Dead Don't Lie. Lynell Nicolello
Chapter Forty-One
Fifteen years ago
WITH MUSIC PUMPING and strobe lights flashing, the air felt electric. Alive. The catwalk called to her, its thin, reflective surface beckoning as it sparkled and glistened—a million flecks of diamonds waiting. For her. Without wavering, without hesitation, eighteen-year-old Evelyn Maslin answered its hypnotic call.
She put her forefinger into her mouth, puckered her lips around it and pulled. A bit of fire-engine red lipstick rimmed her finger. A stagehand racing by her slid to a halt. The double take he gave the red on her finger almost snapped his head clear off his shoulders. He held out a tissue, his expression slightly awestruck.
She accepted his offering, bit back the smirk dancing on her lips and wiped the lipstick from her finger. As she returned the used tissue to the stagehand, she shrugged nonchalantly. What?
His face flushed. He ducked his head and rushed off.
Laughing, Evelyn held out her fingers and flipped them over to check for any remnant of lip stain. With an eagle eye, she investigated her outfit in the full-length mirror, turning to the left, then the right. Good. Everything appeared normal and in place. God forbid she’d have a wardrobe malfunction on her first sashay down the catwalk.
She wasn’t a prude. How could she have been? Changing in front of virtual strangers was part of her daily job description. Still...the sheer thought of her breasts popping out of her flimsy, Greek goddesslike chiffon dress mortified her.
The music’s tempo changed, morphing into the next number. Taking another deep breath, commanding the butterflies to at least fly in formation, as they refused to leave, Evelyn waited for the signal. At the stage manager’s tight nod, Evelyn stepped out onto the stage.
For a second, the glaring lights left her bedazzled, and the electrified atmosphere sucked the air from her lungs. As she adjusted, she felt all eyes on her. The blood in her ears pumped in time with the tempo of the song blasting over the speakers. Her heart thumped against her chest, it, too, keeping pace with the deep bass as she placed one bejeweled foot in front of the other.
Breathe. Just breathe.
She kept her eyes glued in front of her and focused on each calculated step. One wrong placement and her balancing act in the five-inch stilettos would end with a face-plant.
The end of the runway arrived without incident. She bit back the giggle bubbling in her throat, which definitely didn’t fit the sex-goddess persona she was channeling. Gracefully, she pulled her hands to her waist and popped her left hip as she and her little sister, Olivia, had practiced a million times growing up. She wished Olivia could see her now. Evelyn’s heart raced as the spotlights captured her in their mesmerizing glow. She tossed her long hair ever so gently, then paused.
All of five seconds had passed.
Stomach quivering, Evelyn turned to strut back down the catwalk, her mind tumbling over itself.
* * *
HER FIVE-INCH HEELS might have been exquisite, but they were hell to walk in. Evelyn’s sandals dangled from her fingertips as she and her roommate, Anastasia Kulik, ambled down the Naviglio Grande canal. The two friends took their time as they walked the quiet Milan streets, over the cobblestones and past the closed storefronts.
“Oh, my gosh, Evelyn. Did you see the way Raphael looked at you tonight? Seriously! It’s like the gods of luck follow you everywhere. I’d do anything to have Raphael stare at me that way.” Anastasia smiled suggestively. Mischief sparkled in her chocolate-colored eyes. She shook her head, pushed the blond curls off her face and clucked her tongue like her Russian babushka. “And you act as though you didn’t even notice.”
Evelyn grinned at her companion. “The only thing I concentrated on tonight was not falling flat on my face.” Heart still racing from the show, she swung her shoes by their thin black straps. Her smile grew wider.
She was in Milan.
When she’d gotten the call and heard that she’d defied the odds and been chosen from the hundreds of girls vying for this contract, Evelyn had burst into tears. Then she’d done a happy dance with her sister before throwing herself on the sofa and giggling like the teenager she was. The only thing that would make this experience more amazing? Having her little sister here with her. But hell would freeze over before her mother allowed that to happen. Evelyn was still shocked that her parents had allowed her to come to a foreign country, by herself, before college. But they’d said yes, so she’d packed her bags.
And now, Evelyn was living her dream.
She glanced down the deserted street. During the day, it bustled with locals and tourists alike. But during the late-night hours, after the crowds cleared, quietness settled over the tranquil canal water, and the occasional patio light glistened off the water’s glassy surface.
She couldn’t wait to call her sister, to tell her everything about this place and this magical night. She checked her watch and sighed. It was just after three in Phoenix. Olivia would be getting out of school, heading for practice. With the national cheerleading competition fast approaching, Olivia’s time in the gym had quadrupled. It had been a week since they’d last chatted as a family. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d call Olivia and tell her everything.
Anastasia stopped in the darkened street outside the now-familiar red door of their apartment and said teasingly, “Whatever. I bet you didn’t have to concentrate on anything.”
She hitched her oversize bag up her thin hip and dug through its endless bottom, searching for the keys to their tiny two-bedroom apartment. “You were perfect tonight. I saw it. We all saw it. The crowd collectively held their breath when you stepped onto the runway.”
“Come on...”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow they swept you into a photo shoot for the cover of Vogue Italia.” Anastasia continued to rummage through her purse. With a small sound of victory, she finally held up the keys.
Evelyn followed her roommate into their apartment and flipped on the light. She dropped her bag onto the antique table in the foyer and glanced at the answering machine. No messages. Just as well. She was exhausted. All she wanted was her warm, soft bed. And maybe some hot mint tea. Maybe.
“I have to admit, I’m jealous.” Anastasia reappeared from her closet-sized room. She’d shed the black leggings and massive sweatshirt. A short red skirt hugged her curves and a low-cut sheer tank played peek-a-boo in the dim light with her red sequined bra. Fastening a large silver hoop through one ear, she looked at Evelyn in the mirror. “And I’ve never been jealous of anyone. Ever.”
“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Evelyn opened her bag, grabbed an elastic and pulled her hair back into a sloppy bun that slanted to one side. “I’m not Raphael’s type.”
Anastasia swung around. Hope, and the tiniest bit of suspicion, flashed in her eyes as she fastened the second hoop. “Really?”
“Really.” Moving to their petite kitchen, Evelyn spoke over her shoulder. “I’ve heard from a very reliable source that blonde, brown-eyed beauties are more to his liking.”
Tea