Moreau blinked at me. His mustache twitched.
But he didn't get a chance to answer as the door opened again and Beak Nose said something to Moreau in Italian. Moreau answered back, then shot a pointed look at me before disappearing through the door.
I thunked my head down on the table. Could life get any worse?
I'm not sure how long I sat like that, but by the time the door opened again, my forehead made a little suction sound when I lifted it up.
Beak Nose stood in the doorway again. "Okay," he said in broken English. "You can go now."
"I can go?" I asked.
He nodded, holding the door open for me.
I stepped out, wondering what had changed. Two minutes ago Moreau had seemed ready to read me my rights. Now I was free to go.
And then I saw what had changed.
Ramirez.
He looked tired, his eyes bloodshot, his posture tilting slightly forward. A generous dusting of five o'clock shadow covered his jaw, making his cheeks look hollow, like he hadn't slept. My heart clenched in my chest and all I wanted to do was give him a hug.
Beside him stood Moreau, the two of them deep in conversation.
As if he could feel me watching him, Ramirez suddenly straightened his spine, spinning around, his gaze traveling my way. Our eyes locked for a full two seconds.
Then he turned away.
He muttered a brief something to Moreau, before walking past the gate and through the dinky reception area.
"Wait!" I called.
Moreau looked up, as did several of the other officers, all eyes turning my way.
But not Ramirez. In an instant, he was out the door and gone.
I felt my heart sink, my stomach doing a hollow, empty thing that had nothing to do with the fact I hadn't eaten. And everything to do with the fact that I wasn't sure how many more times Ramirez would walk away from me before he stopped coming back.
I felt tears well behind my eyes, but bravely sniffed them back, instead hobbling over to where Moreau stood waiting for me.
"You are free to go," he said, slowly. Then added, "For now."
I nodded, still staring at the doorway Ramirez had disappeared through.
"And Dana?"
"Your friend is waiting for you downstairs. I have a car ready to take you both back to the airport."
I nodded again.
"I expect you will inform me if you feel the urge to travel out of France again?" he asked. Though I could tell that wasn't exactly a question.
I nodded meekly, all the fight having drained out of me the second I'd seen Ramirez.
"Good." Moreau singled to Beak Nose, who led me down a flight of stairs to where Dana was waiting for me at the bottom.
She gave me a fierce hug. "I hope I did the right thing calling Ramirez?" she asked.
I nodded. Even as tears welled behind my eyes at the sound of his name.
We both piled into the waiting blue and white, riding to the airport in silence. Needless to say, there were no kisses on the cheek from Beak Nose as he saw us onto our flight.
I tried to sleep on the brief plane ride back to Paris, but it was nearly impossible. Images of Ramirez, Moreau, Felix, and Donata all mixed together, making my head hurt so badly, I begged the flight attendant for an aspirin.
By the time we'd landed and caught a cab back to the Plaza Athenee, I was beat. I crawled into bed, fully clothed and collapsed, just as the sun was coming up.
I wasn't sure how long I slept, but the sounds of room service carts woke me several hours later. I rolled over, looking at the clock. It was past noon. I felt like I'd been asleep for days. I stripped off my clothes, hopped in the shower and attempted to wash the previous day's events off of me while trying to keep Wonder Boot dry. The hot water helped, and I was feeling almost human again by the time I stepped into a clean denim skirt, white tank, and cropped black collarless jacket. An much as I would have liked to don my red heel again, Doctor Ponytail had been right, my legged throbbed today after running around Europe in one heel. Instead, I slipped on a black ballet flat and added an extra swipe of lip gloss as a concession.
I ordered room service in and dialed Dana's number while I waited for my waffles and eggs to appear.
"Hello?" she croaked out.
"Are you up?"
"I am now."
"I ordered waffles."
She groaned.
"And a grapefruit half for you."
"I'll be right over."
Ten minutes later I opened the door and let her in. She was still in her pajama bottoms, pink with leopard print, and a rumpled T-shirt that read "Aerobics Instructors Do It In Step". She flopped onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
"Get much sleep?" I asked.
"Some." She yawned. "Not enough."
Ditto.
Luckily, when sleep escapes me, sugar and caffeine are readily available substitutes. Both of which I indulged in as room service arrived with a big plate of waffles and maple syrup and two carafes of coffee – decaf for Dana, regular with loads of cream for me.
I slathered the syrup on, my mouth watering as I watched it make little pools in the waffle squares. I took one bite. Heaven.
Dana scrunched up her nose and dug into her grapefruit. "So, any thoughts about Donata's killer this morning?" she asked, covering her breakfast with one hand to avoid grapefruit-juice-in-the-eye.
I shook my head. "Nope. And here's what's been bothering me," I said, shoveling a forkful of waffle into my mouth. "Why kill Donata? I mean, assuming Gisella was working with a partner, it seemed like they had the perfect set-up. Why ruin that?"
Dana shook her head. "Good question. Okay, let's say the partner offed Gisella for a bigger piece of the profits. Or, maybe Gisella was getting sloppy and the partner was worried about someone finding out."
"The last one seems more likely to me," I said. "If he was just greedy, he'd want to keep Gisella around, right? Without her, the scam is over. On the other hand, Gisella was risking a lot by hitting four designers in one Fashion Week. Someone was bound to start putting it together sooner or later."
"Okay, so the partner's worried about being found out, so he kills Gisella. Lucky for him, you're in town and he can throw suspicion on you with the stiletto thing."
"Lucky him,' I mumbled, pouring more syrup on my waffles.
"So – why Donata? I mean, it doesn't seem likely she'd go to the police, does it? Not when she had a secret of her own to protect."
I shook my head. "No. It doesn't." I took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Dana, who did you tell that we were going to Milan?"
She paused, grapefruit wedge halfway to her lips. "Just Jean Luc. Why?"
"Maybe the killer was afraid Donata would let something slip to us?"
"You think?"
I shrugged. "Either way, the killer must have known we'd be in Milan. Otherwise, there'd be no point in doing the stiletto thing again. He couldn't very well point the finger at me if I'd been in Paris with an iron-clad alibi at the time of the murder. He had to have known I'd be in Milan."
Dana put her spoon down. "Wow. You're totally right. Okay, who knew you were going? Jean Luc. Who else?"
I bit my lip. "No one. I mean, I called Ann for Donata's address. I didn't exactly tell her I was going to Milan, but I guess she could have found out if she tried. And I did ask Angelica about Donata. She could have easily followed me there, I suppose. But the only person I really told was…" I trailed off.
"Who?"
"Felix."
Dana paused. "Maddie, there is a chance that he actually did it."
I shook my head. "No. I mean…" I thought about it. Then shook my head. "No. He couldn't have."
"Maddie, I know you like him-"
"I do not like him. I loathe him."