Who killed Traci?

R eva clamped her hands over her mouth, trying not to be sick.

She’s dead! her mind screamed. Traci is dead!

Strangled!

Reva took another step backward. Her knees shook so badly she thought she might fall.

As she tried to catch her balance, she felt something sticky under her shoes. She glanced down.

A pool of blood had formed around Traci’s feet.

Dark red blood, spreading out in a circle.

Reva clamped her hands tighter against her mouth and closed her eyes. I’m stepping in it, stepping in her blood!

Then she opened her eyes. Blood? But where did it come from? Traci had been strangled, right?

Where did the blood come from?

Shaking all over, Reva examined Traci’s body. And saw the support pole. The pole that held up a mannequin. Jammed through Traci’s back.

Someone had murdered Traci! Strangled her, then hung her from the pole like a plastic mannequin!

But who? And why?

As Reva watched, a trickle of blood wormed its way down a fold of Traci’s jacket. It gathered into a red drop, hung from the hem for a second, then broke free and splashed to the floor.

Reva tore her hands away from her mouth and screamed.

• • •

“It must have been so awful for you, Reva!” Ellie tucked a curly strand of red hair behind her ear and peered at Reva with a worried expression. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe you should go home.”

“She can’t,” Liza pointed out. “The police want to talk to her, remember? They want to talk to all of us.” She sighed. “I wish they’d hurry up about it.”

Reva gazed around the big showroom. Traci’s body was gone, but the pool of caked blood remained. She glanced away, shuddering.

“I still can’t believe it,” Ellie murmured. “When Liza and I heard you scream, we knew something terrible had happened. But I never thought—” She swallowed hard. “Who hated Traci enough to kill her?”

Remembering Grant’s words from last night, Reva stared at Liza.

The dark-haired model sat with her arms folded and her legs crossed, one foot swinging back and forth. She looked worried and impatient.

But she didn’t look guilty.

Of course, she might be a great actress, Reva thought. She picked up a cup of coffee and glanced into it. The stuff had turned to sludge. She set it back down.

In the front of the room, the police were still busy taking photographs. Dusting things for fingerprints. Talking to each other in low voices.

Reva glanced at her watch. Two o’clock already. If only her father weren’t at that stupid all-day business meeting, he’d make the police let her go. She’d already told them everything she knew!

She jumped from the chair and began pacing. First she wanted to go home and soak in a hot tub. And then she needed to check her list of models and find a replacement for Traci. She just hoped her father didn’t decide to cancel the whole thing.

“What about the show?” Liza asked, as if she had read Reva’s mind. “Is it still on?”

Ellie gasped. “How can you talk about the show when Traci has been murdered?”

“Sorry, but it’s how I make a living,” Liza told her. “If it’s off, then I have to start looking for other work. What about it, Reva?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Reva replied. “I really can’t think about it now.”

Actually, she cared about the show as much as Liza did. More, probably. But why admit it? She didn’t want to look completely heartless—at least, not while the police were still around.

“Call me as soon as you can, will you?” Liza asked. “I need to know.” She glanced toward the group of police and shivered. “I really do feel bad about Traci, even though I didn’t like her. I wish Grant were here.”

Me, too, Reva thought.

“Miss Dalby?” A detective named Blake strode up. “Just a couple of questions, and then you can go.”

Finally! Reva thought.

Blake waved Liza and Ellie away, then turned to Reva. “I hope you understand, we have to talk to everybody who saw Miss Meecham yesterday.”

“Yes, but I already told you everything I know,” Reva said. At least ten times, she added silently.

Blake ran a hand over his balding head. “We’re trying to get a picture of her last day.”

“The last time I saw her alive was yesterday, in here,” Reva replied. “I’m staging a fashion show, and Traci is—was—one of the models.”

“And she didn’t tell you what her plans were for the rest of the day?”

Hardly. “No, she didn’t.”

“Did she seem upset or worried? Anything like that?”

Only upset because she had to work with me, Reva thought. She shook her head. “And I just don’t have any idea who’d want to kill her!”

Reva glanced over at Liza and remembered again Grant telling her how much Liza hated Traci.

“There could be fireworks,” he had warned.

Should she tell Detective Blake?

No. Not now, anyway.

Grant couldn’t possibly have meant anything like murder when he said that. And besides, Reva needed Liza for the show.

Reva made a point of looking at her watch, hoping the officer would take the hint. Two-fifteen! She’d scream if she didn’t get out of here soon.

“All right, Miss Dalby. Thanks for your time,” Blake told her. “If you think of anything, be sure to get in touch.”

“Of course.” Reva grabbed her jacket and bag and hurried out of the room before the detective could think of anything else to ask her.

As she stepped into the hallway, Grant’s words came back to her again. “Liza and Traci really hate each other. There could be fireworks.”

Forget it for now, Reva told herself. She zipped her jacket and hurried down the hallway. You have a show to put on.

If Liza had anything to do with Traci’s murder, let the police figure it out.

After all, that’s their job.

• • •

“Oh, no!” Reva groaned as she pulled her car to a stop in front of her house.

The battered, rusty VW sat in the drive, looking like a junkyard reject.

Groaning again, Reva stared at the front door. Pam and Willow must be inside. Why did they have to show up now, when she was so tired and upset? The last thing she wanted to do was talk to Pam and her creepy, mean-eyed friend.

Maybe I can sneak past them, she thought, climbing out of the Miata. They’re probably in the living room again. All I have to do is make it up the stairs without them seeing me.

Carefully, Reva slid her key into the front door lock. She turned the handle silently, eased the door open and peered inside.

The foyer was empty.

So far, so good.

Staying on tiptoe, she took one step. Then another.

Something moved behind the door.

Reva started to turn.

Too late.

A hand came out of the shadows. Something glinted in the dim light.

A knife. A gleaming, sharp-bladed knife.

Before Reva could open her mouth to scream, the knife plunged deep into her back.

Дата добавления: 2015-07-20