"Lord Ackerm-" I started. Then checked myself. "I mean, uh… yours."
Felix lifted an eyebrow. "Mine?"
Oops. "Uh, Jean Luc didn't tell you?"
He shook his head from side to side. "Care to fill me in?" he asked, leaning forward.
I quickly relayed the scene I'd witness the day before between Gisella and Jean Luc. When I finished, Felix looked deep in thought.
"So, the necklace goes missing, then Gisella ends up dead."
"I betcha it was stolen." Mrs. R nodded sagely, her chins (plural) bobbing up and down. "You know France is crawling with them cat burglars."
I rolled my eyes. "Only in Carey Grant movies."
"But then, why kill her after they already stole it?" Mom asked, pursing her drawn-in eyebrows.
"Good point. Why kill her if they'd already gotten away with the necklace?" I asked.
"I say we start with the necklace anyway. It's our best lead," Felix decided.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with you wanting to recover it, would it?" I asked.
Felix shrugged. "It's insured. But, yes, I wouldn't mind if it showed up."
"I have an even better idea," I offered. "How about we just leave this to the police?"
Three pairs of eyes turned my way.
"So they can arrest you?" Mom asked, voicing everyone's thoughts.
"But I'm innocent."
Silence.
"I am!"
Mom reached over and patted my arm. "Of course you are, baby. We believe you."
I looked around the room. Clearly I was outnumbered.
"Okay, fine. Where do we start?"
Taking Felix's suggestions, Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt decided to find out all they could about Gisella by doing some serious Googling downstairs in the hotel's business center. Felix said he had some things he wanted to check on (though I suspected he really wanted to call in the story to his editor at the Informer) and would meet up with me in the lobby later that afternoon. For lack of a better direction, I decided to see if there were any new developments at the show site. In lieu of actually braving the paparazzi (not to mention risking a run-in with Moreau) I dialed Jean Luc on his cell.
He answered on the third ring.
"Yes?" he barked out, his voice tense.
"Hi, Jean Luc. It's Maddie."
"Oh," he answered on a sigh. "Maddie. Are you all right? What happened to you?"
"I'm fine. I'm back at the hotel."
"Thank God! I was afraid they'd taken you into custody."
I winced. Not yet. "Have there been any new developments since I left?"
Jean Luc sighed into the phone. "Not that I know of. They've been back and forth with their evidence bags all day. Maddie, I swear I'm on the verge of a breakdown. They've taken every last pair of your shoes into evidence."
I grabbed a bed poster for support. "They've taken my shoes?" I repeated, hoping I'd heard him wrong, visions of my Paris debut fading faster than a bad dye job.
"Can you believe it? What am I supposed to do, send all the models out barefoot? Good God, this isn't some mall, it's Fashion Week!"
I felt a mini-heart attack coming on. This could not be happening.
Jean Luc's voice got high and whiney as he continued, voicing my exact thoughts. "This cannot be happening to me! Not only do I have to find a replacement for Gisella when everyone who's anyone is already booked, but now I've got to contend with barefoot models, too. I cannot believe this is happening to me." I heard Jean Luc unwrap another antacid and crunch down loudly on it.
I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Okay, so they'd taken my shoes. It was fine. They'd dust them, process them, whatever it was they did with evidence, and see that I did not kill Gisella. So, really, this was a good thing, right? (Am I the denial queen or what?)
"Do you have any idea who could have done this?" I asked.
Jean Luc paused. And I could hear the silent question.
"I didn't do it!"
"No, of course you didn't, Maddie."
Why was it no one sounded completely convinced when they said that?
"Look, I didn't even know Gisella."
Jean Luc sighed again. "Honestly, I'm not sure any of us knew her that well. She tended to keep to herself. That is when she wasn't complaining. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn't exactly the easiest person to work with."
"How about the other models? Was she particularly close with any of them?"
Jean Luc paused and I could picture his eyebrow furrowing together. "Close, yes. Friendly, no. She spent most of her time with Angelica. But they had a very love-hate relationship. Mostly hate. Angelica was jealous of Gisella's contracts and rumor has it Gisella apparently fueled this by stealing Angelica's boyfriend."
I perked up. Stolen boyfriend was a strong motive for a stiletto to the jugular.
"Is Angelica there now?"
"No, she left about an hour ago. Said she was going back to the hotel."
I crossed my fingers. "Any idea what room she's staying in?"
"1245."
"Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything new."
Jean Luc promised he would and hung up as he crunched another chalky tablet.
I hopped into the bathroom, splashed a little cold water on my face and added a fresh swipe of Raspberry Perfection to my lips before grabbing my purse and crutches and making for Angelica's room.
Five minutes later I was knocking on the door to room 1245. I could hear a loud bass beat playing inside, but no one answered. I waited a couple of beats, then banged my fist on the door again. This time it opened a crack, the security bar still in place.
A redhead with Casper pale skin, thick curls and huge brown eyes appeared. "Yeah?" she asked, her accent an indistinguishable (at least to my ears) eastern European.
"Angelica?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
"I'm Maddie Springer. I'm doing the shoes for the Le Croix show."
Angelica's eyes went round as recognition dawned. "You! The murderer!"
I rolled my eyes. "I didn't do it!"
"They said on TV that you did."
"Don't believe everything you hear on TV. Listen, can I come in?"
"I don't think so."
"Please?"
"You might kill me."
If I hadn't been holding a pair of crutches, I would have thrown my hands up in exasperation. As it was, I just said a silent curse on the head of all misinformed reporters.
"Look, I didn't kill her. If I had, do you think the police would have let me go?" Never mind that it had been touch and go there for a few minutes.
Angelica chewed her plump bottom lip while she thought about this.
"Listen, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Gisella. Jean Luc said you knew her?"
Angelica sunk her teeth into her lip for another beat before shutting the door and lifting the security latch. She pulled it back open wide, allowing me entry.
"Okay."
"Thank you."
"But keep your hands where I can see them."
I tried not to roll my eyes as I stepped into the room. It was a carbon copy of my dollhouse, only her ruffles were a pale sky blue and the place looked like housekeeping hadn't been there in weeks. Clothes covered every available surface, empty mini bar bottles spilling out of the trash can, and a hip-hop punctuated with a lot of "yo bitches" played from an iDock on the dresser. Out of habit, I crossed to the windows, futilely looking for a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower as Angelica turned the music down.
"So," she asked, plopping down cross-legged on the bed, "what do you want to know?"
"Jean Luc told me that you and Gisella were close?"
Angelica smirked. "Well, we weren't BFF's or anything," she responded, the Americanism seemed oddly comic coming through her thick accent.
"You'd had some issues with her lately?"
"Bitch stole my Sam away."
Unlike Jean Luc it was clear Angelica had no problem speaking candidly about the dead woman.
"Sam?"
"Someone I was dating."
I perched on the edge of the desk. "What happened?"
Angelica shrugged. "It wasn't like I was even that into Sam. Totally cute, but short term, you know? Anyway, the first time Gisella sees me at a club with Sam, she starts flirting all over the place. The next thing I know, Sam's telling me we should see other people and then they show up together at the Posner opening."
"When was this?" I asked, gauging her reaction. I had to admit, didn't exactly seem heartbroken over the guy, casually picking at her nail polish as she spoke.
"A couple months ago."
"And was she still seeing Sam?"
Angelica laughed. "Hardly. She dumped Sam after a few weeks. Like I said, it was all about stealing what I had. Gisella was like that. She didn't want anyone to have something that she couldn't have. She was always jealous of me."
I raised one eyebrow. "Really?" Jean Luc had indicated that their relationship was the other way around.
Angelica nodded, her red curls bobbing up and down. "Sure. When I landed the cover of Elle, she was livid. She was on the phone to her agent fifteen times a day trying to get her own cover. And then when I was booked for Jean Luc's show, she had to be booked too."
"But I thought she was Jean Luc's lead model?"
Angelica's eyes narrowed. "Was. I'm the lead now." Her lips curved into a little smile that I wasn't sure reached her eyes. With friends like this, Gisella didn't need any enemies.
"So," I said slowly, watching her reaction, "she gets the lead in the show and she steals Sam? Some friend, huh?"
Angelica shrugged her bony shoulders, curling one leg under her frame. "Like I said, I'm the lead now, so it all worked out."
Yeah, except for poor Gisella.
"If Sam was history, do you know if Gisella was seeing anyone new?"
Again with the shrug. "I couldn't say. Though, she was with a guy at the Hotel de Crillon party a couple nights ago."
I perked up. The one where she'd worn the necklace. "You were at the party, too?"
Angelica nodded. "Everyone was there."
"Did you know the guy Gisella was with?"
"No. But he was cute. Average height I guess. Sorta dirty blond hair."
"Did you catch his name?"
She shook her head. "Sorry. Gisella didn't introduce me."
"Did you notice the necklace she was wearing?"
"Well, duh!" she said, shooting out another Americanism. "Everyone noticed the necklace. Gisella made sure of that. She told everyone that Jean Luc was letting her keep it in the safe in her room."
Great. So a room full of people who knew exactly where to find it. Sorry, Felix, I had a feeling the necklace was long gone.
"When was the last time you saw Gisella?" I asked, changing tactics.
Angelica cocked her head at me. "You know, the police already asked me this stuff?"
Right. They would have. And, as sure as I was that Moreau was on the wrong track, I had a feeling he was covering that track very carefully.
"Humor me."
Angelica grinned. "All right. Last night. After the fittings were over. I saw her in the bar, then later I heard her in her room."
"You heard her?"
"Uh huh. Her room is right next to mine."
I glanced at the shared wall. "What exactly did you hear?"
"She had a guy in there. At first I just heard her voice. A lot of giggling, you know. Then some moaning and tumbling around. It was quiet for a few minutes after that. Then the fighting started."
"Fighting?" Now we were getting somewhere.
"Uh huh. He never raised his voice much, but I could tell it was a man. Now, Gisella, she was shouting, yelling, throwing a terrible fit."
"When was this?"
Angelica pursed her lips, letting a thoughtful frown settled between her brows. "I first heard her go in a little after midnight. But the fighting started closer to one."
"Could you hear what they were arguing about?"
"She was saying that she didn't deserve this. That she was a supermodel. That she wasn't going to take it lying down."
"And did he respond?"
"I'm not sure. Like I said, she was doing most of the yelling."
"What happened next?"
"That's it. I heard the door to her room open and slam shut, then nothing. She was silent."
"But you never saw the guy?"
She shook her head. "Like I cared who Gisella was screwing."
I thought about the implications of this new information. Maybe it had been quiet after Mystery Man left because Gisella was already dead. Was it possible that she'd been murdered in her room? I thought about the pool of blood on the runway. Not likely. But she could have been drugged, unconscious. Maybe he'd left, only to come back later, drag Gisella to the runway, then kill her. Either way, Mystery Man bore some looking into.
I thanked Angelica and left her room. As soon as I stepped into the corridor again, I heard the bass beat resume. At least Angelica wasn't taking the death of her friend too hard.
I glanced to my right. Gisella's room. No crime scene tape, no policemen guarding the door. I looked down the hallway to my left. Empty.
Gingerly I hobbled over and tried the doorknob. As expected it didn't budge. On a whim, I shoved my own keycard into the slot. No green light. Obviously not going to work. Unless I had a lock pick in my purse, I wasn't getting into Gisella's room. Which, of course, I didn't.
Luckily, however, I did happen to know someone with a full set.