Designs in Crime (12 page)

Models in various stages of undress squeezed into gowns and tugged curlers out of their hair. Nancy paused behind an older woman, who was sewing a blond model into a red satin sheath.

“What made you think you could eat before a show?” the woman demanded. “Better suck it in when you get out there. Now go!” The woman cut the thread, pushed the model away, then, turned to Nancy. “You're late! It's a good thing you're only modeling sportswear today.”

Nancy blinked, then suddenly realized that the woman thought she was a model.

“Hey, Gloria,” the woman called to someone a few racks away. “The redhead is here.”

“Send her back!” came the answer.

“Chop, chop!” the older woman told Nancy. “You need to change—pronto!”

“Right away,” Nancy told the woman. She maneuvered past models, scattered garment' racks and stray shoes until she found a door that led away from the fray. The last thing she needed was to run into Gloria. She'd have to admit that she wasn't a model—or else take her chances on the runway!

Nancy found herself in a wide corridor cluttered with racks of clothes. Quickly she slid each
garment down the rack, searching for Joanna's gown.

While she was checking, a uniformed guard walked by and gave her a curious look.

“Where is that dress?” she muttered aloud. “Gloria's going to kill me if I don't find it.”

That seemed to satisfy the guard, who continued on, whistling softly.

Within minutes Nancy had checked every garment, but Joanna's gown wasn't there. Mimi would probably have locked it in a vault if she hadn't destroyed it, Nancy thought. She'd be better off searching Mimi's office for evidence that might tie the woman to Angel.

Nancy was about to head upstairs to the offices when the door behind her opened and the older woman stormed out.

“There you are! What are you doing out here?” she demanded, grabbing Nancy by the arm.

Nancy was about to answer when the door flew open again and a delicate woman with wispy red hair and dressed in an ivory suit with a lace hankie in the pocket came out. It was Mimi Piazza. “The redhead model is on the runway. I don't know what you're—” Mimi paused when she saw Nancy's face. “I know who
you
are,” she rasped. “I saw you on ‘Fashion Flash.' You're the detective who's working with Beau Winston.”

“That's right,” Nancy said.

“A spy.” Mimi scowled, then told the older woman, “Get rid of her!”

M
Y NAME
is Nancy Drew,” Nancy said, breaking free of the other woman's hold. “I'm here with Joanna Rockwell.”

“Is that true?” Mimi asked the older woman.

“I—I don't know,” the flustered woman said. “I thought she was a model.”

“You
thought?”
Mimi scoffed. “Go get security while I have a few words with Ms. Drew.”

As the woman hurried off, Mimi sized up Nancy. “You have a lot of nerve sneaking around here,” she said.

“Not as much nerve as it took for you to stab Angel Ortiz in the back with a pair of scissors.”

Mimi's mouth dropped open in shock. “What a dreadful thing to say. Surely you don't believe I'd do anything like that.” She spread her thin
arms wide. “Look at me. I'm a ninety-eight-pound pushover, barely able to defend myself, much less murder anyone. That's why security is so important to me. Tell me, what were you looking for here?”

“Joanna Rockwell's gown,” Nancy answered.

“And you think it's
here?”
Mimi rolled her eyes. “Sounds like another one of Beau's publicity stunts. I try to stay out of his business.” She pushed a curl off her forehead, adding, “I just wish he'd stay out of mine.”

Mimi's sweet smile made Nancy wonder if Beau had mistaken the woman's motives. She decided to take a chance and push a little harder.

“You know, Beau is convinced that you're responsible for Angel's death,” Nancy said. “He says he has evidence incriminating you,” she baited Mimi. “It's locked in his office.”

“Evidence of what?” Mimi asked.

“Apparently, Angel taped every phone conversation he had with you,” Nancy lied. She just hoped Mimi would believe her. “It's only a matter of time before the police—”

“I spoke with the police early this morning,” Mimi interrupted her. “By the time we finished talking they apologized for disturbing me. You see, I haven't done anything wrong.”

Just then two security guards burst into the hallway, cutting their conversation short.

“Escort Miss Drew back to the audience,”
Mimi told them. “And make sure she stays there.”

• • •

After the show the girls joined Joanna for lunch at Rumpelmayer's, an old-fashioned soda shop across from Central Park that served triple-decker sandwiches and spectacular ice cream sundaes. As they ate, Nancy told Joanna and Bess about her encounter with Mimi.

“She sounds harmless,” said Bess. “Do you really think she killed Angel?”

“I don't know,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “It's possible that she was his partner, but she has a hard face to read. I wonder if the police have been able to identify the handkerchief yet.”

“I can't believe you're investigating a murder,” Joanna said, spooning a walnut from her sundae. “Now that Angel's gone, the theft of my gown is minor in comparison.”

Nancy nodded. Angel's death had put a lot of things in perspective.

The workers at Beau Bridal were somber when Nancy and Bess arrived after lunch. The girls went into Beau's office to tell him what had happened at Mimi's show. Then Bess went off for a fitting, while Nancy went out to the workroom.

In the sunny workroom, Mrs. Chong was supervising final fittings for Beau's show.

“You're finished,” she said, tapping Isis on the shoulder. “But don't you dare be late next week!”

As Nancy watched Mrs. Chong turn to a worktable to cut out a pattern piece, she realized how much the old woman had grown on her. Her brusque manner was just her way of getting things done.

“Terrible week,” Mrs. Chong said. She stopped cutting and examined the scissors in her hand. “Angel is gone. And the killer took my best scissors.”

“You'll get the scissors back,” Nancy pointed out. “The police will return them after the trial.” If there is a trial, she thought. So far, the police didn't even have a suspect.

“Not those scissors,” Mrs. Chong said. “The ones the killer stole.”

“Wait a minute.” Nancy went over to the table and looked down at the open box of scissors. “There are
two
pairs of scissors missing?”

Mrs. Chong nodded. “Killer must have stolen one.”

Nancy wondered why the killer would have made off with a pair of scissors. A thief would have taken the entire box. “Did you tell the police about the missing scissors?” she asked.

“I didn't waste their time,” Mrs. Chong said, scowling. “Let them find Angel's killer instead.”

“But the police should know about them,” Nancy said, heading for the phone in Beau's office.

Detective Noonan listened while Nancy told him
about the missing scissors. “It appears that the killer took them,” she told him. “Can you search Mimi's studio or home?”

“Not without a solid link between Mimi and the crime,” he said.

“What about the handkerchief?” she asked.

“The blood on the handkerchief was Angel's,” Noonan said. “It was the only bodily fluid on the cloth. We can't connect the handkerchief to Mimi. The intruder at Ortiz's apartment was a man. And when I interviewed Ms. Piazza, everything she said checked out. Frankly, I don't think Mimi Piazza is a killer.”

As soon as the detective said goodbye, Nancy placed a call to her father in River Heights.

“I was going to call you at Eloise's apartment this evening,” said Carson Drew. “I've been talking to people about Michael Rockwell. It appears his reputation is spotless, though his son had a scuffle with the law a few years back.”

“Tyler?” Nancy said. “What happened?”

“He was charged with breaking and entering when he was a teenager. The charges were eventually dropped, but it seems the incident created a breach between father and son.”

Nancy considered the information long after she'd said goodbye and hung up the phone. The feud between the Rockwell men was still going on. And it seemed that Joanna was stuck between them.

“What's happening?” Beau asked, entering the office with two bolts of cloth in his arms.

After updating him on the case, Nancy mentioned her suspicions about the Rockwell men. “It may sound crazy, but one of the Rockwells may have something to do with the disappearance of Joanna's gown. They're feuding, and Joanna's wedding seems to be the battleground.”

“I had no idea that things were so bad with Joanna's family,” Beau said. “But I can't imagine Michael Rockwell working with Angel.”

“I can't, either,” Nancy agreed.

“What about the intruder at Angel's apartment?” Beau asked hopefully.

Nancy considered the physique of the Rockwell men, then shook her head. “Joanna's father and brother are much taller than the guy in Angel's apartment.”

• • •

That night, as Nancy watched Tyler perform on stage at the Players Theater, she felt a twinge of sympathy for Joanna's brother. Here he was, opening in his first off-Broadway show, and his father had chosen not to attend. Ironically, the show was about a family that had split up.

“My father is dead.” Tyler spoke his lines somberly, but with a great deal of conviction. “He died the day he walked out that door.”

Tears glimmered in the actor's eyes, and Nancy was moved by his performance.

After the show, Nancy, Bess, Joanna, and Sam huddled in the small actors dressing room backstage to congratulate Tyler.

Nancy recognized the other actors who drifted in and out. Some carried bouquets, others were chatting with friends.

“I'm sorry Dad couldn't make it,” Joanna said as she gave her brother a hug. “You were great!”

“Thanks,” Tyler said. “I'm glad you could make it, with all the wedding hoopla going on.”

“Are you kidding?” Joanna said. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

“It's a very moving show,” Bess said. “I haven't cried so much for ages.”

“Your father should see it,” Sam said thoughtfully. “I think it would hit home.”

“There's little chance of that.” Tyler frowned. “He's too busy playing billionaire—when he's not telling you how to plan your wedding.”

“Right now Dad's bossiness is the last thing on my mind,” Joanna said sadly. “My gown is still missing—the one with Mom's pearls.”

“Why are you taking it so hard?” Tyler asked.

Joanna's green eyes sparkled with tears. “For some reason, I feel as if I've let Mom down. And I'm worried about you. You should be in the wedding, Tyler. Mom would have wanted it.”

Tyler bristled, clearly uncomfortable with his sister's suggestion.

“Don't pressure the guy on the night of his big
debut,” Sam said. “Now—take off your makeup and come celebrate with us.”

“Great idea,” Joanna agreed. “I'll get your coat. Where's your locker?”

Tyler paused, then gestured vaguely behind him. “It's over there.” Nancy turned and noticed the name Rockwell written on tape on a battered locker door. Apparently, Tyler hadn't bothered to bring a padlock for it. Clear plastic wrap stuck out from the bottom, as if the locker was overloaded.

Before she or Joanna could go to it, Tyler ran his hand through his hair and said, “Look, I'm tired. I'd better take a raincheck.”

Joanna protested, but Tyler was adamant. Finally she gave up, kissed her brother on the cheek, and said, “I'm so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Sis,” Tyler said quietly.

• • •

After a night of restless sleep, Nancy awoke early Friday morning. Bess slept quietly in the twin bed across the room. Tucking the soft comforter under her chin, Nancy stared at the ceiling and thought about the Rockwell family. She knew she had to be missing something important.

She knew that Michael Rockwell had been feuding with his son for years—probably since the time that Tyler was arrested for breaking and entering.

Just then she remembered crawling through the dark airshaft. The gown
could
have been stolen by an outsider.

Her mind flashed to Tyler, last night in the dressing room. She remembered Tyler's locker. It was the one with plastic wrap sticking out. It was just like the plastic that covered dresses that were wheeled through the garment district.

“Oh, no!” She sat up in bed.

“What's wrong?” Bess asked, rubbing her eyes.