Designs in Crime

  Dresses lined the walls. Nancy assumed they were old samples. A fallen dress form lay on the floor, its padded contours sagging, and dusty boxes were stacked against one wall.

  Nothing here, Nancy thought, switching off the light. She was about to leave when she heard voices. Realizing that the storage room must back up to Beau’s office, she followed the source of the sound and found a crack in the plasterboard on Beau’s side.

  Pressing her face between the laths, she realized the crack wasn’t wide enough to see through. She took a penknife out of her pocket and scraped out a hole only large enough to see through.

  She could see Beau talking with Mrs. Chong now.

  Twisting the ends of a measuring tape that dangled around her neck, the woman waited while Beau spoke. “About the money for your husband’s treatment—” Beau said gently. “I want you to know that I’m still trying, but it’s not easy to scrape together six thousand dollars.”

  “No need,” Mrs. Chong said. “We have money.”

  “So he can have the operation!” Beau sounded cheerful. “What happened? Did the insurance company finally come through?”

  “No,” Mrs. Chong said. “Medical insurance won’t pay for experimental treatment.”

  “So how did you get the money?” Beau asked.

  She pursed her lips. “Here and there. No more problem.” She nodded, then marched out of the office in her usual brusque manner.

  Nancy moved away from the peephole and thought for a moment in the dark storeroom. Mrs. Chong had mysteriously found money—and lots of it. Did she steal Beau’s designs and sell them to Budget to pay for her husband’s medical expenses?

  Before Nancy could mull that over, she heard a man’s voice. Peering through the hole, she saw that Angel had now gone into Beau’s office.

  “Why are you holding me back?” Angel asked, leaning over Beau’s desk. “I’ve finished samples for two of my designs, and they’re ready to show.”

  Behind the desk, Beau shook his head. “Your designs don’t fit in with the overall theme of my spring collection,” Beau said. “Next time, we’ll work on something together. But for now, I just can’t include two dresses that don’t work.”

  Angel’s dark eyes glowered as he snatched up his sketches. “It’s just not fair,” he said. “My designs deserve to be shown—and you know it.”

  Nancy was amazed at how much more forceful Angel seemed now than he had when they’d talked earlier.

  “I’m sorry,” Beau said sadly, “but—”

  “We’ve had this conversation before,” Angel said, pounding his fist onto the desk. “You better listen to me. You can’t ignore me forever.” Then he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter

  Seven

  SITTING BACK on the floor, Nancy considered the situation. Angel obviously had a bone to pick with Beau. Would he steal Joanna’s gown to further weaken his boss?

  Nancy stood up, dusted off her pants, and headed for Beau’s office. She found the door open. Head in hands, Beau was sitting, staring at his desktop.

  “Got a minute?” she asked from the doorway.

  “Only if you’ve got good news,” Beau said.

  “I’m afraid not.” Nancy went in, closed the door, and sat in the chair opposite Beau’s desk. “I’ve been checking out your setup here. Given the lack of security, I’m surprised you have a sewing machine left in the studio.”

  Beau groaned. “Is it really that bad?”

  Nancy ran down the list of problems from the main lock downstairs to the Dumpster out front. “Anyone who wants to know what you’re up to can just dig through that bin,” she finished off. “There are bound to be discarded fabric swatches and sketches—enough to allow someone to try to piece together your spring collection.”

  “But I don’t design on paper,” Beau said, wearily rubbing the back of his neck.

  “Angel mentioned that,” Nancy said. “But I imagine that any botched sketches of the finished gowns would end up in the dumpster.”

  “Nope,” Beau insisted. “Angel gets them right every time. He’s fabulous.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Nancy said. “At least the sketches aren’t sitting in the trash bin out front.” Remembering what she’d seen and heard from the storeroom, Nancy added, “What about Mrs. Chong? Does she sketch the gowns, too?”

  “No,” Beau said. “She’s a sample maker. She makes trial versions of my designs. Mrs. Chong can’t sketch, but she’s a whiz with scissors, needle, and thread.”

  Despite Beau’s affection for his assistants, Nancy reminded herself that they were both prime suspects. “What if Mrs. Chong is the one stealing your designs?” she asked.

  Beau frowned. “I’d be shocked. She’s worked with me since I set up shop in my apartment.”

  “How long ago was that?” Nancy asked.

  “About five years ago,” Beau answered.

  His dark eyes were thoughtful as he spoke. “Since I was a kid, I knew I wanted to be a designer. I grew up in an artists’ colony in New England, a place full of painters and writers. My parents encouraged my interest in fashion design—even when I poured all my savings into my first line of bridal gowns. And Mrs. Chong has been there from the beginning, supporting me.”

  “Sometimes people lose track of their loyalties,” Nancy said gently.

  “Not Mrs. Chong,” Beau said. “She can breathe fire when she wants to, but I can’t imagine her turning against me.”

  “But Mrs. Chong was the last person to see Joanna’s gown on Sunday night, when she was alone here in the studio,” Nancy pointed out. “She also has a key to the vault.”

  Beau was shaking his head. “She can’t sketch. How could she pass on my designs?”

  “You said she’s a whiz at sewing,” Nancy answered. “It sounds as if she could whip up a sample in no time.”

  With a sigh, Beau leaned back. From his troubled expression, Nancy knew this was difficult for him. “I see your point. Although I don’t want to believe Mrs. Chong is stealing from me.”

  “But she has a strong motive—her husband,” Nancy pointed out. “Maybe she got the money for his operation by selling your designs to Budget.”

  Beau squinted at Nancy. “How did you find out about her husband’s treatment? Mrs. Chong rarely talks about her personal life.”

  “I’ve been watching you,” Nancy said, going over to the wall to point out the barely visible crack. She explained her discovery in the storage room.

  “You were spying on me?” Beau said, pretending to be offended.

  Nancy smiled. “You’re the one they’re stealing from. Doesn’t it make sense to figure out how they’re doing it?”

  “You’re right,” Beau said. “And don’t get me wrong—I appreciate your work.”

  “I also heard your argument with Angel,” said Nancy. “He’s upset that you’re not using his designs. And he has a key to the vault, too. Do you think he could have stolen Joanna’s dress to get back at you?”

  Beau scratched his chin thoughtfully. “It’s possible—though I don’t think he’s that mad.”

  “Think about it,” Nancy said. “He does all your sketches and could probably reproduce them in minutes. Angel might be selling your designs to Budget to spoil the reception of your line. If enough of your designs were leaked in advance, there might be a chance that you’d have to use one of his creations in the show.”

  “I never considered that,” Beau said. “Do you think he’s the spy?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Nancy said. “I still have a few leads to check out.”

  “In the meantime, I’m going to lay down the law on the use of our security system. Of course, we can’t have the alarm system on while we’re in here, but we can have the doors locked.” He picked up the phone and punched in a number. “And I’m calling the landlord to see about getting a new lock on the door downstairs.”

  “You may want to wait on that,” Nancy said, and Beau q
uickly cut the line. “I want whoever is stealing this stuff to think it’s still safe until we’ve got the person pegged—with enough evidence to make an arrest.”

  “Fair enough.” Beau hung up the phone, then reached into the top drawer of his desk. “In that case, here’s a key to the lobby entrance. If you want to deactivate the alarm at the studio door, just spell out bridal on the keypad. I don’t know if you plan to be here after hours, but I want you to feel free to come and go as you please.”

  “Thanks.” Nancy stood up and slipped the key in her pocket. “Who else knows the code to the lock outside the studio?”

  “Angel, Mrs. Chong, and I—same as the vault,” Beau said. “One of us always sets the alarm and lock when we leave at night.” Beau checked his watch and pushed away from his desk. “I’d better get back to the workroom. I’ve got some runway models coming in for a fitting. We hire a troop of models for our seasonal shows.”

  Nancy nodded. “And I should check on Bess.”

  “Miss Petite Elite?” Beau smiled. “I’m glad she’s modeling for us. She really makes the new line come alive.”

  • • •

  “I feel like a kid in a candy store,” Bess said, twirling around. As she moved, the gathered skirt of her gown billowed out gracefully.

  Nancy had found Bess in the vault with Angel.

  “We need you to try on two more gowns,” Angel said, pushing through the dresses on one of the wall racks. He stopped when he revealed a rust-colored dress made of suede. “This is one of Beau’s wilder designs—it’s backless, and it’s the first time he’s used suede for an evening dress.”

  “It does stand out from his other designs,” Bess said.

  Nancy reached out and ran her hand along the gown. She could imagine herself wearing this dress as she and Ned spun around on the dance floor. “I love it,” she said. As she lifted the dress, she noticed a dark grate on the wall behind it.

  “Wait a minute,” Nancy said, sliding the gown along the rack to clear a space. The grid, about three feet wide and two feet high, covered an air vent. “I didn’t know this was here.”

  “Didn’t you notice it yesterday when you checked out the vault?” Bess asked.

  Nancy shook her head. “I asked Beau to check for any cracks or holes on this wall. I guess he didn’t think the vent counted.” She ran her fingers over the metal grate.

  “Wow,” Bess said. “Do you think—”

  Nancy was already one step ahead of her. “Will you help me pry off this cover?” Nancy asked Angel. “The screws have been removed.”

  “Sure,” he said, digging his fingers into the edge of the frame. “We’ll probably need a screwdriver to get some leverage—” He tugged, and all at once the vent cover popped off.

  “It must have been loose,” Bess said as Angel placed the grate on the floor.

  “Or maybe it was removed recently.” Nancy peered into the dark opening that led to a wide air shaft. “Maybe the person who stole Joanna’s gown came in this way.” She pulled her penlight out of her pocket. “I’ll check it out.”

  “Be careful,” Angel said. “I don’t know where this thing leads.”

  Inside the dark shaft, Nancy gripped her pen-light in one fist as she moved forward on her hands and knees. The walls of the vent were coated with dust, but a trail was worn clear on the bottom, as if someone had crawled through the space recently.

  Did the thief sneak in this way, grab the dress, and drag it back out through the vent?

  Nancy reached a place where another shaft intersected. Should I turn? she wondered. Then the beam of the penlight revealed the trail worn through the dust. It led straight ahead. She crept forward.

  The beam of light bounced over a jagged seam in the vent, and a tiny kernel glistened there. Nancy paused and turned the light on the object. It was a seed pearl. Could it be like the ones on Joanna’s dress?

  Excited, Nancy picked up the pearl and continued on, following the clean trail. She began to hear muffled voices, then noticed light streaming in through a grid ahead of her.

  The thief must have come in through this opening, she thought, pressing against the grate. It took a couple of shoves, but finally the vent cover gave way.

  The grate crashed to the floor, startling a roomful of workers who spun around to face her. Nancy peered out into the sunny workroom and saw the startled expressions of Beau, Mrs. Chong, and the design team.

  Just a few feet from the vent, Mrs. Chong wheeled defensively, her face fierce. She raised her hand over her head, ready to attack the intruder.

  Light glinted off the gold-handled scissors in Mrs. Chong’s hand as the razor-sharp points rushed toward Nancy.

  Chapter

  Eight

  STOP!” Nancy backed deeper into the shaft, covering her head with her arms.

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Chong,” Beau shouted, rushing forward. He grabbed the woman around the shoulders, pulling her backward so that she stabbed at thin air.

  “I thought . . .” Mrs. Chong eyed Nancy suspiciously, then relaxed. She replaced the scissors in a special box, lining them up beside the rest of the collection with distinctive gold handles, then turned to Nancy. “What are you, a crazy girl?” she snapped. “Popping out of the walls, scaring people out of their minds.”

  “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Beau said, stepping toward Nancy. “Need a hand?”

  Beau helped to pull Nancy out. “Thanks,” she said, brushing the dust off her clothes.

  Just then Bess and Angel rushed in from the hall, looking nervous until they spotted Nancy. “You’re here!” Bess said, relieved. “I was hoping you were the cause of all the noise.”

  “We were waiting for you to return to the vault,” Angel explained. “When we called into the air shaft and got no answer, Bess started to worry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Nancy assured them. “A little dusty, but it was worth it.” She held up the seed pearl, then passed it to Beau. “I found this inside the air shaft.”

  Beau held the tiny pearl in the palm of his hand and studied it. “It looks like one of the seed pearls from Joanna Rockwell’s gown,” he said. “But how did it get into the air shaft?”

  “The dust in the air shaft was worn clean in a single trail, as if someone had crawled through it recently,” Nancy explained. “I followed the clean trail to this vent. There’s a good chance that Joanna’s gown was removed from the vault through that vent.”

  “It did pop right out when you gave it a shove,” Beau said, picking up the grate. Peering over his shoulder, Nancy saw that the screws had been removed from this vent cover, too.

  Nancy turned to Mrs. Chong. “The other night when you heard the noise in here, which room were you working in?”

  “Sewing room,” the woman said, pointing a bony finger at the tiny room on the other side of the workroom.

  “That noise might have been the thief, covering his tracks,” Nancy said, taking the vent cover and shoving it into place with a thud.

  “That means the gown could have been stolen by an outsider,” Beau said, smiling. Nancy suspected he was relieved to think that his employees were in the clear.

  “It’s possible,” Nancy said, knowing that the gown still could have been stolen by one of his employees. Angel or even Mrs. Chong might have dragged the gown through the shaft to divert attention from themselves.

  An hour later the studio had settled back to its usual hectic pace. Nancy needed some time in the studio to observe the routine so she had agreed to spend the afternoon in the workroom, running errands for Beau, Angel, and Mrs. Chong.

  In one corner Bess stood still as a statue, modeling while Eleni marked the rust-colored suede dress for alterations.

  Beau was working with the model named Isis. Nancy watched as he draped sheer chiffon over her arms, fashioning sleeves. Absorbed in his work, Beau seemed to have blocked out everything else.

  An assistant came in to tell Beau that Joanna and her maid of honor
had arrived. Nancy followed him into the fitting room to greet them.

  “Hi,” Joanna said, standing up and flashing them a smile. “Nancy, this is Elizabeth Baker, my maid of honor.”

  “Call me Liz,” the tall, rangy girl said. She had long, carrot-colored hair that was held back with two tortoise-shell combs.

  “Your dress is finished, Liz,” Beau told her. “You can try it on, just to make sure you’re happy with it.”

  “Great!” Liz said. “But first I’d like to see Joanna’s number-two gown.”

  “No problem. We’ll retrieve both dresses from the vault,” Beau said, motioning an assistant to follow him as he left the room.

  As soon as the door closed, Joanna turned to Nancy. “Any leads on my gown?” she asked.

  Nancy showed her the seed pearl she’d found in the air shaft.

  “That must be from my gown!” Joanna said excitedly.

  Just then there was a knock on the door, and Beau entered carrying two gowns. “For Liz,” he said, hanging an emerald green satin gown on one rack. “And, Joanna,” he said, forcing a smile, “careful trying yours on. Some of the seams are just basted. I’ll be back in a few minutes to see how you’re doing.” Then he left the fitting room.

  Joanna and Liz ducked behind two oriental screens and quickly changed into the gowns.

  “This is perfect,” Liz said, smoothing the satin folds over her hips.

  “Oh, Lizzy, you look great!” Joanna said as she turned to look at her own reflection and frowned. “Too bad the rest of the bridal party isn’t here.” Turning to Nancy, she added, “Two of my bridesmaids had last-minute emergencies and won’t even arrive until Friday morning. They’re going to miss tomorrow night’s rehearsal dinner!”

  “Not a big deal,” Liz said, trying to calm her friend. “We’ll make do without them.”

  “But it’s going to throw off the procession,” Joanna insisted. “Everyone will be confused.”