New Year's Eve Murder. Leslie Meier

chugged a pint or two of water.

      While he rested Nancy gathered the group together on the platform and began arranging them according to height. Lucy cleared her throat and raised her hand.

      “Yes?” asked Nancy. “Is there a problem?”

      It was then that Camilla arrived, and stood by the door, watching, her arms folded across her chest. She had changed out of the white Chanel suit and into more practical working clothes, a black jersey dress, black tights and knee-high black boots with stiletto heels and extremely pointed toes. She was a perfect, self-contained package.

      “No, not a problem,” said Lucy. “But I do have a question. I think we’re all interested in the contest for the ten thousand dollars.”

      This was greeted with a murmur of approval from the others.

      “It would be helpful to know on what basis the winning mother and daughter will be chosen.”

      Camilla’s eyes widened, giving her a doll-like appearance. “That decision will be made by the editors,” she said.

      “Of course,” persisted Lucy. “But how will the editors decide? What are the rules?”

      Camilla became rigid as a poker, except for one foot, which tapped a rapid beat on the tile floor. “That’s for us to know and you to find out,” she said, as a tight little smile flitted across her lips and disappeared. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be much of a contest, would it?”

      “I’d like to get her into my stress-reduction class,” whispered Serena. “People really relax after a session or two of genital breathing. Give me a week and I’ll have her loose as a goose.”

      “Genital breathing?” Lucy was intrigued.

      “Not in front of the girls,” whispered Lurleen, prompting embarrassed giggles from Faith.

      “It’s just a relaxation technique; there’s nothing sexual about it,” said Ocean, defending her mother.

      “Well, I never,” began Lurleen, only to fall silent as Camilla approached the group for a closer look. The winners shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

      “This is no good,” she finally said.

      Pablo was on his feet, eyes glaring. “No good? What you mean?”

      Nancy was quick to intervene. “If you don’t like the group photo we can use individual shots. Pablo took some really nice, creative informals.”

      “No, that’s not the problem,” said Camilla, tapping her fingers on her hip. “The problem is…”

      Nancy leaned forward, as if to catch the words as they fell from her lips. Pablo stood, arms crossed, waiting warily.

      “They look too good!”

      Pablo threw up his arms and stalked out of the studio.

      Nancy was puzzled. “They look too good?”

      “This is supposed to be a before photo, but they don’t look before enough.”

      “Oh,” said Nancy. “I understand. Maybe they could take off their make-up. We could change their hair a little bit, give them some ugly clothes….”

      Camilla wasn’t listening. She rushed forward and pointed a scarlet-tipped finger at Lucy’s feet. “What are those?”

      Elizabeth looked upward, rolling her eyes in mortification.

      “I think they’re called duck boots,” said Lucy, lifting her slacks to reveal the brown rubber bottoms and tan leather uppers of her footwear. “Everyone wears them at home.”

      Camilla was examining the rest of Lucy’s ensemble with an eagle eye. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the watch.

      “Oh,” said Lucy, with a little giggle, “that’s my lobster watch. It was a joke present from my husband.”

      Camilla pulled Lucy out of the group and she blushed, uncomfortably aware that she was about to be an example. She was pretty sure this was not the way to win the ten thousand dollars.

      “Get Deb up here,” she told Nancy, who scurried over to the phone on the wall.

      Ginny’s eyes met Lucy’s, and she smiled sympathetically. Serena gazed into the distance, apparently meditating. The others looked down at their feet while Lucy stood awkwardly, waiting for Deb’s arrival, whoever she was. Fortunately, they didn’t have to wait long.

      “Deb Shertzer is our accessories editor,” said Nancy, as a woman with short hair burst into the studio. She was dressed in a rosy twin set to which she had added a colorful scarf and small gold hoop earrings, and she was quite breathless. She’d wasted no time in obeying Camilla’s order to appear.

      “This is interesting,” said Camilla, pointing Lucy out. “You can tell this woman isn’t from New York just by looking at her boots.”

      “I brought heels,” said Lucy, bristling, “but the streets are slushy and I didn’t want to ruin them so I wore my boots. I can get the shoes, if you want.”

      “No! Don’t change,” said Camilla, turning to Deb. “Look at her watch.”

      Lucy obediently held out her arm, and Deb’s eyes widened as she took in the red plastic watch.

      “The hands are little lobster claws,” said Camilla.

      “So I see,” said Deb.

      “I want this for everyone.”

      “Duck boots? Lobster watches?”

      “No.” Camilla tapped her foot impatiently. “Regional accessories. Stuff that tells a story. Like the pair from Iowa….”

      “Omaha,” said Ginny, with a little edge in her voice. “Omaha, Nebraska.”

      “Whatever.” Camilla waved her hand. “She and her kid can wear overalls and hold a pitchfork, like that painting.”

      “Grant Wood,” said Nancy, nodding enthusiastically.

      “Whatever. And the ones from California?”

      Serena hesitated a moment before raising her hand. “That’s me,” she finally said, sounding as if Camilla was taxing even her patience.

      “What about a surfboard and swimsuits?” suggested Deb, eager to show her boss that she’d got the idea.

      “Cool,” said Ocean. “I can show off my tan.”

      “Hold on a minute,” said Cathy, pulling herself up to her almost six-foot height. “I protest. This is tacky. I’m not going to wear a cowboy hat just because I’m from Texas.”

      “Don’t worry, honey,” crooned Camilla, “we wouldn’t dream of changing a thing.” Her voice hardened and her eyes flashed. “With that hair and jewelry you look exactly like the Texas trophy wife you are.”

      There was a shocked silence, and everyone watched as Camilla turned on her heel and marched out of the studio. When she was gone everyone seemed to let out a big sigh of relief.

      “Well now, ladies,” said Nancy, stepping forward briskly, “we have work to do.”

      “You’re not kidding,” said Deb. “Where am I going to get a surfboard in New York City in December?”

      Nancy turned and looked around the studio. “Where’s Pablo? Has anyone seen Pablo?”

      She rushed out to look for him, and the women, who had been standing shoulder to shoulder on the platform, began to pull apart; Lucy felt suddenly chilly. Her eyes met Ginny’s in a mute apology. Ginny shrugged in return, as if to say it didn’t matter, but Lucy knew she had handled things badly and hadn’t kept her half of the bargain. She had a feeling the alliance had broken down.

      Chapter Four

      PLUCK