up the outfits. Then one by one, everyone left. By four thirty, I was the only one here.”

What she'd told me yesterday about how she'd searched the studio after everyone left now came to mind. I imagined Cazzie here alone, looking for the diamond as the cleaners worked around her.

“So let me backtrack again. When you came back here after looking out the studio windows, you thought you saw the diamond's box in your handbag.”

Cazzie nodded. “Yes, but I only saw the corner… It wasn't until after everyone had left and I took the box out of my handbag that I realized it was actually the case for my sunglasses—they look so similar!” Her voice started to sound panicked just talking about it. “I was sick to my stomach—especially as I realized that the diamond must have been stolen in those few minutes when we were all looking out the window. At least that's what
I
think… What about you?”

I bit into my croissant and considered, while Cazzie took a long breath. “It certainly does seem that way,” I agreed after a moment.

“Does knowing that help a lot?” she asked.

“Well, everything helps one way or another,” I said with more optimism than I felt. “At least we've narrowed down the time frame for the theft. That's something.”

But now I'd have to account for everyone's time for those crucial five minutes…and somehow I'd have to do it without arousing any undue suspicion.
Easier
said
than
done
, I thought as I pushed past the curtain divider, aiming to start with hair and makeup.

But as I stepped out into the studio, I was met by a smiling Brandon. He really was gorgeous. And he had a light meter in his hand.

“Hi, I'm Brandon,” he said as I stood there, mouth open—and probably with croissant crumbs stuck to my lips.

“And I'm Axelle,” I said, pulling myself together and shaking his hand.

Brandon Hart was tall, dark, and handsome. With his chiseled chin and cheekbones, long brown-black hair, and warm, laid-back style, he looked more like a Hollywood actor than a computer geek. As the digi-tech guy, it was his job to import the photos taken by the photographer to his computer and then adjust the shots' color, exposure, and so on, in real time in the studio. (Although Brandon was so good that he also did Peter's post-editing of the images after the shoot.)

He was wearing jeans and scruffy sneakers, topped off with a white shirt and a well-worn aubergine-colored velvet jacket. A large sports watch peeked out from under his jacket cuff. He must have known he turned heads, and yet he seemed totally indifferent—careless, even—of his looks. His easy manner was natural, and when he spoke to you, his chocolate-brown eyes were intense but warm. Basically, Brandon was super-cool.

I glanced at Tom and Trish, but they were still working on Chandra and Rafaela. Misty was sitting next to them, tuned out, earbuds in. I did see her turn her head slightly and look at Brandon and me as we spoke, but she turned away when I caught her eye. Peter was doing light checks at the other end of the studio, and Cazzie had followed behind me with the clothes she'd selected.

I was about to ask Brandon about the fire last Friday when he beat me to it with a comment of his own.

“Peter wants to think that you're here to solve a case. He says it would make a great fashion story—trench coats and trilbies.” He was smiling. “But I told him it couldn't be true—because detectives are generally about fifty and bald.”

I rolled my eyes. “If Peter took a look at my modeling schedule, he'd see that solving any kind of mystery will be impossible for me. I'm going to be crisscrossing town all week.”

Brandon laughed. “I'll tell him that.” He continued to look at me through his thick lashes, his dark eyes friendly and warm. “And will you be doing many of the shows?”

“Well, I have a lot of options and fittings scheduled at the moment. Let's see how many of them confirm.” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Misty watching us again.

“And have you been to the Big Apple before?”

I nodded. “Twice—with my parents. The last time was some years ago.”

“Well, do you think you'd—” But Brandon didn't get a chance to finish his question, because at that moment Tom called over and waved at me. It was time to start with my hair.

***

The next hour flew by under a cloud of hair spray. I was asking so many questions that Tom finally said, “Axelle, your mouth has been open since you sat down. If you keep going like this, by the end of the day you'll have as much hair spray in your mouth as you have on your hair.” He had a point, but I'd gathered loads of information
and
managed to discreetly record it on my phone.

Not that it all had any direct bearing on the case. I was too concerned about arousing suspicion to ask specific questions about last Friday. But at the very least, the snippets I'd gleaned from Tom and Trish added a couple more time-and-place details to what little information I had concerning the shoot.

One potentially important detail was that Peter and Brandon seemed to have their backs to the dressing area during the crucial few minutes when I believed the diamond was stolen. They were seated at Brandon's computer editing the photos they'd taken and only got up to look out the windows after the others repeatedly called them over to watch the action below.

Trish and Tom told me about the person they'd seen being wheeled into the ambulance—an old lady, apparently. And while I didn't think that had any direct relevance to the case, it gave me a useful reference point. Finding out if the others had noticed her would tell me when or if they were at the window. Fortunately, it was an unusual enough occurrence that anyone who
had
been looking out the window when the fire alarm went off couldn't have failed to notice it.

Trish and Tom's chatter also added much-needed nuances to the character sketches Cazzie had prepared for me. And that was important. As my grandma liked to say, “Observation is key. Your grandfather would repeat that to himself whenever he was stymied by a case.” (He was a detective with Scotland Yard.) “Remember, Axelle: the most minute detail can sometimes lead you to the biggest clue.” In other words, don't ignore the small stuff.

***

My hair and makeup finished, I went back into the dressing area. Chandra was there and seemed to be searching her iPad for something. Her tousled mane, sun-streaked from surfing, had a controlled wildness to it. Apparently that look was Tom's specialty. Rafaela was strutting around the dressing room too. She still hadn't changed out of her own clothes, and her lithe figure was encased in black leather. Her long, dark hair had been straightened flat and moved silkily at the slightest provocation. Both were waiting for Cazzie, who was bent over Brandon's laptop in the main studio near the set, checking the lighting with Peter.

“Hey, how lucky were you last week? Finding Belle and all?” Rafaela greeted me. “That must have been exciting. Maybe you should be a detective.”

I pretended to laugh off her comment and then said something about how fab the studio space was in an attempt to distract her.

There was something wild about Rafaela, I decided as we chatted. Being with her was like being with a talking tiger. She had the tawny feline eyes, high cheekbones, and easy movement of a big cat—only instead of stripes, she had tattoos. I tried counting them as she asked me about finding Belle La Lune, but I gave up when I reached number eight. Then I quickly brought the conversation around to the safer subject of the Paris shows. Both Chandra and Rafaela had been there. In fact, all three of us had done the Lanvin and Chanel shows, though I'd been so busy trying to find Belle that I hadn't noticed them, beyond passing them once or twice on the runway.

Chandra seemed tired, and unlike Rafaela, she was clearly reluctant to chitchat. Then again, she'd flown in from Miami early this morning. She sat quietly in a chair, iPad still in hand.