Stolen with Style by Carina Axelsson

together with the hair Tom had styled for them—wild, textured, undone—made them look ethereal and otherworldly.
    It was especially amusing to see Rafaela and Chandra like this. With their tattoos hidden under rich fabrics and their innate elegance drawn out, they were hard to recognize as the wisecracking and reluctant models of earlier. Their fairy-tale dresses and commanding beauty were set off perfectly by Peter’s beautifully lit, dark gray background.
    After watching for a few minutes, I walked to the other end of the studio, sank down onto the sofa, and thought about all I’d heard so far. I was feeling optimistic. I glanced at Cazzie’s sleep-deprived face and even ventured to think that I’d have good news for her soon. But at that moment we were called to lunch, and while we ate, two things happened that completely erased my feelings of optimism.
    A colorful and varied assortment of salads was laid out on the lunch table. We all sat down (I was between Brandon and Peter), and within seconds, everyone seemed to be chatting, fashion being the main talking point, of course. In between the comments and laughter, however, everyone—including myself—checked their emails, messages, and texts, or got up to make calls. At any given moment, half the table seemed immersed in some kind of gadget—which was not unusual. It was only later that I was forced to give that some thought.
    Lunch progressed smoothly, apart from Misty giving me some pouty looks (why?) and Chandra seemingly trying not to make eye contact with me (why?). Before sitting down, I’d quickly pulled Cazzie aside and whispered that any help she could give in directing the conversation to Friday afternoon would be useful. True to her word, she repeatedly, yet subtly brought the conversation around to when the fire alarm had gone off. Under Cazzie’s guidance, everyone—even finally Misty and Chandra—contributed to my knowledge of Friday’s events.
    Of course, not everybody’s time was perfectly accounted for during those five minutes or so when Cazzie’s bag was left unattended in the dressing area. A few of the suspects even had relatively vague recollections of that time. Apart from remembering that they’d dashed to the east-facing windows of the studio area to see what was happening below, not all could recall what they’d been doing immediately before the alarm rang, or whether they’d been one of the first or last to reach the windows, or even who’d been standing next to them at the windows. Speaking of which, one small but not uninteresting point came up. Chandra was the only person who did not mention seeing the little old lady being wheeled into the ambulance. Had she simply forgotten?
    All through lunch I kept my phone on my lap so that I could quickly turn the recording function on. By the time we reached dessert, I felt I had a good idea of everyone’s whereabouts during those crucial five minutes when Cazzie had left her handbag unattended in the dressing area.
    When the conversation didn’t focus on Friday’s events, Brandon, Peter, and Cazzie shared funny anecdotes about their time working with each other. Brandon was a good mimic, and his impressions had everyone in stitches. Finally, with Cazzie and Peter deep in discussion about the next shots and everyone else otherwise engaged, Brandon turned to me as I sat watching the others.
    â€œI’m not sure I believe your denials from this morning. Are you sure you’re not here to solve a case? You’ve been watching everyone all through lunch, observing us as if we’re characters in a crime drama.”
    â€œNo, I haven’t!” I laughed, trying to make light of what he’d said. Not good, Axelle , I thought to myself. Had I really been so obvious?
    â€œDo you always contradict people?” he asked, amused.
    â€œNo, I don’t.”
    â€œBut you just did it again,”