years? Honey, they'd kill me in the press."
He had a point there. Especially with the Daisy Dots of the world, ready to shove him under any oncoming busses.
"I mean," he went on, "can you imagine how offended the gay community would be? Not that I ever meant to offend anyone, but they'd crucify me. And the straight designers would never take me seriously now. I'd be double ostracized! Image is everything in this business, dahlings. No one would ever want a Carl Costello label showing again."
Again, I had to agree there. I couldn't imagine his core audiences proudly brandishing his signature logo handbags if that sort of scandal came out. Let alone paying four figures for them.
"So, you paid Gia off to keep your secret quiet," I said.
Costello nodded. "She asked me to wire the money into her account. I did, and I thought we were done with the matter."
"Only she came back," Ava jumped in.
"She did. Often. And the number for her silence kept going up. It was like, once she realized I'd pay, she just kept pushing and pushing to see how far I'd go."
"Before you cracked," I added.
Costello turned to me, his expression morphing from the teary-eyed victim to a fashion mogul with a little fight left in him after all. "Now, hold on a minute. What do you mean by cracked? I had nothing to do with what happened to Gia."
"But you did argue with her just before the show at the Links was about to start," I pointed out.
He didn't deny that. He didn't confess to it either, clamping his lips shut.
"What was it I overheard?" I said. "'Careful what you wish for. It might be your last.'"
"That is totally out of context!" he said, popping up from his chair, his previous pale pallor being replaced with two bright, angry red spots on his cheeks.
"So give us the context," Ava told him. "What was the argument about?"
Costello wrung his hands together and began to pace behind his desk. "Fine. Okay. Yes, she was asking for more money, alright? She said she'd go on social media and spill everything—that I was straight, that my relationship with Fabio was a sham, that I'd been lying to my public all this time. And I'd paid blackmail to cover it up."
"How much more did she ask for?" Ava asked.
"Fifty thousand."
I gasped before I could rein it in. "That's a big number."
"Right?!" Costello threw his hands up. "I don't have that kind of money sitting around. I mean, this isn't Milan, dahlings." He gestured around his fishy smelling, gold gilded office. "I-I'm not making what I once was. The fashion market is flooded these days."
And he was old news. Though, none of us voiced that thought.
"You seemed to have enough to rent out a penthouse," Ava pointed out.
But Costello waved her off. "That was for appearances, dahling. I mean, I couldn't very well have all my models going back to their agents saying I stayed in the same type of rooms the models did, now, could I? I'd completely lose their respect. Didn't I say image is everything?"
That point could have been argued, but I let it go. What did I know about the intricacies of the fashion world hierarchy?
"Did you tell Gia that you didn't have the money?" I asked instead.
"Yes. I said it had to stop, that I couldn't keep paying her. She'd had her fun, and it was time to move on."
"I'm guessing she didn't agree with you there," Ava said.
"No." His eyebrows drew down in a frown. "No, she said if I didn't pay her by the end of the day, everyone would know about me."
And then she'd died before she'd had the chance. I couldn't help but notice how convenient that timing was.
Costello must have realized how it looked too, as his voice took on a pleading tone. "I did not harm Gia. I'm telling you, I was nowhere near her when she died!"
"No?" Ava asked. "Because I think you've given several different versions of exactly where you were when she died."
Costello frowned and shook his head, as if unconsciously willing Ava to just stop talking. "I-I don't know what you mean."
Ava shifted forward in her seat. "I mean that after the fashion show, you clearly were not doing some private celebrating with Fabio, now, were you?"
"No." He paused, looking distinctly nervous again. "I wasn't with Fabio. But everything else I told you is true."
"Which time?" I asked, giving him a look.
"I-I went backstage for