089 Designs in Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  Her heart beating like a drum, Nancy waited for a moment. She decided she couldn't stand back while Noonan might need help.

  She tiptoed forward and found herself beside Detective Noonan in the doorway of a bathroom.

  The same noise came again, and Nancy saw a flicker of movement in the opaque shower curtain drawn across the tub. Motioning for Nancy to wait, the detective raised his gun and inched forward.

  Nancy held her breath as he ripped the curtain open.

  A bare tub gleamed in the dim light. Nancy's eyes followed the tile up to a small open window, where a pair of feet were scurrying out!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nancy pushed past Noonan and jumped into the tub to grab one of the lace-up combat-style boots. Struggling to hold on, she saw that the intruder was a small, wiry guy, dressed in black jeans and a dark flak jacket. A black wool cap covered his head.

  Beside her, the detective had clasped a hand over one of the man's legs. Nancy was about to pull him back into the tub when the intruder kicked wildly, knocking both Nancy and Noonan off balance.

  "Yee—ow!" Nancy cried, slipping back against the tiled wall.

  Detective Noonan shoved his pistol back into the holster and pulled himself up to the window. "There he goes," he said disgustedly.

  Considering the small size of the window and the lead the man had, Nancy doubted that they'd be able to catch him. "I'm going around front to see ifl can snag him," the detective said, darting out the doorway.

  Standing on tiptoes, Nancy checked out through the window. The bottom of the frame rested on the pavement of a small yard. She saw a clump of hedges on the left and a row of plastic trash cans on the right. Otherwise the dark yard was empty.

  Nancy returned to the living room, where Bess and Beau had stood back while the detective raced out the front door. "There was a man hiding in the bathtub," Nancy explained. "He's probably the one who ransacked the place." She went to the door to check on the detective. Stepping outside, she spotted him coming down the stairs—alone.

  "He got away," he said, marching back into the apartment. "But I got a sense of his size. He's thin as a twig and shorter than you," he said, nodding at Nancy.

  "What about his hair?" Bess asked.

  "Couldn't see it," Noonan said. "He was wearing a black wool cap."

  "Did he have Joanna's gown?" Beau asked.

  "Not unless he could have fit it in his pockets. He wasn't carrying anything."

  Checking around the disheveled apartment, Nancy frowned. After seeing the handkerchief, she'd been sure Mimi was Angel's killer. Now they were looking for a thin, wiry man.

  While Detective Noonan called to check in with the forensic team at Beau's studio, Nancy, Bess, and Beau searched Angel's apartment.

  "Here's one of his sketchpads," Beau said, lifting the cardboard cover. The pages were blank, but from the indentations on the top sheet Nancy could tell that the pad had been used.

  "Maybe Angel's partner came here for the last of the sketches," Nancy suggested.

  "If that's the case, he missed these," Bess said, sliding rolled-up sketches out of a cardboard tube. "I found this under the sofa."

  Beau and Nancy sifted through the sketches, which all bore the signature of Angel Ortiz in the bottom corner. "Some of these were Angel's designs," Beau said. "But three are mine, from the spring collection. He must have made duplicate sketches, then penciled in his signature."

  "I wonder why?" Bess asked.

  "He was anxious to get ahead, to make his mark as a designer," Beau said sadly. "I just didn't realize he was so ambitious."

  "And what was in it for his partner?" Nancy asked aloud, wondering about the man who had squeezed out through the small window.

  Detective Noonan hung up the phone and frowned. "The scissors were clean," he said. "We couldn't lift any fingerprints from them. But there was blood on the handkerchief The lab will check it out."

  "Sounds gruesome," Bess said, shivering.

  By the time they finished searching Angel's apartment, it was well after midnight. Exhausted, Beau took a cab home. When Detective Noonan dropped the girls off at Eloise Drew's apartment, he told Nancy to keep him updated on her progress.

  "I still think that handkerchief belongs to Mimi Piazza," Nancy said as she and Bess got ready for bed. "And that would place her at the scene of the murder. But I can't figure out who the intruder was at Angel's apartment."

  "Maybe it was just a burglar," Bess said.

  Nancy shook her head. "On the night of Angel's murder? Too coincidental. Maybe it was a thug hired by Michael Rockwell. Or maybe someone else was working with Angel and Mimi. . . ." She sank onto the bed as her thoughts wandered.

  "What about Mimi's fashion show?" Bess asked, yawning. "Do you still want to go?"

  "Definitely." Nancy nodded. "I've got to find out if Mimi Piazza was involved with Angel."

  "Good morning, Ms. Rockwell." The guard in the black tuxedo smiled as he checked the guest list. "I have you down with two guests, a Ms. Drew and a Ms. Marvin."

  "That's correct," Joanna said, glancing at Nancy and Bess. All three were elbow to elbow with the reporters waiting outside the showroom of Mimi Piazza's studio.

  "Enjoy," the guard said, removing a velvet rope so the girls could squeeze by.

  Inside the showroom, photographers jockeyed for position at the edge of the runway, a long platform stretching into the audience. The atmosphere was tense. Conversation buzzed through the room, and the seats were quickly filling up with spectators.

  "Who are all these people?" Nancy asked.

  "A lot of them are buyers from stores around the world," Bess explained. "Later on they'll meet with Mimi's people to discuss colors, delivery dates, and prices."

  "Some are fashion editors from magazines and newspapers," Joanna said, waving at a woman across the room. "They'll critique Mimi's spring collection in their columns."

  "Check out the runway," Bess said.

  Painted black with a white line running down the center, the runway resembled a landing strip, complete with little red flashing lights at the edges. The backdrop was a brilliant blue sky dotted with wispy white clouds.

  Just as the girls found three seats near the backstage door, Nancy heard Delia Rogers call out through the crowd.

  "Joanna!" The silver-haired reporter rushed over, camera crew in tow. "Is there any truth to the rumor that you're here to look for a new wedding gown?" she asked, pushing the microphone toward Joanna.

  "Beau Winston is designing my bridal gown," Joanna stated, smiling at the camera. "But I do enjoy attending other designers' shows."

  "Any news on your mother's pearls?" Delia probed. Before Joanna could answer, the music rose and stragglers rushed to their seats.

  "They're starting!" Bess said excitedly.

  Delia's crew pushed closer to the runway for a shot of the show's opening. The soaring noise of a landing jet came over the sound system as spotlights hit the runway and a chic-looking model strode out. She was wearing a skin-tight black gown with gold lame sleeves that flared out behind her shoulders like wings.

  "I guess the theme of the show is flying," Joanna said as a second model appeared, her arms raised to reveal a colorful pattern like that of a butterfly's wings on her sleeves.

  Although the first few dresses were evening gowns, none of them resembled any of Beau's. "If Mimi was Angel's partner, she was smart enough not to use any of the stolen designs in her own collection," Nancy whispered to Bess, whose attention was riveted on the runway.

  Everyone was mesmerized by the show. If Nancy was going to slip away and check out Mimi's studio, now was the time.

  "I'll be back," she whispered to Bess, weaving through the crowd to reach the edge of the backdrop. She cut around behind it, went down a short hall and found herself backstage, in the middle of the feverish scramble.

  Models in various stages of undress squeezed into gowns and tugged curlers out of their hair. Nancy paused behind an older w
oman, 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!"

  Chapter Fourteen

  "My name is Nancy Drew," Nancy said, breaking free of the other woman's hold. "Fm 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 Fd 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 Angers," 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.

&n
bsp; "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."