The Dangerous Edge of Things - By Tina Whittle Page 0,59
I wasn’t a part. I heard her laugh, softly, heard his monosyllabic reply. I took another step toward the curtain.
That’s when I saw the photograph.
It was just lying there behind the counter, half covered with other mail. I reached over—casually, like I was looking for a pen or something—and brushed the envelope aside so I could get a better look.
It was the exact same shot that Mark had brought to Trey, the one Charley had confiscated. Lying next to it was the envelope from Snoopshots. Apparently Mark Beaumont wasn’t the only one who’d gotten Dylan’s sales pitch—he’d obviously sent the same shots to Gabriella, hoping to impress her with his photographic genius.
And then I noticed something else, something I’d missed the first time.
I snatched up the photos and marched the whole lot right into the dressing room. Trey was standing very still while Gabriella ran a tape measure across the back of his shoulders.
I shoved the photo at him. “That’s her, standing outside of the frame.”
“Who?”
“Eliza.” I tapped the image. “See? That hand there, on Charley’s waist?”
Trey looked where I was pointing. “How do you know that’s Eliza?”
“The silver cuff bracelet. She was wearing it when she died. I remember it vividly.”
“Let me see.” Gabriella stood, peered over his shoulder. “That’s a bracelet from my silverwork collection.”
“So you knew her?”
“The girl who was killed? Eliza? Not very well. She came in here sometimes, but she rarely bought anything.”
“Except this bracelet.”
Gabriella looked at me pointedly. “It’s from my more accessible line.”
“You mean it’s the only thing somebody like Eliza could afford?”
“Yes. She seemed to enjoy looking, though, and she asked a lot of questions about my clients, especially Charley.”
“That didn’t seem odd to you?”
She shrugged. “People ask about Charley all the time.”
“But you remember this girl in particular. Why?”
“Because this girl asked very personal questions. Other people bring in magazines and say, I want this, or, do you have shoes like that? But this girl wanted to know about Charley, not the clothes. And for a while she showed up right after Charley did, within minutes.”
“Did you tell Charley any of this?”
“Of course. She didn’t seem concerned. In the end, the girl stopped coming here, and I stopped worrying.”
While she spoke, she continued to take Trey’s measurements, running her pink tape measure around his waist, across his chest. There was familiarity in her touch.
“And now the girl’s dead,” I said.
Gabriella tucked the tape in her pocket. “Yes. But what does that have to do with Charley?”
“It has everything to do with Charley! Eliza was obsessed with her in way that goes far beyond some celebrity crush! She’s got her hand on Charley’s waist, for crying out loud!” I turned to Trey. “Now will you believe me when I say there’s something fishy going on with the Beaumonts?”
He handed the photo back to me. “There’s a logical reason—”
“Of course there is! Charley took this picture from your office because she’s trying to cover up a link between her and Mark and this girl. I can’t believe you don’t see it!”
“Hundreds of people are linked to the Beaumonts.”
“But why her, why here, why at this party? She was a receptionist, how could she afford a Mardi Gras party that cost two hundred bucks a ticket?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she bring a date?”
“I don’t know.”
“You were there! Didn’t you see her?”
“There were 587 people at that event.”
I started to argue, but then I remembered the other photographs in my hand. I took them over to a cushioned bench and dumped them out. If Gabriella was annoyed that I’d been going through her stuff, she didn’t say anything—she just joined me as I sifted through them.
“You got these from Dylan Flint,” I said.
“Yes. I wasn’t the only one. Several of my friends who were at the Mardi Gras ball got the same package.”
“Didn’t you think that was strange?”
“I’ve seen much stranger promotions than dropping off samples of one’s work.”
The photos looked identical to the ones Dylan had sent Mark Beaumont. They contained Mark and Charley and Senator Adams, my brother and the mayor. And then, in the background, another familiar face, only this time he wasn’t holding a toilet brush.
“Jake Whitaker,” I said.
Gabriella twisted her mouth in a tight knot. “Him.”
“You know him?”
She examined her fingernails like Rico did, fingers curled in a loose fist. “That night at the ball, he wouldn’t leave me alone. And then he showed up here the next morning.”
Trey’s head snapped back. “You didn’t tell me this.”