ago, and Ms. Perry showed up, even though she wasn’t invited.”
Ellie sat straighter in her chair. This guy was asking her the questions Sam had warned her about—the ones that implied she was part of the investigation. “Look, Detective Vaughn. I’m really not the person you should be speaking to. I wasn’t at the party. I don’t know a thing about him accusing Ms. Perry of—I mean—”
“Way to go, Triple E,” Rudy yipped from the pen.
Vaughn narrowed his steely eyes. “Accusing her of what?”
“He’s testin’ you. Just wants to see if you know what he knows.”
“I met Ms. Perry and the Kings yesterday, so I have no idea of their past interactions,” she said, still pondering his interrogation.
“But you’ve heard?”
“About an incident. Jeffery King accused Lilah of stealing his sister’s designs and using them to win a spot in this competition.” She swallowed a grin. She had him on this one. “But I believe whatever I tell you, as you people in law enforcement call it, would be hearsay.”
Vaughn ignored her perceptive comment. “And you’ll tell me if you hear or observe something you think I need to know?”
“Of course. I always cooperate with the NYPD.” She heaved a sigh. “If I may ask, why are you looking for answers from me?”
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Because other than my men and me, you seem to be the only normal person on staff here, and I need normal to run a clean and sensible investigation. Not crazy.”
At that moment a model Ellie had met the day before showed up and passed over the leash to her Greyhound. “Look at me,” she wailed, pulling at her hair. “Reynoldo promised me the color would be stupendous, beautiful, a work of art. Look what he’s done to me.”
Ellie glanced at the Greyhound, a large and seemingly peaceful dog she’d never encountered before. She’d been told the models chosen for this competition had pocket pooches, not ponies. Did this girl think she was running a canine day care center? The model tugged at her hair while she moaned, and when Ellie glanced up she found Vaughn grinning.
The girl whirled in place and Ellie fought to remember her name. Katherine . . . Cassidy . . . Cassandra? “Ah, it—it looks fine to me,” she stuttered, trying to see the flaw. The model’s hair was long and lustrous, with a slight curl at the ends.
“It’s brown. Mud brown, if you want the truth.” She dragged the hair up until it stood on end. “It’s ruined!” Dropping into a chair, she slapped her hands over her face and began to cry.
Ellie anchored the Greyhound’s leash under a table leg, and the dog sat patiently next to his mistress. When she turned around, Detective Vaughn was gone.
“I need Karen Hood,” the model sobbed. “I never should have let anyone else touch it. I’m due to be in a show in an hour, so I came in early to see Karen, but she was busy. So this other hairstylist, Reynoldo, convinced me he could do the job just as well. And like a dope, I said okay.”
Karen Hood? It was a name she’d heard yesterday. All the models wanted her to do their hair, but only a few were worthy of the special treatment.
“Please, please find her for me,” the girl continued.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. All I can do is keep your dog.” It was then her memory kicked in. “You’re the model who didn’t bring one yesterday,” said Ellie. “But this can’t be— Is this the dog you plan to use for the show?”
Cassandra raised her head and blinked through teary eyes. “I know, I know, he’s too big, but he’s all I have now. I lost my Yorkie. He died and—”
When she sobbed again, Ellie felt her pain. Saying good-bye to a dog you loved was one of the most difficult things a person could do. She found a tissue in her tote and passed it over.
“A friend took me to a Greyhound rescue event last weekend and I couldn’t resist. I took one look at this big boy and saw my
Ellie sat straighter in her chair. This guy was asking her the questions Sam had warned her about—the ones that implied she was part of the investigation. “Look, Detective Vaughn. I’m really not the person you should be speaking to. I wasn’t at the party. I don’t know a thing about him accusing Ms. Perry of—I mean—”
“Way to go, Triple E,” Rudy yipped from the pen.
Vaughn narrowed his steely eyes. “Accusing her of what?”
“He’s testin’ you. Just wants to see if you know what he knows.”
“I met Ms. Perry and the Kings yesterday, so I have no idea of their past interactions,” she said, still pondering his interrogation.
“But you’ve heard?”
“About an incident. Jeffery King accused Lilah of stealing his sister’s designs and using them to win a spot in this competition.” She swallowed a grin. She had him on this one. “But I believe whatever I tell you, as you people in law enforcement call it, would be hearsay.”
Vaughn ignored her perceptive comment. “And you’ll tell me if you hear or observe something you think I need to know?”
“Of course. I always cooperate with the NYPD.” She heaved a sigh. “If I may ask, why are you looking for answers from me?”
He smiled, but his eyes remained serious. “Because other than my men and me, you seem to be the only normal person on staff here, and I need normal to run a clean and sensible investigation. Not crazy.”
At that moment a model Ellie had met the day before showed up and passed over the leash to her Greyhound. “Look at me,” she wailed, pulling at her hair. “Reynoldo promised me the color would be stupendous, beautiful, a work of art. Look what he’s done to me.”
Ellie glanced at the Greyhound, a large and seemingly peaceful dog she’d never encountered before. She’d been told the models chosen for this competition had pocket pooches, not ponies. Did this girl think she was running a canine day care center? The model tugged at her hair while she moaned, and when Ellie glanced up she found Vaughn grinning.
The girl whirled in place and Ellie fought to remember her name. Katherine . . . Cassidy . . . Cassandra? “Ah, it—it looks fine to me,” she stuttered, trying to see the flaw. The model’s hair was long and lustrous, with a slight curl at the ends.
“It’s brown. Mud brown, if you want the truth.” She dragged the hair up until it stood on end. “It’s ruined!” Dropping into a chair, she slapped her hands over her face and began to cry.
Ellie anchored the Greyhound’s leash under a table leg, and the dog sat patiently next to his mistress. When she turned around, Detective Vaughn was gone.
“I need Karen Hood,” the model sobbed. “I never should have let anyone else touch it. I’m due to be in a show in an hour, so I came in early to see Karen, but she was busy. So this other hairstylist, Reynoldo, convinced me he could do the job just as well. And like a dope, I said okay.”
Karen Hood? It was a name she’d heard yesterday. All the models wanted her to do their hair, but only a few were worthy of the special treatment.
“Please, please find her for me,” the girl continued.
“I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. All I can do is keep your dog.” It was then her memory kicked in. “You’re the model who didn’t bring one yesterday,” said Ellie. “But this can’t be— Is this the dog you plan to use for the show?”
Cassandra raised her head and blinked through teary eyes. “I know, I know, he’s too big, but he’s all I have now. I lost my Yorkie. He died and—”
When she sobbed again, Ellie felt her pain. Saying good-bye to a dog you loved was one of the most difficult things a person could do. She found a tissue in her tote and passed it over.
“A friend took me to a Greyhound rescue event last weekend and I couldn’t resist. I took one look at this big boy and saw my
Similar Books
