Fashion Faux Paw

by Judi McCoy

  Ellie raised her gaze as a model wearing a sheer dressing gown walked by. “I’m still confused. How can you tell?”

  “Trust me, none of those women were born with those rapier-like bones,” Viv answered, her tone as sharp as the cheeks she’d just inspected. “If they had been, they would have sliced their mother going through the birth canal.”

  “Oh, Lord, you are so bad,” said Ellie, finally cracking a grin. “It’s no one’s business what a model does to get work. The sad thing is the way the fashion industry dictates their body size. So many young girls are bulimic or anorexic because they think they won’t get ahead unless they’re skinny as a rail.”

  “I’m well aware of that. Lucky for me I can eat like a dockworker and not gain an ounce.”

  “What you can do doesn’t matter. It’s what they have to do, or think they have to do, that counts.” Ellie settled back in her chair. “At least my job keeps my weight under control.”

  “Don’t remind me. You look great now, but I remember when the dickhead expected you to wear a size six. Talk about cheekbones. You were absolutely gaunt.”

  “And starving most of the time. I’m lucky Sam likes his women with curves.”

  “Sam is a great guy, who loves you for you, not for your size. And I apologize for what I said earlier about dressing for that designer guy.”

  “You already did that.”

  “Well, now I’m serious. After you were married to Larry Lipschitz for ten ugly years, I can understand why you’d never let a man influence your fashion sense again. Being true to yourself is one of the things I love about you.” Viv matched her grin. “I can always trust you to tell me the truth. I guess that’s something you share with Georgette, only without the Wüsthof knife.”

  “Thank you—I think.”

  They continued observing the hairdressers, makeup artists, gofers, and models converging around the goodie table. The new model, Beatriz, was there, wearing a regular dressing gown instead of a see-through type, and she seemed to be deep in conversation with Dominique. Again, Ellie sensed that something about her was different, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it might be.

  A minute later, Viv gazed out into the crowd. “Here comes your new assistant. She’s sort of sweet. How’s she doing?”

  “Just fine, now that she’s gotten the hang of things, though I think she’d rather be styling supermodels than handling canine care. But the dogs seem to like her, and she’s a friend of Kitty’s, so she’s on Jeffery’s side.” Ellie folded her arms. “She even agreed to keep her ears open and report back if she heard anything interesting about Lilah Perry’s death.”

  “That’s a plus, right. She knows the crowd, so she knows who talks a good game and who doesn’t.” Viv checked her watch and stood. “Oops, I have to go. It’s time to meet my hot date. I’ll see you later.”

  Hot date? Ellie blinked. Viv was devoted to Dr. David Crane, veterinarian to the pets of the rich and famous on the Upper East Side. “You have a date? With who?”

  “Oh, don’t look so disapproving. With Eduardo. I found him while I was making rounds with your mother and he gave me a consult appointment so we could go over my makeup questions.” She heaved a sigh. “Georgette wanted a consult, too, but he said he only had time for one. He gave her his card and told her to call him.”

  Poor Eduardo, thought Ellie. Georgette could be difficult, even with a professional. “Do you think he knows what he’s getting himself into?”

  “He handled her okay when she tried to talk him into an appointment, so I got the feeling he’s used to dealing with bitchy women.” Viv frowned. “Sorry, but you know that’s how Georgette can be.”

  “I know, but a lot of it’s for show. Did he say how much he charges?”

  “I have no idea.” Viv hiked her Chanel bag over her shoulder. “But I don’t care. Today is my day to rub elbows with the true fashionistas of the world. I’ll pay whatever he asks for his expert advice.” She waggled her fingers and headed out into the crowd, passing Julie on the way.

  “Hey,” Julie said after grabbing a bottle of water from the table and taking a seat next to Ellie. “How are things going? Do you or the dogs need me?”

  “The canines have to be taken for a midday walk in a half hour or so. What have you been up to?” She decided to keep the next question casual. “Did you get any new information from the crowd?”

  “Not the kind of information you’re looking for, though I did try. These people love to chatter, so I usually hear all kinds of gossip when I listen to the designers talk about the look they’re trying to create. By the way, Marcus asked about you again.”

  A rush of heat rose from Ellie’s chest, a sure sign she was blushing. Marcus appeared to be the kind of man who didn’t take no for an answer. He might make a good friend, but there could never be anything personal between them. “I’ll talk to him later, when he comes by to get his dogs for the big show.”

  “It’s nice to see he’s interested in someone. He’s pretty much kept to himself since he lost his sister.” Julie crossed her legs and let her thong sandal dangle off her toes. “You know about what happened to Sylvie, right?”

  The question set off a warning bell in Ellie’s brain. Marcus had dropped a comment or two about his siblings while they talked, but he’d never given her the details of his sister’s death. “I heard something about her, but I didn’t know her name.”

  “He had three sisters, and Sylvie was the baby of the family. She wanted to be a model in the worst way, but she was a big girl, so she was always on a diet. She hung around here whenever a call went out for open tryouts, but she never seemed to make the cut.”

  “Open tryouts?” Ellie sat up straight. “What’s that?”

  “It’s an industry thing. Every so many weeks the student designers have to show what they’ve created and they need girls to model the outfit. We usually get a bunch of high school kids in, each one hoping to break into the business. Sylvie was here all the time, but Marcus was the only one who ever chose her as his model.”

  Ellie shrugged. “It’s what I’d want a brother to do for me—if I had one.”

  Julie nodded. “Me, too. Trouble is, everyone thought that she was on the runway only because he was her brother, so no one else asked her to dress for them. After a while, she began to diet big-time, starving herself really, which was not a good thing for her to do.”

  “It’s not a good thing for anyone to do,” said Ellie. “Viv and I were just talking about it, and we decided it was the number one problem with this business.”

  “I agree, but Sylvie had a bad heart as well, and the yo-yoing weight issue was making it worse.”

  “How old was she?”

  “Only seventeen, and like a typical teen she was headstrong, wouldn’t listen, kept dieting, ragging other designers to let her model, and stressing herself over it.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense. What happened to her?”

  “She came in one day and targeted Lilah Perry with her begging. Unfortunately Lilah told her, in her typical crude Lilah manner, that she was too heavy and would never make it on the runway. Sylvie started to cry and ran out of the building.”

  “Where was Marcus?”

  “On his way in. When he saw Sylvie sobbing he blew up. Even dived on Lilah and tried to choke her, but a couple of folks pulled him off before he did any damage.” Julie swallowed another gulp of water. “Lilah, of course, made herself look completely innocent, so Marcus ran after his sister, but it was too late. When she bolted from the building she headed straight for the street.”

  “Oh, no. Please don’t tell me—”

  “Yep. A yellow cab ran her down. It was so sad. Marcus got there right after it happened. Sylvie died in his arms.”

  Ellie reared back in her chair. “Sylvie David ran out of the building and was hit by a taxi. She died in her brother’s arms, and he blamed it on Lilah Perry?”

  “A lot of folks did. Lilah even threatened to file
charges against Marcus, but when she realized that wouldn’t be tolerated and she might be blackballed, she pretended the incident never happened. And she wasn’t blackballed for the way she’d treated Sylvie, either.”

  “Because—”

  “Apparently someone at the top thought she had talent and allowed her to continue working at the center. It blew over after a couple of months, and she and Marcus kept their distance.”

  Tears sprang to Ellie’s eyes and she swallowed to regain her composure. “How awful.” She swiped the droplets away and took a deep breath. “No wonder Marcus doesn’t want to talk about it.”

  “He seems to be crazy about you. I’m sure he would have told you eventually.”

  “I’ve tried to dissuade him. Told him I have a serious boyfriend, but he doesn’t want to listen. And I’ve been so busy trying to untangle the Jeffery King thing that I haven’t said much more.”

  “It’s been almost a year now that Sylvie’s been gone. Like I said, Marcus is a good guy. It’s nice to know he’s interested in something, or someone, besides work. Do you think he has a chance of winning the NMD contest?”

  Ellie blew her nose and cleared her throat. “I have no idea. His work is good, but I’m no judge. What’s the word in the changing rooms?”

  “Everyone is saying it’s between him and Kitty. There’s even a betting pool.”

  “A betting pool? Like they do for football games and other sports?”

  “Yep.”

  “Who’s in charge?”

  “One of the security guards, I think. I don’t get involved, but I do listen to who’s saying what.” Julie stood. “I’m going to the restroom, but I’ll be back to do the dog run.”

  She left and Ellie blew out a breath. Then she locked eyes with Rudy, who’d been sitting in the pen and listening.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded. “I take it you heard Julie’s story? The one about Marcus’s sister?”

  “Sure did, and it was sad.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “I get why you’re upset, but I don’t like to see you cry.”

  He rose up on his hind legs and she hoisted him from the pen. “Did any of the dogs talk about Lilah and why their owners hated her? Has Klingon said anything about his mistress?”

  “He’s not talkin’.” Rudy cocked his head and pointed his nose toward the mini Schnauzer, curled on a dog bed at the far end of the enclosure. “This morning, when that Prince guy showed, was the only time he made a comment on anything. Apparently, he knew the guy because of Lilah.”

  “Because of Lilah Perry?” She had sensed something was fishy when the little guy got so comfortable with Morgan Prince, but what? Right then, she decided to give her boy a job that would keep him occupied and out from underfoot at the same time. “How about if I give you a new assignment?”

  Rudy rested a paw on her shoulder. “I’m ready, madam general. Fire away.”

  She kissed his nose and he sneezed. “Okay, pay attention. Your job is to get Klingon to explain how well he knows Morgan Prince. What kind of relationship do they have? And why does he trust the guy? That kind of thing. But be subtle. I don’t want to frighten him.”

  “I got it. Be sneaky, but subtle. Now, you want to know what I think about your next assignment?”

  “My next—” She realized they’d been talking for a while and scanned the area. Good thing just about everyone had cleared out. “I guess it’s all right if we continue the conversation. So give me your orders.”

  “I think it’s time you found a way into Marcus David’s apartment. If what Julie said is true, he’s a prime suspect in Lilah’s death.”

  Ellie closed her eyes, unable to agree, even though she had to admit Rudy might be right. But Marcus was a sweet man, and he’d lost someone he loved. Would he kill for his sister? “I understand your reasoning, though I can’t see it. Marcus doesn’t seem the type to commit murder.”

  “You know as well as me there is no ‘type’ for a murderer. If he thinks it was Lilah Perry’s fault his sister died, he could have decided it was time to get rid of her, and the contest was the perfect place to do it.” Rudy gave her cheek a sloppy lick. “You got to check him out.”

  “You watched the swag bags that afternoon. Could he have unloaded Lilah’s EpiPen and doctored her perfume strips?”

  “Sure he could have, but so could about a thousand other people who walked by and peeked inside. I only remember Marcus, because he kept saying his bag had better be rigged for a man, no froufrou stuff.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t want froufrou stuff. He has a mother and two sisters he could share with.”

  “That’s what I’ve been sayin’. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to find a way inside his private space. Just bat your baby blues and his testosterone level will go through the ceiling. You can handle that, no sweat.”

  Before she could answer, Julie returned leading Lucy, Daisy and Muffin.

  “I met a few of the models and they told me to bring their pals here. Said they’d be in final fittings for the big show for the rest of the afternoon, and the dogs were your job.”

  Ellie nodded. “You might as well take them and the mini Schnauzers for a walk, then bring them back and hook up the rest. I imagine the designers will be here soon.” She took stock of the pen. “Cheech is due in, and so is Kiki. While you’re here, I’m going to the designers’ stations. I need a timeline for pickup. Once the dogs are dressed we have to keep them looking groomed and ready to go.”

  Ellie scanned Anton Rouch’s work space, but found no sign of the man. Curious, she took note of his sketchbook, set neatly in a corner of the table, with a one-inch margin on a side and bottom of the tablet. After flipping open the pages, she saw his designs arranged in order with short dresses to long, short skirts to long, short sleeves to long, and an exactness of spacing on all sides of the drawings.

  His pins were stuck exactly a hair’s width apart in four cushions, which were color-coded according to pin size. His scissors were lined up in size order, too, smallest to largest, and tucked in a leather carrying case.

  Neatly folded cloth was stacked under his table, arranged by fabric and color order. Alongside stood two three-tiered thread holders, one for small spools and one for larger, and they were color-coded, too. Then came a lineup of finishing tapes, tissue paper, ribbon, and all manner of trim, also arranged by size and color order.

  The exactness of the space made her head ache. How could anyone work in such an orderly manner? Would the world fall apart if a single pin was one-sixteenth of an inch closer to another? Or the pink fabric was mixed with the fuchsia, or the silk with the satin? Worsted wool with tweed? Wide-wale corduroy mixed with narrow?

  It was obvious the man was a neat freak, most likely suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder, though she’d never met anyone with the condition. Years back there’d been a movie with Jack Nicholson and Helen somebody, where Jack had collected bars of soap, stacked them in his medicine cabinet, and thrown them out after one use. If she recalled correctly, the movie also had an adorable small dog in the cast, another plus in its favor.

  She walked to the rolling garment rack centered on his single wall and read what looked to be his schedule. He had the entire day planned out, including his time to pick up Daisy and Baby.

  Ellie wrote down the time in her notebook and moved to find Fiona Ray’s station. When she got there she stood still for a moment—in shock. Head down, Fiona was wielding a huge pair of scissors, tearing into a bright orange fabric as if it was tissue paper. Her black hair, bunched on top of her head in a total rat’s nest, held about a dozen pencils. She wore an apron over her pants and T-shirt, and every pocket held a different set of objects.

  One was filled with scissors, another with a ruler and a couple of pens, a third appeared overfilled with spools of thread. Pinned into the top of the apron was an assortment of sewing needles, paper clips, even a small knife.

  Out of the blue, the
designer raised her head and glared at Ellie. “Something I can do for you?”

  “Fiona, hi. I apologize if I’m interrupting you.”

  “Why the hell not? Just about every other person involved in this fucking contest has traipsed through here today. Now the dog lady is here.” She fisted the hand holding the scissors on her slim hip. “What do you want?”

  Surprised to hear Fiona speaking so rudely, she tried for a friendly smile. “I just need to know your scheduled time to pick up and dress your dogs. No one’s told me in which order the designers will show their work, but I imagine the dogs will be dressed and paraded down the catwalk in the same order.”

  Head down again, Fiona began to cut. “Talk to the NMD folks. No one’s told me a fucking thing. I imagine we’ll all find out five minutes before showtime.”

  “Ooo-kay,” said Ellie. There was no reason she had to stay and listen to nasty language and put up with her snotty attitude. But Fiona had never acted this way before. She hadn’t gushed or made like a friend either, but she’d been cordial. What had happened to turn her into a—a—a Lilah Perry?

  Swallowing, she tried to get hold of the situation. “Fiona? Has something happened? Are you all right?”

  The girl’s head jerked upward and she heaved a huge sigh. Then she looked at Ellie. “Tell me, dog lady, how much do you know about this business?”

  “Not a lot, but I’ve been paying attention. I learned quite a bit by listening, too.” She hadn’t questioned Fiona on Lilah Perry’s death, but maybe she should have. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m trying to get Jeffery King off the hook for Lilah’s murder. Nola and Morgan asked for my help and I said yes.”

  “Did you now?” Fiona narrowed her dark brown eyes. “What are you, some kind of dog-walking detective?” She giggled a laugh. “Sounds like a setup for a television show.”

  “I doubt anyone would be interested. Dog walking is pretty boring, but I love it. And I’ve helped a few friends when the police have arrested the wrong person.”