by Judi McCoy
“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
She dropped to her knees and kept her voice low. “There is no way Kitty could kill anyone. I saw her with the dogs yesterday, and nobody as kind to animals as she is would ever commit murder.”
“I don’t think so either, but you know the cops. They’ll suspect her.”
Before Ellie could answer, a pair of long legs approached them, and she rose to greet Marcus David.
“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his handsome face wearing a grin.
“I’m—I was—talking to my dog.”
He cocked his head and his sandy brown hair feathered his forehead. “I bet that little guy knows a lot of your secrets.”
“He’s more like my sounding board,” she answered. “Are you ready for this afternoon?”
“Me? Sure, but I bet Kitty is having a fit.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “She’s got to show both outfits to the committee today, and to the press, and with the murder and all, she’ll be in the spotlight for sure.”
“Then you heard something from the police? They’re certain Lilah was murdered?”
Marcus lifted a broad shoulder. “Has to be, no? Lilah was always blabbing about her EpiPen. She’d instructed the few friends she had on how to use it in case she was stricken. She’d never have carried one that was discharged, which means someone emptied it, then made sure she came in contact with peanuts.”
Ellie raised a brow. “The few friends she had? Is that a nice way of saying Lilah had enemies?”
“You saw her, heard how she talked, and it wasn’t a joke. She had a gift for hurting people’s feelings, like when she argued with me about your figure, which is perfect for the plus-sized gig, by the way.” His lips thinned. “She had a way of saying things that cut right to the bone, and I should know.”
She couldn’t imagine Lilah saying anything rude about a tall, handsome man like Marcus David. As far as she could see, he was a talented designer, and he’d been polite and friendly every time they spoke. “You should know? I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s personal, so don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” He glanced at his watch, then scanned the room. “The first show on the schedule—I think it’s Richard Chai—is set to start in fifteen minutes. I’ve got to run.”
Ellie checked out the room when he left and spotted Detective Vaughn speaking with Kurt Jager, last night’s emcee and the person who’d begged audience members for an EpiPen. They made eye contact and both men headed in her direction.
“Ms. Engleman,” said Detective Vaughn when they reached her, “I have to ask you a few more questions.”
“Here? Now?”
Vaughn took a quick scan of the area. “I don’t see anything happening here right now, so yes.”
Kurt Jager, wearing a George Hamilton tan, smiled, and his handsome face looked ten years younger. He was a retired model who’d been featured in Ralph Lauren’s Polo ads back in the eighties, where he’d made his fortune. He’d been kind to her during and after last night’s incident, and they’d shared a joke or two about his own dog, a Spuds MacKenzie look-alike named Mavis Davis, who was an English bull terrier.
“It’s all right, Ellie. He has news,” said Kurt.
“News?” she asked, hoping the police had ruled out murder.
When Detective Vaughn said, “I can take it from here, Mr. Jager,” she knew she was wrong.
Giving a snappy salute, Kurt left, and Ellie took a seat. “Have you found out what happened to Lilah’s EpiPen?” she asked when Vaughn sat across from her.
“As far as we can tell, the pen was drained on purpose,” he answered, his tone subdued. “We found epinephrine in an orange one of the CSU techs found underneath this table.”
Then Charlene had been right. That orange was something special.
Vaughn continued. “Testing showed it held the usual amount found in an EpiPen of the type the victim carried.” He crossed his long legs and his pants crept up, showing his faded red socks. “Unfortunately, the rough peel on the orange makes it impossible to lift a print.”
“So whoever emptied the pen knew what they were doing.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that they did. But we’re having less luck finding out how Ms. Perry ingested or came into contact with a peanut.” He pulled out his spiral notepad. “That’s where you come in.”
Ellie swallowed. “Me?”
“You spent time with her, and her bag was under your surveillance most of the day.” He raised an iron-gray eyebrow. “Besides that, you saw whatever anyone ate or drank, if they did it here.”
“Sure, I watched, but I didn’t take notes or anything personal. People came and went all day, and a lot of them brought their own food. You know the joke about models eating a lettuce leaf for lunch? Well, that’s just about what they did.”
“But Ms. Perry wasn’t a model. We ran tests on everything she carried in her bag, and it was all peanut free. And we heard about the fuss she made when Ms. King offered her an energy bar. If she didn’t come into contact with peanuts from something on this table, then where did it come from?”
She couldn’t figure out if he was asking her or talking out loud to himself. This was the first time she’d dealt with Newton Vaughn, and she had no idea if he had a sense of humor. It was something she needed to find out from Sam, if he was off duty tonight.
“Do you expect me to answer that?” she finally asked when his sharp eyes continued to scan her face.
“I heard you were a good observer. Now that you’ve had time to think about it, I hoped to hear more about what you noticed.”
Ellie stifled a groan. Her life had been so much simpler before she started her dog-walking business. Of course, it had been boring, too, and she’d been broke most of the time. Now she had money and great friends. But was it a plus when she added murder to the mix?
“Dozens of people came and went during the day. It was impossible to keep track of just one person. Especially one who was . . . um . . . difficult.”
“Difficult?” He crossed his arms, his posture relaxed. “That’s one of the most kind descriptions anyone has given of Ms. Perry to date.”
“Oh, well, I really didn’t have much personal interaction with her.”
“Of course you did,” Vaughn said. He flipped through his notebook. “She insulted you when another designer commented on your figure, and she insulted your assistant, too. Accused Ms. King of trying to poison her when she offered her that energy bar, if what a few people told me is correct.”
Ellie shrugged. “It didn’t bother me much, and I got the impression Kitty was used to her negative comments.”
“What about Ms. King’s brother?”
“Jeffery?”
“That’s the one.”
“I’m not sure. I barely know him.”
“I was told he held a party a few weeks ago, and Ms. Perry showed up, even though she wasn’t invited.”
Ellie sat straighter in her chair. This guy was asking her the questions Sam had warned her about—the ones that implied she was part of the investigation. “Look, Detective Vaughn. I’m really not the person you should be speaking to. I wasn’t at the party. I don’t know a thing about him accusing Ms. Perry of—I mean—”
“Way to go, Triple E,” Rudy yipped from the pen.
Vaughn narrowed his steely eyes. “Accusing her of what?”
“He’s testin’ you. Just wants to see if you know what he knows.”
“I met Ms. Perry and the Kings yesterday, so I have no idea of their past interactions,” she said, still pondering his interrogation.
“But you’ve heard?”
“About an incident. Jeffery King accused Lilah of stealing his sister’s designs and using them to win a spot in this competition.” She swallowed a grin. She had him on this one. “But I believe whatever I tell you, as you people in law enforcement call it, would be hearsay.”
Vaughn ignored her perceptive
comment. “And you’ll tell me if you hear or observe something you think I need to know?”
“Of course. I always cooperate with the NYPD.” She heaved a sigh. “If I may ask, why are you looking for answers from me?”
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Because other than my men and me, you seem to be the only normal person on staff here, and I need normal to run a clean and sensible investigation. Not crazy.”
At that moment a model Ellie had met the day before showed up and passed over the leash to her Greyhound. “Look at me,” she wailed, pulling at her hair. “Reynoldo promised me the color would be stupendous, beautiful, a work of art. Look what he’s done to me.”
Ellie glanced at the Greyhound, a large and seemingly peaceful dog she’d never encountered before. She’d been told the models chosen for this competition had pocket pooches, not ponies. Did this girl think she was running a canine day care center? The model tugged at her hair while she moaned, and when Ellie glanced up she found Vaughn grinning.
The girl whirled in place and Ellie fought to remember her name. Katherine . . . Cassidy . . . Cassandra? “Ah, it—it looks fine to me,” she stuttered, trying to see the flaw. The model’s hair was long and lustrous, with a slight curl at the ends.
“It’s brown. Mud brown, if you want the truth.” She dragged the hair up until it stood on end. “It’s ruined!” Dropping into a chair, she slapped her hands over her face and began to cry.
Ellie anchored the Greyhound’s leash under a table leg, and the dog sat patiently next to his mistress. When she turned around, Detective Vaughn was gone.
“I need Karen Hood,” the model sobbed. “I never should have let anyone else touch it. I’m due to be in a show in an hour, so I came in early to see Karen, but she was busy. So this other hairstylist, Reynoldo, convinced me he could do the job just as well. And like a dope, I said okay.”
Karen Hood? It was a name she’d heard yesterday. All the models wanted her to do their hair, but only a few were worthy of the special treatment.
“Please, please find her for me,” the girl continued.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. All I can do is keep your dog.” It was then her memory kicked in. “You’re the model who didn’t bring one yesterday,” said Ellie. “But this can’t be— Is this the dog you plan to use for the show?”
Cassandra raised her head and blinked through teary eyes. “I know, I know, he’s too big, but he’s all I have now. I lost my Yorkie. He died and—”
When she sobbed again, Ellie felt her pain. Saying good-bye to a dog you loved was one of the most difficult things a person could do. She found a tissue in her tote and passed it over.
“A friend took me to a Greyhound rescue event last weekend and I couldn’t resist. I took one look at this big boy and saw my Reggie in his eyes.”
“But you didn’t tell the committee?”
“I was afraid I’d be dropped if I gave them the news. That’s why I didn’t bring him yesterday. I figured if I’d already had a fitting and worked with the designer for a day, I’d be safe. They’d never ask me to leave. And now that Kitty is here, it’ll be so much easier. Lilah was a bitch, plain and simple, but Kitty—” She sniffed. “I just couldn’t leave my new baby home alone again. Ranger’s such a good boy.” She gave her four-legged pal a wobbly grin and the dog licked her face. “I can leave him here, can’t I? He won’t make trouble. I promise.”
Ellie frowned. “But I don’t think he’ll fit in the pen. And I don’t have large biscuits or—”
“I brought everything you’ll need.” She picked up her tote and dug inside, then passed Ellie a plastic bag filled with king-sized treats. “See, here it is.” She blinked her green eyes. “If you want extra, I’ll pay whatever you ask. It’s too late for me to bring him home. I have a fitting for Max Azria in—in—” She focused on her watch. “Twenty minutes, and I’m nowhere near ready.”
A man—the evil Reynoldo?—strode through the crowd, shouting, “Cassandra? Cassandra McQuagge? Where are you? We’re not finished!” Spotting her, he boomed out an order. “Get your bony ass in that chair or I’ll see to it you’re dropped from the list.”
Swallowing a sob, Cassandra stood. “I’ll be back in two hours.” She hugged the Greyhound, then raced after the dreaded Reynoldo without a backward glance.
“Are we really gonna watch that retired racehorse?” asked Rudy from his mat. He gave Ranger a once-over. “He’ll squash us like bugs if he comes in here.”
Ellie had already walked a Ranger, but he was a hypochondriac miniature Poodle who mimicked his opera-star owner’s every ailment. This dog was much larger, but he seemed calmer and easier to control.
“I’ll keep him under the table,” she said. Crawling underneath, she moved a few of the bottled water and energy drink cases. Then she pulled a throw from her bag and made the dog a bed. Backing out on her hands and knees, she stopped to rub Ranger between the ears, then stood and pointed to the throw. “Think you can stay on that for the next couple of hours, big boy?”
The Greyhound sneezed slobber over her shoes and gave a pathetic-sounding whimper, but he did as he was told. Then, as if answering, he curled into a ball and tucked his nose between his rear legs.
“See,” she told Rudy. “He won’t be one bit of trouble. If only I had a—” She saw Vaughn in the distance, talking on his cell phone, and hoped whatever news he was receiving would send him on a different course. But she didn’t get her wish, because he closed the phone and headed her way.
She blew out a breath as he neared. “Detective? Something more I can do for you?”
He skipped the formalities, continuing as if he’d never left her. “Did you see everyone who received one of those swag bags yesterday morning? And who dealt them out?”
“Mr. King was the one who handed them out to the models, designers, and myself.”
“Can you tell me what they contained?”
“Freebies. You know, merchandise companies use to promote their line of clothing, jewelry, handbags, that sort of thing.”
“What about perfume?”
Ellie thought quickly before answering. Yes, there was perfume. Hers had been labeled Spring, and Lilah’s had been Summer. They’d sat side by side and applied the waxy strips together.
“Is your bag here?” he asked, after she told him what had happened between her and Lilah.
“My bag? Why no, I took it home last night, and I assume everyone else did the same with theirs.”
“Were all the bags identical—filled with the same stuff?”
She racked her brain, remembering her exchange with Lilah as they’d checked their baskets. “I think so, but I only saw what was in Lilah’s because we were sitting side by side. Everything looked identical—except for the perfume.”
“And you didn’t see what happened to her gift bag?” he asked her again.
“I’ve already told you no. I have no idea where it went.” Was he accusing her of stealing Lilah’s swag bag? “Like I said yesterday, I dropped her bag when I brought it onstage and used the pen. As for the swag bag, I just assumed someone from the forensic crew eventually found it and tagged it as evidence.”
“I wish that was the case, but—” Vaughn tugged on his lower lip, as if pondering her answer. “Did you see anyone carry out two of those bags, or spot someone taking a bag they shouldn’t have?”
“If you’ll remember, things were a little panicked around here after Lilah died. People scattered, even though Mr. Jager told them to stay in place. Some of the models raced back here, collected their things, and took off. The others snacked on food, or just took a breather because they knew the police would be called.”
She raised her eyes and locked gazes with Rudy.
“Don’t you get it, Triple E? He’s tryin’ to clue you in. The peanut stuff was in that bag.”
As soon as she heard him, the words sunk in. Each bag had a booklet of Forever strips, with a scent chosen especially for the
recipient. The perfume melted into the wearer’s skin, and its scent lasted for hours. Plenty of time for the peanut oil, or whatever it was, to sink in and do its dirty work.
“It was the perfume strip, wasn’t it?” she asked him. “That’s how Lilah came in contact with peanuts. Someone dipped her strips into peanut oil, or something like it. When she put the strip on, it—”
Detective Vaughn held up a hand. “Right now, that’s merely speculation. The ME is still running tests to find out what the compound is. We’ll know more by the end of the day.” He cleared his throat. “But I do have a two-part favor.”
“From me?” His request was a first, and she wanted to be sure she got it right.
He smiled, and she realized Newton Vaughn was a nice guy. “If you don’t mind. I need an exact duplicate of that bag, and you’ve told me that, except for the perfume strips, yours and the deceased’s were identical.” He cleared his throat. “I can’t go to Nola Morgan Design for a bag, because I don’t know if I can trust whoever would put it together.”
“Jeffery King would be the person to—”
He held up a hand. “Like I said, I don’t know who at Nola Morgan Design can be trusted, and since I believe you’re an innocent observer, and you know how we work, I’d like to examine yours.”
Ellie thought about her swag bag and what was left after Viv had gone through it. “I can pull some strings to get mine here, but it might take a while. I really think it would be faster if you asked Mr. King.”
“That’s the second part of the favor,” Vaughn said, lowering his voice. “I don’t want Jeffery King or anyone else to know we’re examining the bags. If you see him, don’t mention it. Just tell him I’m looking for him.”
Chapter 4
Ellie decided to phone Vivian. Her best friend worked on Wall Street, but her schedule was flexible and she could take time off during the day for a variety of reasons. If she had a free morning, she could laze in bed. If her afternoon luncheon appointment was over, she could shop. Some days she had a dozen meetings, other days not so many. As long as her projects were finished, she could do whatever she wanted.
