Jean Luc shook his head slowly. 'Gisella was never early. Not a morning person, as they say. I have no idea.'
'So, you didn't call her in?'
'Who, me? No, I know better than to wake her before noon. Besides, Ann usually sets the models' schedules. She takes care of those kinds of details.'
I made a mental note to ask Ann about Gisella's schedule that morning.
'When did you leave the night before?'
'Late. It was past midnight.'
Considering Jean Luc was in essence my employer, I worded my next question carefully. 'And when, exactly, did you arrive on site the next morning?'
Jena Luc's eyebrows headed toward his hairline. 'Why, just before you did of course.'
I nodded. 'Of course.'
'And before you ask, yes, I was alone.' He did a wry smile. 'I supposed I don't have an alibi either.'
'Join the club.'
'But Ann can tell you that I was with her until almost two that night. We were going over the lineup and couldn't agree on where to put Bella's third outfit. It seemed to clash with everything but was just too stunning on her to leave out.'
'I guess you didn't sleep much that night.'
'Of course not,' Jean Luc responded, popping an antacid into his mouth. 'It's Fashion Week.'
Of course.
'Speaking of which…' He trailed off, pointing to the pump still in my hand. 'We have fifteen of those. And I know if anyone can make a plain pump sparkle, it's you, Maddie.'
Then a seamstress pinning an empire waisted baby doll dress near the door caught his attention and he was off, with a 'No, no, no, dahling, it's a
I stared down at the pump in my hands. Well, at least someone had faith in me.
Chapter Twelve
I spent the rest of the day doing what I could to turn plain black pumps into designer worthy creations. Little embellishments here and there helped, but the more I looked at them, the more they looked like plain black pumps that someone had tried to embellish. It was a depressing thought that these were what would go down the runway with my name attached to them.
By the time I finally finished the last one, I was beat. Dana and I shared a cab back to the Plaza where I hobbled up to my room and promptly collapsed, fully clothed, onto the bed, spilling half a dozen pillows onto the floor in the process.
Only, tired as I was, as I closed my eyes, I couldn't sleep. Part of me kept listening for my phone to ring, silently willing Ramirez to call. Wondering what I'd say when he did. That is, if he ever did.
I had almost convinced myself to pick up the phone and dial his number, pleading for the zillionth time for forgiveness, when the door to my room flew open.
'Maddie, I'm so glad you're back,' Mom cried, plopping down on the bed beside me. 'We need your advice.'
I groaned into my pillow as I felt Mrs. Rosenblatt sit on the other side of the bed, her weight causing me to roll toward her. 'I'm kind of tired, Mom. It's been a long day.'
'I got me a hot date with Pierre tonight,' Mrs. R said, completely ignoring me, 'and I can't decide what to wear.'
I peeked my head up. Then let out an involuntary, 'Eek!' as I took in Mrs. Rosenblatt's outfit.
She was dressed in a muumuu, of course, this time in a shocking green color with pink hibiscus flowers printed haphazardly across the front. Her Lucille Ball red hair was piled on top of her head in a frizzing lump that looked like blue birds should be nesting in it, and a pair of pink and green plastic palm tree earrings hung from her ears. She'd followed Mom's more-is-always-better philosophy of eye shadow application, drawing a thick green line from her eyelashes all the way up to her eyebrows, and, if I wasn't mistaken, a fake little mole made of black eyeliner pencil sat on her upper lip. All in all, she made an excellent drag queen.
'I like the green dress,' Mom continued, pointing to Mrs. R's current outfit, 'but she's afraid it's a little too subtle.'
I raised an eyebrow. Compared to what? A neon sign? 'Where's he taking you?' I asked instead, propping myself up on my elbows.
'Some fancy schmancy place on the Champs Elysees. He says they got the best authentic French cuisine in Paris. Though, I told him there's no way I'm eating a snail. I got them suckers in my garden back home. They are not food.'
I had to agree with that one.
'So can you help?' Mom asked.
I looked down at Mrs. R's outfit again, suddenly wishing I had a pair of sunglasses handy. 'How much time have you got?'
'I'm meeting him at nine.'
I looked at the digital clock by my bedside. 8:40.
'Then we better get moving.'
I followed Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt through the adjoining door back to their room, filling them both in on my latest discoveries about Felix as I instructed Mrs. R to go wash off the make-up (over my mother's protests).
'Oh, we have news, too!' Mom said, sitting up straight on the bed as I rummaged in the closet for something a little less 'subtle' to wear. Unfortunately, this was Mrs. Rosenblatt we were talking about and it was slim pickings.
'You'll never guess what Pierre told us last night. Apparently, after they found Felix and the necklace in Gisella's room, the police searched the place from top to bottom. They found three other pieces of jewelry stuffed into pockets.'
'Seriously?'
'Seriously.'
The theory of Gisella the jewel thief was becoming more plausible. 'You had said that four designers besides Jean Luc reported missing pieces. Did they find the fourth?'
Mom shrugged. 'Not as far as Pierre knew.'
Mrs. R piped up from the bathroom. 'I'll bet she passed 'em along to her fence already. They're probably circulating the black market right now.'
While Mrs. Rosenblatt tended toward overly dramatic language, I couldn't help thinking she might be right. This time.
'If so, that means her partner has to be someone in Paris. Gisella wouldn't have had time to fly them somewhere else without Jean Luc noticing she was gone,' I said, flipping through muumuu after muumuu.
'Which brings us back to her accomplice being someone she knew here,' Mom said, even as I started mentally going down my suspect list. I had to admit, her agent still seemed the most likely candidate.
'How about this one?' I held up a red and orange printed muumuu that could almost pass for tropical chic as Mrs. Rosenblatt came out of the bathroom, her cheeks a freshly scrubbed pink.
She made a face. 'You sure that's better than the green one?'
I nodded. 'I've never been so sure of anything in my life.'
I paired the dress with a red leather belt that gave Mrs. R's Pillsbury Doughboy figure some semblance of a waist, and a red cardigan borrowed from Mom's side of the closet. Granted, Mrs. R had about a hundred pounds and several inches on Mom, so the sweater didn't exactly close in front, but it was stretchy enough that she could fit her arms into it and it broke up the floral some. After trading in Mrs. R's palm trees for a pair of tasteful ruby dew drops from my own wardrobe and applying a thin swipe of dusty beige shadow over her eyes (just to the brow bone), she looked pretty darn good, even if I did say so myself. Except for the Birkenstocks on her feet. There wasn't much I could do about those. Luckily, as long as she didn't lift up her skirt and bust out with the Cancan, the muumuu was
