Read Online 2 Death of a Supermodel by Christine DeMaio-Rice - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine DeMaio-Rice
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wouldn’t know poison from a vitamin. Laura was completely confident that they had found nothing in the downstairs apartment, except maybe Thomasina’s fingerprints, which was to be expected.
Why would they suspect Ruby in the first place? Someone must have said something. No evidence pointed to her besides the fact that she’d found Thomasina in the bathroom, but since Ruby had been sick, she’d had every reason to be there. It was kind of poetic that Thomasina had collapsed in a bathroom and Ruby found her there. Those two had spent more time together in bathrooms than any other two people Laura knew.
She sat awake as the clock ticked to midnight because she remembered that though she’d been staring Cangemi in the face not two hours ago, she’d never told him about the bag she’d found, and she’d never called the cops to tell them she had it because her mind was elsewhere. Sabine Fosh’s credit cards notwithstanding, the bag was definitely Thomasina’s. Laura still had access to it, and she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers without a second look.
Laura called a cab, got dressed, and went to the showroom because she didn’t have a choice. Well, she did have a choice. She could have called the cops and told them everything, and they’d pick up the bag in the morning. But that would mean she’d never get her eyes on it. She’d never be able to protect her sister if the police got something stupid in their collective heads. Mostly, she’d never know what was in the bag, and if she wasn’t going to sleep no matter what she did, she was going to satisfy her curiosity.
When she went outside to meet the cab, she saw police tape stretched across her sister’s front door. Jimmy was slumped in his doorway, with a crowbar in one hand and a phone dropping out of the other. She could hear his snoring in the silence of the night. She felt a pang of gratitude for him. He cared about the three women who rented the house next door more than any conglomerate could. As she got in the cab, she noticed the big cameraman standing across the street, leaning on an unmarked van. He sipped from a bottle of soda and nodded at her as the cab pulled away.
She’d been in the office at one in the morning before, so the overall desolation and creepiness had no effect on her. The reporters had gone to report something else and might very well be back in a few hours, but it was quiet at the moment.
The elevators exited in front of Jeremy’s showroom. The lights were on, so someone was home. Likely, Jeremy was talking to some new factory in China or prepping for his show, which would begin his drive toward total lifestyle brand domination. She resisted the urge to knock on the door to see how he was doing. He was probably engrossed in something, and her visit would not be welcome.
She walked down the hall to her showroom. In the darkness, she almost knocked over Corky’s Danish Modern table trying to unlock the door.
The bag was in the drawer where she’d left it. She slapped it onto the table, the buckles clattering against the lacquered wood. Under that noise, she heard another sound, like a clicking, but she couldn’t place it. She was aware that she was putting her fingers all over what could be evidence, and Cangemi would give her a hard time. But she’d already put her mitts all over the bag’s contents yesterday, so there didn’t seem any harm in doing it again.
She started by carefully unloading the objects onto the table, one thing at a time: face cream, cellphone, wallet, three pens, makeup kit to be unzipped and emptied later, three packets of gluten-free Tamari, a little Coach wallet full of receipts.
The makeup bag was filled with little plastic containers of brand new, super-expensive makeup made in Sweden. She pulled out an unmarked amber bottle of pills. She turned the plastic cylinder in her palm and estimated about ten capsules clicking away in there. Putting the bottle to the side, she
Why would they suspect Ruby in the first place? Someone must have said something. No evidence pointed to her besides the fact that she’d found Thomasina in the bathroom, but since Ruby had been sick, she’d had every reason to be there. It was kind of poetic that Thomasina had collapsed in a bathroom and Ruby found her there. Those two had spent more time together in bathrooms than any other two people Laura knew.
She sat awake as the clock ticked to midnight because she remembered that though she’d been staring Cangemi in the face not two hours ago, she’d never told him about the bag she’d found, and she’d never called the cops to tell them she had it because her mind was elsewhere. Sabine Fosh’s credit cards notwithstanding, the bag was definitely Thomasina’s. Laura still had access to it, and she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers without a second look.
Laura called a cab, got dressed, and went to the showroom because she didn’t have a choice. Well, she did have a choice. She could have called the cops and told them everything, and they’d pick up the bag in the morning. But that would mean she’d never get her eyes on it. She’d never be able to protect her sister if the police got something stupid in their collective heads. Mostly, she’d never know what was in the bag, and if she wasn’t going to sleep no matter what she did, she was going to satisfy her curiosity.
When she went outside to meet the cab, she saw police tape stretched across her sister’s front door. Jimmy was slumped in his doorway, with a crowbar in one hand and a phone dropping out of the other. She could hear his snoring in the silence of the night. She felt a pang of gratitude for him. He cared about the three women who rented the house next door more than any conglomerate could. As she got in the cab, she noticed the big cameraman standing across the street, leaning on an unmarked van. He sipped from a bottle of soda and nodded at her as the cab pulled away.
She’d been in the office at one in the morning before, so the overall desolation and creepiness had no effect on her. The reporters had gone to report something else and might very well be back in a few hours, but it was quiet at the moment.
The elevators exited in front of Jeremy’s showroom. The lights were on, so someone was home. Likely, Jeremy was talking to some new factory in China or prepping for his show, which would begin his drive toward total lifestyle brand domination. She resisted the urge to knock on the door to see how he was doing. He was probably engrossed in something, and her visit would not be welcome.
She walked down the hall to her showroom. In the darkness, she almost knocked over Corky’s Danish Modern table trying to unlock the door.
The bag was in the drawer where she’d left it. She slapped it onto the table, the buckles clattering against the lacquered wood. Under that noise, she heard another sound, like a clicking, but she couldn’t place it. She was aware that she was putting her fingers all over what could be evidence, and Cangemi would give her a hard time. But she’d already put her mitts all over the bag’s contents yesterday, so there didn’t seem any harm in doing it again.
She started by carefully unloading the objects onto the table, one thing at a time: face cream, cellphone, wallet, three pens, makeup kit to be unzipped and emptied later, three packets of gluten-free Tamari, a little Coach wallet full of receipts.
The makeup bag was filled with little plastic containers of brand new, super-expensive makeup made in Sweden. She pulled out an unmarked amber bottle of pills. She turned the plastic cylinder in her palm and estimated about ten capsules clicking away in there. Putting the bottle to the side, she
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