Fashion Faux Paw (34 page)

“Sure you could,” Marcus interjected. “Let her do what she does best. It’ll be worth the price.”

“It’s not the cost, but I could never take up the slot she might need for someone important.”

“Don’t worry. I decide who I’ll take care of, not people who think they’re important,” Karen said, lifting her glass. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to talk to someone else before I leave.”

“Well,” said Ellie, watching her head into the living room. “That was a nice surprise. Thank you.”

“No problem. I knew you admired her work, and she was in line for a drink, so . . .” Marcus grinned. “By the way, did I really see you talking to your dog again when we headed over?”

“Talking to my dog?” She took another sip of her champagne, savoring the bubbly wine’s flavor. Thanks to Georgette and Flora Steinman, she was adept at identifying quality champagne, and this was some of the best. “Okay, you caught me again. But you must know by now that Rudy and I have a special connection. He knows—I mean he seems to know—exactly what I say or want him to do, and I use it to my advantage.”

His lips rose up at one corner. “Your advantage?”

Ellie gave herself a mental head-slap. She really did need to come up with some pat descriptions of the bond she and her pal shared without spilling the beans on their special ability. “I guess it’s the emotional advantage I’m talking about. He comforts me when I’m upset, listens to my ideas and never says they’re stupid, supports me when I want to try something weird, that sort of thing.”

“So if I listen when you’re upset, never say you’re dumb, and cheer you on if you want to climb the Empire State Building I’ll rise a notch on your love ladder?”

She inhaled a breath, hoping to will away the blush. Would Marcus ever stop flirting or trying to get on her good side? “I just drop the so-called friends who think I’m stupid. That way, everyone close to my heart listens when I complain or ask questions that some might consider to be a bit . . . below average.”

“Even the guy you live with?”

Ah, finally, a question about Sam.
“Of course he does. If he didn’t, I could never love him.” She arched an eyebrow. “You’ve met Sam. Surely you understand the type of relationship we’re in. How we trust each other and allow each other to do what we think is right.”

He straightened his shoulders, aligning his Armani tux as if preparing for a
GQ
photo shoot. “All I know is I met a macho guy who seemed to be an expert at subtle intimidation. His handshake was just short of a vise, his eyes warned me off his turf, and his body language said if I touched you the way I wanted to I was toast.”

“He’s a cop. Being assertive is cemented in his DNA.” She took another swallow of champagne, ignoring the touch remark. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m starving. I’m going to check out the food situation.”

“You do that. I’d like to find Kitty. I didn’t have time to congratulate her properly, and I should.”

Ellie aimed for the dining room, where she found another thirty or so people either sitting at tables and enjoying the food, or talking while they wandered the length of the two buffet setups ringing the room.

Straight out of a photo in
Food & Wine
magazine, the beginning of the table was piled high with cold dishes. Huge shrimp, caviar on creamy white cheese, lobster salad, oysters on the half shell, and a dozen other top-of-the-line items graced one side while further down skewers of filet mignon, a whole carved turkey, a round of beef being sliced by a waiter, and a variety of other warm dishes sat waiting.

The second table, piled high with sweets, held trays of chocolate truffles, miniature fruit tarts, plates holding bite-sized creampuffs, and small bowls of lemon mousse. A huge cake, iced in white, filled the center of the table with the words NOLA MORGAN DESIGN CONGRATULATES KITTY KING written in bold red script.

While making her choices at the dinner table, something brushed her shoe and she held back a squeak. Glancing down, she spotted the two mini Schnauzers sitting upright, paws out, in the typical beg position, waiting for her to answer their request for a treat.

Squatting, she grinned. It was the first time she’d seen Klingon act like a real canine in all the time she’d known him, which boded well. Maybe the little guy was getting over the loss of his mistress. Locating an empty table, she waggled a finger, asking them to join her.

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves,” she teased, taking a seat and setting her plate down. “You’re both so adorable no human can resist you. How many goodies have you finagled so far?”

“Not as many as you think. Yasmine dropped us off only a couple of minutes ago and told us to be good, and we’re givin’ it our best shot.”

She realized Jojo was the one talking and took stock of his outfit. The dogs were dressed in their identical designer creations, but he wore all four booties, which meant that Klingon was the mini Schnauzer that was bootie-free. “How are you doing, Klingon?” she asked him, her expression one of understanding. “Are you still missing Lilah?”

The dog shook from head to tail, ruffling his salt and pepper hair.
“I miss her, but Yasmine’s been nice. She said she’d find me another home, but there’s only one I want.”

Ellie opened and closed her mouth. “You already know where you want to live?”

“With the prince, of course. I know he likes me.”

“Oh, well then,” she muttered, trying to get hold of exactly what he was saying. What was it about Morgan Prince that made Klingon trust him? She finished her champagne and set the empty glass on the table. “Are you saying then Mr. Prince and Lilah were good friends, and that’s how you know him?”

“Yep.”

Before she could ask him more, Klingon did a little dance of excitement. “Ms. Engleman,” said a voice she recognized. “I’m so happy you decided to join our party.” Morgan Prince gave a lazy grin as he looked her over. “I saw you when you first came in, but I couldn’t break free from my guests. That jumpsuit is perfect for a woman of your stature.”

He took a seat and held up a hand, a signal for Ellie to hold back a comment. “Don’t get me wrong. Just because I live in the fashion world doesn’t mean I agree with those in this business who think thin is the only look a woman can have to be desirable. I find your ample dimensions to be quite pleasing.”

Blindsided by his compliment, she drew in a surprised breath. “Oh, well, ah, thank you.”

Klingon jumped into his lap, and Morgan ran a hand over the dog’s head. “Our Ms. Engleman is an attractive woman, don’t you think?” he asked the well-dressed dog.

The conversation was too off-the-wall for Ellie to handle. She’d been talking, really talking, to the mini Schnauzer, and now a man who was starting to stack up as a suspect was conversing with the dog, too.

And doing it while he made a pass at her!

The whole goofy scenario gave her brain pain.

“Don’t look so surprised, Ms. Engleman. I’ve heard several designers comment on you tonight already. They’ve noticed the excellent way you carry yourself, and the way you look in that outfit. I think you could have a future in this business, if you wanted. What do you think?”

She felt another mental head slap coming. She’d been going over things in her mind while he’d been talking. Everything started falling into place. The gift bags had been put together in Morgan Prince’s office. He’d been wandering the snack area during the morning of that first showing. And Klingon just admitted that Prince and his mistress knew each other well.

Lilah was caustic, brash, and had no care for anyone but herself. Did she and Prince have a personal relationship? One so intimate that she could demand he give her the win in the NMD contest? And when he said no, did she threaten to go to Nola McKay and tell her that she and Nola’s trusted business partner were having an affair?

Her logic slammed to a stop. Then why would they hire her to prove Jeffery King innocent?

When she realized he was waiting for an answer, she collected herself. “I appreciate the kind words, but I could never put myself out there the way professional models do.”

The answer popped into her head. Nola had been the one to insist they try to save Jeffery. Morgan probably went along with the idea because he thought it impossible for a dog walker to uncover anything of importance. Jeffery had an excellent lawyer. There were so many people who hated Lilah that cops would never be able to pin her killer down.

“There are lessons in deportment, body carriage, that sort of thing, available, you know,” Prince continued. “Just consider it. We can talk later.” Setting Klingon down, he smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe we’ll be lauding Kitty and cutting the cake in a short while. Wait here and you can enjoy the festivities.”

Ellie leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and did as he suggested, but instead of thinking about becoming a model, which was ridiculous, she thought about the words he’d used to seduce her to his side. How dare he believe she would swallow his idiotic compliments and take him up on becoming a fashion model?

And how stupid of him to think she didn’t have enough brains to prove he was Lilah Perry’s killer.

Close to fuming, she saw Claire’s gun-toting, so-so replacement, Beatriz Alfonso, filling a plate on the other side of the room. Dressed in Marcus’s first creation, wide black slacks and a fitted red jacket, she turned and Ellie thought she saw an unflattering bump in the woman’s back. Odder still, she wore a small black flower high on her left shoulder that looked out of place, especially since it wasn’t a part of Marcus’s original design.

She scanned the dining room, looking for her boy. Too bad Rudy hadn’t heard Morgan Prince’s words. He would have gotten an exact read on the man and his remarks. And where was Marcus?

She took a bite of her lobster salad as she again checked the room. Beatriz had walked off with her food, Morgan had disappeared, and the few people left were speaking privately at their tables. When a waiter came through the kitchen door, she decided the time was right. Standing, she strode through the archway.

The restaurant-sized kitchen buzzed with excitement. A pair of chefs dressed in white aprons and puffed hats puttered at the double sinks. After cleaning trays, they passed them across the island to hovering waiters who would use them to go into the apartment and clear the rooms. Some raised their heads and took her in, then went back to work straightening the area. No one asked if they could help her or questioned why she was there.

Spotting a cupboard that appeared the right size for a storage pantry, she edged over and peeked inside. Things were set up in an orderly manner with olive oils, both plain and flavored, vegetable oil, and peanut oil clustered together in a corner of one shelf. Next to the oils were teriyaki and oyster sauce, tomato paste, and expensive jars of bottled pasta toppings. The display made perfect sense, especially when paired with the boxes of penne, rigatoni, linguini, and various rice containers. No one would think the peanut oil strange, even the police if they happened to run a search.

“Are you looking for something special?” a dark-haired woman wearing an outfit identical to the other caterers’ finally asked. “I’m the person responsible for the success of this party,” she said in take-charge manner. “If you need something in particular, let me know, but the kitchen is closing. I believe they’ll be cutting the cake and toasting the contest winner in the next thirty minutes.”

“Oh, gee, I apologize,” Ellie responded. “I was just, uh, looking for the nearest restroom.”

The woman eyed Ellie as if she had two heads. “But this is a kitchen.”

“Yeah, I see that now,” she answered, feeling like a class-A dope.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “There’s a half bath off the entry hall, another bathroom in the back hall through the living room, and another farther down between two guest bedrooms.” Taking her by the arm, she guided Ellie to the door. “The only one that’s off limits is Nola and Morgan’s, in their living space behind the dining room.”

Ellie nodded and took off, following a waiter carrying an empty tray. While she’d been gone, the dining room had filled with more guests, gathered there, she imagined, for the ceremony. With so many people in the room, she was certain no one would notice her.

Inhaling a breath, she entered the hallway to Nola and Morgan’s private quarters.

Ellie shook her head the second she arrived in the room. What in the heck should she look for? What would be positive proof that Morgan Prince, not Jeffery King, had murdered Lilah Perry? She really needed Rudy. He’d have a handle on things, and he’d know exactly what they needed to prove Morgan guilty.

Raising her eyes, she gazed in awe at her surroundings. The room was enormous, with a canopied king-sized bed, nightstands, a chest of drawers, a mirrored dresser, and books crowding a wall of shelves that also held a large flat-screen TV.

She checked her watch. Marcus might be looking for her, but with the mob in the dining room he probably figured she was stuck behind a gaggle of models. She’d be out of here soon.

She walked through the first door on her left and took stock. The closet, filled with dresses, skirts, feminine suits and slacks on hangers, shoes and sweaters in a stand of plastic boxes, and handbags on a wall of shelves, was packed. The floor under the clothing was littered with shopping bags and more shoe boxes. All this stuff had to be Nola’s, and from what Ellie could see, she wasn’t very neat.

Peering into the next doorway, she studied the bathroom with its single sink, walk-in shower, huge Jacuzzi tub, and commode area. The counter around the sink held makeup, perfume, hairspray, brushes, and all manner of feminine products, telling her this room, too, was Nola’s.

But she didn’t want to snoop in the diva designer’s things. She was looking for Morgan Prince’s private space. There had to be a second bathroom and dressing area that belonged to him.

She darted into the bedroom and scanned the walls, searching for a door that might lead to another dressing area. And there it was, in the back corner, out of the way and unassuming. Crossing the luxurious deep purple carpet, she opened the door and gave herself a mental high five. She’d found what she was looking for.