French Silk(81)

Now the bridal gown was hanging beside the vanity table, suggesting that Dana was a bride preparing for the ceremony. The vanity had been repositioned so that the three-way mirror reflected the French doors opening onto the balcony. It would be a tricky shot to get without Leon and all his lighting equipment being reflected as well.

"I want Dana holding up her hair," Yasmine said, "so that we get a full view of the bra's construction."

The makeup artist wasn't finished with Dana's body makeup, so Yasmine asked Claire to sit on the stool while they calculated the position of the lighting in conjunction with the mirrors and camera angles.

Claire sat and faced the mirror. "I hardly look like a bride," she said, critically assessing her reflection. Her linen shirt had wilted, and she had sweated off most of her makeup. "Maybe the bride of Frankenstein."

"Lift your hair off your neck," Yasmine told her.

"Gladly." She swept her hair into a double fist, lifting it to the top of her head and keeping her elbows parallel with her shoulders.

Her eyes caught movement at the French doors. Cassidy parted the sheer curtains and stepped into the room. He drew up short. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Perfect, Claire!" Yasmine cried. "That's perfect. That's exactly the expression I want! Did you see that, Dana? Surprised. Expectant. A little breathless." But when she looked over her shoulder and saw that Cassidy was the cause of Claire's flustered expression, her enthusiasm quickly cooled. "What are you doing here?" she asked, obviously displeased. She turned back to Claire. "Did you invite him?"

"No," she answered, her eyes fixed on the A.D.A.

Leon left the lighting to his assistant and sidled up to Cassidy, laying a hand on his arm. "And who are you?"

"He's a cop from New Orleans," Yasmine replied.

Cassidy smiled affably but gently disengaged his arm from Leon's clutches. "I'm not a cop."

Claire stood and motioned the model into place. "We need to get this shot. Everybody ready?"

Dana took her place on the vanity stool. Rue and the other stylists fussed around her. Yasmine went back to consulting with Leon about ways to vary the shot.

Claire, trying to hide her anger, drew Cassidy to a corner of the room. "What are you trying to pull, coming here?"

"I didn't know I was going to be on center stage when I came through the … uh … the curtains." He was momentarily distracted by Dana, who looked resplendently bridal and mouthwateringly sexy in the golden light Leon was shining on her.

"Our photography sessions are strictly off-limits to visitors," Claire said stiffly, noticing the direction of his gaze. "Parents, boyfriends, even spouses are prohibited. The restriction is enforced to protect the privacy of the models and the creative impulses of everyone else involved."

"Sorry, you'll have to make an exception this time."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll get a court order."

"Another search? Shall I tell my crew to expect a shakedown?"

He frowned and gave her a retiring look.

"How did you know where we were going to be?" she asked crossly.

"I have a whole platoon of investigators at my disposal. Finding you was a snap."

"I'm surprised the Monteiths let you in. I thought the house was closed to all but guests."

"I am a guest."

"What?" she exclaimed. When she realized she'd drawn attention to them, she lowered her voice, but still it conveyed her anger. "We were to be the only ones here. I specified that when I made the reservations."

"The Monteiths had one extra room. My credentials persuaded them into letting me have it."

"I don't want you here, Cassidy."

"No, I'm sure you don't. Especially since I've come with bad news."

She folded her arms across her middle. "That's all you've ever brought me. Well, what is it? Let's get it over with."

He glanced over his shoulder. The others were busy or pretending to be. Like Claire, he must have felt inhibited by them. He drew her out into the hallway for more privacy.

Staring down at the patterned rug, he whispered her name with what sounded like regret, then raised his head and looked at her. "Did you know she practices voodoo?"

"Who, Yasmine?" He nodded, and Claire made a small, assenting motion with her shoulders. "A lot of people in New Orleans have a passing acquaintance with it. After spending so much time there, she developed an interest. She's got some voodoo charms, a few candles that represent—"

"Her room at French Silk was full of all kinds of black-magic crap."

"It doesn't mean anything. Since I've known her, she's dabbled in every religion from Judaism to Buddhism. She sometimes wears a Christian cross and has a bracelet with an Egyptian ankh on it. Those symbols hold no significance for her."

"This goes beyond trinkets and costume jewelry, Claire. They also found a voodoo doll, an effigy of Jackson Wilde."

"It's meaningless!" she cried softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the others. "Is that all they found? You could hardly build a murder case around a silly doll."

"They didn't find anything at French Silk, either in the offices or the apartment, that could directly link you to Wilde's murder."