This is part 3 of the round robin story between Dakota Cassidy’s Accidental Friends characters and my Amanda and Gil, if you haven’t read the other two, you better pick up Fashion Forewarned (pt. 1) and America’s Next Chopped Model (pt.2).

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“Can I see that, Nina?” I stepped up onto the catwalk–no small feat in skyscraping Louboutin’s but I am a pro*–and approached the snarling beauty.  When she made no attempt to hand me the note, I added, “The piece of paper.”  I said it extra slow in case she had a learning disability.  She was not amused.

“Do I know you?” She shifted her weight to one hip and fanned the note under her chin, playing with it.

“Not likely, but your friend over there whined your name enough times for me to memorize it.”

Gil swatted my thigh from the floor.  “Hey don’t start any shit, we gotta get outta here.  The place is nearly cleared out as it is.  I think I hear sirens.”

“There’s always sirens.  It’s fashion week, a model probably succumbed to the siren call of the craft service table and ignited like a whore in church.”

Nina chuckled a bit, obviously not a fan of the scene.  Her friend, Marty, I thought, was the clear stylista and the girl’s shoes were cute.  She seemed to be firmly in line with Gil’s thinking, both were edging toward the exit.

“Here.” Nina thrust the note in my direction.  “The guy must have pissed someone off.”

The note read: Hold your head high and walk on by.

I looked down at the woman.  She squatted next to the headless corpse, an annoyingly smug smile plastering her face.  “Do you get it?”

“Uh no.  What is that some sort of union slogan?”

“No!”  She pointed at the man’s neck.  “Look here.  He held his head high and someone sliced it clean off.”

The cut was remarkably smooth.  No hacking or chopping had occurred or we would have seen it from the audience.  I scanned the curtain and saw of glint of something stretched across the gap.  In three strides, I was pinching a taught expanse of piano wire, attached to two bars on either side of an inner hall, where the models lined up like kindling.  Above this was a machine of some sort–I’m not remotely technical.

“The killer must have triggered this machine to slice through Rudolfo by remote or something,” I said, only moderately excited about the discovery, mostly I just wanted to show Nina up.  “But why would Rudolfo follow this particular direction?”  I shook the note.   “And who would want him dead other than everyone in the audience today?  I swear to God my eyes were about to bleed from that crap he strung together.”

Gil tapped his shoe irritably.  “Can we go now?

“Yeah.  Into the back.” I thrust a thumb at the gap between the curtains. Gil’s mouth scrunched up like a cat’s anus.  Marty’s arms crossed.  “Maybe the killer’s still here.  After that fashion travesty, I’m famished.”

* Not that kind and shut up.

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Tune in tomorrow at Dakota’s blog for the next thrilling installment.