“Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Daniels,” detective Jillian said as she compared her notes of Bree’s testimony with her notes of his.
She nodded at him, then got up and went to Trish. Bree’s and Mr. Daniels’ testimonies matched, and they both said that the sketch—Jack Al—was the man who appeared and when he left, money was gone. According to them, the detective thought as she sat before Trish, Roxanne was innocent. Jack Al was the culprit. Only one more testimony could determine the fate of Roxanne.
Trish had her story planned out. She smiled at the detective.
“Good morning, detective,” she greeted her jovially.
“Good morning, Miss Mae. I believe you know the procedure?” Detective Jillian replied in a professional tone.
“Yes, detective. I remember the day in question as if it was a few minutes ago,” Trish replied, and crossed her legs and leaned back with fingers joined on her knee.
“Go ahead,” the detective encouraged, and opened a fresh page in her notebook.
“So there I was, busy with my work when a fat, ugly man approached me, asking for the secretary,” Trish started, then paused on seeing the expression on detective Jillian’s face.
“Fat and ugly?” The detective repeated, then wrinkled her forehead at the contradiction as she wrote.
“Yes. Is there a problem?” Trish asked, trying to hide the clever smile that was struggling to surface.
“No. Go ahead,” the detective encouraged after writing. Trish cleared her throat.
“Being the responsible employee that I am, I directed him to the alleged thief,” she continued.
“What did he say his name was?” The detective interrupted, looking straight at her. She was beginning to suspect her, and one more blunder on her side would mean having a time out behind bars. Trish cursed under her breath. She forgot to ask Jack Al his alias. All the same, she had to guess one.
“Matthew Spielberg,” she said, the name of the main male character in one of her favorite novels. The detective shook her head then took it down.
“Then what?” She said afterwards.
“I saw them talking and after a while, the alleged thief stood up and went to the boss’ office, leaving Matthew standing beside her seat,” Trish narrated.
“Didn’t he sit?” The detective questioned as she wrote.
“Nope,” Trish replied quickly. After writing, the detective showed her the sketch.
“Did he look anything like this?” She asked her.
“No! He was much uglier with short hair,” Trish replied. The detective was just about to give her verdict when she heard a voice behind them.
“Excuse me, detective,” it said. She turned to its source and found that it was Bree. She was with a blonde woman. “I took the liberty of bringing Roxanne over for questioning to clear the foul-smelling confusion-filled air,” Bree continued, then turned to Roxanne.
“This is the detective I was telling you about: Jillian Green,” she introduced. The detective stood and outstretched her hand to Roxanne.
“Pleased to meet you, Roxanne,” she said.
“Likewise, detective,” she replied, then shook her hand.
“Good job, Bree. I was beginning to wonder how I would access the supposed villain of the story,” the detective said as she and Roxanne walked to Roxanne’s station.
“It’s a pleasure to help where I can, detective,” Bree replied, then smiled at Trish who frowned at her. The detective and Roxanne sat opposite each other, then the detective opened a fresh page on her notebook.
“Now, Miss Roxanne, I want to help you. I want your account of the events of Monday,” she said. Roxanne nodded, then adjusted herself on her seat.
“That was the day that I began work as secretary. The head of this department, Miss Trish, came to me and presented a huge appointment book to me. I received it, then she assigned Miss Bree and went back to her desk,” she started, then licked her lips and smiled at Bree who cheered her on.
“How do you and Miss Trish relate?” The detective asked her after taking down her statement.
“Personally, detective, I’ve had no problem with her, but ever since I came to work here, I noticed that she hates me,” Roxanne answered.
“Would you know why?” The detective asked with a steady gaze at her.
“Maybe she’s insecure or thinks I’m competition. I don’t know,” she replied. The detective nodded, then took it down.
“Proceed with Monday,” she urged after writing.
“Yeah. So I was typing some summarized reports when this tall, well-built man with curly hair approached me and said he wanted to see the boss, Mr. Reynolds,” Roxanne started.
“What did he say his name was?” The detective asked her.
“Max Johnson,” Roxanne replied quickly.
The detective nodded and after writing, said, “Proceed.”
“I said it wasn’t possible, but he insisted so much that I had to go and inquire. Before going, I offered him my seat,” Roxanne concluded. The detective wrote and afterwards showed Jack Al’s sketch to her.
“Did he look anything like this?” She asked her.
“Yes, and in fact, he looks everything like this!” Roxanne exclaimed. The detective nodded and took her notebook.
“Thank you, Roxanne, for your cooperation. Excuse me,” she said, then got up and left for Mr. Reynolds’ office. When she did, Bree went over and hugged Roxanne.
“You were great, Rox!” She said as she did.
“Thanks, Bree. I just hope that all this ends quickly,” Roxanne said with a smile as she enjoyed the hug.
“Bree! There’s a scheme waiting to be edited and the boss needs them more than yesterday. Hop to it,” Trish ordered, from the comfort of her station, and watched with satisfaction as Bree retreated to her desk.
“Aren’t you done here? Shouldn’t you be on your way now?” Trish asked Roxanne from her desk. Roxanne laughed scornfully and looked at her.
“Not just yet. Don’t let that red mark on your cheek heal. It’s a reminder that still waters run deep. Remember that, Trish,” she said, then leaned back and swung around in a relaxed manner on her swivel chair.
Elite Fashion Studios was the place that Lilly’s convertible stopped—in the parking lot. Her and Jack Al rushed out of it and into the studios, with Lilly leading.
“This way,” she instructed Jack Al as she and him pressed their way to the shooting room.
Jack Al looked around everywhere they passed. There were other models—some on the runway, some posing to be drawn in art lessons, other fashionistas, while a vast majority were fashion models like Lilly and himself. Every room, Jack Al observed, was buzzing with activity.
“Move your hips from side to side and look straight ahead,” he saw and heard a lady trainer instructing one of her male runway models, as they went.
They went up a flight of staircases to a room printed PHOTO SHOOT ROOM 5, then Lilly pushed its door open and burst in, followed by Jack Al.
Simone folded his arms and watched as his colleague photographer took pictures of an ebony man in a leopard skin with a leopard prop and a jungle setting.
“We want this to look African, Tyrell. Hold that leopard and squeeze it with beastly energy,” the photographer instructed the ebony man. Lilly and Jack Al watched as Tyrell carried out the instructions. Simone saw them.
“There you be, my two little moneybags,” he said happily while waving a magazine at them as he approached them. “Comment ça va, Lil?” He said as he kissed her on both cheeks.
“Ca va bien, merci,” she replied, then he gave her the magazine and turned to Jack Al.
“Good to see you, mon ami,” he said to him.
“Pareil ici, Simone,” Jack Al replied.
After the greetings, Simone said, “If you two weren’t picture perfect and with the best poses and chemistry like the one there,” he paused then pointed at the magazine, and continued, “I would have scolded you both, for you are late! But not to worry. Let’s get down to business. Leo!” He shouted to one of the set designers in a tilted cap. Leo went rushing to him.
“Get me my checkbook,” Simone instructed him. Jack Al smiled as he watched Leo rushing to do as he was asked. Lilly gave Simone back the magazine. Tyrell and his trainer were through.
“What’s up, girl?” He said to Lilly as he passed by her.
“Hi, Tye. You were great, dawg,” she replied, in her not-so-perfect African American accent.
He laughed briefly and greeted her punk-style—hitting his right shoulder lightly against her left one—then said to Jack Al, “How you doin’ homey?”
“Hello,” Jack Al returned plainly. Tyrell left.
“Right. As we wait, let’s take some pictures,” Simone said to his models as he admired them in turns.