Fashion Faux Paw

by Judi McCoy

  “I dealt with the girl myself, plenty of times, and more after she was chosen for this contest, so the answer is yes. I tried to keep our disagreements quiet, but half the world—”

  “It wasn’t that bad, Clark,” said Cassandra, acting the peacemaker. “Just a few of us heard what she was saying.”

  Considering Clark Fettel’s angry expression, and the fact that he worked for NMD and could have had access to the gift bags, Ellie added him to her list of suspects . . . just because she was curious, of course. Not because she had any intention of delving into the murder investigation.

  “Okay, then I guess that’s settled,” she said, hoping to close the meeting.

  Cassandra said good-bye, promising to phone Yasmine, and Ellie stood. It was then she saw a teary-eyed Kitty walking toward them.

  “Uh-oh,” said Rudy. “I know where this is headed.”

  Ellie agreed with her boy, which was why she eyed the rear door, but it was too late.

  “Nola, Morgan,” said Kitty, giving a watery smile. “I’m so happy you’re still here.”

  “Of course we are,” said Nola. She clasped Kitty by the hand. “Now take a seat. We were just about to ask Ms. Engleman the question.”

  The question? “I really don’t have time for any more questions. It’s late and Rudy and I have to get home. He’s cranky when he doesn’t get his dinner on time and—”

  “This will only take a moment,” said Morgan, his expression grave. “Kitty told us about your success in solving murders, as did Patti Fallgrave.” He cleared his throat. “We put our faith and trust in Jeffery, and you know we think he’s innocent.”

  She was going to smack Patti upside the head the next time she saw her. “I agree with you about Jeffery, but I’m afraid Patti exaggerated my ability. I have no formal training or—”

  “That’s not what we heard,” Morgan cut her off. “So we’d like to make a request.”

  Ellie raised a hand. “I’ve already explained to Kitty—I’m not a private investigator. The police are the experts. They have all sorts of techniques and scientific processes at their disposal. Not me.”

  “Perhaps, but we know how the police work. Once they arrest a suspect they do all they can to amass evidence against that person. They don’t continue to look for other possibilities.”

  “They must watch CSI, ” Rudy muttered.

  Ellie heaved a sigh. Her boy was probably correct.

  “We’re willing to offer you a fee. Just name your price.”

  “Oh, no. I could never—”

  “All right, if there’s no fee, we’ll find another way to repay you.” Morgan locked eyes with Nola, then Kitty, then again gazed at Ellie. “We’re making you a serious offer. Not only do we believe Jeffery King is innocent, we also feel the need to rescue our company from bad publicity. His arrest will surely have the daily rags and gossipmongers in an uproar, as well as the TV tell-alls and the Internet magazines. We don’t know where else to turn. Please look into Lilah Perry’s murder and find the real killer.”

  Chapter 7

  Ellie set her take-out bag from China Jewel on the counter, and walked to the front hall closet with Rudy beside her. After hanging up her jacket, she returned to the kitchen and sat at the table, where she pulled her phone from her tote bag. She listened to three messages from Sam, erased them, and looked at her boy.

  “Did you hear? Sam said he’d be home by seven. Should we believe him?”

  “Sure, if you’re willin’ to starve. How about rattlin’ those pots and pans, ’cause I could eat a horse.”

  “There’s no need to exaggerate. I live to serve you, my friend,” she joked as she went to the sink and retrieved his food bowl. “It’ll keep my mind off this latest quandary.”

  Rudy stretched out his front legs and yawned. “Yeah, so what else is new? Seems like we’re in the murder business whether we like it or not.”

  She dropped a quarter cup of his high-end kibble into the dish. What was it that made her so cost-conscious when buying clothes for herself, yet more than willing to pay a premium price for her four-legged pal’s upkeep? The money she spent for his grooming, food, and the time she used to cook his organically grown veggies would probably get her one designer dud a month.

  Grinning, she went to the fridge and pulled out his canned food, Grammy’s Pot Pie, and vegetables: a ground mix of baby carrots and green beans. At the counter, she added a heaping tablespoon of each to his bowl and began to stir while her mind drifted back to the questions she’d been mulling since her meeting with the NMD big shots.

  Both Patti Fallgrave and Kitty had passed along what they knew about Rob’s case and how she’d helped him. But why did their opinion make Nola McKay and Morgan Prince think she was expert enough to rescue Jeffery King and keep their company off the radar screen in this murder?

  Lilah had been killed at one of their events. The designer had so many enemies, Ellie didn’t know where to look first. How was she supposed to investigate when she was shut in the Fashion Center for ten hours a day?

  Still mixing, she shook her head. Sam would tie her to a chair for the rest of the week if he knew she’d considered saying yes when they asked her to run her own investigation into Lilah Perry’s murder. Especially since the cops had already nailed a suspect.

  “’Scuse me, but if you keep on stirring I’m gonna be eatin’ baby food instead of canine chow,” came a voice from below.

  “Oops, sorry.” She stopped mixing and gazed at the pulpy mess. “It is a little on the creamy side. Still want to give it a try?”

  “Of course. Grammy’s Pot Pie rocks. Just set ’er down and stand back.”

  Ellie did as directed, and he dived in with gusto, which gave her more time to think. She’d brought Sam’s standard dinner order home from their new favorite restaurant, hoping to soften the blow when she told him about this latest development in her life. Slumping forward, she drummed her fingers on the table. Did she really have to share exactly what had happened in the after-hours meeting? She was a terrible liar, but maybe she could circle around Nola and Morgan’s direct request and ask him what he thought about her lending a hand to a new friend.

  A soft belch from below told her that time was up for thinking alone. She had a second opinion waiting from a tried and true veteran of what she’d begun calling “the great Sam debate.”

  “So, any advice on what I should tell Sam?”

  “Detective Demento won’t like whatever you say, so play it by ear.” Rudy circled his mat, then curled in a ball. “Start small and keep movin’ until you know you should stop.”

  “Gee, thanks. You’re a big help.” She checked her watch and realized she had no idea when her boyfriend would arrive home, and Viv had already told her she wouldn’t be back from her appointment until late.

  “Your face looks all flat and squishy, like one of my squeaky toys after I killed it. If you’re that worried, call the judge,” Rudy suggested. “He’s one of the smartest humans I know, and he always comes up with a good answer for everything.”

  Ellie thumped her temple with the heel of her hand. Geez, why hadn’t she thought of that? She heaved a sigh. Sometimes it was hard to admit a dog was brighter than its owner, though she knew a couple of dozen who were.

  She dialed her mother’s number and gave a silent thank-you when Corinna, Georgette’s faithful housekeeper, answered. “Ms. Ellie, how you doing? Your mother asked me yesterday to make sure we phoned you by Saturday. She said she wants a complete report on the fashion lines for the coming year.”

  Ellie’s groaned internally. There’d been so much going on behind the scenes with NMD that she hadn’t had time to pay attention to the other houses unveiling their new spring lines on the runway.

  “I really called to speak to the judge. Is he free and out from under Mother’s thumb?”

  Corinna laughed. “That man is never out from under Georgette’s thumb, but your mother isn’t here, so the coast is clear. But I expect her
home any minute, so don’t keep him too long.”

  She imagined the housekeeper trekking across the penthouse suite from the kitchen to the library to tell her stepfather, Judge Stanley Frye, that she was on the phone.

  “My darling girl,” the judge began when he finally came on the line. His voice was especially strong for an eighty-five-year-old wheelchair-bound man. “We haven’t heard from you all week. It’s so nice of you to phone me. How are things?”

  “Things are just fine, you charmer, and Corinna said you were alone, which is perfect. I called because I need an opinion, and you’re the first person I thought to ask.”

  “After me,” Rudy reminded her.

  “Fire away, but keep it short. Your mother is due to arrive any minute, and from the sound of it this is something you’d rather keep between the two of us.”

  “You’re right, but not because I’m in trouble or anything.”

  “When it comes to her only daughter, I think it’s the ‘or anything’ that disturbs Georgette the most,” he said with a chuckle. “So let’s hear it.”

  “Well, I’m sure you know where I am this week. Mother probably told you, right?”

  “You’re at Fashion Week, that big show where the premier design houses give a preview of the upcoming season’s clothing. If I remember correctly, Georgette has a list of questions she plans to ask you about it.”

  “Then I guess I’d better start paying closer attention to what her favorite houses are pushing for next year. In the meantime, I assume you read about what happened there yesterday. One of the designers in the contest I’m working died in the middle of the event.”

  “I saw it in the paper. Terrible business that.” He tsked. “They hinted that it was deliberate, a possible homicide.”

  Ellie imagined the judge shaking his balding head.

  “It would take someone completely diabolical to think of a plan that would cause an allergic reaction, then make sure no antidote was available. It’s a capital murder offense if ever there was one.”

  Great, thought Ellie. People arrested for murder in the first degree were rarely granted bail, and if they were, the amount needed was sky-high. Kitty was going to fall apart when she heard that it was more likely her brother would be tried for capital murder. “I know how it sounds, but I have a gut feeling they’ve got the wrong man,” she began. “I’ve met him, and his sister, and I just can’t see him doing all that.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Ah, well then. I guess that means you’ll be on top of it, righting the wrong done to someone you consider innocent.”

  She heaved another sigh. “Sometimes, I think you know me better than Rudy does.”

  “How is my boy?” he asked, never missing a chance to talk about his favorite yorkiepoo. “We haven’t seen either of you in too long.”

  “Rudy’s fine, and you’ll see him soon. I’m fairly certain we’ll be at Mother’s monthly Sunday brunch.”

  “Ah, yes, she did mention it. Now back to the matter at hand. You still haven’t asked me a question.”

  “Okay, here goes.” She inhaled and let her breath out slowly, aiming to be as truthful as possible. “The people the accused works for—that’s the man and woman who own Nola Morgan Design—want my help in finding the real killer. They’re as certain as I am that their favorite employee, Jeffery King, isn’t guilty, and they think I can do the job of nabbing the guilty party better than the cops.”

  “Hmm, I see.” He paused for a beat. “What makes them so certain their fair-haired boy isn’t the killer?”

  “His work ethic and his dedication, I think. They’re also worried about the negative publicity they’re sure will haunt NMD if he’s proven guilty—which he isn’t.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “As certain as I can be.” She imagined the judge tapping his chin as he thought. “At least I feel it inside.”

  “And what makes them think you’re more capable than the police? Have they been talking to someone who knows about your investigative success?”

  “I asked them the same question, and they admitted they’d spoken to one of their models, whose dog I walk, and I know Jeffery’s sister talked to Rob, the client I helped a few months back.”

  She could almost hear the judge’s wheels turning. Then he asked, “Is there any chance you’d be in danger doing as they ask, the way you’ve been in the past?”

  “I doubt it. With the other crimes there was a weapon—you know—a gun, poison, scissors—to contend with,” she told him, echoing Rudy’s logic. “I’m not allergic to anything, so I can’t imagine how I’d be hurt.”

  “And you want someone to rubber-stamp your involvement in the case,” he said bluntly. “You know Detective Ryder won’t condone it, so you’ll use my permission as your cover.”

  Glancing at her boy, she rolled her eyes. The man might be well into his senior years but his mind was still razor sharp. “I hate it when you read me so well, Judge Stanley.”

  “Want to know how I do it?” he asked, his tone teasing.

  “Um, sure, clue me in.”

  “Because you and I are very much alike. We hate seeing injustice done to anyone, whether we approve of them personally or not. We believe in being fair in all things. If we see a wrong, we feel the need to right it, come what may.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m running for sainthood.”

  “Nonsense. You’re no saint and neither am I. We merely want to see things done as fairly as possible.”

  “So you think I should do what they want and look into the matter?”

  “I think you will whether I say you should or not. Just be careful and stay out of harm’s way.” He cleared his throat. “Now, I have a question for you.”

  Ellie gazed at the ceiling. What was one more question? Her day had been full of them. “Um, okay.”

  “Actually, it’s more of a favor,” he admitted.

  She loved the man like a father. She doubted she could say no to whatever he asked. “If it’s in my power, I’ll be happy to grant it.”

  “It’s for your mother.” He stopped, knowing full well that she and her mother were not always in harmony. “I’d like to give her something special for her birthday. It’s coming up, you know, and she’s so difficult to buy for.”

  On that topic, Ellie couldn’t agree more. “I understand. What do you want to give her?”

  “A pass to the final day of the shows. Something that would allow her into all the design exhibits, plus the big contest you’re working. I called the main office and they said they were out of tickets, so I hoped you might have some pull. I’m going to give her carte blanche on the design of her choosing, and I thought the ticket could be from you. It would make a fine birthday gift from the two of us, don’t you think?”

  Wow, thought Ellie. That would sure take a load off her shoulders. Finding a gift for Georgette was like finding the next new planet in the solar system. But that meant her mother would be there when she did her thing with the dogs.

  “Ellie. Is it too much to ask?”

  She bit her lower lip, then plowed ahead. “Of course not, Judge. I’ll find a way to get her a ticket and I’ll get it to you sometime Thursday. If you have Corinna buy a card, you can tuck the tickets inside and give them to her so she and a friend can show up first thing Friday morning, and stay for the big finale that afternoon.”

  “Excellent. I don’t know how I can repay you. Just promise me one other small thing: Please don’t tell your mother we had this conversation.”

  “Georgette’s holding her monthly brunch on Sunday and she expects us to be there,” said Ellie later that evening as she set a steaming plate of beef and broccoli with fried rice at Sam’s place.

  He removed his shoulder holster and hung it over the back of his chair. Sitting, he raised an eyebrow and gave a cocky grin. “And you told me this when?”

  She joined him at the table with her plate of shrimp, snow peas, and brown rice. “Last weekend
. Sunday morning, right before you left on the Lombardi case.”

  “It’s the Lombard-o case, and I don’t remember hearing Georgette’s name or a mention of the invitation.” He speared a chunk of beef and held it up to cool. “Are you sure?”

  She glanced at Rudy and made a silent plea. I did tell him, didn’t I? When his answer was a doggie shrug, she said, “I know I did. You nodded, so I assumed I broke through the Dick Tracy barrier.”

  “Hah! Very funny.” He scooped up another forkful of beef and broccoli, then washed it down with a swallow of beer. “Just remember, if I have a lead on a case or something important comes up, I’m off the hook with the ex-terminator,” he warned, using Viv’s favorite name to describe Ellie’s many-times-divorced mother. “How are things going with that Amber woman, by the way? Is she doing an okay job with your charges?”

  Ellie dropped her fork. “Oh, crap. I forgot to call her when I got home.”

  “Is that the plan? You call her and check in?”

  “Kind of. She phoned me yesterday, so it was my turn for today, but something happened and I forgot.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Something happened? What kind of something?”

  “For one thing, they had to choose a designer to take the place of the girl who died, and they picked my assistant. That meant I had to take care of the dogs and watch the food table and bags by myself. It wasn’t a big deal, but I did have my hands full.”

  “What about the contest? Did part two go off as planned?”

  “As far as I could tell, yes. Though poor Kitty was a mess. She only had one night to get her day wear outfit ready, and that was tough.” Ellie pushed a shrimp around her plate. “But the design was great. It was a cream-colored lightweight wool jumpsuit with burnt orange suede trim, and I really liked it. So much, in fact, that I’m thinking of purchasing it.”

  “Hmm. That says a lot.” He narrowed his eyes, as if reading her from across the table. “If you like it that much, maybe I could buy it for you.”

  Sam hated that she made more money than he did, and he tried to gloss over it by paying his half of her mortgage every month. And his buying her presents was always a sticking point. He thought he had to get her the same things Viv wanted or, heaven forbid, go along with her mother’s over-the-top suggestions for her birthday or Christmas gift.