“Did the person who called you tell you this?” asked Odelia.
“I asked her, and she said she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but she thought it must be Crowley. At least that’s the consensus among her colleagues.”
“There must be something you can do. Did you sign a contract?”
“Verbal agreement only. I was going to sign the contract on my first day.”
“I see,” said Odelia thoughtfully. “So what—”
“I want you to look into this email business. Find out who’s behind it. And if it is Crowley I want to expose him, and file a complaint against him. And then I will go to WelBeQ and tell them what’s going on.”
“You still want to work for them?”
“Of course! This is my dream job. WelBeQ may not be one of the major fashion houses, but they have a great reputation as an innovative brand. They just might be the next Fenty. You know, Rihanna’s brand? And if I can get in from the start, it’s going to do wonders for my career. So yeah, I still want to work for them. And I want to prove that they picked the wrong candidate.”
“It’s not right that this Crowley got in by slandering Steph’s reputation,” said Jeff. “And if WelBeQ thinks she’s an unreliable person, they might spread the word and talk to other companies, and very soon she will become unhirable.”
“Which is why I want you to find out if it’s really Edmundo Crowley who’s behind this,” said Steph. “To prove it somehow, so I can do something about it.”
CHAPTER 3
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“It’s a nasty business, Max,” said Dooley. “Slandering the reputation of a nice girl like Steph. Who would do such a thing? It’s not okay.”
I smiled.“You’re absolutely right, Dooley. It’s not okay.”
“And all this just to get a job. There should be a law against that kind of thing.”
“I’m sure there is. But first we need to figure out who’s behind this campaign.”
A day had passed since Steph and Jeff had paid us a visit in the office, and now we were in the car with Odelia, cruising along the Long Island Expressway and making great progress. Odelia’s old pickup was being overtaken by bigger, faster, newer cars, but she didn’t mind. As long as it got us from point A—Hampton Cove—to point B—the residence of Edmundo Crowley—that was all that mattered.
The moment Steph and Jeff Felfan had left the office, Odelia had consulted with her editor Dan Goory. The white-bearded newspaperman had given his wholehearted approval to do what lay in our power to help the Felfans. They both sniffed a great story, and if it tied in with the Stewart Winery, that was even better. They might be able to launch a series of articles about the incident.
Odelia had phoned Mr. Crowley, and the man had agreed to do an interview. In fact it wasn’t too much to say he was flattered when a reporter called him and complimented him on his achievements as a budding designer. A little flattery never hurts when talking to ambitious people like Steph’s alleged nemesis.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t have asked Chase to come along?” asked Dooley. “Just in case this Mr. Crowley proves to be a dangerous individual, I mean?”
“I doubt that he’s dangerous,” said Odelia. “He’s a fashion designer, not an ax murderer.”
“One doesn’t exclude the other,” Dooley insisted. “But just so you know: Max and I have your back, Odelia. The moment the man turns homicidal, we’ll pounce.”
“Good to know,” said Odelia with a smile.
I have to say I admired her courage. It’s not always easy to go and talk to complete strangers. You never know what you’ll find. Like Dooley said, maybe reporters should travel in pairs, just like police officers, just in case.
Edmundo Crowley lived in Brooklyn, though if Steph was to be believed, not for very much longer. In fact we probably caught him just in time, as he was moving to LA soon, to start work for WelBeQ. A quick perusal of the man’s apartment, once we got there, bore out my theory: suitcases were on his bedroom floor, his cupboards looked as if they’d been ransacked, clothes strewn about indiscriminately, and generally the place looked as if a minor tornado had recently landed there and done some serious damage.
“Moving, Mr. Crowley?” asked Odelia, showing what a keen reporter’s eye she had. She was sitting in front of the young man, tablet in hand, ready to write down the pearls of wisdom that were about to fall from the designer’s lips. Contrary to the state of his lodgings, the designer himself looked more like an accountant than a hot young artiste. Perhaps for this special occasion, he was dressed in an off-white shirt and tie and perfectly pressed and creased black pants, and even his shoes looked polished. He wore designer glasses and his hair was neatly coiffed.
“Yes, I’m sorry about the mess,” he said, taking a seat. “I’m starting a new job soon, so I’ve been packing.”
“A new job. Isn’t that exciting?”
“Yeah, I was accepted at WelBeQ,” said Edmundo with not a little bit of pride. “They’re one of the hottest new brands on the market, but I’m sure you know all about that, being a fashion reporter and all.”