Fashion Faux Paw (13 page)

“Now, Nola, that isn’t professional,” her partner interrupted.

“I know, but this isn’t a public outing. And anyone who knew her will tell you the same thing.” The CEO leaned back in her chair. “Knowing Lilah had a fresh mouth and a nasty way of treating others, I wasn’t surprised when Jeffery accused her of thievery. But he had no proof, so we had to go with the designs that were submitted, and hers were definitely at the top of the list. When we saw what happened onstage, we were more than happy to give Kitty a chance to prove herself.”

“But what do you think about Jeffery King being accused of killing Ms. Perry?” asked Ellie.

“Jeffery? We believe he’s innocent.” Nola clutched Morgan’s hand. “That’s another thing we need to discuss.”

“Hey, aren’t we gettin’ a little off topic here?”

Ellie bit her lower lip. She didn’t like the sound of Nola’s last sentence and decided to wrap things up as fast as possible. “So, Cassandra, do you think you could work with Lilah’s dog? He seemed sweet and easy to handle. Call Yasmine and ask her about him, why don’t you?”

Cassandra exhaled a breath. “Okay, yes. I have her number, and I’ll call her tonight. If she thinks Klingon will walk the runway with me, I’ll use him. In a way, it will be a tribute to Lilah. That should make Nola Morgan Design look sympathetic in the press, don’t you think?”

“Exactly,” Clark Fettel agreed. “Stellar promotion for NMD. We’re honoring Lilah Perry’s memory. No one need know she was a bitch.”

The three women gasped in tandem. “Really, Fettel, was that necessary?” asked Morgan.

“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
tsk
ed. “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?”