"But all that was going to change," she said, her eyes gleaming. "Once I got him to marry me."
"But he's your nephew," I said getting just a little squicked out.
"Adopted. We're not blood relations, remember. As my dear old dad delighted in pointing out at every turn."
"You really think he'll marry a killer?"
"You really think he'll find out?" she asked.
"All the signs that pointed to Felix being the killer… they easily pointed to you as well," I reasoned, stalling for time. I heard Mom and Mrs. R shuffling in the bathroom, a thud falling against the closed door. "It was you that found out about Donatello, wasn't it?"
"You mean Donata?" She smirked. "Yes. The moment I met her I knew there was something familiar about her. Then Angelica told me she'd been a model in the past. Of course, I looked through my old magazines and what do you know, she had. As a he. Fashion may be an open minded sort of business, but there are limits. And Donata and I both knew that a transsexual agent was pushing them a little too far."
"So you and Gisella hatched a plan."
"I hatched a plan," she corrected me. "Gisella had the brains of a canary. Gisella was all about Gisella. Which worked out fine. She did the strutting and while all eyes were on her, I orchestrated the rest."
"You blackmailed Donata."
She nodded. "That part was easy. Donata was happy to comply with our requests. Especially once Gisella started booking things on her own. Donata made plenty of money off Gisella. She he had no reason to complain."
"And Gisella?"
She shrugged. "Gisella was happy as long as she was kept in furs and heels."
I heard Mom and Mrs. R make another run at the door. The chair beneath the knob wiggled a little. If I could just keep Charlene talking…
"And you two were lovers?" I asked, trying not to glance at the bathroom door.
She narrowed her eyes at me. "What makes you say that?'
"I saw the camera. The videos she took."
For a moment Charlene faltered. "She took video of us?"
I nodded. "You didn't know?"
She shook her head. "So that's your evidence, huh? A torrid lesbian affair?" She snorted. "Hardly as conclusive as the television said."
"But…" I said, watching her reactions. "Enough to make Felix wonder."
She clenched her jaw, the truth of my words sinking it. "Well, you can't very well hand it over to the press now, can you?"
"Uh, it's in my room. Come with me, we'll go get it," I said stalling for time.
"Right. And let the cameras in the hallway catch me with a gun on you? I don't think so, Maddie. No, I'll just wait until we're through here and retrieve it myself, thank you very much."
Crap.
"Speaking of which," she said, pointing the gun at me and taking a step forward.
"Okay, I bluffed," I blurted out.
Charlene stopped advancing. "What?"
"I bluffed. I don't have any video footage."
"Bullshit! The television said you were turning it over after the show."
"Because that's what I told them. It was all a bluff to smoke Charlie out of hiding."
She looked at me. Her face going white. Finally she spit out a word. "Shit."
Very unladylike. Dear old Dad wouldn't approve.
She straight-armed the gun at me. "You mean you don't even have it?! You mean you were lying this whole time?"
"No, there was video footage. I just… erased it. On accident."
Suddenly the rage drained from her face and she threw her head back and laughed.
"You erased it?"
I nodded. "Um, yeah."
"You and Felix really are made for each other. A couple of nitwits."
Mom thudded against the door again, inching the chair forward.
"So, um, what now?" I asked. Not that I really wanted to know. But the longer I kept her talking the less she was shooting.
Charlene took a step forward, going nose to nose with me. I could smell Listerine on her breath.
"Now, I hop a flight back to England, I live like a queen on my proceeds until I can convince my dear nephew to marry me, and live happily ever after. The end," she said.
I took a shallow breath. "And what happens to me?"
She narrowed her eyes. "The end."
I gulped. "And Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt?"
That wicked grin spread across her features again. "Oh, I'm not going to do anything to them. You're going to do it all. You are, after all, the Couture Killer."
I felt a knot form in my stomach. "What do you mean?'
Charlene took a step back and unzipped one of the suitcases. She pulled out a pair of black stiletto heels. "One for each of them," she said, gesturing toward the bathroom door.
"There's no way anyone would believe that," I said. Even as I doubted the truth of the words. People already believed me to be a killer, this would just be confirmation.
"Oh yes, they will. Especially when they read your suicide note."
"Suicide note?" I asked, my voice going small.
She nodded. "You couldn't handle the guilt. The pressure of Fashion Week was too much for you. You snapped. You killed Gisella, Donata, and then the people closest to you. Then took your own life."
I felt all the color draining from my cheeks. This chick was seriously whacked.
She took two quick steps forward, grabbing a handful of my hair and hopped me over to the little writing desk, shoving me into the seat, banging Wonder Boot against the side in the process.
I winced, a sharp pain shooting up my leg, but she didn't notice, instead shoving a pad of paper and pen at me. The cool metal barrel of the gun came up against my temple.
"Write," she instructed.
I gulped, grabbing the pen in my shaky hand.
"I, Maddie Springer," she dictated.
I stared down at the pages. Okay, fine. I would write. At least it would buy me a little time. I vaguely heard the sounds of Mom and Mrs. R still trying to break down the bathroom door behind me.
In a shaky hand I wrote: I Maddie Springer.
"Leave this note as my last confession."
I looked up at her.
She shoved the gun at me hard, twisting my head to the side. I felt tears well up behind my eyes.
I wrote what she said, deliberately making slow loops with my letters.
"I killed Gisella," she said, still dictating. "I also killed Donata Girardi. It was too much for me, the pressure of Fashion Week. I'm sorry."
I continued writing, willing someone, anyone to hear us. Where was housekeeping when you needed them?"
"Sign it," Charlene demanded.
I did. My signature trailing off at the end as I realized this was it. I was officially out of time.
I took a deep breath as I felt Charlene stiffen behind me. She knew it too.
"Now," she said, her voice oddly flat. "Stand up."
I did, on one shaky leg. I could hear Mom and Mrs. R thumping against the bathroom door, but the chair was firmly still in place. I was on my own.
It was now or never.
"Ow, my leg," I moaned, shifting my weight to Wonder Boot.
Obviously Charlene didn't care if I was in pain. Obviously, Charlene wanted to shoot me. But it distracted her long enough that she glanced down at my foam-clad foot.
That was all I needed. In one swift movement, I kicked my good foot up, my red three inch slingback flying up toward her face. Instinctively, she staggered back to avoid a heel to the head and I lunged forward, head down, arms out, doing the best imitation of a linebacker a girl who only watches football for the tight pants can.
Charlene did an unladylike "oof," as I connected with her midsection and went tumbling backwards, the gun in her hand going off and taking out a chunk of the ceiling.
"What's going on out there?" Mrs. Rosenblatt yelled from the bathroom.
"Maddie! Are you okay?" I heard Mom screech.
But I was a little too preoccupied to answer at the moment. I had one hand on Charlene's wrist trying to point the barrel of the gun somewhere other than at my person, balancing on one foot. Charlene grabbed a handful of my hair, ripping backwards.