Stolen with Style (21 page)

I glanced at my watch and shook my head, frustration beginning to claw at me again.
Argh!
The thief was always one step ahead of me! According to Sebastian's schedule, the Alexander Wang show was now in full swing at the Neue Galerie uptown. And afterward, the entire group—even Cazzie—would be heading backstage, which meant that the thief would be rubbing shoulders with everyone from last Friday's shoot while they were congratulating the designer or preparing to leave and saying good-bye.

A shiver ran through me as I ran the last phrase through my mind.
Preparing
to
leave
and
saying
good-bye
. Why did that scenario sound familiar to me? What did it remind me of?

Argh! The reenactment I did with Chandra at her apartment suddenly came back to me, nearly making me choke. But not the second reenactment—the first one. The one when I'd been alone with her at her apartment and had shown her how the diamond had most likely been taken out of her shoulder bag after she'd
prepared
to
leave
and
was
saying
good-bye
.

I'd asked her to turn the music up and to put her bag on her shoulder exactly as she'd worn it in the studio at Juice on Friday. Then, when I'd leaned in to air-kiss her, I'd reached into her shoulder bag and taken out her hairbrush—in the same way I was sure the thief must have taken the diamond.

I silenced Sebastian with a wave of my hand and continued to stand while thoughts whirled through my mind.
Faster, Axelle, faster. The thief is way ahead of you. You're going to have to move more quickly if you want to catch up. Take a deep breath and go through your thoughts one by one.

I still believed the thief had stolen the Black Amelia from Chandra's handbag while they said good-bye to each other. And the thief now clearly knew that I was on their trail. They'd also been threatened by Cazzie with a deadline for delivery, and if they didn't hand over the gem, they knew Cazzie would report the theft.

Assuming the thief felt they'd had their fun with Cazzie and wanted to return the Black Amelia before the “game” turned more serious and they had the police breathing down their neck, was it too far-fetched to think that the thief might return the diamond in the same way they'd taken it? While saying good-bye with people around, just slip it into a handbag? Theoretically, why not? They'd done it once, to great effect. And stylistically, it fit. It also explained why the thief had thought to keep me away—although if they knew how far behind them I was, they wouldn't have had to worry.

So whose handbag would the Black Amelia be placed in?

As far as I could see, only one handbag made any sense—Cazzie's. And backstage, with all of the suspects present—and bound to greet her—she wouldn't be able to say which of them had given her the diamond back. Cazzie would never notice a thing.

I was furious with myself for not having been quicker. Of course, for all I knew, I was clutching at straws, but my hunch told me I wasn't—and at this point it was the best theory I had.

“I have to call Cazzie,” I said. “Maybe, if I can reach her and tell her…” Frantically, I reached for my phone and dialed her number. But I got no answer—just her voice mail. I left her a message and tried again anyway—with the same results.

“I'm sure I'm too late, but we've got to try anyway,” I said to Sebastian. “Come on! Forget the FIT. We need to get to the Neue Galerie!”

We ran to the intersection of Twenty-Third Street and Park Avenue to catch the uptown train. Traffic was building and the subway would be faster than a cab—or so I thought.

What I hadn't counted on—surprisingly, considering how often it happened at home in London—was that a “technical difficulty” would leave us stranded, sitting on the train for a good forty minutes. Despite reassurances from the conductor that they were doing their best to get things moving again, time seemed to stand still. By the time the engines started and the train pulled forward with a lurch, I was furious with myself for missing the only chance I was sure I'd get.

“According to your information,” I said to Sebastian, “if the show started on time, it should be finished by now. They're probably all backstage—and within striking distance of each other.
Argh!
I could really kick myself for not seeing this ploy. Some fashion detective I am!”

***

As soon as we got off on the uptown platform of the Eighty-Sixth Street and Lexington Avenue station, I felt sure we were too late. Elaborately turned-out fashionistas, phones in hand, were already filing into the subway station on their way to their next shows.

Come
on, come on
, I told myself as Sebastian and I ran the few blocks west on Eighty-Sixth Street to the Neue Galerie at Fifth Avenue.

The show must have started unfashionably punctually, I thought, as we came in sight of the gallery. I spotted Trish and Tom stepping out of a side door and reached for Sebastian's arm to stop him. Their assistants followed them, pulling various black suitcases packed with supplies. They were all laughing and talking. Clearly the show had gone well and they were happy to have another one done.

Following just behind them was a pack of long-legged, slim, giraffe-like creatures, their long necks and long strides marking them as models. In the midst of the group I easily made out Rafaela, Misty, and Chandra. All three—along with Ellie—stopped to sign autographs for the fans gathered outside.

Behind them I saw Peter and Brandon walk out together with the last wave of hairstylists and makeup artists. Peter paused to photograph the models as they signed autographs. Then I watched as Brandon said something to him. Peter stopped what he was doing and they hurriedly disappeared into a black Escalade and drove off. They were no doubt going to their next show—which was also the one I was due at, the Jorge Cruz show.

But first I had to find Cazzie. Ellie and the other models were leaving now. I continued to watch as a few more makeup artists and models trickled out. Finally the famous bloggers, journalists, and editors appeared. I recognized the one from
Teen
Vogue
who I'd sat next to at the
Chic
party. I also recognized a couple of famous fashion bloggers.

Then, finally, I saw Cazzie. I asked Sebastian to wait for me and made a beeline for her, catching up to her just as she walked past the paparazzi and slid into her waiting car.

When she noticed me, she beckoned me into her car. Then she asked Ira to step outside for a moment.

I took a deep breath and asked Cazzie to look in her handbag.

It took her a moment to find it. I watched as her hand moved around…but it was there. As her hand felt the diamond's hard case, her eyes lit up with surprise and disbelief.

“No, no, no…is it?” Then she inhaled sharply as she pulled the cloth bundle out of her bag. Her fingers were nearly shaking as she untied the cord, yanked open the bag, and let the diamond fall into her hand. Her relief was palpable. She leaned back in the plush leather seat and let out a very long breath.

The afternoon sun streamed in through the car window, making the diamond glow like a burning ember. All around us, hundreds of tiny sparkles danced as the Black Amelia reflected the sunlight off its faceted sides.

Then Cazzie threw herself at me and hugged me. “You did it! You did it, Axelle! You found the diamond. Thank God!”

***

I stood on the pavement and watched as Cazzie's car pulled out into the street. I couldn't remember any mystery ever leaving me feeling so gutted and just plain awful. Sure, Cazzie had her (or rather, Noah's) diamond back…but how much of a hand had I had in that? Honestly?

And I still had no clue who'd stolen it! Naturally, while basking in her sense of relief, Cazzie had started to ask me about the who, what, and whys of the theft. But—thank the fashion gods—then she'd realized that she had to be at a show in fifteen minutes and asked if we could meet in her office as soon as possible instead so she could give me her undivided attention. “Besides,” she said, as she pointed out the window, “I'd also prefer that Ira didn't have to stand outside for hours. He might start to wonder what's up. I've been acting strangely all week, after all.”

She didn't have to ask me twice. I'd already started to wince inwardly at the thought of answering her questions. As far as I was concerned, this case was still marked “Unsolved.” It would remain that way until I managed to outwit the perpetrator of the crime. And who knew how long that would take? Or if I would ever manage it.

I quickly sent Chandra a text message as promised, telling her that Cazzie had the diamond but asking her not to say anything to Cazzie, should she see her, because I hadn't had time to explain anything to her yet.

Chandra then asked me who'd taken the diamond. I answered that I'd see her at the Jorge Cruz show and explain things there. Then I slipped my phone into my shoulder bag and wrapped my trench coat tightly around me.

“Don't beat yourself up, Axelle.” It was Sebastian. He'd crossed the street just after Cazzie's car pulled away.

“I can't help it. I've been totally outwitted. And I missed the only chance I had to possibly catch the thief in action because I fell for their fake riddle and was too slow to pick up on their real intentions.
Argh!
”

“When do you leave New York?”

“My flight leaves on Saturday night. Why?”

“Because that still gives you forty-eight hours to solve the mystery.” He was smiling now. “And my flight doesn't leave until Saturday night either. Which means…”

“Yes, Watson?”

“That I am your able and willing assistant until then.” He laughed.

Whether he was really my mother's spy or not, the trouble was that Sebastian's blue eyes and ruffled hair were beginning to distract me on a regular basis again.
But
it's not like we have to hang out together, right?
I told myself.

“And I have another idea,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Could we maybe hang out together for a little while after your next show?”

Now he was being seriously distracting.

***

Music was blasting out of the speakers, and my hair was being back-combed—yet again—as a stylist strapped a pair of bright pink, patent leather stilettos onto my feet. Plus I had Pat on the phone.

Sebastian and I had taken the subway from the Neue Galerie to the midtown location of the Jorge Cruz show. I was now standing in a huge industrial loft space, behind long black curtains that separated the backstage area from the runway. The ceiling soared an easy twenty feet above us.

“
Teen
Vogue
will be shooting on location in Central Park tomorrow,” Pat was saying in my ear, “as long as the weather holds. If it doesn't, then I'll call you first thing in the morning—
as
if
she
didn't every day anyway
, I thought—“and give you the address of their alternate location. But the forecast is for wind and sunny skies like today, so I think you'll be lucky. Central Park is beautiful at this time of the year. But forget about the park—
you
better be beautiful, girl! I expect you to go straight to Miriam's to get some beauty sleep after Jorge's show.”

I thought of Sebastian and the dinner plans we'd made a little earlier. I could get out of them now that Pat had handily given me the perfect excuse.

But did I want to get out of our plans?

“Axelle? Are you there? We also need to talk about some options I have for you for next week—and next month. Girl, speak up! I can't hear you!”

Ellie was right—I did still like him. A lot.

And Ellie was also right about my not hearing him out—or to put it into detective speak, I'd jumped to conclusions about him and his actions without looking at all the evidence first. I mean, honestly, for all I knew, he could have had a good reason for talking to my mom.

Not that one exactly leaped to mind, but still…

I took a deep breath as the makeup artist powdered my nose.

“Axelle?” Pat brayed into the phone.

Grrr!
Would I ever get a moment's peace from Pat and her eternal options and castings and bookings? “Pat, I can't hear you because of the music and hair dryers. Can you email me and we can talk more about my options tomorrow? I have to concentrate on this show. You know how important it is to my career,” I quickly added.

“Ooh! Good, Axelle. Your passion for fashion is shining through yet again! You're right. So, yes, why don't we talk tomorrow? And look sharp on that runway, girl! I'll be watching you on the Fashion Channel!”

***

“What are you thinking about? You look all distracted.” It was Ellie. We were standing backstage together, waiting to walk out. “It's not a great look—but it's better than the one you had on your face earlier.”

I'd told her about Cazzie finding the diamond in her bag. Like Sebastian, she'd asked immediately how much longer I was staying and then said that I still had forty-eight hours to work on solving the case, so why was I fretting?

“Don't forget, during the collections they're often sewing the last stitches on a dress minutes before we walk out, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “And?”

“My point being,” Ellie continued, “that sometimes you have to take it to the limit. The frock isn't finished until every last sequin has been stitched on. I'm sure you'll solve this case before you leave. Just don't lose focus.”

She had a point.

“So what are you thinking about?” she asked again, snapping me back to the here and now. “The diamond?”