Page 25 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“Thanks again.” Cole ended the call. He dropped his go bag on his bed. He’d barely set it down when his phone rang. Jasmine. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t find the guy’s address.”

“Oh, I found it, but I doubt you’re going to find many clues about his murder at his apartment in Amsterdam.”

“I guess it makes sense that he’s just here for Fashion Week since he was working for a Dutch designer.”

“I’ll text you the address of the hotel where he was staying. You can use your FBI credentials to gain access. I’ll clear your name through the local FBI legal attaché.”

“What good will that do?” Cole asked. “Like you said, Marit isn’t a US citizen.”

“No, but Brinton James is.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Based on his residency permit application, he moved to Amsterdam nine months ago to apprentice under Ralph Molenaar. Before that, he was a student at The Fashion Institute of Technology in New York.”

“Thanks, Jazz. That intel will open a lot of doors.”

“Use those open doors wisely,” Jasmine cautioned.

“I will.” Cole ended the call.

“What did she say?” Lars asked. “I mean, the part you can tell me about without having to kill me afterward.”

“James is a US citizen who was living in Amsterdam.”

“I didn’t expect him to be an American.”

“Me neither.” Cole headed for the door. “I’m going to check out where this particular American was staying here in Paris. Maybe there will be a clue about why he was killed.”

“Want me to come with you?” Lars asked.

“You’d better stay here.” Cole didn’t need his cousin present while he broke into a potential crime scene.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

“How about putting that fancy camera equipment of yours to work?” Cole pointed to the window. “Pretty sure we should have a perfect view of the entrance to Marit’s building.”

Lars crossed the room and stared through the glass. He turned, awareness evident on his face. “This is the reason you didn’t want a view of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Yep.”

“I’ll set up my tripod.”

“Call me if you see anything unusual.”

“I will.” Lars set his camera case on his bed and unzipped it. “And, Cole?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks again for coming.”

Cole nodded. “No problem.” He hoped.

Chapter 9

Isabelle couldn’t believe she wasdoing this. Dozens of models waited in the large room, each of them taking turns walking down a center path, then taking a turn to the right, and heading back to the left before exiting through a door a short distance behind her.

The croissant she’d eaten an hour ago had turned into an uncomfortable mass in her stomach. She doubted the yogurt Marit had eaten had settled much better.

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