Fashion Faux Paw (17 page)

“I can’t do it, I tell you. I just can’t do it.”

Ellie waited for Anton to finish mumbling as he paraded back and forth in front of the pen. His latest fuss had gone on for the past fifteen minutes, and she wasn’t quite sure why. The man hadn’t said five words to her since they’d met three days ago, and now he seemed up in arms, as if forced to make a life-or-death decision.

Quick as a blink, he stopped pacing and ran his hands through his generous thatch of coal-black hair, pulling at it until it stood on end. She took that as an opportunity to step in and stop his ridiculous tirade.

Circling the pen, she dodged Dominique and a few of the models, who seemed unimpressed by the designer’s show of distress. Standing next to him, she called his name as gently as possible. “Anton.”

The diminutive designer continued to gaze at the pen of pint-sized pooches, chewing on his lower lip.

“Anton,” she tried again. “Maybe I can help?”

“You aren’t reachin’ him, Triple E. He needs a hammer to that head of his Miss Clairol–dyed hair if you want to get his attention.”

Ellie, taller than the designer, was able to get a good look at chunks of four-inch spikes standing on end on the top of his head. Sure enough, he owed the jet-black color to a drugstore box, or maybe a professional hairdresser, possibly the infamous Karen Hood.

When he continued with his statuelike stance and vacant expression, she blew out a breath. Raising her hand, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Anton.”
Snap!
“Anton! Get hold of yourself.”
Snap! Snap!

“How about tossin’ a glass of cold water in his face?”

“Lord, no,” Ellie said. “That would get us fired for sure.”

“Fired?” Anton said with a shriek. “Am I being fired?” He whipped his head around to look at her. “If you have me fired, I’ll see you in court, bitch. I swear I will.”

Taken aback by his outburst, she crossed her arms, ready to let him know she wasn’t about to accept any of his smart-assed comments. But before she spoke someone came up on his other side and broke into their almost-brawl.

“That’s no way to talk, Anton. Try to control yourself,” Clark Fettel ordered. Cocking his head, he glanced at Ellie. “I can handle it from here, Ms. Engleman. Go back to whatever it was you were doing, please. We’ll speak in a few minutes.”

“Great! Now Fiddle-faddle is treatin’ you like a servant. What’s up with these bozos? If I didn’t know better, I’d say they all needed a go-round at getting their anal glands expressed!”

Swallowing a laugh, Ellie walked back to the chairs between the water cooler and food table. Leave it to her boy to give excellent but totally irreverent commentary. “How about you do some scouting work, instead of instigating a riot? Scope out the dogs who are with their models and see if there’s anything new we should know before we take on our next task.”

“You got it,”
Rudy said.

She watched him pad into the crowd, a mountain lion stalking prey. Intent on his mission, he appeared to be on the hunt, prowling in a low crouch, and she pitied the poor human or canine that got in his way. Then she walked to the other side of the pen, dropped to her knees, and ran her hand over the head of the white teacup Chihuahua named Daisy.

“Hey, little girl, what do you know about all this? Did you do something to upset Anton?”

“Nuh-uh,”
said the tiny dog, giving a body shake. Then she yakked for a full thirty seconds.
“I hardly met him. He hasn’t measured me or anything. At the rate he’s going, I’ll never see a costume or a photo spread, never mind a biscuit.”

“You didn’t bite him, did you?”

“Not really. I just growled a little. He’s not a nice man.”

“If I’m there with you when he does his job will you promise to be a good girl? No snarling or snapping?”

Daisy sighed.
“I guess.”

Ellie picked up her charge and carried her to where Clark Fettel and Anton were still in discussion.

“I know I was told that part of my job would be dressing a dog, but I thought it would be a full-sized one, not a rat.” Anton’s mouth turned down at the corners. “It showed me teeth.”

“But it’s a tiny thing. A bite couldn’t be that bad,” said Clark. “Besides, you will definitely lose the competition if you let Lawan walk the runway with a naked dog. Think about your career, man.”

“Gentlemen,” said Ellie. “Daisy is right here, and I promise she won’t bite. She won’t even growl, will you, baby?” she asked, nuzzling her nose into the Chihuahua’s neck.

Anton quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, and how do you know that? Did she tell you?”

“As a matter of fact, she did.”

The two men exchanged smug looks; then Anton spoke. “Really? Well, if that little rat even bares its teeth, I’ll have you in court faster than a—” Clark put a hand on the designer’s arm, but Anton shook him off. “That goes for Nola Morgan Design, too.”

“Now, now. There’s no need to get nasty,” Clark said, puffing out his chest like a rooster strutting the barnyard. “You signed a contract for this event, and we expect you to stand by it.”

“And he calls me a rat?”
Daisy asked.
“Why, I oughta—”

Ellie clamped her fingers around the Chihuahua’s muzzle. “Look, Anton, neither Daisy nor I appreciate your surly manner and rude comments. Just take out that tape measure and get to work. As long as I’m here—”

“I’ll be good as gold.”

The designer shook his head, glared, and pulled the requested item from his tote bag. Ellie bit back a gasp when she got a good look at the carryall, noting it was exactly like Lilah’s, or at least what she remembered of the dead designer’s tote. Did he and Lilah buy the bags together, as friends would?

Hands on his hips, Anton continued to glare. “All right, let’s get this over with.”

Ellie led him to the food table, where she had cleared an area for Kitty earlier. Marcus David and Fiona Ray had measured their canine models in the same spot, and it worked out well. Anton Rouch could use this space while she tried to make peace and ask about his relationship to Lilah Perry.

She set the Chihuahua on the table, touched Daisy’s nose, and, when she had the dog’s complete attention, said, “Remember, you promised.”

Daisy sniffed.

Anton stood in place. “You really do talk to them.”

“If by ‘them’ you’re referring to my charges, then yes, of course I do.”

He gave Ellie a tentative smile. “Sorry for the outburst. Something happened when I was a—a while back—and I’ve never been fond of dogs since, especially the small ones.”

“So you wouldn’t mind working with a larger canine?”

“Maybe so. The little ones are—they—” His cheeks turned a ruddy red. “Listen to me. I sound like a kid. Sorry about that.” He held out the tape measure. “Just hold it still—”

“
Its
name is Daisy, and I’m sure she’d like you to call her by name.”

He shrugged. “Hello, er, Daisy.”

Ellie smiled encouragement.

As promised, the Chihuahua stood quietly in place. Anton ran the tape from her neck to the start of her tail, and from paw to shoulder. Then he wound the tape around her chest, after which he wrote each number in his notebook. When finished, he hoisted his tote onto the table and tucked the notebook inside.

“That’s a nice bag,” said Ellie, picking up Daisy.

“Thanks. It’s new. And I appreciate you not calling it by one of those stupid names, like a man-purse or a male-pail.”

“I’ve been watching these past few days and I know how important a carryall is to someone in your line of work. It holds everything you need to do your job, just like mine. At least that’s what Lilah Perry told me when I spoke with her.” Ellie set Daisy in the pen, and returned to talk. “Your bag looks a lot like hers. Did you know Lilah well?”

He grimaced. “Well enough.”

Surprised by the vehemence in the two simple words, she said, “It sounds to me as if you felt about her pretty much the same way everyone else around here did.”

Anton stuffed the tape measure in his bag. “Probably.”

“Which means you weren’t thrilled to have had to deal with her.” She kept her expression understanding. “Being Lilah must have been difficult.”

He hoisted the carryall over his shoulder. “Lilah had no trouble being Lilah. In fact, she reveled in it.” He glanced around the circle, taking in the models, stylists, assistants, and gofers. “I doubt there’s a single person here that she didn’t abuse, annoy, or anger in one way or another.”

“It sounds as if you knew her fairly well,” Ellie continued to prod. “On a personal level.”

“Not that kind of personal.” He gave a cocky grin. “I play for the other team. Now thanks for helping with the do—I mean Daisy. I’ve gotta run.”

Ellie dropped to a seat on one of the chairs. Rudy immediately popped up beside her, and put his paw on her knee.

“Are you back already?”

“I sure am, and you wanna know what I just heard?”

“Ah, sure. What did you hear?”

“Muffin’s mom hated Lilah. She even said she was glad Lilah was dead.”

“Muffin’s mom? Do you mean Claire Smith?”

“That’s the one.”

“Really?” Ellie hadn’t talked with the model often, but she knew the woman was a friend of Cassandra, the girl who owned the Greyhound. “Did she say why?”

“Something about a guy. Lilah dated him first; then he met Claire and took up with her. That’s when Lilah spread a lie, and the guy dumped her.”

“Who was she saying this to?”

“Nobody in our crowd. A makeup person?”
Rudy sneezed, then jumped to the ground.
“Karen Hood, maybe?”

Karen Hood? That name kept coming up, and Ellie had yet to meet the woman. “I think she does hair.”

“Makeup, hair, whatever you humans do to beautify yourselves, it’s all the same to me.”
He scratched his side with a rear leg. “
Seems this Karen person had a beef against Lilah, too.”

She shook her head. After hearing Rudy’s report, Ellie realized something. Lilah had ruffled the feathers of just about everyone in this business, and there was no way she could sift through the past of each person in the fashion world to check out their gripe against the dead designer.

She rubbed the spot between her boy’s ears. “Thanks for the report. I have a lot to think about, and I still have to tell Patti about our idea.”

She needed to draw up a list of names and add whatever problem each person had with Lilah. Then she had to figure out if they were here that first day, and if so, when they’d arrived at the snack table. More important, she needed some kind of proof against someone clever enough to steal the EpiPen from Lilah’s tote, empty it of epinephrine by shooting it into an orange, and doctor the perfumed pages. Then, for a last trick, they’d stolen her swag bag without anyone seeing them do it.

She was dizzy just thinking about the steps the killer had taken, because as far as she remembered at least a hundred people or more had picked up refreshments during the day. She’d been outside with the dogs part of the time, but it was useless grilling Kitty about what she might have seen. The girl was upset enough about her brother. Any more questions and she might fall apart, which was something Ellie didn’t want to see.

She tried to help anyone who asked, especially if they were Rudy approved, and Kitty fit the bill. With her career hanging on the line, she deserved some attention.

“I’m gonna do more scouting. Maybe I’ll hear more.”

“Sure, fine, whatever,” Ellie said as he trotted away. “But be careful, and don’t get underfoot or annoy anyone.”

“It’s obvious you really love your dog.”

Ellie whirled around when she heard her new assistant’s voice. “Oh, hi. All done taking out the trash?”

“Yep. What else can I do to help?”

“Um, how about giving the guys a treat? I have biscuits in my tote under the table. You know the one?”

“Sure, and I can handle it. You take it easy.”

Julie dug in Ellie’s bag, pulled out the plastic container, and began passing out biscuits. A moment later, Patti, dressed in an outrageous purple gown with a silver high-back collar and tightly fitted silver sleeves, darted through the crowd.

“I thought you were doing Zac Posen. This looks like something Ming, that creepy guy from the old Flash Gordon films, would wear,” said Ellie.

Patti turned in place, showing off six-inch, silver stacked heels with lace-up straps. “Ugly, isn’t it?”

“The worst,” Ellie whispered in return. “So why are you here?”

The supermodel held up an envelope, and Ellie recalled the model’s promise.

“I told you I’d bring you these, remember?” Patti said, still whispering.

Accepting the tickets, Ellie asked, “Are they a secret?”

Patti shook her head. “Not in here, but, out on the street? I heard people are selling their extras for five hundred a pop. Can you believe it?”

“Wow.” If that was true, she was giving her mother and the judge a thousand-dollar gift. She couldn’t wait to tell Viv that the single ticket she’d received was worth that much in cash. “Then I guess I’d better tuck them away.”

“Who are they for?”

“They’re a birthday present for my mother, one for her and one for a friend or my stepfather. Whoever wants to join her.”

“I’d get rid of them fast, if I were you, before someone rifles through your bag,” Patti advised.

“Do you think Julie can be trusted to deliver them for me? Because Rudy gave me— I mean, I’ve come up with an idea for something the two of us can do tonight, which means I won’t have time to deliver them myself. If I tell you what it is, you can tell me whether or not you think you can carry it off.”

“Just make it fast. I’m up soon with this rag; then I’m onstage for another designer. I won’t be finished until four.”

Ellie quickly ran through her idea for later that night, giving Patti the new orders in a hushed tone. “I keep telling myself it’s legal because we’ll have permission, but . . .”