Monique Rimes, head of Monique Modeling Agency into her thickly carpeted office. Brody and Stan followed behind. “The career of a model looks fascinating and challenging.”
If one liked being poked, prodded, contorted, barked at, dressed and undressed like a fashion doll, and starved half to death. Not that she’d voice that personal opinion. Ms. Monique, as she invited them to call her, had been all that was gracious in showing them around the academy and agency headquarters located in Plymouth, a western suburb of Minneapolis. Stan had gotten some nice footage of models in training.
“My pleasure. I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves.” The silver-haired agent executed a model-style pivot and rested the pads of long fingers against the top of her desk. “Is there anything more I can do for you?” The print on her silk, button-up dress consisted of swatches of wide charcoal-gray-and-white stripes traveling in opposing directions, set off by an oversized collar and cuffs. The getup might have looked ridiculous on another figure, but the style added softness and curves to an angular body. The woman did know fashion.
“Just a few words with you. Perhaps we could stand over there.” Hallie pointed toward a case containing trophies and plaques.
Ms. Monique’s smile bloomed around impossibly white teeth. “Excellent idea.”
They took up positions that allowed the camera to catch most of the awards as well as the two of them. Brody stood back next to Stan, arms crossed. Hallie couldn’t fault the man’s behavior this morning. He’d been quiet and unobtrusive throughout the interview, even though he must be bursting with questions he’d been hoping to ask the agent.
Hallie faced Ms. Monique, and the camera rolled. She asked about the contents of the case. Ms. Monique gestured extravagantly and gushed on for ten minutes about the agency’s accomplishments over the years.
Hallie inserted appropriate exclamations then touched Ms. Monique’s animated arm. “Before we wrap this up, I think we’d be out of line if we didn’t address the pink elephant that’s been following us around all morning.”
A delicate moue flitted over the agent’s narrow mouth. “You mean about the untimely—er—loss of one of our models?”
“Exactly. How will Alicia’s sudden absence affect your schedule?”
A slight frown hinted at wrinkles lurking beneath the artfully applied makeup. “Those who knew her and worked with her are very saddened by her death. She was a tremendous asset to this agency and to the modeling profession.”
“So she will be difficult to replace.”
Ms. Monique huffed and met Hallie’s gaze beneath lowered brows. “Could we take this conversation off the record?”
Hallie hesitated. Maybe cooperation would yield surprising dividends. “Certainly.” She turned toward her cameraman. “Stan, could you stop the film?”
“Sure thing.” Stan lowered his camera.
Brody dropped his arms to his side and straightened. Hallie met his gaze, and he nodded in support of her decision.
Ms. Monique issued a pained grimace in Hallie’s direction. “You must understand that this is a very fluid business. Highly competitive. Many talented individuals are after the limited slots offered for television and movie spots, catalogs and runway models. Any individual, even one as gifted as Alicia, is only a drop in the sea. Remove that drop, and others instantly rush in to fill the void.”
Brody took a step forward, and Hallie moved aside. Might as well see where this new direction was going.
“Did she have any enemies that would want to hurry that process along?” he said.
The agent’s nostrils flared. “No more than anyone else who naturally excels at what they do in a competitive field. And certainly no one who would have beaten and strangled her merely to wear her outfits at the next fashion revue.”
“So you’re implying there was rivalry,” Hallie said, “but not deadly rivalry.”
“Who felt the most threatened by her talents?” Brody added.
Ms. Monique curled her upper lip and glared first at Brody and then at Hallie. “I am not going to dignify either of those questions with an answer. The point is that a beautiful young woman is dead.” Her mouth drooped and she sighed. “I can hardly believe she’s gone. And that her young man—” The woman shook her head. “Inconceivable that such a thing could have happened.”
“Inconceivable?” Hallie said. “I thought everyone knew Damon and Alicia had a troubled relationship.”
“What I mean is a person never thinks that someone they know is going to be murdered. And I’m not sure I would have characterized the relationship between those two as ‘troubled.’ More like…unusual.”
Brody nodded like he knew exactly what the agent meant.
Swallowing irritation, she smiled at Ms. Monique. “How so?”
The agent went to her desk and settled into her leather chair. At the woman’s gesture, Hallie took a seat opposite the desk, and Brody appropriated the other guest chair.
Ms. Monique cleared her throat and steepled her fingers in front of her. “Alicia was a highly disciplined young woman, as you need to be in order to last long in this business. A model must pay constant attention to diet and exercise and training. She was scrupulously punctual for every appointment, analyzed each paycheck to the last decimal point and gave a hundred and ten percent to every client. If Alicia had a fault…”
She pulled off her glasses and tapped the frames against her desktop. “See, I don’t care to criticize the dead, at least not for public consumption.” Her gaze swept toward the dormant camera and back to Hallie and Brody. “Other than a few freckles on her nose that we covered with makeup, our biggest issue with Alicia was getting passion out of her. If anything, she was too cool, too controlled. When we wanted an ice queen look, she was our go-to model. If we needed heat, we…well, perhaps an illustration might tell the most compelling story.” The agent reached for a portfolio on the corner of her desk, opened it, and pulled out a short stack of eight-by-ten photos. She selected two from among them and laid them out on the desk.
Alicia filled both pictures. Her rich, auburn hair floated around her exquisite face. Her smooth skin glowed fresh and peachy. The sleek lines of her neck and arms flowed gracefully in differing poses against dissimilar backgrounds. But that wasn’t the contrast that arrested Hallie.
In the shot on the left, every elegant plane of Alicia’s face, the form of her full lips, and the expression in those vivid emerald eyes screamed, “Do not touch!” In the photo on the right, the mouth softened, pouted, sassed, and her eyes sparkled like every facet of a finely cut gem exposed to light. Both photos were arresting, but only one exuded zest for life.
Hallie looked up at the modeling agent. “What made the difference?”
Brody made a humming sound. “I may have a glimmer what it was.”
Hallie frowned at him and returned her attention to Ms. Monique.
The agent smiled. “Whenever we needed fire out of Alicia, we invited Damon to the shoot. He’d walk in and—” She spread her hands toward the picture on Hallie’s right. “Sometimes, when he wasn’t available
