“What?” Beau stared at Nancy. “You mean Angel—”
“Was selling your designs to Budget Fashions,” Nancy said, explaining how Bess had tricked the saleswoman in the Budget showroom. She also told them about the phone call she’d heard Angel make. “They were going to meet here at ten-thirty. When we arrived at quarter to eleven, Angel was dead. There was no sign of the killer.”
“Poor Angel,” Beau said, rubbing his eyes wearily. “It was lousy of him to steal my designs, but he didn’t deserve to die.”
The detective jotted notes on a clipboard. “Now, let me get this straight,” he said to Nancy. “You think Angel was working with a partner, who turned on him tonight, stabbing him in the back?”
Nancy nodded.
“Any idea who this accomplice might be?” Detective Noonan persisted.
“There’s Mrs. Chong,” Nancy said speculatively. “After all, Angel was stabbed with her scissors.”
“And she left the studio early today, without any explanation,” Bess added.
“Mrs. Chong is not the killer,” Beau said wearily. “I’ve just spent the past five hours with her in the waiting room of Midtown Hospital.”
Seeing the girls’ surprised reactions, Beau explained. “Her husband was in surgery all night. I didn’t finish up at the Plaza till six, so I went straight over to the hospital to stay with her. He’s going to pull through just fine. But by the time I called in and got your message to meet you here, it was already well after ten.”
“Did you find out how Mrs. Chong got the money for the operation?” Nancy asked him.
Beau nodded. “From her great-uncle.”
“Why was the surgery such a secret?” Bess asked. “Angel wouldn’t tell us anything about it.”
“Mrs. Chong is very secretive about her personal life,” Beau answered. “But Angel knew about the operation. In fact, he’d agreed to cover for us at the studio tonight.”
“That makes sense,” Nancy said, snapping her fingers. “That’s why Angel told the person on the phone to meet him here. He knew the studio would be empty, since you and Mrs. Chong would be at the hospital. And if one or two of the assistants had wanted to work late, he had the authority to send them home.”
Detective Noonan pointed his pen at Nancy. “I like the way you work,” he said.
“She’s a great detective,” Bess said. “Nancy’s solved lots of famous cases.”
“If Mrs. Chong is not the killer, we should check out Mimi Piazza,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “I think that blue handkerchief sitting beside Angel’s body might belong to her.”
“That’s quite a charge,” the detective said. “Who is this Mimi?”
“Mimi Piazza, a rival designer,” Beau said, explaining his history with the woman.
“Wait a minute,” Nancy said, her mind racing. “When Angel was talking on the phone, he complained that he was taking all the risks, that the other person was safe in a castle. Mimi is known for being a security freak. And she would have a lot to lose if Angel revealed their theft to Delia Rogers, as he threatened on the phone.”
“Sounds as if it might be worth checking this woman out,” Detective Noonan agreed.
“In the meantime, are you going to search Angel’s apartment for clues?” Nancy asked him.
“That’s standard in a case like this.” The detective nodded, then hesitated. “Why?”
“I’d like to go along,” Nancy said. “There’s a chance that Angel stole Joanna Rockwell’s wedding gown. If he did, it might be stashed at his apartment.”
“That’s right,” Bess said, perking up.
“The Rockwell heiress’s gown,” Noonan said, scratching his chin. “That wedding is the only thing my wife talks about these days. And you think the gown might be at Ortiz’s apartment?”
“There’s a chance,” Nancy said hopefully.
“Angel rented a place in the East Village,” Beau said. “I can show you where it is.”
The detective lowered his clipboard and sighed. “Something tells me you people can’t wait till tomorrow to check the place out.”
“The gown contains pearls that are family heirlooms,” Bess pointed out. “By tomorrow it might be gone.”
Detective Noonan shrugged. “Let’s go.”
• • •
The detective pulled the unmarked police car to a stop in front of the old brownstone where Angel Ortiz lived. After Noonan opened a rear door for Nancy and Bess—there were no handles on the inside—they were able to climb out. They followed the two men through a waist-high wrought-iron gate and down a few steps to the door of the basement apartment.
“This is it,” Beau said, “but we need to go upstairs and ask the landlord to let us in.”
“Looks as if someone has already beat us here,” Detective Noonan said.
Nancy peered over his shoulder and saw that the door was already ajar. The detective shoved it with the toe of his shoe until it was open. He stepped inside, and Nancy followed.
At first the only thing she could make out was darkness and clutter. Papers, cushions, and clothes were strewn everywhere.
“Either this guy was a slob or someone has searched this place,” Detective Noonan muttered.
“Angel was impeccably neat,” Beau said. “Someone must have been here.”
Just then Nancy heard a noise coming from the rear of the apartment. Everyone froze.
“Get back,” the detective said, motioning them toward the door.
As Nancy took a step back, she saw Detective Noonan reach inside his jacket and draw his revolver. He crept forward, stepped around a pile of clothes, then turned into a doorway.
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 if I 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,” Noo
nan 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 lamé 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 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 Mi
mi 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. “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.”