Alibi In High Heels

Silence.

'I am!'

Mom reached over and patted my arm. 'Of course you are, baby. We believe you.'

I looked around the room. Clearly I was outnumbered.

'Okay, fine. Where do we start?'

* * *

Taking Felix's suggestions, Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt decided to find out all they could about Gisella by doing some serious Googling downstairs in the hotel's business center. Felix said he had some things he wanted to check on (though I suspected he really wanted to call in the story to his editor at the Informer) and would meet up with me in the lobby later that afternoon. For lack of a better direction, I decided to see if there were any new developments at the show site. In lieu of actually braving the paparazzi (not to mention risking a run-in with Moreau) I dialed Jean Luc on his cell.

He answered on the third ring.

'Yes?' he barked out, his voice tense.

'Hi, Jean Luc. It's Maddie.'

'Oh,' he answered on a sigh. 'Maddie. Are you all right? What happened to you?'

'I'm fine. I'm back at the hotel.'

'Thank God! I was afraid they'd taken you into custody.'

I winced. Not yet. 'Have there been any new developments since I left?'

Jean Luc sighed into the phone. 'Not that I know of. They've been back and forth with their evidence bags all day. Maddie, I swear I'm on the verge of a breakdown. They've taken every last pair of your shoes into evidence.'

I grabbed a bed poster for support. 'They've taken my shoes?' I repeated, hoping I'd heard him wrong, visions of my Paris debut fading faster than a bad dye job.

'Can you believe it? What am I supposed to do, send all the models out barefoot? Good God, this isn't some mall, it's Fashion Week!'

I felt a mini-heart attack coming on. This could not be happening.

Jean Luc's voice got high and whiney as he continued, voicing my exact thoughts. 'This cannot be happening to me! Not only do I have to find a replacement for Gisella when everyone who's anyone is already booked, but now I've got to contend with barefoot models, too. I cannot believe this is happening to me.' I heard Jean Luc unwrap another antacid and crunch down loudly on it.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Okay, so they'd taken my shoes. It was fine. They'd dust them, process them, whatever it was they did with evidence, and see that I did not kill Gisella. So, really, this was a good thing, right? (Am I the denial queen or what?)

'Do you have any idea who could have done this?' I asked.

Jean Luc paused. And I could hear the silent question.

'I didn't do it!'

'No, of course you didn't, Maddie.'

Why was it no one sounded completely convinced when they said that?

'Look, I didn't even know Gisella.'

Jean Luc sighed again. 'Honestly, I'm not sure any of us knew her that well. She tended to keep to herself. That is when she wasn't complaining. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn't exactly the easiest person to work with.'

'How about the other models? Was she particularly close with any of them?'

Jean Luc paused and I could picture his eyebrow furrowing together. 'Close, yes. Friendly, no. She spent most of her time with Angelica. But they had a very love-hate relationship. Mostly hate. Angelica was jealous of Gisella's contracts and rumor has it Gisella apparently fueled this by stealing Angelica's boyfriend.'

I perked up. Stolen boyfriend was a strong motive for a stiletto to the jugular.

'Is Angelica there now?'

'No, she left about an hour ago. Said she was going back to the hotel.'

I crossed my fingers. 'Any idea what room she's staying in?'

'1245.'

'Thanks. Let me know if you hear anything new.'

Jean Luc promised he would and hung up as he crunched another chalky tablet.

I hopped into the bathroom, splashed a little cold water on my face and added a fresh swipe of Raspberry Perfection to my lips before grabbing my purse and crutches and making for Angelica's room.

Five minutes later I was knocking on the door to room 1245. I could hear a loud bass beat playing inside, but no one answered. I waited a couple of beats, then banged my fist on the door again. This time it opened a crack, the security bar still in place.

A redhead with Casper pale skin, thick curls and huge brown eyes appeared. 'Yeah?' she asked, her accent an indistinguishable (at least to my ears) eastern European.

'Angelica?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Who are you?'

'I'm Maddie Springer. I'm doing the shoes for the Le Croix show.'

Angelica's eyes went round as recognition dawned. 'You! The murderer!'

I rolled my eyes. 'I didn't do it!'

'They said on TV that you did.'

'Don't believe everything you hear on TV. Listen, can I come in?'

'I don't think so.'

'Please?'

'You might kill me.'

If I hadn't been holding a pair of crutches, I would have thrown my hands up in exasperation. As it was, I just said a silent curse on the head of all misinformed reporters.

'Look, I didn't kill her. If I had, do you think the police would have let me go?' Never mind that it had been touch and go there for a few minutes.

Angelica chewed her plump bottom lip while she thought about this.

'Listen, I just wanted to ask you a few questions about Gisella. Jean Luc said you knew her?'

Angelica sunk her teeth into her lip for another beat before shutting the door and lifting the security latch. She pulled it back open wide, allowing me entry.

'Okay.'

'Thank you.'

'But keep your hands where I can see them.'

I tried not to roll my eyes as I stepped into the room. It was a carbon copy of my dollhouse, only her ruffles were a pale sky blue and the place looked like housekeeping hadn't been there in weeks. Clothes covered every available surface, empty mini bar bottles spilling out of the trash can, and a hip-hop punctuated with a lot of 'yo bitches' played from an iDock on the dresser. Out of habit, I crossed to the windows, futilely looking for a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower as Angelica turned the music down.

'So,' she asked, plopping down cross-legged on the bed, 'what do you want to know?'

'Jean Luc told me that you and Gisella were close?'

Angelica smirked. 'Well, we weren't BFF's or anything,' she responded, the Americanism seemed oddly comic coming through her thick accent.

'You'd had some issues with her lately?'

'Bitch stole my Sam away.'

Unlike Jean Luc it was clear Angelica had no problem speaking candidly about the dead woman.

'Sam?'

'Someone I was dating.'