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After that, the Lairman Agency was more than happy to snatch her up as a client. The new hair-care line took off, leading to all sorts of catalog and magazine opportunities. Within a year, Karly Fontaine had become an in-demand model with a thriving career. The rest, as they say, was history.
Now she walked forward, extending her hand and smiling as she shook Monty’s. “Detective Montgomery. I’m Karly Fontaine.” She glanced around, noted that the chair behind the front desk was empty. “May I get you something—coffee? Tea?”
“Actually, your receptionist is already doing that. She was nice enough to put up a fresh pot. I’m not a connoisseur, but I am an addict. A somewhat fussy one. I like my coffee strong and without bottom-of-the-pot sludge.”
“I hear you.” This time the smile was less practiced, more spontaneous. “Why don’t we have a seat in my office? Cindy will bring in the coffee when it’s ready.”
Monty followed Karly into the power corner office down the hall from the reception area. Cream leather chairs. Scandinavian wood. Art Deco area rug. Very eclectic.
“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” he began.
“Not at all.” She gestured for him to take a seat, then lowered herself into the cushy chair behind her desk just as Cindy knocked, brought in two cups of hot, great-smelling coffee. Karly nodded her thanks, waiting till the receptionist left, shutting the doo
r behind her, before she turned back to Monty.
“Are you a caffeine freak, or just a coffee junkie?”
“Both. Don’t know many cops or PIs who aren’t.” Monty took an appreciative swallow.
“That applies to all workaholics,” Karly amended with a rueful smile. “This is my second cup today, not counting the Diet Pepsi I gulped down between phone calls, and it’s barely lunchtime.”
“I win. No Pepsi. But four cups of coffee, one of which was monster size.” A corner of Monty’s mouth lifted. “If I were in your line of work, I’d need double that. Charm and tact? Not my strengths. I’d need all the help I could get.”
Hearing her chuckle, seeing the tension in her body ease, Monty was comfortable that he’d done enough icebreaking to get down to business.
He flipped open his pad. “I won’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes of your time. I just have a few questions about Rachel Ogden’s accident.”
Karly nodded. “You mentioned that Morgan hired you. I hope she’s not worried about something absurd like a lawsuit. She isn’t responsible if her clients happen to be standing at an intersection when some lunatic roars by.”
“No, nothing like that. Although Morgan does feel terrible. She’s clearly fond of both you and Rachel. And she wants to make sure this hit-and-run was strictly random.” Monty studied her, rolling his pen between his fingers. “You’re a successful woman. You were a visible, sought-after model. You sailed up the corporate ladder in a backstabbing business. Now you’re managing an entire regional office. Any chance there’s someone out there with an ax to grind?”
“Wow.” Karly blew out her breath. “You really are direct.” She interlaced her fingers in front of her. “I won’t deny this is a dog-eat-dog business. I’m sure lots of girls resented me. I know I resented the hell out of modeling success stories when I was the one living hand to mouth. But that was ages ago. I haven’t modeled in six or seven years. As for the management track, I didn’t sail. I climbed—rung by rung. And, no, I didn’t make the kind of enemies who’d hate me enough to run me over.”
“What about men? Any harasser types? You know, wack jobs who’d feel like you had some sort of connection? Maybe one who’d follow you here from L.A.?”
Rather than looking worried, Karly looked amused—and somewhat pleased. “I’m flattered that you find me young and desirable enough to warrant a stalker. But I haven’t had one of those die-hard fans since I was twenty. And even then, it wasn’t like something out of Fatal Attraction. No psychos.”
“What about the regular men in your life? Guys you’re dating, or have dated?”
“That’s a lean list. I spend most of my hours working. That’s why I signed on with Winshore as soon as I moved back east. At this point, that’s where all my dates originate. And I’m sure Morgan is very thorough about weeding out the nutcases.”
“I’m sure she is.” Monty scribbled down a reminder to himself. “Your real name is Carol Fenton?”
She nodded. “I changed it when I got to L.A. At seventeen, I wanted a more exciting name—one that screamed stardom. Carol Fenton seemed too ordinary for the fabulous modeling career I was determined to have.”
“Makes sense. What about your family? Do they call you Carol or Karly?”
Sadness flashed across her face. “I don’t have any family. My parents died when I was in my teens. And I’m an only child.”
“Is that why you originally left New York and moved to L.A.?”
“Partly, yes. There was nothing tying me to New York, nothing but pain and loss. I wanted to make a fresh start. So I did.”
“You said partly. What’s the other part of why you left?”
“To jump-start my modeling career.”
“Huh. I understand the need for a fresh start. But isn’t the modeling industry centered in New York?”
