Model Perfect Passion. Melanie Schuster

on your jeans and cobwebs in your hair. You sure don’t look like a big-time international model now,” he teased her.

      Billie wrinkled her nose at him. “That’s because I’m not. I have a few shoots left to fulfill a couple of contracts, but after that I’m done with prowling the runway and tooting my booty up in the air to show off some ridiculously priced shoes or whatever,” she said, and then grunted as she used a crowbar to pull up the floor tile in the bathroom. Nick had shown her how to look for mold and water damage and she was going after it like rat terrier.

      “I liked modeling—it was fun. But I was doing it for the money and for no other reason. This is what I want to do, Nick. I want to take old houses and make them wonderful again. Oh, dang, is that mold I smell?” She straightened up from her semicrouched position and took a good long sniff.

      “Cat pee, more like,” was his laconic answer. “You might have a diamond in the rough here, kid. With the right plan you can turn this old place into a showpiece. We need to check out the basement first, though.”

      “Nick, I really appreciate you taking so much time with me. I’ve learned so much over the past few months I even amaze myself. I couldn’t do this without you,” she said.

      Nick took the end of her long braid and shook it, dislodging a large fuzzy spider from its length, which he prudently didn’t mention. He didn’t think she’d get hysterical, but he wasn’t going to chance it. “Quit thanking me! You’re my family now. How could I not help my little sister? Besides, I stand to gain from this partnership, too. These are the kind of projects I’ve thought about but never really had the time to do. We both stand to do very well on this, Billie.”

      They had reached the kitchen and the door that led down to the basement. She was about to fling open the door when Nick held out a cautioning hand. “Hold on. Cover up your head before we go down the stairs. Let me go first, because there’s no telling what’s down there.”

      Billie was heeding his words but she was sniffing the stale air with a frown. “Man, it really reeks in here! Is that what serious mold and water damage smells like?”

      “It can. Look, you stay right here. I’m going down first,” he said in the authoritative voice she knew meant business.

      It was fruitless to argue with him, so she stood back with her arms crossed for more warmth. Chicago winters were brutal and even now, in the middle of April, it was still cold. When Nick opened the basement door Billie fell back and covered her nose and mouth. The funk that raced out of the cellar was indescribable. Nick frowned and shook his head, covering his own mouth and nose before going down the stairs. He was back upstairs in less than a minute with a tense, angry look on his face. Without saying a word he guided Billie out of the house to his truck. Once she was seated he went around to the driver’s side and pulled out his cell phone. He made a terse call to 911 and looked at Billie with a grim smile that held no amusement.

      “We’re gonna keep looking for a house to buy. There’s a body in the basement.”

      “Ewww,” Billie said. “That’s horrible!” She whipped out her cell phone and punched the button to autodial a familiar number.

      “Who are you calling?” Nick demanded.

      “Dakota, of course. If I don’t call her we’ll both be in trouble and you know it. An investigative reporter needs to know this stuff before anybody else,” she reminded him.

      Nick was making a grotesque face. “You Phillips women are something else. How you can be so beautiful and look so ladylike and be so tough is beyond me. My gorgeous wife is going to come over here and start poking around in that filthy basement like it was a jewelry store, isn’t she?”

      Billie flashed him the smile that had earned her millions of dollars. Even with the smudge on her face and a long fuzzy spiderweb still attached to her hair, she was glorious. “Welcome to the family, Nick,” she said with a grin. “Life is never, ever dull with us.”

      He leaned back in the driver’s seat to wait for the police to arrive. “I can see that,” he mumbled, and pulled his cap down over his green eyes.

      By that evening there was no trace of the tomboyish person who’d accompanied Nick that morning. Billie was at her sister’s house dressed to the nines to attend a formal open house with Nick and Dakota. Nick had to express his admiration and astonishment at her transformation.

      “I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you sure do clean up good,” he said as he gave her a kiss on the cheek. “If somebody saw you this morning they’d think you were a totally different person tonight.”

      The events of the morning didn’t show at all in her current appearance. After the police arrived and took their statements, they had lingered at the scene to see if Dakota would show up, and sure enough, she’d arrived and charmed her way into the house. Nick had been both amazed and appalled that even after making a minute inspection of the grisly remains, his intrepid wife had been able to join them at one of the diners she loved and eat a full breakfast. Nick had sipped a cola while watching the two Phillips women chowing down like they didn’t have a care in the world and remarked once again that they were in a class by themselves. They didn’t seem to hear him because Billie was busy telling Dakota how there were towels and old rags crammed under the basement door in the house.

      “Nick says it would have smelled a whole lot worse if they hadn’t done that,” she reported. “Can I have some of your grits?”

      “Help yourself, but I want a piece of your turkey bacon. And he’s right, it would have stunk all to be-damned if the killer hadn’t tried to stop the airflow a little. Real nasty piece of work, that was.” She noticed that Nick wasn’t eating. “Aren’t you hungry, honey?”

      He shook his head. “Most people really don’t like to eat after they find a dead body, baby.”

      Dakota didn’t look embarrassed in the least. “You get used to it,” she said with a shrug.

      “Like I said, you two are something else,” he said dryly.

      And Billie was indeed looking like one in a million for the event they were attending. She had gone to her temporary home, which was the brownstone that Dakota owned and had sublet to Billie when she’d married Nick. After a quick shower and shampoo, she’d deep-conditioned her hair and let it air dry before finishing it with a blow-dryer and hot curlers to set a head full of curls that she finger-combed into a tumbling mass. Her makeup was artfully applied and subtle, but it made her features unforgettable. Instead of wearing a simple black dress, the go-to frock of most fashionistas, Billie was wearing a cerulean-blue dress in silk jersey that was deceptively plain. It was an unassuming little frock with a modestly scooped neck, long sleeves and pleats across the bodice. From the front it looked almost girlish, but the back of the dress was bare to the waist. The blouson skirt ended above her knees and it had a band that drew the eye directly to her fabulous legs. She was wearing black Chanel peep-toe pumps and sheer silk hose. Her only jewelry was big, gold, hoop earrings and a wide, gold, bangle bracelet. Nick grinned at his new sister-in-law.

      “You’re gonna have the men eating out of your hand, little sister. I’m’a have to keep my eye on you or there’s liable to be a riot,” he told her with a fond note of teasing in his voice.

      “I never really wanted anyone eating out of my hand,” she returned with a grin. “It sounds kind of unsanitary to me. Besides, the main reason I’m going to this soiree is because I want to meet Jason Wainwright. Anyone who’s done as much in real estate as he has is someone I want to get to know,” she said. “He’s been in every business publication I can think of and every article about the future of residential real estate, blah-de-blah-blah-blah. He’s supposed to be the end-all and be-all of real-estate sales in Chicago and I want to know his secrets.” She sat on the sofa to stroke her sister’s cat, Cha-Cha. She was a big Somali cat who preferred men, but showed affection to the few women she liked. Luckily Billie was one of those women.

      “Whose secrets? Jason Wainwright’s?” Dakota had joined them in