Chapter 25
Cole stood near the curtain where the models would come out once the next show began. Beside him, Lars held up his camera as the crowd from the Valentino show dispersed, his current focus an older woman wearing a ridiculous feathered hat.
Cole had to give his cousin credit. He had a way of capturing an image, and he was doing a great job of making sure they were able to document everyone present at the various shows that Marit and Isabelle were modeling in.
“Any sign of LaRue?” Cole asked, his voice low.
“Not yet.” Lars lowered his camera briefly and nodded at the cell phone in Cole’s hand. “Any luck backstage?”
“No.” Cole returned his attention to the surveillance images on his screen. Marit and Isabelle really had done a great job of planting the two cameras. They angled across the front of the wooden cubbies to show everyone accessing them, but the angle protected the privacy of the dressing area beyond them.
On another app, the current location of the purse illuminated his screen. The small tracking device was a simple one he had tucked inside the inner pocket, but it would show them if the purse went into motion when it wasn’t supposed to.
Two models appeared on the top part of his screen, both of them with purses hanging from their shoulders. They each slid their bags into a cubby and disappeared back the way they had come.
Marit and Isabelle arrived next. Lars must have been watching for them, because he leaned closer so he could see Cole’s screen better.
“I’m not sure who is more nervous about leaving her purse, Marit or Isabelle,” Lars said.
“After seeing the price tag associated with the bag we borrowed for Isabelle, it’s probably her, although since Marit’s bag is also a Ralph Molenaar original, I’d prefer not to have to replace either one.”
“After having two people try to steal Marit’s bag, Marit is probably relieved to not have it hanging off her shoulder.”
“True.” Cole glanced up at the now-empty rows of chairs. Two staff members straightened them while two more swept the runway.
A security guard approached Cole and Lars and spoke in French.
“What did he say?” Cole asked Lars.
“He said everyone needs to clear out between shows.”
Cole held up his all-access pass. “Lars, show him yours.”
Lars followed Cole’s instructions. After a closer inspection, the guard nodded and moved on.
“It’s official. I like these passes better than the media one Coster gave me,” Lars said.
“Me too.” Cole returned his attention to his cell phone screen, where Marit’s and Isabelle’s bags were clearly visible on camera two.
Several minutes passed with the museum clean-up crew finishing their task and the models in the backstage area checking in and stowing their belongings.
More than a half hour passed before Lars lifted his camera, signaling the arrival of the patrons for Li Du’s show.
A model came into view on camera one, continuing into the image until she was visible on both screens. She stopped in front of the cubbies, temporarily blocking Cole’s view of Marit’s bag.
When the woman with the bright-yellow blouse and long dark hair stepped out of the way, Marit’s bag was no longer in place.
“Lars.” Cole held out his phone for his cousin to see. “Someone just took Marit’s bag.”
“Let’s go.” Lars started toward the backstage area, but Cole grabbed his arm.
“I’ll go. You keep an eye out here,” Cole said. “Watch for a model with a yellow blouse and long dark hair.”
“Carrying Marit’s bag.”
“Yes.” Taking the most direct route to the cubbies, Cole flashed his badge at the guard beside the runway entrance and slipped past the curtain into the backstage area. He recognized his mistake too late. People everywhere. Models walking to and from the makeup area. Others standing by the dressing area. Li Du and several of his design team were scattered beside the tape affixed to the floor a short distance away, the first models already standing in their designated spots.
Someone rushed by holding a gown as long as two wedding dresses combined.
Cole stepped to the side, searching for the woman in yellow. Bright colors appeared to be the name of the game in Li Du’s line: purple, blue, red... and yellow. Cole spotted a flash of the color he was looking for and stepped closer to where the bags were stored. He made it two steps before he caught a full view of the model wearing the sunshine-colored dress, her blonde hair flowing loosely over her back.
Cole worked his way forward, scanning the area once more. He was all the way to the makeup area before he spotted the woman who had taken Marit’s purse. Or was it? Surely someone who had just committed a crime wouldn’t be sitting in a stylist’s chair as though she didn’t have a care in the world other than puckering her lips while the makeup artist applied lipstick.
Cole retrieved the security feed he had captured on his phone, rewound it, and pulled up the woman’s image. No doubt about it. He’d found the thief.
Cole stepped past three stylists and stopped behind the woman in the yellow blouse. The stylist capped the lipstick and looked up at him. “You can’t be in this area.”
“I’ll leave as soon as she returns the bag she stole.”
The model looked up at the reflection of Cole in the mirror in front of them. “I didn’t steal anything.”
“I saw you take Marit Jansen’s bag from the cubby a minute ago.”
“Are you talking about the oversized white Molenaar purse?”
Cole wouldn’t have known about the brand had Marit and Isabelle not already pointed it out to him. “That’s the one.”
“That wasn’t Marit’s. It belonged to one of the models from the Valentino show.”
“Who told you that?” Cole asked.
“Felicia.”
“Where is she?”
This time the stylist answered. “Over there. Eight chairs down on the right. She’s wearing a pink apron.”
“Thanks.” Cole headed the way the stylist pointed. He counted off the chairs and found the woman with crinkly brown hair and a pink apron. “Are you Felicia?”
“ Oui .” She turned, a curling iron gripped in her hand.
“Where’s the purse?” Cole asked. “The white one the model gave you.”
Felicia jutted her chin toward the main backstage entrance. “A guard asked for it. He said one of the Valentino models left it but that she wasn’t allowed backstage after the show ended.”
Cole spotted the guard by the curtain. “Was it him?”
“No. The man I spoke to was shorter. And his hair was blond, not brown.”
“Thanks.” Cole pulled up the app on his phone to determine the location of the purse. The blue circle that identified the tracking device flashed, moving slightly one way and then the other. Not able to determine the exact location, Cole backtracked past the stylist chairs and made his way to the guard by the curtain. “Do you know where the other guard went? The blond one? He’s a bit shorter than you?”
“He left a minute ago,” he said in a thick French accent. “He was returning a lost item.”
“What’s his name?”
“I don’t know. I’d never met him before.”
Cole pulled out his phone and called Lars. “Lars, keep an eye out for a blond security guard, under six feet tall, carrying Marit’s bag.”
“He got past you?” Lars asked incredulously.
Cole looked down at the app on his phone, the blue dot simply indicating that the purse was somewhere in the Louvre. “Yeah.” He let out a frustrated sigh. “He got past me.”
***
Lars scanned the crowded room. Those who’d come to Valentino’s show had already exited, but the incoming crowd was causing congestion at the doors. Although many people had claimed seats, more of them had not. The aisles were full of people, and far too many of them were blond-haired men around six feet tall.
Barely resisting the temptation to stand on the nearest chair so that he could see over the heads of those milling around the room, Lars hurried to the nearest aisle and started for the door. If the thief had already escaped the backstage area, the first thing he’d do was make for the exit.
Navigating around several tripods and camera cases, Lars made it only two meters before a large woman wearing an enormous, floppy hat blocked his path.
“ Excusez-moi .” He shifted half a pace to the left. She didn’t move. He tried going right. She still didn’t move.
Gritting his teeth, he stepped onto the empty chair beside him, straddled the back, and lowered himself into the next row. The rim of the floppy hat rippled as the woman turned her head to give him a look of consternation. Lars ignored her. Darting back into the aisle, he wove past the next three people, all the while scouring the area for anyone in a security-guard uniform.
Someone shouted. Lars looked left. A man in a black suit was signaling to a woman wearing a bright-red creation. Lars couldn’t tell exactly what it was. It was one-third dress, one-third trousers, one-third tent. But it made an impression. People parted as she moved, and in the gap she left in her wake, he spotted a blond-haired security guard.
A quick look up the congested aisle told him he’d never reach the door before the security guard was out of the room. Making a snap decision, he moved into the nearest row, worked his way down until he reached a cluster of empty chairs, and then started climbing over them.
“Hey! What d’you think you’re doing?” It was a man’s voice, but Lars didn’t bother turning around to identify him.
“Security!”
This time, the shout came from a woman. Lars didn’t mind at all. A little help from security right now would be welcome. Unless it came from the guy he was trying to catch.
Lars clamored over two more rows before dropping to the floor and hurrying back to the aisle. Those who were seated nearby gave him disapproving looks, but it appeared that the security guards were having as much difficulty reaching him as he was having in trying to get out. There wasn’t a guard anywhere near him.
“Sorry,” he panted. “It’s an emergency.”
Some of the disapproving looks turned disbelieving. Lars kept moving. He darted around two women dressed like flower gardens and caught another glimpse of the security guard one second before the man disappeared through the open door.
Pushing past the group of people standing at the entrance, Lars burst into the outer foyer. It was as crowded as the area behind him. And the only people wearing a security-guard uniform in sight were the tall, dark-haired man and short, balding man checking for tickets at the door.
“Any sign of him?” At the sound of Cole’s breathless voice, Lars swung around.
“I thought I spotted him, but I couldn’t get out here fast enough.”
Cole’s frustrated expression matched Lars’s feelings perfectly. “Whoever it was had help.” He pulled out his phone.
“Who are you calling?” Lars asked.
“I was going to text the girls to tell them.”
“Don’t bother,” Lars said. “They won’t be able to access their phones until the show’s over.”
***
Isabelle had survived another show. Two down, four to go. She hoped her feet would survive that long. Leaning down, she eased her foot out of the three-inch heel, wincing when the back rubbed against a particularly raw blister.
A sigh of relief escaped her the moment both shoes were back on the rack. She changed out of the oversized black dress and into her own clothes. When she opened the curtain of her dressing stall, Marit waited outside.
“You did really well today.” Marit gave her a hug.
“Thanks. I feel like we need to celebrate every time we finish a show.”
“Most people feel that way. That’s why there are so many parties during Fashion Week.”
“Personally, I prefer the quiet celebrations with our boyfriends over the ones with cameras flashing everywhere.”
Marit leaned close and whispered. “You and me both.” She looked at Isabelle’s bare feet. “Are you about ready?”
“Yes.” Rather than put her shoes on, she hooked them on the fingers of her right hand—no way was she putting them on before absolutely necessary—and headed for the cubbies, where she had left her borrowed bag.
Cole and Lars waited beside them, their faces grim.
A crease formed on Marit’s brow. “This doesn’t look good.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She and Marit reached the men. “I feel like I’m asking this question a lot, but is everything okay?”
Cole shook his head. “We lost Marit’s bag.”
Marit’s shoulders slumped, and disappointment colored her expression. “What about the tracking device?”
“Someone must have found it, because it went offline not long after the purse was stolen,” Cole said.
Lars slid his arm around Marit’s shoulders. “We’re really sorry, Marit.”
“Did you see who took it?” Marit asked.
“Yes, but it wasn’t the person who ended up with it,” Cole said. He explained the progression of events.
“Did you ever identify the guard?” Isabelle asked.
“No. He came in with fake credentials, but the security cameras caught a decent image of him, so police are running his image through facial ID.”
The police would hopefully find out who the culprit was, but if the Paris police department was anything like the ones in the large cities in the States, it could take days to get results.
Isabelle’s gaze met Cole’s. “Maybe you should have your friends run the image too.”
“I already forwarded it over.” Cole retrieved Isabelle’s borrowed Molenaar bag and handed it to her. “My guess is he’s another hired hand.”
“Whoever’s behind this is spending a lot of money trying to get these designs,” Marit said. “That’s at least three people they’ve sent after my purse.”
“Maybe we need to start looking for large withdrawals from LaRue’s bank accounts,” Isabelle said. “That could help tie him to the attempted muggings.”
Lars put his hand on Marit’s waist as they all started toward the exit. “I don’t suppose he’s one of the designers who banks with Bankhaus Steiner, is he?”
“I’m afraid not, but I know some people who might be able to check out his transactions,” Isabelle said.
“Between Cole’s friends and your friends, you two really do make a great team,” Lars said.
Cole took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes, we do.”
Goose bumps formed along her arm and up her neck at the simple gesture. Cole really could be charming at times. And completely clueless at others. Perhaps it was the unpredictability that kept her on her toes and left her always enjoying the question of what he would do next.
She stopped when they reached the main hallway to slip her shoes on and winced when one rubbed against her heel.
“You okay?” Cole asked.
“I will be as soon as I put on some fresh Band-Aids, or plasters, or whatever you want to call them.”
“Do we need to pick up some more at the pharmacy?” Cole asked.
“I have plenty in my—” Marit broke off. “Purse... or I did.”
“Looks like we need to make a stop on the way back to the flat,” Cole said.
They reached the exit, Isabelle only limping slightly as she went.
As soon as they were outside, Lars said, “What’s our plan for tonight? Find someplace to eat and commiserate over Marit’s lost bag, or stop at the pharmacy first so Isabelle can find some relief?”
“Pharmacy first,” Isabelle insisted. “After that, anywhere you want to go is fine.”
“There’s a pharmacy right down the street,” Marit said.
Cole and Isabelle fell into step behind Lars and Marit. The way he deliberately kept Marit and Lars in front of them suggested that Cole either had something to say that he didn’t want them to hear, or he wanted to make sure he could block any threat that might approach them from behind.
Cole leaned close. “How long will it take you to pull the financials on LaRue?”
“If I send the request to headquarters, I could have them as early as tomorrow,” Isabelle said. “I think we need to request that finance runs the same search on our other suspects, too, just to be safe.”
“As long as I don’t have to stare at spreadsheets, you can request as many reports as you want.”
“I had a feeling you would say that,” Isabelle said.
They reached the pharmacy, where Lars and Marit were still standing outside.
“Lars and I will wait here,” Cole said.
Marit stepped inside. “I’ll help you find them.”
“Thanks,” Isabelle said as they headed toward the correct aisle. Isabelle took a box off the shelf. She looked down at her feet and then at Marit. “I should probably get two boxes, shouldn’t I?’
“I’m afraid so.”