And then there was Delaine.
She careened up to them on four-inch spiky heels and said, “Can you believe this? It’s a madhouse!”
Drayton gave a commiserating nod as the bartender slid two drinks across the counter to him.
“Give me another one, too,” Delaine said to the bartender. She wore a skintight turquoise jumpsuit with a sparkly line of trim down the arms and legs.
“Take it easy,” Theodosia cautioned. “You’ve got to get onstage later and do your thing.”
“Please,” Delaine said. “This is only my third drink.”
“Fourth,” the bartender said as he handed over her wine.
Delaine shrugged. “Whatever.”
“How’s Bettina?” Theodosia asked. “Where’s Bettina?”
Delaine made a broad gesture, spilling some of her wine. “She’s in back. Trying to hurry things along.” Then she took a sip and pushed her way back through the crowd.
“I’m going to try and talk my way backstage,” Theodosia said to Drayton. “To check on Bettina. Why don’t you locate our seats?”
“I’ll give it a shot,” Drayton said. “But don’t hold your breath.”
Murmuring a string of “excuse me”s, Theodosia elbowed her way to the back of the store and poked her head around a black curtain. Luckily, Bettina was right there, talking to the show’s producer, a short woman with spiky hair who was wearing a black nylon jumpsuit. She was also wearing a headset and talking to somebody named Nellie, while carrying on a cell phone conversation and consulting her clipboard.
Bettina saw Theodosia and waved her in. “Theo,” she exclaimed. “You came!”
Theodosia gave Bettina a kiss on the cheek and said, “Of course I did.” Then, “It looks as if you’re up to your eyeballs in drama.”
“We are,” Bettina said.
The models were lounging around, blissfully talking on their phones while makeup artists tried to aim brushes at constantly moving heads. The producer began shouting at the top of her lungs, calling for someone named Beverly. And to top it all off, a guy with a box full of high heels was trying to find a pair that would fit each model’s feet. Not an easy task.
“At least working on this show has kept me busy,” Bettina said with a wistful expression.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m still poking around and asking questions,” Theodosia said.
“Do you think you’re getting anywhere?”
“Still trying to narrow it down . . . but, yes, I think I might be.”
“Then I’ll keep praying,” Bettina said. “Because I believe in you and really don’t want justice to be an old-fashioned concept.”
“It’s not,” Theodosia said. “Please hear me when I say I want justice for your mom as much as you do.”
Bettina gazed at Theodosia with something akin to hope. “Even if the killer turns out to be someone close to us?”
Her words hardened Theodosia’s resolve. “Especially if it turns out to be someone close to us.”
22
Back out in the boutique, Theodosia elbowed her way through the chattering, jostling crowd. Even when there wasn’t a fashion show going on, Cotton Duck was jam-packed with shoppers eager to pick up the latest and finest in clothing, lingerie, scarves, and jewelry. Today was no exception. Delaine and her assistant, Janine, had rolled the display racks into one corner and smooshed them all together. But that didn’t deter anyone from shopping. The guests were having a field day, pulling out elegant gowns, looping on long strands of pearls, and exclaiming over a new crop of silk summer blouses that looked as gossamer as dragonfly wings.
Even Theodosia couldn’t help noticing a green and gold ankle-length silk skirt printed with a tiger-in-the-jungle pattern.
Perfect with a sleeveless black top and black strappy heels.
But today was not the day for bumping up her wardrobe, she told herself as she stalked through the crowd, hunting for Eddie Fox and Harvey Bateman. When her search proved fruitless, she sighed, changed tactics, and headed for the grouping of white enamel folding chairs that had been set up on both sides of the runway.
She found Drayton occupying one of those chairs and guarding the one next to it with his life.
“I can’t tell you how many people I’ve had to shoo away,” were his first words to her. “I’ve gotten so many nasty looks I’m starting to feel like the Grinch.”
“Sorry about that,” Theodosia said as she sat down next to him.
Drayton turned and leaned toward her, a conspiratorial look on his face. “Did you get a chance to talk to Bateman? Or Fox?”
“I couldn’t find either one, let alone get near them.”
“Fox just set up five minutes ago. You see his camera gear hunkered there at the end of the runway?”
Theodosia leaned forward and looked. Yes, there he was. Fox was fiddling with a camera set on a tripod and talking to the stringy-haired lighting guy. Maybe things were finally set to go? She glanced at her watch. Time was slipping away. The fashion show had been delayed nearly forty minutes even though guests were now rushing to take their seats.
“Here,” Drayton said, handing her a program. “I scored one of these for you.”
Theodosia opened the program, read it, and . . . holy guacamole, there were forty different looks being shown today?
“Did you see this?” Her finger tapped the long list of fashions.
“Yes, and I can’t believe there are that many variations on what they’re calling athleisure clothing. I mean, once you get past a sweatshirt, sweatpants, and maybe a T-shirt, what more is there?”
“I think we’re about to find out.”
Theodosia watched as Mark Devlin peeked out from behind a shimmering silver curtain. He seemed satisfied that most everyone was finally seated and turned to whisper to someone behind him. Then the overhead lights dimmed and a murmur of excitement swept through the crowd. A voice rumbled over the speakers: “Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The Lemon Squeeze Couture Fashion Show is about to begin.”
There was a final scurry for the last seats, and the red, blue, and gold lights above the runway started to whirl. The sound system let out a loud crackle, then high-energy music boomed out.
It was Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger,” and Theodosia recognized the tune immediately. It was perfect for a fashion show. Exciting techno-rock with lots of hard edges. The models would have a blast walking to this up-tempo beat.