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delicate green with gold leaf and labeled Spring. After giving the pad a quick sniff, she did the same as Lilah—peeled off a strip and tucked it in her bra. Moments later, a soft but refreshing aroma that did indeed remind her of a cool spring rain wafted to her nose.
    When someone called out “five minutes,” the mob of models and designers scattered, racing to the area behind the runway to get a final review before stepping onto the catwalk. Seconds later, the show’s prominent emcee, Kurt Jager, announced the details of the NMD contest and its first design showing: day wear.
    Ellie and Rudy tiptoed to the back of the crowd, hoping to sneak a peak at the runway. Music floated from the loudspeakers as the first contestant, Marcus David, began the day wear competition. She wasn’t sure she liked the black slacks with their wide cuffed legs and tight waist, but she did approve of the top his models wore, which consisted of a short, fitted red jacket over what looked to be a plain white blouse. But after Patti and Claire Smith did the usual walk to a goodly round of applause, they removed the jackets at the end of the runway and showed the pin-tuck detailing on the front and back that made the blouse interesting and unique.
    Designer number two was Anton Rouch, a guy with a dark look in his eyes and a face devoid of expression. She’d only met him once, when he asked her which of the dogs belonged to his models, Lawan and Kate. He made no comment when he was introduced to a white Chihuahua and a Yorkie, so Ellie figured he wasn’t dog friendly.
    The applause continued as the models strutted their stuff. Kurt Jager made appropriate commentary, even throwing in a few jokes during the walks. Designer number three, Fiona Ray, was introduced. Her models, Dominique and Crystal, both owned French bulldogs. The color scheme of Fiona’s day wear, consisting of oranges and yellows, was too bright for Ellie’s taste, but the audience seemed to love the pencil-slim, knee-length skirt and wide-shouldered jacket.
    Last to show was Lilah Perry. Her models, Cassandra McQuagge and Yasmine, appeared professional, though the day wear Lilah had created was, in Ellie’s mind, far from appealing. The skirt, made of black leather or something like it, showed more thigh than any professional would want to wear, and the jacket looked tight and uncomfortable. When each model slipped off her jacket, the fitted black tee had no special detailing, which only helped to make the suit a bore.
    The applause continued as all eight models reappeared and took another strut down the runway and back, lining up along the rear curtain. Then the four designers, the real stars of the event, strode front and center. But when the applause ended abruptly on a sudden gasp, Ellie shifted from behind the curtain to see what had happened.
    “I can’t see. What’s goin’ on?” asked Rudy, trying to climb up her leg.
    Gazing at the audience, she realized that everyone’s eyes were focused on the designers. “I’m not sure,” she answered, rising on tiptoe and peering between the heads of the backstage crowd. Then she spotted Lilah Perry, her hands clasping her throat as if she were fighting to draw air into her lungs.
    Ellie shoved through the statuelike mob without thinking. The models and designers moved back when the emcee rushed over to lend a hand, and Ellie joined him. Lilah had dropped to the floor, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, her face swelling so quickly one could actually see the changes as they morphed her features into a puffy mass.
    “She’s in anaphylactic shock,” someone screamed. “Where’s her bag? She carries an EpiPen.”
    The emcee rose from his knees. “We need an EpiPen! Does anyone in the audience have an EpiPen!”
    Ellie took off running, relieved to find the crowd parting, and raced to the food table. There, she dragged Lilah’s bag out from under it, dug inside, and found what she thought was an