Forever Mine (26 page)

“Allegra, huh?” Michaela leaned back against the dressing table. “How did he find out your real name?”

“I’m roasting.” Fiona took a sip of water from a plastic bottle.

The few electric fans stationed at intervals failed to deliver the intended cool air. Allie grabbed her purse shaped like a long envelope and fanned Fiona’s back and shoulders. A model headed toward the stage and runway. From the corner of her eye, Allie caught a flash of pleated deep purple.

“We’re next,” Allie said. Then in a sharper tone, added, “Fiona, put down the water and stand. We need to dress you.”

She and Michaela helped Fiona step into the taffeta gown. By some miracle everything fit without an adjustment. A buzz of excitement, accompanied by applause, seeped through the curtain.

Allie reapplied Fiona’s lipstick and gloss. Then she clasped a narrow gold choker, from which two dozen tiny multi-faceted rubies dropped, around the model’s neck. The piece was one loaned by Delilah and obviously very expensive. Keeping it safe added additional stress. Allie encircled the model’s wrist with a wide gold cuff then clipped earrings, made of several three-inch-long slender gold strands interspersed with tiny rubies, to Fiona’s ears.

She walked Fiona to the stage entrance and waited. As soon as Allie’s name was announced, Fiona morphed into a sexy, hip-thrusting pro with attitude to spare, and strutted onto the runway. From a discrete vantage point, Allie eyed the judges, whose bland expressions gave no hint of their thoughts. Seated in a front row, they had the power to elevate a designer to the next level or dash his or her hopes. They scribbled on their pads barely taking their eyes off the model.

The taffeta evening gown suggested sophistication and glamour, and Fiona had all the moves necessary to best show it off.

Allie gave in to a burst of confidence. Maybe a happy ending was slated for her tonight.

Chapter Thirty-Three

By the time they unloaded all the clothes, brought them to the dressing area and Ben retrieved the wedding gown, more than half the seats inside the tent had filled. The two cops at the door had Dave’s and Jimmy’s sketches, so Ben decided against hanging around outside. Studying male faces up close made him too conspicuous. If Dave and Jimmy showed and pegged him as a cop, they’d take off into the wind.

Ben had selected a place that offered the best vantage point, an end seat among several empties in a back row, halfway between the entrance and Allie. The local cops, along with Thompson in position behind the tent, had everything else covered.

Delilah and Hamilton Forbes, as well as two women from Allie’s lunch at the Beach Chalet, were seated across from him and much too close to the runway. Before he’d glanced away, Delilah smiled and gave a small wave. No doubt delighted to see Allie’s designer friend from Los Angeles. At least, he wouldn’t have to explain himself to her. Which was good since, after the show, he fully intended to stick to Allie like Velcro.

Maybe she’d pull the designer thing on him again. Why couldn’t she have manufactured fancy toothpicks like his uncle once had from the family basement? No question he’d fit well with a job in sales. He’d already gone that part-time route earning tuition money while in college.

Projecting ahead, tension built in his body and cramped his neck. One last night under his care then Allie would be on her own. She should be safe in Cabo. But afterwards? Ben’s gut clenched at the thought of her alone and without protection once she returned to California.

Men made up close to forty percent of the audience. With Dave’s image stamped in his brain, Ben expected to recognize him easily. Would his hunch prove correct? By all accounts the man was smart, crafty and extremely careful. How else had he operated in Seattle without a hint of suspicion until recently? And he’d gotten away with another murder in Red Bluff. The guy was made of Teflon. So far, he’d evaded capture even though police up and down the West Coast were searching for him.

Ben wanted Barnett to show up tonight even though it was asking for trouble. Capturing the killer tonight would leave Allie free of worry. Impatiently, Ben tapped his foot, ready for the night to roll to some sort of a conclusion.

A crowded venue worked to Barnett’s advantage. Ben’s cop instincts told him as much. Most of the time, they’d proved right, usually for a good reason, or, at least, for
some
reason. This time he had a strong sense that Barnett was closer than anyone suspected. During his last phone call, Barnett had brought up the location of the fashion show. Maybe he couldn’t hold back from getting his first look at Allie. Maybe, with all the excitement, he might even find a way to isolate her. Sending her flowers proved his sick determination to add her to his
Forever Mine
conquests. Ben groaned at the thought. Although only a curtain separated him from Allie, it might as well have been the Great Wall of China.

The moderator announced the name of the next designer. Seconds later, a model appeared and headed for the runway. Ben leaned against his seat back, his pose casual but his eyes and mind fully alert.

The show ground on and one model after another stepped onto the stage, strutted down the runway, paused then turned back. To Ben, they were little more than a blur. The men occupying the rows facing him were his only interest. A few were fair-haired and fit the age range. However, nothing clicked. Their outfits—what Allie once described as casual chic—suggested the possibility they were budding designers. Some of the conservatively dressed guys might have been strong-armed into attending by their wives or girlfriends. What else would attract a man to this kind of event? He could count off fifty things he’d rather do than check out women’s clothes.

As the night progressed, the heat inside the tent edged up a few notches. Ben loosened his tie. Pockets of perspiration gathered under his shirt. Whenever the moderator’s voice cut into the hum, another model appeared almost immediately. At least things moved along quickly, a positive sign. The sooner he pulled Allie out of there and took her home, the better.

During a momentary lull, Ben slid from his seat. A knot of reporters clustered behind the last row, taking notes. A pair of technicians worked a TV camera. He joined them. So far, no alarm bells pealed. Still, he kept a steady gaze on the opposite seating area and on several men, who stood behind the back row. No one matched Barnett’s or Rix’s description or Rix’s age. Their absence produced a niggling doubt.

Another pause in the action and he changed position again and skirted the end of the runway until he faced his former seating area. Earlier, he’d noted two blond men but could only view the backs of their heads. Facing them now, he scanned their features. Again, nothing leaped out at him. He couldn’t match up either with Barnett. Ben began to seriously consider he’d made the wrong call. Maybe the two fugitives were no-shows after all.

Then he remembered the night at the station house when he’d used colored pencils to alter Dave’s sketch. He pulled up a mental picture of them: eyes slightly almond-shaped, round, high forehead, a too perfect nose, square chin. The hair color in the sketch was black, not blond. Ben had a more accurate description when he shaded in the hair with the yellow pencil. Now, he juxtaposed the original pencil drawing with the darker shades over one he’d colored. Shit. He should have thought of it earlier and not limited his search only to fair-haired men.

* * * *

Allie carefully removed the wedding gown from its zippered compartment. Fiona, complaining nonstop since Allie banned her from smoking, showed more attitude than cooperation. Allie had to constantly cajole her, promising as soon as the wedding gown segment concluded, the last of the evening, Fiona could smoke her brains out if she wanted.

The hairstylist appeared and studied Fiona and the wedding gown then made his suggestions. Taking into account the headpiece to be placed in Fiona’s hair, Allie chose the upsweep, from which several soft tendrils escape. The stylist accomplished the hairdo in minutes.

Fiona leaned toward the mirror and brought a hand up to touch the side of her head. Allie had the urge to slap her hand away, but she resisted the temptation. Instead, she gently tapped Fiona’s wrist.

“Don’t touch,” she said as if she were dealing with a spoiled child in a tiny tot pageant.

Michaela held a circlet composed of fresh lilies-of-the-valley and baby’s breath. “How do you want this piece arranged?”

“Slip it on her head after she’s dressed and tie it in back with the ribbons.” The heavy gown Allie held aloft pulled at her arm muscles.

“Fiona, stand up. We need to dress you,” Allie said.

“In a sec.” Fiona reached for the water bottle.

Allie’s patience ebbed to a new low. “Now!”

Fiona almost leapt to obey.

Once Fiona was dressed, Michaela placed the circlet of flowers around her head.

“Don’t touch.” Allie snapped when Fiona raised a hand toward the flowers. When the model again reached toward her water bottle, Michaela whisked it away from her.

Allie tried not to take the accumulation of two weeks’ negative energy as an omen for the future.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Ben started his search anew. This time, he had a slightly altered picture in mind. He discounted circling around to his original seat. Instead, he sauntered toward the front entrance and stood beside the table previously used by the ticket takers. He’d already noted the show wasn’t much different from a tennis match. Everyone’s head turned to follow the models as they walked to the end of the runway which gave him a better look at their faces.

A handful of men fell in the twenty-five to thirty years of age rage. With the approximate height and weight differential, and having nixed the blond hair, Ben now adjusted Dave’s profile. He reminded himself of Dave’s cleverness and how practiced he was in using that attribute to his advantage.

Ben tried to put himself into the mind of a man who’d left a trail of dead women behind. If
his
fingerprints had been found in the car of a murder victim, and he’d recently used the credit card of another, he’d naturally expect to be the object of a manhunt. However, eluding the authorities so far had to serve as a tremendous confidence booster. And in a city with a sizeable population such as San Francisco, he would take into consideration the ease with which a man could blend into a crowd.

The last thought struck Ben hard. If
he
were eluding the police, he’d take extra safety precautions. Something simple to accomplish, yet almost fail safe. What would it take for Dave to change his appearance? Hair color and clothes for starters. He also had more than a two-week window in which to grow facial hair. An artsy-fartsy look, something a shrewd man would choose when showing up at a fashion event. However, given the very limited time frame, he could not easily change one important aspect: facial structure.

A model stepped onto the stage, commanding the attention of the audience. All eyes followed her as she paraded down the runway. When she reached the end, she turned, paused a moment then walked back toward the stage. Ben zeroed in on a likely trio of men. Medium to dark hair, one with jacket sleeves rolled almost to the elbows. Another, with a few-days growth of beard, sporting a pink knit sweater draped across his shoulders, the sleeves tied across a purple shirt. A stupid-looking brimmed-hat tilted close to one ear. The third man wore a black leather bomber jacket. Glasses with tinted pale smoky blue lenses covered his eyes. A light dusting of beard covered the lower part of his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The announcer’s voice washed over Ben. He subconsciously tuned it in and out much as he had all evening. “We’ve reached the final segment of our competition, the bridal gown designs. Our judges have taken notes all evening. Perhaps, this last segment of the program will help them decide the four talented designers who will compete in the final judging in September.”

* * * *

Allie clasped a seed pearl necklace around Fiona’s neck. She’d already conducted a quick once over of her competitors’ bridal gowns. She judged two of them stiff competition, three others as possible. The rest were overdone with too many fussy ruffles or too many beads or, in one case, an excess of both. Allie’s gown was simple but elegant, the beadwork subtle and exquisite.

The show had moved along at a quick pace. Allie rarely had time to take a sip of water. Michaela had wisely held back any further questions about Ben, and Fiona, judging her cigarette break imminent, had become the soul of cooperation.

“What are you doing after the show?” Michaela asked Allie. “Judging from some of the competition, you’ll be a shoo-in to make the finals. Achieving this part of your goal should call for a celebration.”

Allie swept damp strands of hair from her forehead. After the show concluded and the four finalists announced, she expected Ben to hustle her straight home. A few minutes chitchat with family and friends, and she’d be out of there. His babysitting duty came to an end the next morning as soon as the Super Shuttle arrived to take her to the airport. Allie had barely allowed herself time to think about their last moments together.

“I’m going to go home, pack for the trip to Cabo then collapse into my bed.”

Actually, it would be her last night on the sleeper sofa. For the past two weeks, between the sofa having a lot less spring than her bed, and with a detective on the other side of the wall in anticipation of the arrival of a serial killer, it was a wonder she’d slept at all. Now, exhausted and stressed to the point she could barely think coherently, she was certain she’d sleep straight through to morning..

An assistant poked his head around the curtain. “We’re ready for Tom Costello.” As the designer shepherded his model forward, Allie shot a covert glance at the wedding gown. There wasn’t a bell or whistle missing from the design.