Page 52 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“What did she do?”

“Swallowed her pride and asked for help.” Tony adjusted the shutter speed on his camera. “Bianchi turned her down. No big surprise there. Some say LaRue did too. Must be that the rivalry between the two of them is stronger than their shared nationality.”

“So, she approached Molenaar?”

“Or the other way round.”

“Molenaar offered his help without being asked?” Lars said.

Tony shrugged. “I can’t verify that, but in the industry, Molenaar’s known as one of the better fellows. According to the unreliable old grapevine, Molenaar cleared his manufacturing plant of his clothes for three weeks to let Allard’s team go in and produce theirs in time for the London show.”

Lars released a low whistle. “I don’t suppose that happens often.”

“I thinknever’s the word you’re looking for,” Tony said. “I get that Molenaar cleared the facility of his stuff first, but in a business where most designers are looking over their shoulders to see if anyone’s trying to steal their ideas, it was a generous move.”

“How often do you think that actually happens?” Lars asked. “The stealing of ideas, I mean.”

“Who knows. If you listen for them, there are always rumors about that kind of thing buzzing around, but it seems like nothing’s ever proven.” He took a seat behind his camera. “Take Peter Wade, for example. A couple of years ago, Bianchi came out swinging, claiming Wade had stolen his color palette for that year’s spring line. He denied it, of course, and since Bianchi never offered any proof, his accusation eventually fizzled and died. Nobody talks about it anymore.”

But that would not be the case if Bianchi had backed up his claim. Peter Wade’s career in the fashion industry would have been over. Lars’s thoughts flew to Ralph. No wonder the guy was desperate. If the person who’d stolen his patterns and designs produced them after accusing him of stealing, the charge would appear evidence-based. The black mark wouldn’t disappear the way the one pinned on Peter Wade had.

“It’s a cutthroat industry,” Lars said.

“You’ve got that right.” The stage manager appeared at the runway entrance, and Tony moved closer to his camera. “And I’m glad I’m on this end of it.”

Tony was right. He and the other photographers didn’t have much to lose if one of the designers went rogue, but the woman Lars loved did. Marit wouldn’t be safe until they’d figured out who was behind the theft at Ralph’s office and James’s death. If Lars could pass on this new information about Allard to Marit while she was backstage, there was a possibility that she and Isabelle could discover the truth behind the rumors from her crew. Knowing whether Allard felt gratitude or resentment for Ralph’s intervention would go a long way in determining her status on the suspect list.

Lars pulled his phone from his pocket. He flexed his fingers, attempting to work out some tension as they hovered over the keypad. The second model was already on the runway. It was possible that Marit wouldn’t see his text until it was too late to act on it, but he had to at least try. Angling his phone so Tony couldn’t see the screen, he typed a short message to Marit. As soon as he’d sent it, he copied it, added the tidbit about Peter Wade, and sent it to Cole. The more his cousin knew before talking to Ralph again, the better.

Releasing a tight breath, he looked up to see Marit standing at the runway entrance. At a signal from the man at the curtain, she started toward him. Lars adjusted the focus on his camera and took a few photos of her approach. When she reached the end of the runway, she stopped and smiled at the photographers. Lars lifted his phone. Marit gave no indication that she’d noticed, but Lars knew that didn’t mean anything. He’d yet to meet anyone as observant as Marit. And if she’d guessed he needed her to check her phone, somehow, she’d find a way to do it.

***

Cole approached the security desk, the flash drive gripped firmly in his hand, the backup copy still safely on his laptop. Having the information in Cole’s possession wouldn’t hurt Ralph, but it would ensure that proof existed to show that Ralph had created the images if another theft occurred.

“I’m here to see Ralph Molenaar. He’s expecting me.” Cole picked up the pen by the sign-in log and wrote down his name.

The guard picked up the phone and glanced at Cole’s name before relaying the message that Cole had arrived. As soon as he hung up, the guard said, “Do you know where his office is?”

“Oui,” Cole said, utilizing the little bit of French he knew. “Merci,” he added as he headed for the elevator.

When he stepped off on the correct floor, the buzz of voices carried from a nearby doorway. Several people stood by another office down the hall. A young woman emerged from Ralph’s office, a garment bag draped over her arm.

Cole moved past her and knocked on Ralph’s open door.

Ralph stood behind his desk, a pen in hand as he made a note on the paper in front of him. “Just a moment.” He held up a finger briefly before he stopped writing and straightened. “Sorry. Everything is a bit chaotic today. Our show is just over a week away, and we’re still making adjustments.”

Cole closed the office door before he held out the flash drive. “I believe this is yours.”

Ralph’s eyes widened. “Where did you find it?”

“It was in Marit Jansen’s purse.” Before Ralph could jump to the wrong conclusion, he added, “We believe Brinton James planted it there after Marit caught him in your office.”

“But the police never found it.”

“They questioned Marit, but they never went as far as obtaining a search warrant,” Cole said. “After reading the lead detective’s report, I believe they eliminated her as a suspect after she provided so many specific details about the night of the theft.”

Ralph lowered into his chair and held up the flash drive. With a shake of his head, he said, “And this has been in her purse ever since it was stolen?”

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