When Fashion Turns Deadly (Falcon Point Suspense #3)

Chapter 1

Marit shifted the plum-colored velvet cushion at her back, adjusted her position in the gray-tweed wingback armchair, and recrossed her ankles. Elegance. Grace. It was what her agent, Esmee, demanded of all her models, particularly when they were meeting with clothing designers. And today, it wasn’t just any designer; it was Ralph Molenaar, the Netherlands’ foremost authority on fashion and the man whose designs were causing the biggest buzz at this year’s Paris Fashion Week.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, ladies.” Ralph walked in wearing a black turtleneck and black trousers. His assistant, Adriana, was only a couple of steps behind, carrying a sheaf of papers. “Casting went longer than I’d anticipated.”

He hardly needed to tell them that. Esmee had had at least thirty models standing in line for casting today. Marit was grateful that she and her colleague Nadia had been spared the torturously long wait. Several weeks ago, Ralph had requested that they both work his show. For Esmee, his singling out two of her models was a huge feather in her cap. For Marit, the personal invitation was a dream come true.

“I don’t think those lines are getting shorter any time soon,” Esmee said as she, Marit, and Nadia rose to their feet to greet him.

Ralph gave a rueful smile. “A designer’s only as good as his next season’s designs, Esmee. You know that better than anyone.”

“Yes, well, if the pieces Marit and Nadia tried on earlier today are any indication, you have nothing to worry about for a while.”

This time, his smile was genuine. “You liked them, huh?”

“They’re magnificent,” Esmee said.

He reached for the papers in Adriana’s hands and rifled through them. “So, you’ve already had your fittings?”

“Yes,” Marit said. “We’re ready.”

“Excellent.” He marked something on his papers. “I’m glad you’re both here. It’s good to work with models I know.”

Marit smiled. The feeling was mutual. She was always more at ease working for someone familiar, because every clothing collection was different, and it helped when she knew how the designer liked to run his or her show. She was quite sure Nadia felt the same. The two of them had modeled together more often than not, which wasn’t necessarily surprising since they were both Dutch, worked through the same agency, and had contrasting appearances that gave designers like Ralph a chance to showcase a variety of colors to their best advantage. Marit’s long blonde hair and fair skin was a perfect foil for Nadia’s short, tight black curls and darker complexion.

“Do you have any particular concerns?” Marit asked.

“Coster is supplying us with jewelry,” he said. “I’ve approved each piece, and there isn’t a single one that’s not eye-catching. As much as I appreciate the opportunity to feature Dutch gems in my show, your job is to make sure the buyers are more interested in the clothing than the accessories.”

Marit could not prevent the excitement that rose within her at the reminder. Her boyfriend, Lars, was Coster Diamonds’ official photographer, and he was coming to Paris with the jewelry, which meant they’d have almost two whole weeks together in the city. Even though they’d both be working, she could hardly wait for him to arrive.

“We can do that,” Nadia said, bringing Marit’s attention back to Ralph’s request. “Your designs don’t need bling to set them apart.”

Nadia was right. Ralph’s lack of sparkles or ornamentation was one of the things that made his designs so universally popular.

Even his office reflected his style: classic lines, subdued tones, with a few strategically placed accent colors. His large desk was uncluttered, and the lone decorations in the room were the half dozen framed award certificates and an oil painting of Dutch tulip fields hanging on the wall. The only thing that glittered in the entire room was the light gleaming off the metallic trim on the closet door’s keypad lock.

“Well then, I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.” He handed the papers back to Adriana.

“Thank you, Ralph.” Esmee reached for her coat and put it on.

Marit and Nadia did the same. Then, lifting her shoulder bag from the floor, Marit pulled out her red beanie. Late February in Paris was chilly, especially in the evenings, after the sun went down.

Waiting for the women to precede him out of the office, Ralph locked the door behind them.

“Ralph!”

They all turned. A man with tousled brown hair was standing with one hand on the doorframe of an office down the hall.

“Maggie needs you to sign off on something right away,” he called.

“And so the pre-Fashion Week emergencies begin,” Ralph said. “If you will excuse me, ladies.” He inclined his head toward them. “Marit and Nadia, I’ll see you both backstage. Esmee, always a pleasure.” He headed down the hall at a brisk walk.

The three women went the other way, toward the lift.

Unfortunately, their departure was poorly timed. It seemed that almost everyone in the building was leaving work for the day. The lift stopped at each of the five floors on their way down from Ralph and his team’s floor, and by the time they reached the lobby, Marit was more than ready to exit the confined space. She, Esmee, and Nadia joined the general exodus toward the outer doors, and as she walked, Marit opened her bag to retrieve her gloves—but found only one. With a sinking heart, she rooted through her bag again.

“Hang on,” she said. “I’ve lost a glove.”

Nadia frowned. “We don’t have that far to walk to the Metro station. You can just put your hands in your pockets.”

“I could, but I really don’t want to lose my gloves.” Marit wasn’t going to take the time to explain to Nadia that Lars had given them to her for Christmas and—quite apart from the fact that they were her favorite pair—he’d notice right away if she stopped using them.

“When was the last time you wore them?” Esmee asked.

“On my way here.” Marit closed her bag with a frustrated sigh. “It must have dropped out of my bag in Ralph’s office when I grabbed my hat.” With resignation, she eyed the congestion around the lift. “It’s going to take a while to get back to the sixth floor. You two don’t need to wait. I’ll go up and see if Ralph will let me into the office again, and then I’ll meet you back at the flat afterward.”

“Okay.” Nadia didn’t hesitate. Marit could hardly blame her. She was probably as anxious as Marit was to take off her high heels and put on some slippers.

“You know the Metro stop you need?” Esmee asked.

“Madeleine,” Marit said.

Esmee nodded. “All right. We’ll see you soon.”

Moving against the flow of people, Marit made her way back to the lift. The wait seemed interminable, and when the doors finally opened, another flood of people exited. She waited until the lift was empty, walked in, and pushed the button for the sixth floor. The lift went up one floor and stopped. The doors opened to a cluster of office employees, each anxious to go home.

“It’s going up,” Marit said in French.

Ignoring the grumbles, she pushed the door closed and prepared herself to repeat the same warning four more times.

By the time she reached the sixth floor, the receptionist’s chair was empty and the lights in the foyer were dimmed. Hurrying toward Ralph’s office, she scanned the hall for a chink of light beneath a door. Fashion Week—with all its crazy, last-minute madness—began next Monday. Even if Ralph had resolved Maggie’s pressing issue and they’d both managed to leave in the last twenty minutes, there had to be someone working late tonight.

She strained her ears. There were voices coming from somewhere. The end of the hall, maybe? She continued past three closed doors and had reached Ralph’s office when she heard the hum and click of an electronic lock. She frowned. It had sounded as though it had come from inside Ralph’s office, but no light showed beneath the door. Seconds later, the door handle shifted. Startled, Marit stepped back three paces. The door opened, and the man who’d called out to Ralph earlier appeared. He was wearing a jacket and gloves, and his unruly hair was covered by a navy knit hat. A canvas messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, and in his hand, he held a phone.

The moment he saw Marit, his jaw tightened. “What are you doing here? Ralph’s gone.”

“I think I dropped my glove in his office.” When the man didn’t immediately invite her in, she continued. “I was hoping to check to see if it’s under the chair where I was sitting.”

He glanced up and down the hall. “Be quick,” he said, flipping on the light and finally stepping aside so she could enter. “I had to drop something off for Ralph, but he doesn’t like anyone in here when he’s not around.”

Marit wasted no time. She crossed to the armchair where she’d been sitting, and a wave of relief washed over her. Her missing glove was lying in plain sight, right beside the plum-colored cushion.

“Got it!” she said, raising it so he could see. “Thanks so much for letting me in.”

He gave a curt nod, his attention on the hallway rather than on her. “Come on, then. I need to get going.”

Marit stepped into the hall, but not before noticing that Ralph’s desk was as clear of papers now as it had been earlier. Whatever the man had delivered had not been left on the desk. She glanced at the closet door keypad reflecting back the overhead light. Perhaps that was the lock she’d heard from the hall. He must have put something in there instead.

Keeping his back to her, the man pulled the door shut and tugged on the handle to make sure it was locked. Satisfied, he hiked the strap of his messenger bag a little higher on his shoulder. A ping sounded, announcing the arrival of the lift. Marit turned toward the lobby in time to see the lift doors open. A man dressed in a custodian’s uniform stepped out, dragging a cart behind him.

“If we hurry, we might be able to catch the lift,” she said, starting down the hall.

The man didn’t reply. She turned her head to repeat herself, but he had disappeared. Puzzled, she studied the empty hall. Either he’d slipped into another room, or one of those doors led to a staircase. No matter which it was, he obviously wasn’t interested in catching the lift. The lift doors thudded closed, and she stifled a groan. Her hesitation had cost her. Goodness only knew how long she’d have to wait until it came back up. She’d just have to hope that the custodian now emptying the bins in the foyer was a little friendlier than the other man had been.