A Broken mannequin

R eva rushed across the room and dropped to her knees beside Grace.

Behind her, she heard loud gasps from the models. “Grant, what happened?” Liza cried.

“I don’t know,” Grant replied. “She just walked in and— whomp! She’s on the floor.”

Grace moaned. Her eyelids fluttered. “Rory,” she muttered hoarsely to Reva. “It was Rory!”

Reva’s mind spun. Rory? Here at Dalby’s?

Loud footsteps pounded across the stage. The three models and Grant surrounded Reva and Grace.

“Shouldn’t somebody call an ambulance?” Ellie asked anxiously. “I mean, look at her face!”

Grace shook her head and grasped Reva’s wrist with cold fingers. “No ambulance!” she pleaded. “Please! Just let me rest a second.”

Reva glanced up at the others. “You might as well go,” she told them. “I’ll take care of her. See you tomorrow morning at rehearsal. Nine sharp.”

As they left, Reva shot Grant a private smile. Then she turned back to Grace. Carefully, she helped her roommate to her feet and guided her down the hall to the ladies room.

Grace sat down shakily on a padded bench while Reva dampened some paper towels at one of the sinks. “What happened?” Reva asked, wringing out the towels.

“I took a walk down Division Street. He must have followed me,” Grace replied. “But I never saw him. Anyway, I was almost back when he dragged me into one of the loading bays behind the store and—he hit me.” She broke off, shuddering.

Reva handed her the towels. “We have to tell the police.”

“No.” Grace winced as she dabbed at her lip.

“But look what he did to you!” Reva argued. “You can’t let him get away with it!”

Grace shook her head. “I don’t think he’ll bother me again.”

“You call a split lip and a black eye bothering you?” Reva cried. “Don’t be a wimp about this, Grace! You have to put that psycho away!”

“You don’t understand,” Grace told her. “I know Rory. He wanted revenge and he got it. He’ll go away now.”

Reva rolled her eyes. If that’s what Grace thinks, fine. It is her problem—she can handle it herself. “Listen,” Reva said, “I still have tons of stuff to do for my Reva Wear show.”

“Yes. I know how important it is to you.” Grace smiled with one side of her mouth. “Go do what you have to do. Don’t worry about me.”

Okay, Reva thought. She glanced in a mirror and began fluffing her hair. As she did, the bathroom door opened and Willow stepped inside.

Her eyes met Reva’s in the mirror. Willow’s expression was cold and unblinking.

If looks could kill, I’d be dead, Reva thought in amusement.

• • •

Grant Nichols took a long, shaky breath as Reva wrapped her arms around his neck. “I don’t believe I’m doing this,” he told her.

“Believe it.” Reva ran her fingers through his curly black hair and kissed his lips. “See?” she murmured. “It’s really happening.”

Grant kissed her back, then pulled away and glanced around Pete’s Pizza. “I know it’s real,” he said. “That’s the problem. If Liza ever found out...”

“Hey.” Reva put her fingers against his mouth. “Who’s Liza?”

She kissed him again, then leaned her head on his shoulder and smiled to herself. Grant had called her late that afternoon, asking if she wanted to go out. No big surprise. She knew he was interested. She’d felt that spark the minute he set eyes on her.

She agreed to go out, of course. She was attracted to Grant. And she didn’t mind taking something away from Liza. That made it all the more interesting. Now the two of them sat in a back booth, waiting for their pizza to arrive.

Grant rubbed his chin against the top of Reva’s head. “How’s your friend?” he asked. “The one with the black eye?”

“She’s okay.” Reva snuggled against him. Grace was a pain, actually. “Let’s not talk about that. It was so unpleasant.”

“Talk about unpleasant—I couldn’t believe it when I saw Liza and Traci in the same room together,” Grant said. “I’m surprised they weren’t tearing each other apart. They hate each other, you know.”

“No, I didn’t.” Reva rolled her eyes. Who cared about Traci and Liza?

“Yeah, it’s really bad news,” Grant continued. “Traci accused Liza of stealing two modeling jobs from her. Plus, I used to go out with Traci. So she thinks Liza stole me away, too.”

So what? Reva thought. It didn’t have anything to do with her. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

Grant tightened his arm around her shoulders. “I think you should be careful, that’s all. When I said they hate each other, I wasn’t kidding. Liza is not happy about working with Traci in your show. And I’m sure Traci is not exactly thrilled, either. There could be fireworks. So watch out.”

“Hey.” Turning in the booth, Reva put her arms around Grant’s neck again. “Enough talk about Liza and Traci,” she murmured softly, moving her lips to his. “It’s not my problem—is it?”

• • •

At a quarter to nine the next morning, Reva strode down the hall to the showroom humming to herself.

She felt great. She had a fashion show to put on and a handsome guy to play with. What more could anybody ask for?

The scarves would be a major hit. She could feel it.

And last night had been fun. Grant worried too much about Liza. But Reva knew she could make him forget. He’s definitely cute, she thought. Maybe I’ll keep him around for a while.

Still humming, Reva pushed open the door and flipped on the light.

Good. The workmen had set up the mannequins along the fake sidewalk.

Reva tossed her blue down jacket onto a chair and put her hands on her hips, studying the mannequins.

Right now, they wore a mixture of clothes—coats, nightgowns, ski outfits. Reva frowned, thinking. She wanted them to look like shoppers, hurrying into Dalby’s. But she didn’t want them to be dressed too colorfully. The audience should pay attention to the scarves and nothing else.

Dark clothes, she decided. Blue. Black. Dark green. Maybe at the end of the show, each of the live models could drape a scarf around one of the mannequins.

Reva smiled. She definitely had a talent for this kind of thing.

As she walked down the aisle toward the mannequins, Reva noticed that one of them looked out of place. It stood in a weird position—tilted on its support pole with its knees bent.

If it’s damaged, she thought, heads will roll. Daddy pays these workmen good money. They should be able to handle a mannequin without breaking it!

Annoyed, she strode to the mannequin to see what was wrong. She grabbed hold of the silvery-gray jacket and spun it toward her.

The mannequin swung around. Its head lolled to one side, revealing part of a red scarf wrapped tightly around its neck.

Reva touched the ends of the scarf. It felt like one of Pam’s. Wasn’t that a gold snowflake painted on it? Definitely one of the Reva Wear scarves.

It’s ruined now, Reva thought, seeing how tightly it had been twisted.

Her gaze traveled up to the mannequin’s face.

A blond curl drooped over its forehead.

Its mouth hung open in a silent scream.

Reva snatched her hand away and stumbled backward.

No! Oh—no!

Not a mannequin!

Traci!

Ohh, no!

Traci Meecham!

Reva stared in horror at the bulging eyes, at the red scarf, knotted, knotted so tightly around Traci’s throat. At the open mouth, gaping open, open forever in a silent scream of agony.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20