by Judi McCoy
She eyed Clark Fettel, dressed in a winter-white jacket, red slacks, and a matching shirt, still hanging at the edge of the crowd as if waiting for a problem to arise. As her NMD contact, maybe he could give her a hint on what to do.
Lost in thought, she snapped to attention when Marcus touched her arm. “Sorry if the question is a difficult one. I just didn’t want to do something NMD wouldn’t approve of.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry. There’s a lot going on today, so I’m trying to get my priorities in order. Give me a minute with Mr. Fettel before you take the dogs.”
“Sure, fine.” He grabbed a bottle of water and started perusing the food table. “I’ll just hang here.”
Glancing at the pen, she tallied canine heads, then made her way toward Clark. “Do you have time for a question?” she asked when she came up beside him.
“I’ve been waiting for you to finish with Marcus. I was sent by Nola and Morgan specifically to speak with you, so hear me out first, please.”
Had she done something wrong, or was he here to find out if she was accepting NMD’s plea to help clear Jeffery King’s name? Steeling herself, she focused on Clark, who was staring at her as if she were an unsavvy shopper at a blue-light special. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”
“It’s two things, really. First of all, you’re invited to the NMD party being held Saturday evening at their penthouse.” He took a step back and ran his gaze over her from bottom to top and back again for the fifth—or was it sixth?—time. “It will be a fancy affair with the major movers and shakers in the business in attendance, so you might want to, um, change into something more, ah, formal before you arrive.”
Ellie’s cheeks filled with heat again, but this time the blush came from anger. Her clothes weren’t Versace or Posen, but they were clean and up-to-date. The jeans were her new Calvin Klein’s, and her jacket was a year-old DKNY she’d found on a markdown rack.
“I know how to dress,” she began. “And since I don’t walk my charges on Saturday, I’ll have plenty of time to clean up right.” She added a Southern accent to the last three words to let him know what she meant. “In my line of work, wearing Gucci isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do.”
“Of course, of course,” he offered in a sour tone. “Oh, and Nola and Morgan wanted to speak with you at six. They know it’s beyond the time they hired you for, but they were hoping you could make it.” He raised an eyebrow. “Personally, for the outrageous sum you’ve been paid, I’d do whatever they wanted. But it’s your call.”
Ellie bit back a snarky retort. Ceasing to deal with the odious Clark Fettel was another reason she’d be happy to see Jeffery King again in charge. “I’ll be glad to wait here for them,” she said, continuing her forced smile. “Please let them know.
“There’s one more thing—” she started to say.
She closed her eyes when Clark walked away without answering. How much more rudeness could the man pack into one day? Seconds later, he returned leading two men she assumed worked backstage, each carrying a large wooden platform. When they set the platforms up, one on top of the other, it was clear they were sized to form a two-tiered stage.
Behind them trotted a gofer hoisting an armload of fabric. The woman and the two men spread the fabric over the staging area, covering both levels with a bright red cloth. The woman continued arranging the fabric and the men disappeared, only to return a minute later with a huge piece of plywood, onto which was painted an iron fence and flowers surrounding a lovely bucolic scene.
“Exactly what are you planning to do?” she asked Clark, one brow raised.
“Isn’t it obvious? We’re setting up for a photo shoot.”
Before Ellie could speak, the two stagehands returned with lights anchored on the top of tall poles, the type she’d seen whenever a talk show panned to a wide audience view. When they set the poles in place and plugged in the light cords, the area was bathed in a brilliant wash of pale gold.
“Well, don’t just stand there,” said Clark. “Get the dogs in position.”
“You want me to do what?” asked Ellie. The man was insane.
“For their photo shoot. Their jumbo pictures are going to be posted on the walls around the viewing area when the runway walk takes place tomorrow.” He clapped his hands. “Hurry up now. Get these animals lined up on the tiers and sitting in place.”
Ellie heaved a breath. No one had told her this was a part of her job. How in the world was she supposed to—?
“Chop, chop, Ms. Engleman. Time’s wasting.” Clark circled the dogs and pointed. “Let’s take that tiny white one and the fuzzy brown one and set them side by side. We can put the two with the—”
“Hang on a second,” she cried. “I need to think.” What she really needed was a short huddle with the dogs, so she could tell them what was needed and ensure their cooperation. She had no idea which dogs, if any, were able to follow a sit-stay command or would tolerate being seated next to a fellow dog they didn’t like. She had to be careful or there’d be canine chaos.
“Think? About what? It’s simple enough,” Clark huffed out.
She held up a hand. “If you want this to go right, I’ll need five minutes alone with my charges.”
Fettel frowned, then gazed around the area. “All right. Five minutes. The photographer has yet to arrive, so I’ll find him and make sure he has all that he needs.”
She waited for the space to clear, then sat on the lowest riser and called her charges over. They obeyed and she smiled. This might work after all.
“Okay,” she began. “You heard the man. It’s time for your glamour shot.”
Doggie voices rang in her head, so many she wasn’t sure which animal was saying what. Speaking in a low tone, she said, “Hang on a second. Let’s do this one at a time.” She gazed at the two smallest dogs, Muffin and Daisy. “He wants the two of you front and center. Can you sit still long enough for me to arrange the others around you?”
The Yorkie yipped, while Daisy spoke. “For you, anything.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. So, you know your places.” She gazed at Klingon and Jojo, the mini Schnauzers. “Think you can hold up the outer edges on the first tier?”
Jojo sneezed. “Yes, ma’am. I know we can.”
“Great. And for the rest of you . . .” She eyed the French bulldogs, a second Yorkie, and Cheech. “You four will be on the top. Are you ready to cooperate?”
Baby raised her tiny nose in the air. “Not unless I’m front and center on the top tier.”
“What makes you think you should be the star?” asked Kiki, the French bulldog. “Isn’t it obvious who the star is in this group?”
Ellie suppressed an eye roll. “How about if I move you around for each picture, so you’ll each have a turn sitting front and center?”
“Nuh-uh. It’s me or nobody.”
“You’re kiddin’, right?”
Other dogs joined in, each one voicing a complaint.
“What about me?” barked the Greyhound, his shout drowning out the other dogs’ complaints.
“Sorry, big boy, but I don’t think you’ll be allowed in the photos,” Ellie answered, happy to see that the grousing had stopped.
The dogs’ attention had snapped to the left and she turned to find Clark Fettel and a bored-looking guy holding a camera staring at them.
“What in the world are you doing?” Clark asked Ellie.
The shorter man gave a shrug and answered before she could. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s getting the subjects ready. I see it all the time in animal sittings.”
Ellie stood. “Thanks for understanding. I think we’re ready, but I have a suggestion. How about we move the dogs around in each photo? That way they’ll look different. You know, break up the scenes.”
“Whatever floats your boat,” said the photographer.
Taking her time, Ellie set the dogs in place for the first photo and stood back. “There, what do you think?”
Before Ellie could get him, Rudy wrapped himself into a tighter ball. “No way, no how,” he mumbled, his voice a growl. “Touch me and I’ll howl the house down.”
Chapter 10
“You’ve been a very good boy,” Ellie told Rudy after the photo shoot she’d coerced him to participate in.
“And I’ll get a meaty bone, right?” he asked, gazing at her with a doggie frown.
“As soon as I’m free to go to the butcher. Now take a nap.” Her gaze slid to Clark Fettel, standing a few feet away and talking to the photographer. “I have to see to Marcus.”
She waited for Clark, and they walked to Marcus’s station together, where he was chatting with two scantily dressed women who acted as if their nearly nude presence was completely normal. But after three days of watching models stand at attention hour after hour while they were dressed like oversized Barbie dolls, Ellie realized it was simply a part of their job.
“Ms. Engleman tells me you want to take the dogs that belong to your models over to your station to make sure they’re properly fitted,” said Clark, breaking into Marcus’s conversation. “She’ll hook up their leads so you can do what needs to be done, and Ms. Spinoza can go with you in case there’s a problem. All I have to say is be careful you don’t lose them.”
“Sorry, but Julie is running an errand for me,” said Ellie, bending to attach leashes to the two dogs. “That’s why this decision is important.”
Hands on his hips, the NMD overseer tapped his spats. At this rate, she was certain he’d about had it with the way she handled her job.
“And who gave her permission to leave the area?”
“I did. It was something that I needed to have done,” she answered, leery of telling him the errand was personal. Tired of Clark Fettel treating her like an indentured servant, she made an executive decision. Standing, she passed him the leashes. “Here you go. Just bring them right back when you’re through, and be careful how you treat them or their moms will come after you with guns blazing.”
Marcus gave Clark a small salute, then winked at Ellie. “We’ll talk later about my offer.” With that, he, Clark Fettel, and the dogs disappeared into the crowd.
“Wasn’t there somethin’ else you needed to ask him?” said Rudy, who suddenly turned up at her feet. “Like where was he when Lilah had her attack? Or maybe why the two of them were on the outs?”
Ellie wanted to bang her head against a wall. Some investigator she was. She’d been so wrapped up in getting her afternoon straight, she’d completely forgotten to quiz Clark about his relationship with Lilah Perry. But she didn’t remember seeing him around the area until after Jeffery King had been arrested, so maybe . . .
“Oh, well. There goes your chance, but I say good riddance,” Rudy ruffed out before she could answer.
When she dropped onto a chair and he hopped into her lap she gave him a big hug. “I’m such an idiot. How do you put up with me?”
“Easy. You’re my girl.” He licked her cheek. “Fiddle-faddle is a jerk. You should’a smacked him before he left.”
“Believe me, I thought about it. But I decided he isn’t worth the trouble.”
“It’s just too bad you didn’t ask him any questions.”
“I know he and Lilah were at odds, but from the way it sounds, half the fashion world hated her. Besides, I don’t recall Clark being here until after Jeffery was arrested.”
“Does it matter? He worked for NMD and he had a beef with Lilah. He could have pulled a fast one, doctored the strips before they got here, and found a way to empty her EpiPen without us knowin’ about it.”
“You’re right,” she answered, sighing. “I’m a ditz.”
He gave her cheek another sloppy lick, then gazed at their suddenly quiet surroundings. “Guess lots of humans went to see what that Maserati guy has to offer. That means we got time to kill.” He snorted out a laugh. “Oops, that didn’t sound so good.”
“First of all, get the name right. It’s Mizrahi, Isaac Mizrahi, and he’s one of the biggies in the industry.” She touched him nose to nose. “His show is the grand finale for the day, and he’s hosting a party afterward, during which time Patti and I will do our spy work. Now, how about telling me what you learned while you were on this latest surveillance outing?”
“Not much, but I do have an observation.”
She drew back and looked him in the eye. This was going to be good. “Okay, let’s have it.”
Buddhalike, he gazed at her. “This is the most self-absorbed group of humans I ever met. All they do is talk about clothes and how they fit, or complain about their hair, their makeup, their nose jobs. And they never shut up about the size of their butts.”
Ellie bit back a laugh. “Looking good is their reason to exist. Glamour is a big part of their life. “
“And the size of their butts?”
“Is none of our business.” She set him on the floor and began straightening the food table, noting the crowd had dwindled to a few gofers. “From the look of it, there’s more going on than the Isaac Mizrahi showing, which means I have time to organize my plans for later.” She pulled a notebook from her tote bag. “Take a nap while I get my thoughts on paper. Things are going to get busy in a very short while.”
A few hours later, Patti and Ellie were sitting next to the water cooler, while the catering company restocked the table of snacks for the next morning. Cheech perched on his mistress’s lap, watching the other dogs mill around the pen.
Ellie, notebook open and pen in hand, was ready to do business, but first she had to say, “Julie’s a nice young woman. Thanks for finding her for me.”
Patti smiled. “I guess she told you, she wants to be a professional stylist.”
“She said she’s hoping to make a name for herself in the world of accessories. She plans to match the designers’ creations with the perfect bag and shoes to style the best photo shoots. In truth, I had no idea you could make a living doing that.”
“You certainly can, and a good one. The best accessory assistants are sent to the shoot by the designer or travel with the photographers. Two came along when I went to Spain, and they had a great time.”
“Then I’m happy for her. She seems like a terrific girl.” Ellie cleared her throat. “Okay, so what have you got for me?”
Though back to wearing faded jeans and a plain and well-worn blue sweater, Patti still looked good enough to grace the cover of Vogue. “I used my notebook to make a list of the people I thought were most suspicious, just like you suggested.”
Ellie cocked her head. “Did anyone actually act as if they were hiding something when you spoke to them?”
“Not exactly, but I zeroed in on the ones who hung around the table or were always in the area, even though they didn’t work on our project.”
“Great idea,” said Ellie. “Let’s compare notes. That way we won’t do double work.”
Patti straightened in her chair, looking totally composed. “First off, let me begin by saying this detective business is hard work. It took me a while, but I found out that I’d learn much more by listening than I would by asking questions. Though after a while even that grew old.”
“I tried to tell you it would be tough, but you insisted—”
“I know, I know, and I’m okay with it.” She cleared her throat. “Let’s begin with Dominique and Claire and the flap they got into over a man. Dominique was supposed to model for Lilah, but she hated her so much after that, she refused to accept this job. But Jeffery understood her misgiving and moved her over to Fiona Ray.”
“Do you think she’s devious enough to doctor a page in Lilah’s perfume book, then return it to her swag bag?”
“I’m not sure, but I do
know she received the same scent in her gift basket as Lilah had in hers. That means she wouldn’t have had to bring Lilah’s perfume pad out. She could have added peanut oil to her own and dropped it in Lilah’s bag when no one was paying attention.”
“Hmm. Then Lilah’s swag bag would have had two perfume packets in it. Too bad the cops have yet to find Lilah’s basket, because that might be a clue.”
“Are they still looking for clues?”
“I saw Detective Vaughn asking a couple of people questions this morning, but I don’t know why he was speaking with them.” He’d nodded to her from across the way, but hadn’t acted as if they had anything to talk about, so she figured he was finished with her. Ellie flipped to Dominique’s page and made a notation. “Who’s next on your list?”
“Do you know Lawan?”
“She’s Daisy’s mom, right? Tall, black, and beautiful?”
“Yep, and she had a beef against Lilah, too. It seems that when Lilah worked for Donna Karan last year, she was in charge of shoes and accessories.
“The way Julie hopes to be someday?”
“Exactly. And because Lilah was in her usual rush, she let Lawan take her walk down the runway wearing the wrong pair of shoes and the incorrect handbag. The audience noticed and started to comment. Next day, there was a photo of Lawan wearing the mismatched accessories in the trade papers with a very unflattering comment above the picture.” Patti frowned. “Lilah played innocent and accused Lawan of screwing things up, but Lawan swore it was Lilah’s doing. Claims she lost jobs over the bad run, but there was no way it could be verified.”
Ellie jotted down Lawan’s name as Patti continued.
“Karen Hood got caught up in that disaster, as well. She was the hairstylist on the job, but Lilah claimed she was lax. She should have caught the error before Lawan left the changing area. Karen was furious, told Lilah to do a better job, and words got ugly.”
Ellie added Karen Hood to her notebook. The list was growing longer by the minute.
“And you know about Clark Fettel, right?”
