I shook my head. I figured even with the news of Charlene's arrest, it may be a while before tabloids were my friends again.
Dana pulled the folded paper out of her purse. 'Okay, good news first, better news second. Check out page seven.'
I grabbed the paper from her, open to page seven. And saw a picture of Ricky and Natalie Portman. They were outside a restaurant, stuck together in a lip lock.
'Oh, honey, I'm so sorry,' I said. Then paused as I looked up and saw Dana beaming from ear to ear. 'Uh, I don't get it. You're happy Ricky is kissing some movie star?'
She giggled. Then pointed to Ricky's left hand, zoning in on Natalie's boobs. 'Look,' she instructed. 'He had a little mole right by his thumb.'
'Uh huh.'
'Well, Ricky doesn't have a mole! Don't you see, they totally pasted his head on someone else's body. My boyfriend is totally not kissing Natalie Portman.' She sat back, a smug smile on her face.
I couldn't help but grin back. 'Congratulations.'
'Thanks,' she said, taking the paper. 'Okay, now for the better news, ready?' she asked, flipping to the front page.
'Always ready for good news.'
She slid the paper across the bed to me.
The headline read: Couture Killer Cleared. But the part that immediately caught my eye were the photographs. Somehow they had gotten pictures of every single one of my shoes that were supposed to have been in the Le Croix show and blown them up on the front page. Okay, so it wasn't quite the same as showing in Paris, but you couldn't buy this kind of publicity. I quickly scanned down to the byline. Sure enough, it read: Felix Dunn.
I bit my lip, suddenly all the more sorry I'd ever suspected him of having anything to do with the deaths, let alone his crazy aunt drugging me.
'Wow,' I said. 'I can't believe he did this for me.'
'Believe it, girl,' Dana said. Then added with a smirk, 'So, tell me again what a terrible kisser he is?'
I snapped my head up.
But I didn't get to answer as a knock sounded at the door. I padded over and looked out the little peep hole. Only all I could see were flowers.
I opened the door.
'Mademoiselle Springer?' asked a voice. Only I wasn't sure whose, as the guy's face was completely covered by a huge bouquet of red roses.
'Yes?' I asked tentatively.
The guy lowered the flowers and a pimply kid with a shock of red hair appeared. 'A flower delivery for you.'
'Who are they from?'
He shrugged. 'There is a card. Please sign here, Mademoiselle,' he said, shoving a clipboard at me. I awkwardly balanced the roses in one hand while I took his pen in the other and signed his form.
'Merci,' he said, before turning down the hallway.
I looked at the roses. I sniffed them. I couldn't help a little lift at the corners of my mouth.
'Whoa! Who are those from?' Dana asked as I came back into the room.
I shrugged. 'I don't know.' I sat down on the bed and fished a little white envelope from a plastic fork shaped thing at the top of the bouquet.
The outside simply said: Maddie.
I opened it and felt my heart speed up as I read the card. 'We need to talk. Meet me tonight. 6pm. The top of the Eiffel Tower.'
I flipped the card over. It wasn't singed. I bit my lip. The Eiffel Tower. The most romantic place in all the world.
But who was I meeting?
'My money's on Felix,' Dana said, digging into my grapefruit twenty minutes later as we devoured the last of my room service breakfast. I'd put the mystery roses in water in the hotel issue ice bucket on the dresser and couldn't help staring at them every ten seconds.
'Felix?' I scrunched up my nose. 'Why?'
'Well,' Dana said, a frown settling between her strawberry blonde brows. 'First the article. Now flowers. I mean, has Ramirez ever sent you flowers?'
I paused. Then shook my head.
'So it has to be Felix.'
'But Felix hasn't sent me flowers before either.'
'Yeah, but does Ramirez seem like the roses kind of guy?'
I had to admit, she had a point.
'What do you think Felix wants to talk about?' I asked, thinking back to our last interrupted conversation at the show.
Dana shrugged. 'Maybe how he's madly in love with you.'
'He is not!'
Dana sent me a get real look.
'Okay, so maybe he likes me a little.'
'And you like him.'
'I do n-'
Dana shot me that look again.
'Okay. Fine. He's a good kisser.' I paused, sniffing the roses again. 'But so is Ramirez.
Dana shrugged. 'Okay, so maybe Ramirez sent them.' She popped a bite of muffin in her mouth.
I absently shoved a piece of croissant in my mouth. 'You think?'
Dana nodded. 'Sure. He said you needed to talk. I mean, you guys really have unresolved issues.'
I nodded. 'But then again, so do Felix and I. He was about to tell me something at the show, but he was interrupted.'
'Okay, so we're back to Felix again?' Dana asked, the frown increasing.
I shrugged. 'Or Ramirez.'
'Maddie,' she said setting down her spoon and leaning in close. 'Who do you want it to be?'
I bit my lip. And stared at her. But I didn't say anything.
Because I had no idea.
The rest of the day moved in slow motion. After Mom and Mrs. R got up we went down to the police station to give Moreau our official statements. Then Jean Luc called, saying my shoes had arrived – most of them minus fingerprint dust – and he was having them sent to the hotel. Marcel called, wanting to know when he'd get his interview, and Ann left a message saying she was booking the next Le Croix photo shoot and could they use my designs? But I couldn't concentrate on any of it. All I could think about was the Eiffel Tower at six o' clock as I watched the time crawl by.
Finally at quarter past five, I threw on a black, form fitting dress with a high neck (to cover my bruises), a short hemline (to give my legs the illusion of length – or at least the one good one) and a low scoop in the back (to make the boys drool). I went heavy on the mascara, light on the eyeliner, and puckered up for a swipe of Raspberry Perfection lip gloss, then pulled my hair up into a flattering French twist. I slipped on one black, strappy, two inch pump, and, while there was nothing I could do to dress Wonder Boot up, I had to admit, I looked pretty damn
