Page 53 of When Fashion Turns Deadly

“Yes. We went through her bag last night after an attempted mugging.” Cole sat across from Ralph and explained the sequence of events along with the unsuccessful purse snatching.

“Thank goodness Marit is okay.” Ralph set the flash drive on his desk. “And having this back will help me defend myself when whoever stole my designs tries to call me a thief.” He sighed. “I can only hope my adaptations will be significant enough to prevent that from happening.”

“Marit said the missing patterns could still pose a significant problem.”

“Very much so,” Ralph said. “Only four years ago, Dominic Vitale went out of business within six months of showing the same outfit as Peter Wade at New York Fashion Week.”

Suspicion hummed through Cole. “That’s twice I’ve heard Peter Wade’s name come up with regard to a potential intellectual-property theft.”

“Ah, yes. The color palette from Bianchi three years ago.” Ralph nodded. “That did cause quite a stir.”

“Do you think Peter was guilty?”

“I don’t know. He launched a line of rather revealing miniskirts that year. It’s possible Bianchi was simply casting blame as a warning for him to steer clear of what Giuseppe considers his territory.”

His territory. Meaning sleazy. Cole kept that thought to himself.

“Of the designers going before you, which would benefit the most from stealing your designs?” Cole motioned toward the door behind him. “Or from putting you in the position of trying to reinvent your designs so close to your show?”

“I hate to say it, but if I were forced out of business, they all would benefit.”

Cole pulled out his phone and retrieved his notes app. “I know you’re busy, but this is important. I need to know everything about these other designers, right down to who you think is capable of theft.” Cole paused. “And murder.”

Chapter 18

The moment Marit walked throughthe curtain backstage, her assistant, Sophie, was at her elbow.

“You have three minutes for this change,” Sophie said, unzipping the gown Marit was wearing as she spoke.

“What about the next one?” Marit asked.

“Two,” Sophie said grimly. “That one’s going to be tight.”

A one-minute difference between outfit changes was huge. And far too big to ignore. When she’d seen Lars raise his phone, she’d known exactly what he’d meant. She also knew that he wouldn’t have signaled her during a rehearsal unless the message he had for her was important. She popped her high heels off and reached for the flats she was scheduled to wear with the loose-fitting trousers. Given half a chance, she could move fast in these.

“Quickly, Sophie,” she said. “I need to grab something from my purse before I get back in line.”

Sophie frowned. “What is it? With the number of buttons on this shirt, you’re barely going to have time as it is.”

It was now or not until the end of the rehearsal.

“My phone,” she said.

With an alarmed expression, Sophie pressed her finger to her lips. “If Mademoiselle Allard catches any of us backstage on our phones, we’re fired.”

Brilliant. It was a common practice to silence all phones while backstage, and checking them during work hours was discouraged. But not many designers enforced a total ban on their use.

“I’m expecting a really important message,” Marit said.

“More important than losing your place in the show?” Sophie asked.

“Yes.” If the message had anything to do with Ralph’s missing patterns, it trumped walking in Camille Allard’s show.

Sophie’s eyes widened. She’d obviously not expected Marit’s emphatic response. She straightened Marit’s collar and glanced over her shoulder. “The general manager’s talking to the in-line help,” she said. “Put on the jacket, and I’ll go with you. If we’re stopped, we’re looking for a safety pin.”

“Bless you, Sophie.” Marit threaded her arms through the sleeves and hurried across the waiting area.

Darting into the small room where the makeup-artist stations were lined up along the wall, she ran to the row of cubicles where the models left their personal items.

---