Runways and High Heels and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Not a fair comparison and I wasn’t judging or anything. But seriously. Hamburgers and chocolate chip cookies all around.

  “The new rules in France restrict underweight models,” Vivian said, nodding to the slinking strides of the second group. “And Grace has seized on that, made it endemic of her entire line. Henry, on the other hand, refuses to accept the way things are going.” It was obvious whose side Vivian was on. “Up and coming designers and models need better guidelines and our,” yes, she said “our” like she still belonged, “industry needs smart, beautiful and talented representatives. Yes, they are still thin,” she shrugged like that was a necessary evil, “but they are fit, strong, impressive. More like warriors than victims.” Huh, interesting way to look at it. Hey, I wasn’t the one speaking up, and since Vivian had a horse in that race, I figured I’d keep my mouth shut and let her vent. “Grace’s models are all vocal about education, most of them in college for science, technology, engineering.” How interesting. “She hand picks them to ensure they are equally brilliant and beautiful. It’s a fascinating approach and really adds to the integrity of her clothing line.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said, blurting it out but meaning it.

  Why then did Vivian look so annoyed by my attitude? “We’re not all dumb blondes,” she snapped. Before I could reassure her I didn’t think anything of the sort, she spun and walked away, that characteristic runway strut in evidence in her stride.

  And I had to admit I felt badly she’d left thinking I was judging her. I guess my animosity was really easing up after all.

  I turned back, doing my best not to feel self-conscious about myself while arguing in my head that I was perfect the way I was. Crew wasn’t complaining, after all, and I was the fittest I’d been in my life, partially thanks to him and our workouts. But it was hard after a while to keep up my internal “I’m awesome!” dialogue in the face of all that skinny beauty parading past me like I was on the outside of perfection and if I could maybe just lose ten more pounds I could be one of the cool kids…

  Faith’s appearance caught my attention, if only because I had such a bad taste in my mouth left over from our unnecessary confrontation. The blonde strutted with excessive aggression, taking focus from every other person on the stage. Kami strode behind her, face twisted into a bitter little frown, aimed directly at Faith’s back, the flat expression the other models wore nowhere in evidence on either of them. Whatever their disagreement, when Faith did her turn at the end of the catwalk and spun to stride past Kami, they exchanged a low word between them, a moment of anger, that made the dark-haired model’s face flash into rage while Faith tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder as if she’d won whatever argument they’d been having with that single exchange.

  And in that moment I released my secret wish I could be one of them and exhaled, grateful for the life I lived that had nothing to do with bitterness, vindictive co-workers or the need to be perfect weighing on my shoulders.

  I spotted Jill and joined her, feeling her tension as I did but smiling so she’d know I wasn’t about to give her a hard time over moonlighting. She flashed her own quick smile, relaxing somewhat, though she stayed at attention in her dark suit. I’d never seen her dressed like this before, so used to her in her deputy’s uniform it felt odd, almost surreal, as if she’d run off and joined the feds or something.

  “How’s Matt?” I spotted him across the staging area and waved. He waved back before tucking his hands behind him and resuming his own serious pose.

  “Bruised.” Jill snorted, not exactly lady-like but totally her. Hey, was she wearing makeup? And her ponytail had marks of curls at the ends rather than her usual pin-straight and no-nonsense look. Was someone trying to fit in with the fashion set? “He’ll survive.”

  “I bet,” I said. “How’s the job going?”

  She glanced sideways at me before shrugging. “Which one?”

  I laughed so she’d know I had nothing against this sideline. “Both,” I said. “Your day job is hard enough, dealing with Robert.” I eye rolled while she seemed to flinch at the mention then looked away. Huh, usually I could get at least a bit of a sigh or an agreement out of her when it came to my cousin. Could he have had something to do with her comment yesterday morning? She was pretty uptight if she couldn’t even muster a groan of misery. “As for this lot, I think they’re more dangerous to each other than any outside threat.”

  Jill did laugh at that. “Tell me about it,” she said, keeping her voice down but leaning in to me. “If I have to break up one more catfight I’m going to scream.”

  “I’m feeling a bit schleppy in their company,” I said, tugging at the hem of my t-shirt. I’d worn it and jeans and sneakers for the morning, knowing I’d be working with Mom and discarding the apron she’d given me before coming here to be nosy.

  “You and me both,” Jill said, almost sad. “I’ve never been, you know, like that.” She glanced at Matt who seemed intent on the models. Too intent? “Maybe I should take some lessons.”

  I poked her in the ribs. “If he can’t appreciate who he has, he’s not worthy of you.”

  She shook her head, flashed a weak smile. “That’s not it,” she said. Then fell suddenly silent, like she wanted to say something else but couldn’t muster the words.

  Well, fine then. “I’d like to see one of them take down a criminal with their bare hands,” I said. “You’re amazing, Jill. Don’t ever forget it.”

  She didn’t comment, but she did smile again and I left her with what encouragement I could. If there was one thing I knew, it was internal dialogue wasn’t something another person could shift. If she wanted to beat herself up or doubt or fall down the rabbit hole of poor me, there was nothing I—or anyone else—could do to stop her.

  I just hoped she didn’t let it go on too long. Or that it was a mistake to not ask more pointed questions about her friendship statement at the end of yesterday’s class. I figured, though, if Jill wanted to talk, she’d talk. Right?

  As for me, it was time to shed my own defeating thoughts and get myself home to Petunia’s. Mom had the rest of the day well in hand and I had a bed and breakfast to run. With my mind focused on the paperwork I had to tackle sometime today, I almost missed the familiar form of the silver-haired man who hurried through the lobby of the lodge, head down, shoulders rounded as he barreled into me like he didn’t even see me.

  “Malcolm!”

  ***

  Chapter Ten

  He flinched when I said his name, stopped dead and stared into my eyes, his own green ones empty and hurt. I gasped softly at the sight of him, his face sunken, dark circles adding depth to his gaze, his jaw shining with a few day’s beard growth. Even his clothing seemed out of sorts, unkempt, like he’d slept in them, his normally tidy silver hair askew on one side. But it was the haunted look on his face, how his lower lip shuddered just a fraction as his hands grasped my upper arms a bit too tight that made me worry about him.

  Yes, he was a criminal mob boss, at least according to my dad. And I’d had enough interaction with him and his boys at The Orange to know he wasn’t on the up-and-up most days. But ever since we’d met, since he’d done his best to pull me into the mystery of Siobhan Doyle and my father’s connection to that mystery, I’d felt an odd affinity for Malcolm Murray, one that deepened as my concern for his state of mind grew at the sight of him after he’d been missing from Reading for months.

  Before I could ask him where he’d been or what was going on, he pushed me away from him, releasing me as quickly as he’d grasped onto me. I staggered, not from the force of his motion but from surprise and gaped as he strode past me. I reacted without thinking, grasping for the elbow of his jacket, pulling him to a stop.

  “Malcolm,” I said, “where have you been?”

  He shook his head, tried to pull free, lips working but not saying anything.

  “Where is Siobhan?” I had a horrible feeling, one that appeared when he’d vanished, when I
failed to reach the older woman I’d only spoken to once on the phone from across the Atlantic. She’d told me she was coming to Reading, that she had affairs to put in order, that what she had to tell me had to be said in person. Frustrating as that was, I was used to it when it came to this particular situation. After all, my own father wouldn’t even talk about Siobhan or Malcolm and insisted I stay out of whatever linked their past to his.

  Like that would get him anywhere.

  Malcolm’s face crumpled at the mention of her name and for a moment I feared the worst. When he finally spoke, his voice cracked, his accent harsher than usual. “At home, in Ireland.”

  “You went to see her.” He nodded, though that much was obvious. “She said she wanted to talk to me in person. Malcolm, I need to know what’s going on.”

  Whatever willingness he felt to fill me in further died as he caught sight of someone across the lobby. But when I looked up, following his gaze, I couldn’t tell who his target was, there were so many people milling around. He pulled free at last, scowling at the floor, no longer meeting my eyes.

  “I have other business, lass,” he said. Paused, inhaled, exhaled a shaky breath before finally looking up and meeting my gaze, his green eyes rimmed in moisture. I wasn’t expecting such a display of emotion from him and found myself responding, my hand going out to his arm, my throat tight as matching sorrow answered though I had no idea what made him so upset. “Maybe your da, he’s right, Fee.” What? Since when? “Maybe the past, it needs to stay in the past. For all our sakes.” And, with that, he walked away, hands in his pockets, shoulders bowed. Not the man I knew at all.

  Making me even more determined to find out just what it was he and my father were hiding.

  I checked in with Mom briefly, but didn’t linger, heading out and into the back hallway, head down, still thinking about Malcolm and that particularly lingering headache. Why did new shiny mysteries (like Alicia and Jared and Jill) always seem to take precedence to the ones that I really needed answers to (like Siobhan and the Reading horde and the Pattersons and Blackstone)? Seriously, my brain needed some kind of priority overhaul, because when I wasn’t pondering something that had nothing to do with me I was on autopilot and nothing got in outside the mundane of my day-to-day.

  Funny how being distracted seemed to be getting me into trouble today. When I exited the kitchen and made my way down the hall, I was walking at a good enough clip that when the tall, handsome—if older—gentleman leaving the men’s facilities made his presence physically known I didn’t have time to stop and instead ran right into him. Frederick Newmark’s initial sneering reaction turned to a sort of vile little grin of appreciation that gave me the instant heebies while he looked me over, big hands grasping my upper arms where they’d risen to catch me. Thing was, he didn’t immediately let me go, leering—yes, leering openly, the old reprobate—down the front of my t-shirt. I pulled away, blushing as I realized the normally modest top had stretched at the V-neck, likely thanks to lugging flats of water bottles, exposing the curve of my bra. I hastily rectified the situation, wondering what was going on with me today that I had more confrontations to deal with than not, a personal record.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you could be a model?” He winked at me, pale eyes narrowed, fake tan barely hiding his advancing age, some kind of procedure to tighten his skin making him look like he’d been stretched just a bit too thin. He raised one hand again, a diamond ring flashing on his middle finger, and I dodged it, unable to stop the scowl of ew, gross that crossed my face.

  “Seriously?” I huffed and moved on, doing my best to ignore the teensy tiny little thrill of maybe I could have been someone that his words roused in me while mentally kicking the girl within who needed such validation.

  In the car on the way home I had to admit, even yucked out by him, his question had impact on me. And I was old enough to know better, successful and in love. What kind of sway would he have over someone less put together? Because, hello, I was put together.

  Yeah, okay, Fee. Sure.

  At home I shrugged off the weird encounter and headed down to my apartment with my pug huffing her way on my heels to the kitchen. I immediately called Siobhan’s number again, but ran into the same problem I’d had so many times before.

  “We’re sorry,” the recorded voice said, “but the mailbox for the number you’ve dialed is full. Please hang up and try again.”

  Heart heavy, knowing there wasn’t anything else I could do, I dove into paperwork and Petunia’s and did my best to put it out of my mind.

  Funny thing, right? The harder you try to forget about something, usually the more it surfaces until it’s about to drive you bonkers. I sighed over a paragraph I’d tried to read at least four times before sitting back and closing the internet browser, not really caring about shifts in tax law at the moment while my worry about Siobhan and Malcolm’s change in attitude weighed on my mind.

  I was just about to dial Dad and demand answers—surely he’d come to his senses if I pushed him hard enough (right, Fee, because you would and you were just like your dad, silly goose)—when my phone rang of its own accord. I squeaked out a mouse-like protest, realizing I’d been staring at the thing as if it were a snake about to bite me, letting out a little snort of amusement at my own reaction while I answered the familiar number.

  Alicia didn’t give me time to say hello. The moment I tapped the green receiver button, her panicked voice shrieked my name on the other end of the line.

  “FEE! I need you at the lodge. NOW!” She promptly hung up.

  No further attempts to reach her made it through. I glanced outside at the darkness, tucking into my down jacket, wondering if I needed to call Crew but sighing and heading out with a quick wave for Daisy who let me go without questions. Whatever the disaster, I was sure I could handle it at 7PM at night. Alicia did tend toward the hysterical from time to time, bless her heart. If there was some kind of drama with the fashion show, I wasn’t sure I was the best person to help her, but she was my friend and I was willing to give it a go.

  Back door.

  I caught that text as I parked and, frowning at Alicia’s cryptic message, hurried around to the rear entrance near the ski lift. She met me there, shaking, eyes huge, hands grasping me and jerking me inside before she slammed the big door shut. The hall lights were out for some reason and when I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on, she instead yanked on me, pulling me through the side door and into the staging area for the fashion show. The large dining room had been converted into seating with the central catwalk taking up the center. I stopped at the edge of the chairs, confused and now very worried while Alicia’s face, pale and panicked, glowed under the faint lights of the emergency lamps overhead.

  What happened to the main lighting? Was this the emergency she needed help with? I wasn’t sure what I could do to—

  My gaze caught movement over Alicia’s shoulder and I froze, trying to identify the object while my heart skipped but my brain sighed a long and bitter oh no way, come on, really?

  Something swung from the ceiling, something long and slim with blonde hair, dressed in a gown and giant silver shoes, something that looked far too much like the dead body of Faith Leeman to be anything else.

  Alicia chose that moment to take a deep breath. And scream like she’d been waiting this whole time, for my arrival and support, to let it out.

  ***

  Chapter Eleven

  “Well,” I said, trying for cheerful as my boyfriend’s face settled into the familiar scowl he wore when I came into close proximity of a dead body, “at least I wasn’t the one who found it this time, right?”

  Crew didn’t comment, instead focusing, it seemed, on breathing slowly and patiently, bless him. “Tell me everything,” he said, that graveled depth of tone just as familiar, though I had to admit I found it sexier than usual, rather than irritating like I used to. He loved me, didn’t he? I could afford to relax a bit.

  Al
icia hovered next to me, hand grasping mine tightly, face pale save for two bright pink spots on the points of her cheeks and mottled down her neck and décolletage. Hey, I’d been there, no way was I judging her visceral reaction to finding Faith Leeman hanging from the ceiling.

  At least she hadn’t had to deal with being pressed up against the woman’s body, had she? Not like my run-in at Zip It!. Comparing deaths was equal parts disturbing and natural at this point, something I wasn’t sure I wanted to share with Crew.

  “Can you tell me,” the sheriff said with the faint tick under his eye bouncing, proof he wasn’t happy about the present situation while Dr. Aberstock oversaw the slow lowering of the dead model’s body onto the tarp he’d laid out on the catwalk. I tried to ignore the slow swaying of her limp form, the way she turned on the scraps of fabric twisted around her neck, how the creaking of the pipe overhead made my heart leap at each moaning protest. At least the scaffolding held, so kudos to the crew who put the stage together, and the tall ladder was easy access, so whether suicide—unlikely—or murder—my gut screamed that was the case—it had been likely easy enough for whoever did this to gain access to the means to hang her.

  Which meant someone strong. So a man? One of the designers, possibly? Or two women, even. Kami had clearly shown animosity. She could have had help.

  Not that it was right or anything, but I had this habit of guessing.

  I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until the body touched the stage. Meanwhile, Crew had finished his sentence and I almost missed it. “Why is it, Miss Conway, you decided to call Fee instead of the sheriff’s department when you discovered the body?”

  Ah. That’s why he was upset. Well, I could hardly blame him. And I really should have asked that question myself. Pretty telling, I guess, that wondering why Alicia brought me in before Crew hadn’t even crossed my mind. That’s what I got for being the center of the murder scene here in Reading.