Page 29 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“Isabelle was unbelievable,” Marit said, smiling as she moved into his embrace. “Three casting sessions, three callbacks. Esmee was thrilled. She thinks she’s discovered a new rising star.”

“Pretty sure it was beginner’s luck,” Isabelle said. “And I think I’ll stick with studying a screen full of spreadsheets. It’s much less stressful than strutting down a catwalk in front of fashion industry professionals.”

Lars couldn’t think of much that sounded more boring than studying spreadsheets—except maybe watching surveillance videos—but he understood Isabelle’s reluctance to be the center of attention at a fashion show. Standing behind the camera was a much more comfortable place to be. “Well, it’s great that you made the cut,” he said. “What happens next?”

“Callbacks and fittings,” Marit said. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”

“You know,” Cole said, thoughtfully, “taking a look at the schedule for the next few days and for the Fashion Week shows themselves might not be a bad idea.”

“What are you thinking?” Isabelle asked.

“Ralph mentioned that if another designer showcased the stolen designs before he had a chance to launch his line, it would be almost impossible to prove that they were his concepts first. It seems to me that one way to start eliminating designers from the suspects list would be to take off any of the ones scheduled for shows after Ralph Molenaar’s. Our crook would want to be up first.”

“Good idea,” Lars said, drawing Marit toward the table. “But I vote we eat before we go over the schedule.”

“Agreed,” Isabelle said with feeling. “Whatever calories I consumed at brunch disappeared in nervous energy during the first casting.”

“What did you pick up?” Cole asked.

“Crepes,” Lars said. “I have a variety of fillings, from chicken, mushroom, and béchamel sauce to ham, egg, and swiss cheese to ratatouille.”

“What?” Marit raised her eyebrows in mock disbelief. “No Nutella?”

“Oh, yeah. I have those, too, but I figured we’re supposed to eat the other ones first.”

Cole chuckled. “Sounds great.”

Isabelle and Cole took the two chairs at the table, and Marit and Lars sat on the edge of the nearest bed, holding their food on paper plates. For a few moments, they each focused on their meals.

“Nice work, Lars,” Cole said, breaking the silence. “That hit the spot.”

“You haven’t even had a Nutella one yet,” Lars said.

“It still may happen,” Cole said, pulling out his phone, “but there’s a pâtisserie three doors down from here, so I’d better pace myself.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes, and Marit giggled.

Cole ignored them both, his attention on his phone screen. “Hmm. Ralph told me his show is on the second-to-last day. It looks like there are five shows after his.”

“Marit already told Esmee to only have me audition for shows before Ralph’s,” Isabelle said. “How many are before him?”

“There are usually at least twenty-five shows,” Marit said. “That leaves fifteen to twenty that will go before Ralph.”

Cole ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s a lot of suspects.”

“We’re going to have to come up with another way of sifting through them,” Isabelle said.

“Any ideas?” Lars asked.

“Not yet,” Cole said, a familiar look of determination glinting in his eyes. “But they’ll come.”

***

Paris at night. With a sigh of pleasure, Marit looked out at the reflected lights dancing across the surface of the Seine and the brilliantly lit Eiffel Tower standing sentinel on the other side of the river. Lars’s arm tightened around her, and she set her head on his shoulder, soaking in the wonder of this moment. This beautiful evening stroll was what she had envisioned—had hoped for—when she’d first heard that Lars would be joining her here.

“It’s magical,” she said. “And I’m so glad you’re here to experience it with me.”

He pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Me too.”

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