through the next few pictures on my phone. "But he certainly isn't dressed like someone who works in fashion."
I laughed. "That point, I concede."
"Look, there he is again," she said, stopping at a picture of Gia stepping out onto the runway. Sure enough, the guy was standing just off to the side, clearly focusing his attention on the model.
"Is he in any other photos?" I asked, scrolling through more, this time focusing on the background. After looking at another half dozen, it didn't appear he was present.
"He only seemed to show up around Gia," Ava noted.
"Maybe he was a friend of hers?" I offered.
"Or a boyfriend!" Ava said, perking up. She reached behind the counter and grabbed her laptop, quickly pulling up a social media website. "Isn't it always the boyfriend whodunit?" she asked.
"Only when it's not the butler," I joked as I watched her type Gia's name into a search.
She shot me a look. "Laugh all you want, but as I'm sure those 'enthusiasts' would tell you, 60% of crimes are committed by a supposed loved one."
"Where did you hear that statistic?"
"Dateline," she said. "And Keith Morrison would not lie."
I stifled a snicker. "So, did Gia have a tall, dark, and baseball cap clad man in her life?" I asked, leaning closer to see her screen over her shoulder.
"Well, according to this site, she is not in a relationship." She pointed to the little status icon. "But it could have been new."
"Or old," I said. "Maybe he was an ex-boyfriend."
"Ooo, I like that. Exes are much more dangerous."
"Though why she'd invite an ex to her show, I don't know," I mumbled, second-guessing that.
"Wow, she's got a ton of followers." She pointed to a number that had several more zeroes than Oak Valley's social media sites did.
"Looks like she was pretty active on there."
"And took a lot of selfies," Ava noted, going through her photo album on the site.
"Well, she was a model," I pointed out.
"Apparently a well-paid one. Look, she's on a yacht in this one. A private jet to Europe," she said, scrolling through to another photo. "And it looks like she drives a Ferrari. A new one, too." She stopped at a photo of Gia dangling the keys to a fire engine red sports car outside a dealership.
"Wow." I suddenly wished I were about five inches taller and twenty pounds lighter. I was so in the wrong business.
"Seriously, wow," Ava said. She scrolled to the next photo—one of Gia and a couple of other long-legged models posing for a photo shoot on a beach.
"Wait—look at that guy in the background!" I pointed to a guy wearing a pair of sunglasses standing behind Gia, partially obscured by a sand dune.
Ava squinted at the man. "Is that Baseball Cap Guy?"
"Hard to tell," I admitted. "No hat, but he seems tall enough. And he's got that same dark hair and cleft chin."
Ava scrolled through a few more pictures. In almost all of them, Gia was posing alone or with other female models and friends. I noted Jada in a couple of them, and one or two were professional photos of her on the runway. Nothing in any of the pictures hinted at an indication of a relationship with anyone—no romantic dinners, no Valentine's photos, no cute kissing selfies.
But I noticed the same tall, dark haired man in the background of at least four of them.
"It's weird," I said. "This guy always seems to be hanging back from the action, you know? Gia seems to be mostly ignoring him."
"Or maybe she didn't know he was there!" Ava said, putting a hand on my arm.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, Gia was gorgeous, posted all about her life on social media. Maybe this guy wasn't a friend at all. Maybe Gia Monroe had a stalker!"
I glanced down at the man who never seemed to be quite facing the camera. I had to admit, it was not a bad theory. "All the photos with him do seem to be in public places."
Ava nodded. "Look—two at runway shows. That one at the beach photo shoot. This one looks like it's some sort of car show."
"So you think this guy found out Gia was doing the charity show at the Links and somehow snuck in to stalk her?" I asked. I knew from personal experience how hard it was to break into the club.
"Or who knows—maybe he knew someone who knew someone who got him in. The point is, he was there."
"And apparently a lot of