Gemma Halliday - Alibi In High Heels

"Hey," Dana said, approaching my table. "You hungry?"

I nodded. Even though for perhaps the first time in my life, food held no appeal at all.

Dana must have sensed my mood. She cocked her head to the side. "What's wrong?"

I gestured behind me to the empty shoes rack.

She laid a hand on my arm.

"Honey, I'm so sorry."

"And I yelled at Ramirez."

She raised an eyebrow.

"And, I can't find Charlie."

"Charlie?"

I nodded, then quickly filling her in on my afternoon's activities.

"Well, someone must have known this guy. I mean, especially if here's here at fashion week."

"I know," I nodded. "But I can't find anyone who heard Gisella talk about him."

"Maddie," Ann called, walking by my table, her headset already squawking at her about something. "Jean Luc wanted me to reassure you that he's still putting your name in the billing as the shoe designer. Even though…" she trailed off, gesturing to the empty rack behind me.

"Thanks," I said. Then cringed at just what my name would be attached to. "I think."

"Hey, Ann," Dana asked, grabbing her arm as she moved to walk away.

"Yes?" Ann gave her a look like human contact was not in her realm of comfort.

"Do you know a guy named Charlie?"

Ann crunched up her nose. "Be more specific."

"Do you know anyone here in Paris at Fashion Week named Charlie? That Gisella might have know"

Ann paused a moment. Then shook her head. "I'm sorry, the name isn't ringing any bells."

My shoulder sagged. "Thanks anyway," I called after her as she broke from Dana's grasp.

Dana puckered her forehead. "You know that in itself is a little odd."

"What?"

"The fact that Ann doesn't know him. Ann knows everyone."

I shrugged. "Let's get some food."

Instead of going all the way back to the hotel, Dana and I walked two blocks south and found a cute little bistro that had an even cuter little waiter. We took a spot on the outside patio, next to a pair of tall heaters, and both ordered large pasta dishes with creamy sauces that would make Jenny Craig drool. Okay, fine, I ordered pasta with a decadent cream sauce. Dana ordered a salad and a small platter of pasta in light virgin olive oil.

As Cutie Waiter brought out our food, he was sure to ask Dana's chest if there was anything more she needed.

"He's kinda cute, huh?" Dana asked, licking her lips as she bit into her salad, her eyes riveted to his retreating tush.

"Uh huh. Heard anything from Ricky lately?" I asked.

"Who?" her eyes snapped back to me.

"Your boyfriend ?"

"Oh." Dana instantly became engrossed in her meal. "Um, yeah, sorta. He called."

"And?"

"He said he would be home in a couple of weeks."

"And?"

She sighed. "And that the Natalie Portman thing was totally made up by the press. Maddie, I feel so bad for not trusting him. But, I mean, do you think I can trust him? Damn, this monogamy thing is so hard."

Tell me about it. "If he says she doesn't mean anything to him, then she doesn't."

"But what if she does?"

I was about to give the 50/50 trust speech for the second time today when my cell rang from the depth of my purse. I fished around and looked down at the readout. Mom.

"Where have you been?" I asked, hitting the on button.

Only there was no response. Just breathing.

"Mom?"

More breathing.

I rolled my eyes and hit the off button. Love my mom as I do, she was not the most technologically advanced person on the planet. When she'd first gotten her cell last year, she'd insisted on shouting every conversation through it. I wouldn't be surprised if a compact in her purse had hit the speed dial.

I waited a beat, then called her number back. It rang four times, then went to a recording.

"Hi this is Betty. I'm either not available or screening my calls and you didn't make the cut."

I rolled my eyes.

"Please leave a message."

A loud beep sounded in my ear and I did, informing her that her purse had just called me, then hung up.

Wherever she was I hoped she as having a better day than I was.

A completely futile wish, as I was about to find out.

After dinner, I went back to the workroom where Jean Luc ran everyone ragged until long after the sun had set. At which point Dana and I took a cab back to the hotel, dragging ourselves through the lobby. It was sparsely populated at this time of night, but I noticed Pierre on duty still.

"Don't they ever let you sleep?" I asked.

Though he didn't seem to mind being on duty again. He wore a big smile across his features and his eyes held a look that could only be called a twinkle. Even his bald head seemed to shine extra brightly this evening.

He turned and gave me a smile that was all teeth. "Ah, Mademoiselle Springer. What a lovely evening, no?"

Honestly, I'd had better.

"You're in a good mood," I answered instead.

He did a deep, contented sigh. " Oui . It was a Rosenblatt free day today." His smiled widened.

I felt a frown settling between my brows. "Mrs. Rosenblatt isn't in yet?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I have not seen her." Another big grin.

I admit, I was beginning to get worried. It wasn't like Mom to just disappear like that.

My concern must have shown on my face, because Pierre asked, "You want me to call their room, oui ?"

I shook my head. "No, no I'll call later. Listen, I was wondering if you could tell me if you have a Charlie registered as a guest here?" I asked. I know there were a dozen hotels in a two block radius he could have been staying at, but I was beginning to get desperate.

Pierre hit a button on his keyboard. "But of course. This Charlie's last name?" he asked, his fingers poised expectantly.

"Well, that's kind of part of the problem. I don't exactly know."

A frown puckered his features. "Oh."

"See, he was a friend of the murdered girl, Gisella."

"Ah. Well, I'm sorry, but our database is arranged according to last name. There's no way to tell if Charlie is registered or not without a last name."

Damn. So much for my last resort. "Thanks anyway for looking."

"Any time," he said, waving as I walked off.

I rode the elevator up to the seventh floor alone, then paused outside Mom's door. I knocked. No answer. I opened it, then peeked my head inside.

"Hello?" I asked.

No response. I flipped on a light and walked in. It was impossible to tell how long they'd been gone, the beds made with military precision by housekeeping. Though, I noticed that both Mom's clunky old orange Samsonite and Mrs. R's pink polka dotted suitcase were still in the room. They hadn't packed for a long trip. I ducked into the bathroom and saw the multitude of moisturizers, eye rebuilding creams and anti wrinkle serums Mom used every night still sitting on the counter. There was no way Mom would go anywhere overnight without those things.

Maybe we'd just been missing each other?

I sat down on the bed and called her number again. Straight to voicemail this time. I left a message saying I was starting to worry, could she please call me back.

Sadly, I think was starting to sound a little like my mother.

I tried to think back to when the last time I'd seen her was. It had been… yesterday? Before Dana and I had gone to Milan. I glanced around the room again, trying to find any clue that Mom and Mrs. R had been here since then. But, thanks to fastidious housekeepers, if there had been a clue, it was gone now.

With an uneasy feeling, I switched off the light and left the room, trying to tell myself that Mom was a big girl. She could take care of her self. More than likely, she and Mrs. R were just having the time of their lives exploring Paris. Probably they'd found some French karaoke club. Who knows, maybe Mrs. R had even found some nice French guy who liked muumuus.