Gemma Halliday - Alibi In High Heels

"I'm seeking representation," she said, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

"Oh?" Debbie asked. "Are you a model?"

Dana nodded. "Yes, I'll be walking in the Le Croix show later this week in Paris."

"Yes, we have a couple of models doing that show." Again her features creased into a frown. "Or, we did anyway."

"I heard about Gisella," I said, leaping in. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks." She did a tight smile. "But I honestly didn't really know her. I just started working here a couple of weeks ago. The last girl apparently left quite suddenly."

"Oh?" I asked raising eyebrow. "Any idea why?"

She shrugged. "I'm not really sure. One of the interns told me that Donata caught her last assistant in her private office one day and fired her on the spot. Tough break for her, but really lucky for me. I'd just moved from New York, where I was studying fashion design, so the timing was perfect. I've made tons of great contacts already."

The phone rang and she let out an exasperated sigh. "Except for the press. If you'll excuse me a minute?"

I nodded as she hit a button on her computer and began talking into the headset again.

Honestly, my mind was still rolling over the "fired assistant" thing. Had the former receptionist stumbled onto something she wasn't supposed to? Was there evidence of a crime in Donata's office? Maybe that was where she'd hidden the jewels? I looked beyond the kidney shaped desk, toward the long expanse of hallway on either side, itching to take a look. Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt had said only three of the missing pieces from Fashion Week had been recovered. Maybe that was the "business" Donata had come to Milan to take care of. Maybe she was whisking the fourth away to Milan before Moreau and his crew could get their hands on it.

"No, we're not inclined to comment at this time. I'm sorry," Debbie said into the headset. She rolled her eyes as she hung up. "Sorry, where were we?"

"I was wondering when Miss Girardi would be in?" Dana reminded her.

"Right. Well, I'm not sure she's expected back today," Debbie said, checking her watch, "but if you have a contact sheet with you, I'd be happy to hand it to her."

Dana bit her lip. "Oh, well, this was kind of impromptu. We were just in the neighborhood, see? I don't really have anything with me."

"Well, here," Debbie said, pushing a piece of paper at Dana. "Why don't you leave your contact info and I'll let Miss Girardi know that you stopped by. If you're doing the Le Croix show, I'm sure she'd be interested to meet you."

As Dana took the paper, I looked down the hallway again toward Donata's private office. I bit my lip, feeling my chance to do some snoop – I mean investigating – quickly slipping away. I glanced at Debbie, now fielding another call from a Felix clone. I leaned in close to Dana.

"Cover me, Farrah," I whispered.

Dana immediately got that Angels shine in her eyes and nodded.

"Excuse me," I said as Debbie repeated her no-comment spiel into the phone. "But is there a restroom, back there?" I asked, indicating the hallway.

"Oh sure, first door on your left."

I shot her a big smile. "Thanks."

Dana gave me a sly wink as I hobbled down the hallway. I mentally crossed my fingers that Farrah didn't get too carried away.

Instead of turning left, I did a quick glance over my shoulder before swiftly turning to the right and hobbling as stealthily as I could past the restroom and to a door marked "Donata Girardi". I paused outside, listening for any sign of life beyond, before turning the knob and quickly stepping inside.

I shut the door behind me with a little click, my heart hammering as I calculated that I had, at most, a five minute window before Debbie would start getting suspicious. My eyes whipped around the room for a place to start.

Like the reception area, Donata's office held a tasteful mix of contemporary furnishings – a long desk in light woods with chrome accents, flat paneled file cabinets, a sleek sofa in a bold print next to a low glass coffee table, a big white clock on the far wall, and two tall, slim bookshelves filled with binders and photographs.

I dismissed the bookshelves right away, instead heading for the file cabinets. I tried the top one. Locked. Well, what did I expect? If I were hiding stolen diamonds in my office, I'd keep them locked too.

I quickly turned to the desk, opening drawers and scanning the contents for anything that looked like a key. I came across three – one marked with the word " prowiste ", the other two smaller and slimmer. I took the small ones to the files cabinet and tried the first one. No luck. It fit in the keyhole but didn't turn. I glance at the clock. Three minutes had gone by. Starting to get that antsy feeling the pit of my stomach, I slipped the second key in. Again it fit, but didn't turn. Damn. Where was Felix's lock picking kit when I needed it? Just for good measure I tried the prowiste key, but it wouldn't even go in the hole.

I frantically searched around the room for another place to hide a key. If it was in Donata's purse, I was sunk.

My eyes roved the shelves. Framed head shots, books, binders, bits of camera equipment. Finally my eyes landed on a camera case next to a headshot of Gisella in a skimpy bathing suit on a no doubt exotic beach location. Out of sheer desperation, I opened it up. Inside was an old Nikon camera, a roll of thirty-five millimeter film. And a key. I stared at the little sliver thing, wondering if maybe my karma was turning around.

I didn't waste time. With one quick glance at the clock (one minute left) I fit the key into the lock and turned it with a little click. My hands were shaking as I opened the top drawer.

If I'd been expecting to find a cache of jewels in a box marked "Stolen" I was sorely disappointed. The only things in the drawer were files. I felt my heart sink. Though, I figured since I was here I might as well be thorough.

There were several files marked with the names of models, all of which contained pictures, but nothing that seemed out of the ordinary. A few of the files held handwritten notes in Italian that could have said anything from details of their last go-see to Donata's grocery list for all I could tell. I made a mental note that if I was going to do any more foreign snoop – investigating – I was going to have to bring a translator with me.

I glanced up. I'd been there seven minutes. I didn't know how much longer Dana could keep Debbie occupied.

I was just about to give up when I saw one file that appeared to be unmarked. With one more backward glance at the office door, still shut (for now), I pulled the file out and thumbed though.

It contained only pictures. They were all 8X10 shots of the same young, male model. From the styles he was wearing, I'd say they were taken sometime in the seventies. One picture showed the man strutting down a runway, another was of him emerging from the surf in designer swimwear. I paused on one that looked like a candid, a full face shot that appeared to be minus any airbrush touches. Something about him seemed familiar. I cocked my head to the side, taking in his wide hazel eyes, thick dark hair, thick dark eyebrows.

And then I saw it. I squinted down at the photograph and there, tiny as could be, was a heart shaped birthmark just at his hairline that even the best plastic surgery couldn't completely get rid of.

I was looking at Donata.

I felt my breath catch in my throat, time standing still for a full two seconds, as I flipped the picture over. Scrawled in neat handwriting on the back was a name. "Donatello Gardini." It was too close to be a coincidence.

Checking the clock, I quickly shoved the picture back in the file, re-locked it in the file drawer, and shoved the key back in the camera case, my hands shaking. I paused only briefly at the door to make sure no one was lurking on the other side before slipping back out of the office and down the hallway, my mind reeling.