Model Under Cover--Dressed to Kill Read online

  “Yes, I understand, and that all sounds perfect, Tomasso, thanks.”

  “Anytime, mia bella. I love a model who’s motivated!”

  If only he knew just how motivated I was – to solve this case.

  I hung up and looked at my watch. Then I messaged Ellie to say I’d be at the Kristine Abrams casting soon and ask her if she wanted to have dinner with me and Sebastian afterwards. She did, and I texted back:

  Great! And, btw, you’re never going to believe what happened this morning at the studio…

  Ellie replied straight away:

  I’ve just heard about Elisabetta. So sad. Everyone is talking about it. Crime certainly seems to follow you around…

  A vision of Elisabetta’s glassy stare came vividly to mind and I felt my insides churn. Maybe Ellie had a point!

  I found Sebastian and Francesca outside on the pavement just in front of the door to Ugo’s building. They were laughing and talking.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I said brightly as I stepped out onto the warm street. I couldn’t help a touch of annoyance tingeing my voice and I hoped neither of them picked up on it.

  In the event I needn’t have worried. They were so engrossed in their conversation that I could have driven up to them on a bulldozer and they probably wouldn’t have noticed. I was keen to ask Francesca a few questions of my own, so I walked in between them and cleared my throat loudly. “I still can’t get over Elisabetta’s death,” I said.

  “I know – it’s terrible!” she answered, after dragging her attention away from Sebastian.

  “By the way, Francesca, did you happen to hear the argument last night between Ginevra and Elisabetta? Ugo told me it happened right here… How awful having an argument like that on her last night alive…”

  Francesca nodded. “It was exactly where we are standing. They were practically at each other’s throats.”

  “I thought it was just a little tiff.”

  “If that’s what you want to call it…” she said as she rearranged the bracelets on her slim wrist.

  “So what was it about?”

  I watched Francesca smile at Sebastian before turning to me. “The same old. Ginevra has always claimed that Elisabetta copied her magazine editorials and advertising campaign ideas.”

  “And did she?”

  “I don’t know – I’m too busy working on my own style. The Ventini style.”

  I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Instead I pursed my lips, then said, “It sounds like Ginevra really hated Elisabetta?”

  Francesca shrugged her shoulders. “Elisabetta wanted to step into Ginevra’s shoes. And the closer she got the more Ginevra freaked out. Ginevra has hated Elisabetta since for ever.”

  Francesca’s version of Elisabetta’s and Ginevra’s argument confirmed what Ugo had described. Hmm… I wanted to ask her about the monkshood too, but didn’t want to sound too much like a detective in case she grew suspicious. Instead I asked her if she knew Alessandro.

  Her smile told me she did. “He’s gorgeous – lucky Elisabetta.”

  “Lucky Elisabetta?”

  Francesca nodded. “They were dating.” Ugo had neglected to mention that, I thought. I was about to ask more but a look at my phone told me I had to get going or I’d be late for my casting with Kristine – and might miss Alessandro, too.

  I asked Francesca for her number. “I don’t know Milan – I’d love some good advice on what to see and do.” I hoped she wouldn’t see through my white lie.

  But she gave a tight smile and said, “Of course. Sebastian already has my number.”

  Sebastian looked at me with wide eyes and shrugged his shoulders. I forced myself to smile at Francesca and thank her. Why was she annoying me so much? I mean, what did I care if she and Sebastian had already exchanged numbers? After all, wasn’t it useful for the case that they had?

  I was about to shake her hand and say goodbye when Francesca hugged Sebastian, gave him a double air-kiss and said, “I’ll call you later.”

  I gritted my teeth and told her I’d be in touch. Then I turned and left, with Sebastian at my side.

  “You could be a little friendlier with Francesca, you know,” he said as he handed me my helmet. “You seemed a bit frosty.”

  “Well, I’m not frosty at all.”

  “Good, I’m glad, because I’ll be seeing more of her,” he added as he swung his leg over his Vespa and revved up the engine.

  “Why?” I definitely sounded frosty now.

  “I’m your assistant on this case, remember? I’m here to help you solve it. As you know, Francesca is a witness…and I’d like to ask her a few more questions. The thing is we seemed to keep getting sidetracked – I didn’t get to finish my line of enquiry.”

  I said nothing as I slipped onto the seat behind him. But as we drove out of Via Lovanio I couldn’t help asking him, “So what did you find out?”

  Sebastian answered me at the first red light. “She arrived with the others, she had nothing to do with the food preparation and didn’t see anyone go into or out of the kitchen – apart from Maria, Ugo’s cook. And yes, she knew about the plant on Ugo’s terrace. She also ate some of the nibbles but has felt fine all day. And I have to say, she looked good.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “And when did she leave last night?”

  “At the end, together with the group that stayed later – which included Elisabetta.”

  I nodded. So far everything tallied with what Ugo had said. So what more could Sebastian possibly need to find out from her?

  “This and that,” he said when I asked. “Like you, I really want to put this mystery first and make sure I cover my ground thoroughly.” He turned, smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up.

  Ha! I thought. So that’s what this is about. He thinks I put my mysteries first and now he wants to show me what that feels like…

  “Fine, Watson. You do what you have to do and I’ll do the same.”

  As we wove through the traffic I could see him watching me in the scooter’s rear-view mirror. Finally, as we waited for a light to change he looked over his shoulder at me and said, “You know, I was a little upset when this case came up so suddenly, changing our plans and everything…but now I think we’re going to have fun and, don’t worry, I’m totally into helping you out.”

  Yeah…helping me out with Francesca. Grrr!!!

  Sebastian made good time as we zoomed along the picturesque streets of the Brera district and went past the famous La Scala opera house. We missed the turning we needed to make, however, and ended up going past the Duomo. The sun was still out, but as the early evening light softened, the white stone walls of the Duomo were bathed in a warm glow.

  We turned away from the immense cathedral and found our way to Via Broletto. Kristine Abrams was holding the Fiore show casting at their company headquarters there – it was a busy street in the middle of a maze of buildings and smaller streets between the La Scala opera house and the vast Castello Sforzesco.

  Even if Tomasso hadn’t given me the exact building number of the Fiore headquarters, I would have known which one it was simply by the endless stream of male models making their way in and out of the building’s large entrance arch. Most of them looked just a few years older than me. And all were slim and dressed more or less identically: jeans or chinos, T-shirt in a bright colour or with some kind of loud graphic image on the front, many with some kind of plaid shirt over the top. Sneakers were the shoes of choice, and funky hats were not unusual. All walked with long strides and most had a rucksack or man-bag, or held their portfolios in their hands. It was easy to feel like you’d walked onto the set of the next Zoolander movie.

  Surely Alessandro would be at this casting – in fact he might even be in there now. Feeling focused, I hopped of
f Sebastian’s scooter and walked alongside him as he eased his Vespa into the long line of scooters parked just outside the imposing, ochre-coloured building.

  “I’m not sure how long this will take…” I said as I removed my helmet and shook my hair out.

  “No worries,” Sebastian answered as he turned off the Vespa’s engine. “I’ll be here. In the meantime is there something I should be looking into?”

  I suddenly remembered that I still hadn’t had the time to show Sebastian the tarot cards I’d found in the studio this morning. “Actually, yes there is,” I said as I slipped my rucksack off my shoulders and searched for the envelope with the cards. I handed it to Sebastian.

  “I found these in the studio this morning.”

  He looked at me, his eyebrows raised as he took the envelope from my hand.

  “Open it,” I said.

  He pulled the cards out from the envelope and lifted his head with a start. “Wow. What are these?”

  “Tarot cards, I think,” I said. “And very old ones by the look of it.”

  “And you found these in the studio? This morning?”

  I nodded. “I actually found them in the dressing area, near Elisabetta. They were on the floor, under the small sofa just behind the chair she was sitting on. The envelope caught my eye—”

  “Caught your eye?” he asked with a smile on his lips.

  “Yes. Caught my eye, Watson,” I insisted. “And the thing is, I have no idea whose it is. It was under the sofa and I thought it might be a clue.”

  “Aha! So I was right – you were actively searching the scene of the crime for clues.”

  He really could be exasperating, I thought, as I stuck my tongue out at him. “I admit I tend to second-guess circumstances – but in this case I’m glad I did. Her death has turned out to be far more fishy than I’d imagined at first. Plus don’t we all have an obligation to help out when we smell foul play? Besides, I know your dad’s a police inspector, but even you, Watson, have to admit that the police aren’t always particularly thorough when they’re investigating a crime scene.”

  “I’m sure my dad would have something to say about that…”

  “I bet he would…but, regardless, Watson, this envelope was on the floor. It may have slipped out of her handbag – but then again maybe not. I didn’t notice it among her things…”

  “You searched her bag? But she’d only just died!”

  “It wasn’t like that. Earlier, her bag fell over and everything spilled out so I helped her pick her stuff up off the floor. I don’t remember seeing the envelope then, though.”

  “Maybe she had it in a pocket or something? Maybe it slipped out when she moved to sit down?”

  “It’s possible. Her trousers did have pockets, I noticed that. She had her hands in them at one point.” I shrugged my shoulders. “But before I left the studio I made a point of asking everyone who’d been around up until she died if the envelope belonged to them.”

  “And no one claimed it?”

  I shook my head. “Not one.”

  “So it really might have belonged to Elisabetta…”

  “Well I certainly can’t rule out the possibility…on the other hand it could have been in the studio, unnoticed by whoever worked there yesterday or the day before.”

  “True…but say someone working in the studio within the last few days had lost it there. Don’t you think they would have asked the studio about it? I mean, they might be valuable if they’re really old.”

  “Good point. Also, what I find odd is that there are only three of them. Where’s the rest of the pack? Why are these three singled out?”

  “Why don’t I head over to Megastudio and look into it while you’re at your casting,” Sebastian said. “I can find out from the front desk whether anyone’s asked about a missing envelope or some tarot cards.”

  “That would be great.” I was silent for a moment as another thought came to me.

  “What are you thinking, Holmes?”

  “Elisabetta’s assistant, Marzia… Out of all of us, only Marzia and I went into the dressing area all morning. None of the others had a reason to.”

  Marzia.

  Her name circled through my mind. She’d been on her own with Elisabetta before I came into the dressing area…and she had conveniently left it just before Elisabetta died, so that I was alone with her, and Marzia was out of the way. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, though. If the police were right in their belief that Elisabetta was poisoned at Ugo’s party – and all the evidence seemed to point to that – then Marzia could hardly have poisoned her in the studio that morning. But could she have seen the envelope in Elisabetta’s hands?

  I’d asked everyone if the envelope belonged to them – but I hadn’t asked them if they knew whether it was Elisabetta’s. And Marzia had been in such a state after seeing Elisabetta, that it’s quite likely she didn’t even hear my question.

  “You know what I think, Holmes?” Sebastian said as he watched me.

  “What’s that, Watson?”

  “I think you need to pay Marzia a visit. Maybe I can search her out.”

  “Thanks, Watson.” I nodded. “I’ve got an appointment tomorrow at Amare so it would be good to know if she’ll be at the offices. Maybe I can ‘bump’ into her while I’m there. If not I’ll have to ask Tomasso for some help…” I pulled my phone out and found Tomasso’s email with all of the details for today’s Amare shoot. “Her full name is Marzia D’Onofrio.”

  “Noted, Holmes. See you in a while.”

  “See you in a while.”

  Our plans made, we parted ways.

  The cool air in the large courtyard of the building hit me like a soothing whisper as I stepped under the entrance arch. I gave my name at the reception desk and was directed to the first floor conference room where the casting was taking place. But I hadn’t even made it as far as the stairs when I heard a familiar voice call out my name. It was Ellie.

  “Perfect timing!” she said as she slipped her phone back into her large black squishy shoulder bag and put her arm through mine as we ascended the stairs. Ellie looked as fresh after a day’s shooting as she had this morning. If anything, the traces of make-up smudged around her blue eyes and her roughly brushed out hair only emphasized her beauty. She looked tanned and healthy in her light, flouncy short dress with its cute red-and-black pattern. Around her waist she’d tied (literally – she wasn’t using the buckle) a thick, studded, worn leather belt and on her feet she wore gold sandals. A pair of aviator sunglasses completed her outfit.

  “So what have I missed? And don’t say ‘nothing’,” she quickly added when she saw me start to purse my lips, “because it’s written all over your face that you’ve got something major going on. Besides, your messages hinted as much. Am I right or am I right?”

  I nodded. “It’s about Elisabetta, and while I want to tell you everything, I’d rather we did it when we’re at dinner – without any fashionistas hanging around.”

  “Got it. But is there anything I can do to help, here, now?” She nodded towards the open door of the casting room. “I have a fitting so I won’t be seeing the same people you are, so, if you can think of something…”

  “Just keep your eyes and ears open. Any information about Elisabetta could be really useful.”

  “Will do. Oh, and Axelle?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t forget to take your glasses off.”

  I was just about to tell her that I wasn’t wearing them when I automatically brought my finger up to my face to push them up the bridge of my nose and felt them. “Oh, yeah, right. Thanks.” Large, nerdy glasses like mine had just been all over the runway for the Gucci resort collection show, but they were still a no go at castings, especially the one I was about to do. A half-hidden face w
ould not a career make.

  I hadn’t seen Kristine Abrams since she’d booked me for a couple of shows for New York City Fashion Week, a couple of months earlier, but I remembered her clearly. She was friendly, quiet and soft-spoken – especially for a fashionista; she didn’t feel the need to speak in witty or catty pronouncements, like some I could mention.

  I noticed her the moment I walked in. She was sitting at a long table at the far end of the large, brightly lit room. Various assistants and Fiore employees were huddled around her, animatedly discussing the model book they were looking at. Nevertheless as soon as she looked up, she caught my eye, smiled and winked.

  As a casting director Kristine’s job is to find models for fashion shows or campaigns. But not just any model. Casting directors – the good ones like Kristine – had an eye for the next big thing – a valuable asset to have in an industry obsessed with the new. Of the hundreds and hundreds of girls they saw in a year, the good casting directors could find exactly the ones whose looks either converged perfectly with their time, or would lead the fashion flock into the next big beauty trend.

  Good casting directors also had to understand what look a particular ad campaign or fashion show needed. Looking for more edge? They’d find the right model. Need a face that hadn’t been seen in a while for a luxury ad campaign? Kristine knew the perfect person. She held a lot of power and sway, and her instincts were well respected.

  Not that you’d believe it to look at her. I suspected Kristine was dressed in the exact same outfit I’d seen her wear in New York: jeans, an untucked man’s shirt in blue, and dirty trainers. Her blondish hair was pulled back off her scrubbed face. She didn’t wear jewellery or nail polish. It was almost as if she needed to keep her physical persona detoxed from all the fashion she was constantly immersed in.