On the Avenue by Antonio Pagliarulo

our unique and different personalities.” She tossed her head back dramatically, but the expression on her face remained serious, as if she were sitting across from a journalist, being interviewed for a cover story in
Vogue.
“Only the best designerscan accomplish something like that, you know. It's such a trying job. But my inspiration comes from the fashion greats: Galliano, Armani, Westwood—”
    “Please!”
Madison cut in sharply. “Can you keep your mind focused for just a few minutes? We have to figure out who stole the dress from your closet, and how he got in here. As it stands, we've been totally set up.” She paused and chugged another mouthful of her drink. This time, when she burped—like the flat crack of a gunshot—she wasn't embarrassed.
    Park and Lex didn't flinch; they had obviously been expecting it.
    “Lex,” Madison went on, “who could have stolen that dress? Are you even sure it was in your closet? Did you maybe leave it somewhere? Think.”
    Lex shook her head vigorously. “That dress was in my closet. I
know
it was. I didn't leave it anywhere.”
    “So then we had an intruder and didn't even know it,” Madison whispered. “And he came specifically for that dress, because nothing is missing from my closet.”
    “Or mine,” Park said. “Which means that this little plan was put together a long time ago. The killer stole the dress knowing that he would kill Zahara Bell and shove her body into it.” She puffed hard on the cigar. “We have to solve this crime before the scandal gets huge—and before we're hauled in as suspects.”
    “We're
already
suspects,” Madison said. “You heard the way that detective spoke to us.”
    Park sighed. “I know, but I don't think he
really
believes we killed Zahara Bell. I mean, that whole theory doesn't make sense. What motive would
we
have?”
    “And how would we even have the time?” Lex added. “With our schedules? With our lives as busy as they are?
Puh-lease.
”
    “So who
did
have a motive to kill Zahara?” Madison set her drink down on the mahogany coffee table and clenched her hands together. “She was a revered woman, but also hated. Anyone at the gala could have wanted her dead. The list is endless.”
    “No, it isn't. The list is actually very short.” Park stood up. She walked across the room to one of the perfectly lined bookshelves. Scanning it quickly, she spotted a hardcover copy of
Rebecca
and pulled it back; behind it was the small ashtray she and Lex used when they smoked their father's cigars. Trevor Hamilton didn't know about this particular hiding place, and he wasn't likely to find out. Park grabbed the ashtray and flicked her ashes into the tarred bottom, then brought it over to Lex.
    “Could you explain your theory, please?” Madison snapped. “Every minute counts here.”
    Park took a long, slow puff on the cigar. “The two biggest items in this case—Lex's dress and the Avenue diamond—are both connected to us,” shebegan. “Whoever killed Zahara Bell planned this so that all the fingers would point to
us
. Or so that the scandal will be mostly about
us.
The killer could have chosen any young, beautiful celebutantes in this city to pin it to, but he chose
us
. That doesn't leave a very big list.”
    Lex cleared her throat, rolling the cigar in her fingers. “You think the killer is someone we know?”
    “Maybe,” Park answered. “But not necessarily.”
    “So then, who are the suspects?” Madison asked, her voice rising. “You're not adding anything new here.”
    “I said the list was short,” Park answered. “I didn't say I knew who was
on
the list.”
    “Brilliant. Just brilliant.” Madison clenched her hands into fists and started pacing the floor again. “Your theory doesn't solve anything. Right now, the only real suspect is Jeremy Bleu. Did you even think of that? How much more obvious does it need to be?”
    Park frowned. “Of course I've thought about it. But does he really make