by Patti Larsen
“Sheriff Turner said she’d had a breakdown of some kind last year?” I glanced at him, surprised he was still seemingly content to remain silent.
Grace exhaled softly, face pinched with sorrow. “An unfortunate truth,” she said. “In the middle of the runway, wearing Mateo Marney’s latest masterpiece. She froze and then melted down. I was in the audience. It was… difficult.”
“Disgusting, you mean.” It was the first time Libby had spoken since Vivian’s appearance and her tone held zero sympathy for Noel. “She freaked out like she was high or something and started tearing off the dress, threw pieces of it into the crowd while she screamed profanities at everyone. She even lunged at Henry, tried to attack him where he was sitting at the end of the runway.” Libby didn’t stop staring at the floor but her frown spoke volumes of judgment. “They had to drag her away.”
Grace didn’t speak for a long moment after Libby finished but finally did before I could. “Noel claimed someone drugged her to make her snap like that. And I suppose it’s possible. But she burned a lot of bridges that night and since then. It’s a small community, really. Once you’re labeled as difficult…” she spread both hands wide, the tissue in her right dangling between her thumb and index finger like a wounded butterfly. “She and Faith were never friends, not really. I wondered why Noel went after her so adamantly after the fact, though she didn’t come out and accuse her of being the one who slipped her whatever made her crack.”
Interesting. And definitely motive for murder, if that was the case.
Crew’s barest nod told me he was thinking the same thing, his blue eyes turning to the staircase while I posed another question.
“Any idea why she’d be writing to Henry?” I saw Grace twitch, Libby’s sudden guilty look, Vivian scowling. But it was Libby who answered.
“Isn’t it obvious?” She snorted, finally looking up, so much anger behind her eyes I almost shivered. “She’s been trying to get him to sign her again. Doing everything she can to get back on his good side.” Was Libby doing the same for some reason? Did she realize speaking up made me wonder all the more what the two had been talking about?
“Someone should inform her that bashing the industry and those influential in it isn’t helping her case.” Vivian’s crisp coldness was, at least, familiar, if not the comforting way she held Grace still.
“There’s always the worry that Noel is trying to use Henry to ruin Grace.” Libby didn’t meet her boss’s eyes, but some of the heavy fury was gone, at least. “Though I have no idea what she thought she had that could accomplish anything. Surely if she had information she thought relevant she would have posted it on that ridiculous blog of hers by now.”
“Or not,” Crew said, softly enough we all jumped just a bit, as if the women in the foyer had forgotten he was there. His tone stayed quiet as he went on, like he dealt with nervous rabbits in a meadow, not three unhappy women (girlfriend excluded, of course). “If she had something that she could use against Grace and get her job back, it might be in her best interest to keep it from the public, bring it to Henry first.”
That made sense to me.
“I have to ask.” Crew cleared his throat, eyes locked on the designer. “Where were you earlier this evening, Miss Fiore? Between 6:30 and 7PM?”
Grace’s demeanor shifted from sorrowful to regret, though her dignified answer was precise and professional. “I was alone,” she said, “working on new designs while I had dinner.”
Crew didn’t comment, just turned to Libby. “And you, Miss Kim?”
Libby glanced at Grace, then Vivian, flinching slightly before she sighed and shrugged. I anticipated her answer, but was just as surprised as the others when she responded with a name I wasn’t expecting.
“I was with Mateo.”
***
Chapter Fifteen
That admission got enough of a response from Grace and Vivian it was pretty clear Libby fraternizing with a rival designer wasn’t exactly status quo. Made me wonder what they’d think about her cozy chat with Henry.
“I’m sorry,” Libby gushed to her boss, regret clear, hand outstretched. “I was just talking to him. Not about work, I swear.”
Grace’s simple nod covered her initial reaction. “I understand,” she said, turning away, toward the kitchen door and the pass through to the annex across the yard, before pausing to meet my eyes, hers sad all over again. “If there’s nothing else, Fee?”
I glanced at Crew who didn’t argue. “I’m sure a review of the tapes will prove you were where you said you were.” Weak, but it gained me a smile from the designer.
“I’m sure.” She nodded to Crew. “If you don’t mind, Sheriff Turner, I’d like a chance to sleep a bit before I talk to you officially?”
Crew let her go without protest, Vivian glaring at him, then me, before leading Grace through the foyer and into the kitchen. He did stop Libby though, before the assistant could leave, with a gentle but insistent wave of his hand.
“I take it the nature of your visit with Mr. Marney was personal, then?” I caught myself blushing as Libby had her own slow, deep flush, before nodding. I just bet it was personal. “I’ll confirm with him, of course.”
Libby blanched then headed for the door. “Of course.”
We watched her go, Petunia’s yawn reminding me she was there as the oddly cat-like meow of it broke the tension of Libby’s departure.
“Was anyone seen in the security footage entering the stage around the time of the murder?” I turned to Crew who continued to stare at the staircase as if contemplating the unfolding case without me. When he finally looked down and met my eyes, he shook his head.
“Alicia’s working on it,” he said. “Seems there was some kind of glitch. I’m going to check back with her in the morning.”
Glitches weren’t usually a coincidence, in my experience. Before I could comment as such, the door opened yet again, evening traffic always increased, I noticed, when someone was murdered, and Jill slipped through. She was dressed in uniform, at least, back in her deputy persona, but she didn’t meet Crew’s eyes and she seemed grim, angry, uncomfortable when she spoke.
“I finished the background checks,” she said. Paused. “Sheriff.”
Ugh.
“Thank you.” Crew’s tone held nothing of animosity though she sounded completely unhappy with him when she spoke again.
“I was going to text you,” she said, enough anger in her voice I figured they’d had a conversation at some point I’d missed about communication, “but thought it would be best to deliver that in person.” She finally met his eyes. “So there’s no confusion as to what I told you and what I didn’t.”
Whoops. Okay, this was going too far, especially when Crew’s cool visibly cracked before he pulled himself together from the cheek tic and jaw leap in reaction to her words.
“A text would have been fine if I actually received it or an email or even a hint of what it is you were up to.” They glared at each other while my gut clenched and it became obvious to me what was going on.
Jill’s side hustle. Had she forgotten to tell Crew and he gave her a hard time and now the two of them were acting like little kids over it? Sigh. But no, it had to be more than that.
My deputy friend shrugged and turned toward the door. “Message delivered,” she said. “And received. Sheriff.” And then she was gone while I huffed at my boyfriend while he rubbed his forehead with one big hand like he knew I was about to give him a hard time.
“I’m pretty sure Jill’s ready to quit.” His voice was low, soft, sad. That cut off any kind of annoyed demands I might have placed on him to tell me details about their falling out. “She’s been in a bad place for months, Fee. Since last August and Lester Patterson’s murder.”
It wasn’t her fault Robert had been given the sheriff’s seat when Crew disappeared to help out the FBI on a case he’d left unfinished. But yeah, come to think of it, she’d been acting weird, reserved. When I’d almost b
een killed in November when she’d failed to secure the firearms at the Black Mountain retreat, she’d been pretty hard on herself, and hard on me, too, come to think of it. Was she feeling like she had something to prove?
“I think she’s being unduly influenced.” Crew’s hands settled at his hips, staring down at Petunia like she had answers to his most burning questions.
“Matt?” No, couldn’t be. Her boyfriend was sweet, kind. And, if I was going to be honest, the park ranger wasn’t the brightest bulb on the string.
Crew’s lips thinned before he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “You’re usually faster on the uptake, Fleming.”
And then it hit me. Like a ton of bricks and a runaway freight train and a cannon ball to the solar plexus. “Robert.” Snarl.
Crew didn’t agree, didn’t have to. Though, he did frown softly a moment later. “He’s been putting a lot of pressure on her,” he said. “But it’s weird, Fee. Not like him, far too clever. Manipulative, you know? Twisted, smart pressure. Nothing of his usual heavy-handed idiocy.”
Which told me the real culprit. “Has to be Rose.” What did she have against Jill? Was Daisy’s half-sister still trying to get her Robertkins into the sheriff’s seat? Good luck, sister.
The sheriff’s heavy sigh told me he’d come to the same conclusion. “No way he came up with this slow destruction of Jill’s confidence on his own.”
I touched his arm, hesitant and worried suddenly. They’d failed to take Crew down by force. Could they do it through slow and steady erosion? “You’re okay?”
He laughed suddenly, hugged me, kissed my forehead, the delicious scent of him washing over me, shutting down my worry. “I’ve never been better, Fiona Fleming.” He pushed me gently away and smiled down at me and for a long moment it felt like he had something more to say.
Mom usually had amazing timing, but not so much tonight. She slipped through the kitchen door just as Crew’s lips parted to speak.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding contrite and genuinely apologetic, “but I need to see Fee.”
Crew grinned at her, nodded, kissed me softly on the lips. “It can wait.”
I let him go, watching that fine back end leave my foyer with enough heat in my cheeks I could have told my mother she had her own things to deal with and leave me out of it because I was following Crew home like the shameless, wonton hussy I was. Except, instead, I sighed out my desire and turned with reluctant obedience for the kitchen door and my mother’s wicked grin.
“There’ll be other evenings with the handsome sheriff,” she whispered. “For now, we have a visitor. And you’re going to want to hear what she has to say.”
I followed Mom inside, realizing she probably didn’t know Crew was on board with my investigation and had my back, protecting me, clear as glass when I laid eyes on Kami perched at the counter, the skinny young woman stuffing herself on fresh bread and butter like she had never eaten in her life.
***
Chapter Sixteen
Her guilt didn’t stop her from shoving another dripping slice of carb-laden wheat goodness into her mouth, though I could tell from the way Kami’s face twisted at the sight of me she struggled with her choice. I kept my expression as unjudging as possible and settled next to her, even smiling while she barely chewed, swallowed a giant mouthful and took another massive bite, this slice loaded down with a huge heap of Mom’s strawberry jam dripping from the edges.
“Mom’s the best cook, isn’t she?” I helped myself to a piece, though with a bit more reserve when it came to the toppings. Kami took my participation as acceptance and beamed around the mouthful she fought to consume.
When she finally swallowed, she hugged herself, groaning softly. “This is the yummiest,” she said, sing-songing the words. “Just the yummiest yummy I’ve ever had. Thank you, Lucy. You’re the best.”
Mom smiled at her, too, pushing the plate toward Kami who eyed the remaining three slices of fresh bread with a visible hunger that made me worry for the safety of the plate, Mom’s fingers and anything else that came between the clearly starving young model and the heavenly scented slice of homemade goodness that begged for butter and jam. I’d cut back on the carbs myself lately, at least when I ate here at Petunia’s, if only because Crew was so fond of pasta. But certainly didn’t make a huge deal about it and suddenly felt very sorry for the young woman who moaned her despair before diving for the last of the bread with zeal.
“I’m so sorry.” She finally managed to talk around a bite a bit less gigantic, no longer a choking hazard, at least. “I’m not usually like this. It’s just I fast when I’m about to do a show and I’m just so hungry.”
No judging, Fee. No. Judging. “It can’t be easy,” I said instead.
She didn’t need much prompting to keep talking, bobbing her head with great enthusiasm, her dark hair tied tight into a ponytail, the nondescript hoody and jeans she wore clear evidence she’d snuck her way in here. “It’s awful,” she said, eyes wide, unblinking as she licked at her fingers. “I’m going to pay for that.” Regret came in a gush of guilt I could almost feel.
Great, all I needed was for her to crash and burn before she could fill me in on why she was here in the first place. Mom nodded quickly to me and I leaped on the chance as Kami’s hands settled on her flat stomach.
“I hear Grace is much more understanding about the size of her models.” That seemed to be the right thing to say. Kami’s face stilled, faint smile rising and she appeared to pull herself out of the lure of her guilt long enough to answer.
“She’s awesome,” the young model said, sounding genuinely impressed. “She’s different, you know? She cares about us. Don’t get me wrong.” She reached forward and grasped my wrist, her thin hand surprisingly strong. She was so tiny beside me, though taller than I was, reminding me of Willow though with more of a waifish look to her compared to my actor friend’s ethereal beauty. “A lot of the designers are really wonderful, they’re just… artists, you know? Distracted. Sometimes when they dress us it’s like we’re mannequins. Not people. But I’m not complaining.” She wriggled on the stool, hands sliding into the front pouch of her dark blue hoody, far too big for her. “I have to keep reminding myself Grace sees me when we’re working. And she’s fine with me not being in perfect shape.” Why did it sound like Kami didn’t approve of that despite her clear love for all things carbs?
“Did you know Faith very well?” Maybe I could have been a bit more circumspect, but Kami seemed agreeable enough and she had to be here for a reason, right? Hopefully with information about the death. Why else would Mom have dragged me away from Crew the way she did? Besides, she’d been on my suspect list, what with the animosity the pair shared on the runway. Then again, I’d known Faith all of about a minute and couldn’t stand her, so anyone could have been the murderer.
Fee. Be nice.
Kami’s eye roll and exaggerated expression told me I’d supposed correctly. “Honestly, Faith was the worst.” She sat back, looking between Mom and me like we should agree with her immediately. “You do this job long enough? You figure out what’s what and who’s in the know. And her list was the longest of anyone’s.”
Sounded helpful. “List?”
She chewed in ecstasy a moment before wiping at her lips with her fingertips, tucking crumbs into her mouth. “You know, a hit list. Stuff that we all play close. Details about people we can use to get ahead.” She shrugged. “It’s a thing.”
Huh. “And you brought this to me why?”
Kami shrugged her thin shoulders inside the bulky sweater. “Vivian French brought me,” she said. Ah, gotcha. “She said you’d be able to use what I’ve got better than the cops.”
It wasn’t like I had illusions about Vivian’s faith in the Reading Sheriff’s Department, but seriously. She was taking this whole Fee solve the murder thing to the limit. If Kami did have information about who killed Faith, it was just irresponsible to come to me first.
So, n
aturally, I did the obvious. “Go ahead,” I said, contributing to the delinquency of the situation with willing participation and my own layer of guilt. “Tell me what you know.”
Kami’s grin lit her up and I realized as she spoke she had no buried grief over the other model’s loss. If anything, this was her true bread and butter, if you’ll pardon the reference. “So, last year during Fashion Week, there was this big blow up between Mateo and Faith. No one knew why.” Her gossiping tone was about on point with the old ladies who watched every single thing that happened in the mean streets of Reading and I had to suppress a giggle at the comparison. Focus, Fee. Murder investigation. “Anyway, that dress Faith was hung with?” How did Kami find out which dress it was? “She hated it. With a passion.” Her breathless voice dropped in volume and timbre and I found myself leaning close, Mom, too, to catch every word. “She went all diva about it, since it was a co-create with Mateo but Grace insisted she wear it.” Kami’s disdain for Faith’s unhappiness made her look like a thirteen-year-old girl in a high school spat. “She should have known not to argue. We don’t argue with designers. We wear their clothes.” Her hands exited the pouch and cut through the air in front of her like two quick karate chops. “End of story.” Skin slapped denim as her arms dropped. “Faith had attitude.” She glanced behind her though we were alone, as if checking to be sure no one overheard. Petunia’s soft whine of protest she’d been forgotten in the bread feast frenzy was the only sound before Kami went on, voice low again. “She complained. A lot. And not just about the clothes. About the other models. She called them fat.” Kami seemed shocked by that, though I wasn’t sure if she was surprised Faith used the word or what. “She didn’t want to comply with Grace’s sizing rules. They had a fight about her being underweight just yesterday.”
