Free Fashion Faux Paw by Judi McCoy Page A

Yasmine and Cassandra, the two women who’d modeled Lilah’s creations yesterday, as they picked through the hospitality table’s offerings on their break. Was it Marcus David they were talking about?
    “What’s so odd is that Lilah seemed to do a complete turnaround when she entered this contest. The designs she submitted were nothing like her usual tough-edged work,” Dominique added. “Which only backs up Jeffery’s accusation. She stole Kitty King’s designs and called them her own. I just hope Kitty’s new pieces are as good.”
    “So who do you think managed to get her close to a peanut?” asked a third woman, African-American and beautiful, who went by the single name of Lawan.
    “I have no idea, but whoever did it, well . . . they have my congratulations,” said Dominique. “I just hope Kitty will create the same fabulous styles and finish them by four o’clock.”
    Ellie glanced at her watch. It was close to one and Viv was due any second. She’d probably think listening to these women gossip was a wonderful experience. And it was, if you liked the dirt on the street.
    “I hear she slept with someone on the committee, just so she’d get chosen,” Lawan continued. “Maybe he’s the one they should look for as the killer.”
    “I think they’re going to go after Jeffery King,” said Dominique. “He and Lilah never got along. They got into a huge argument when he accused her of submitting designs created by his sister.”
    “I heard about the fight, too.” Lawan started peeling an orange. “He pulled out of the selection committee right after he confronted her.”
    “Maybe so, but isn’t it strange that his sister now has Lilah’s spot? Makes you wonder if he wasn’t the one who found a way to get Lilah close to her allergen, then bam !” Dominique smacked her right fist into her other palm. “She’s having an attack and her pen is conveniently empty.”
    Ellie swallowed a protest. She assumed Detective Vaughn was already on this same track. He didn’t need to hear it from the models.
    Cassandra, dressed in nothing but a sheer robe, took a seat, opened an energy bar, and gave the first bite to her Greyhound. “Jeffery wants to throw Ranger out of the competition. He says he’ll find me a little dog to use as my companion, but that’s not going to fly.” She gave her boy a hug. “No one is going to kick my baby out of the running.”
    The models, all in various stages of undress, started throwing out ideas about a dog Cassandra could use. Ellie wanted to chime in. The girl had to have a friend that owned a small dog. If Cassandra had signed a contract that said “a dog under fifteen pounds” she was in trouble unless she complied. As far as Ellie was concerned, a contract was a written handshake, and NMD had the right to demand she stick to the deal or they’d use another model.
    Fingering Jeffery King for the murder was another matter. Didn’t the women realize that the more they spread the word, the more the cops would listen?
    Kitty took that moment to walk on the scene, and the topic of conversation automatically switched channels. Carrying an armful of fabric, she grinned at her supermodel. “Yasmine, I need you to try on my creation for evening wear. Do you have time or are you working for another house this afternoon?”
    “I have a couple of minutes; then I’m due at Karen Hood’s station. How about holding up the gown and giving us all a peek.”
    Kitty rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? I’d have to stand on a chair to get it up off the floor. How about you help me,” she asked Ellie, shooting her a grin.
    “Uh, me? Okay sure.” Standing, Ellie took the dress Kitty passed her and raised it to her chest. When the material, a soft silky weave, slipped from her fingers, the models gasped.
    “Wow, that’s beautiful,” declared Yasmine. “I’m gonna look like a million bucks in it.”
    “I’d kill to wear it,” Cassandra muttered.
    Another