A Model Crime

  “Also, remember—news reporters have been invited to all the shoots this week,” Monique went on. “Since you will be representing the sponsors of this contest, we expect you to be polite to them, no matter how nosy or rude they act. Above all, please don’t do anything drastic with your appearance after your makeovers tomorrow morning. We’d like you stick with those results. Last year we had a contestant who streaked her hair during the third day of the contest. Streaked or frosted hair is out of date, and it reflects badly on all of us. And please, keep your makeup to a minimum. When in doubt, use less, not more.”

  There was no doubt about Monique’s comment that time. Her crack about frosted hair was directed at Bettina. Nancy, and everyone else now, watched as the two women glared at each other with undisguised dislike. There was a moment of awkward silence.

  “Achoo!” Maggie let out another megasneeze, which broke the tension in the room. Everyone chuckled, then applauded lightly for Monique as she sat down.

  Thom Fortner rose to speak. He glanced around at the contestants with a gleam in his eye as he dug in his pocket for a piece of paper. “Well, I guess this is the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” he said, joking. “I have the names of your escorts for tomorrow’s banquet!”

  Bess reached across the table and squeezed Nancy’s hand. “Maybe I’ll get Roger Harlan!” she whispered. “Oh, I hope, I hope, I hope!”

  “Maybe.” Without giving the secret away, Nancy squeezed Bess’s hand and grinned. “But I’m sure none of the escorts will be losers.” She glanced over at Maggie Adams’s table. She wanted to see the expression on the girl’s face when she got the good news.

  “Let me dispense with the mystery right away,” a flushed Thom Fortner said. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Heather Richards, your date for the banquet will be—Roger Harlan!”

  Chapter

  Five

  NANCY’S MOUTH FELL OPEN. As the other girls whispered among themselves, Heather beamed, casting a smug glance at the disappointed Maggie. Nancy tried to catch Thom Fortner’s eye, but he studiously avoided her gaze. No wonder!

  Maggie Adams had been chosen to be Roger’s escort, but at the last moment, Thom changed her assignment. Why?

  Thom took a pen from his breast pocket and made a quick correction on the sheet of paper he was holding. “Moving right along,” he said after the pause, “Alison Williams, your escort will be Daryl Hancock. Bess Marvin, you’ll be paired with Ernest Mullins. Carey Harper, your date is Jason Tyler. . . .”

  Thom went on giving out the assignments, and Nancy peered around the room. Heather Richards was wearing a huge, triumphant smile as she waved to Roger Harlan. Roger was seated next to Bettina and didn’t seem to notice Heather at all.

  Nancy reached into the pocket of her slacks and fingered the gold tie tack with the initials RH on it. How had it gotten into the toolbox? She decided she had to ask Roger.

  “Ernest Mullins is one of the best-looking men in the entire galaxy,” Bess was saying. “He’s got the most incredible dimple in his chin. He works all the time. He’s in practically every magazine there is.”

  “That’s great, Bess,” Nancy said.

  “Are you having a good time?” Kelly Conroy’s bubbly voice came out in a whisper, since Thom was still giving out assignments. The Teen Scene reporter had a pencil and pad in her hand as she leaned over Bess and Nancy’s table. “Bess,” she began, “I’d like to set up a time to interview you.”

  “You want to interview me for Teen Scene?” Bess gasped.

  “Sure,” Kelly said with a smile. “We’re doing a few paragraphs on each of the contestants. It’ll be one of the feature articles in the next issue.”

  “But I’ve never been interviewed before in my entire life! How will I know what to say?” Bess was babbling and obviously more than a little nervous.

  “Oh, it’s easy,” Kelly said with a smile. “I’ll just ask about you, your friends, your hobbies, what you like to do, stuff like that. How’s tomorrow after your makeover?”

  “Sure, that’ll be fine,” said Bess, thrilled and scared at the same time.

  “Now, on to photographers,” Thom said as he riffled through his jacket pocket for another sheet of paper. “Let’s see—Diana Amsterdam, your portfolio photographer will be John Colao. Carey Harper, you’ve been assigned Terry Porter. Bess Marvin, you’ll be photographed by Alex Bogorofsky—”

  “Alex Bogorofsky!” Bess managed to keep her voice down, but her enthusiasm was tuned way up high. “He only takes movie stars’ photos!”

  “You can’t do better than Bogorofsky. He’s world class,” Kelly said. “Congratulations, Bess.”

  “Oh, this is so, so, so, so exciting,” Bess said with a sigh. “I just hope my makeover turns out all right.”

  “You’ll be in good hands, Bess,” Nancy said. “I don’t think you should worry about it.”

  “They’ve never had a failure at Mr. La Fortune’s yet,” Kelly added.

  The photographers had all been assigned, and now Monique Durand was standing to give her final remarks. “It’s past nine,” she said, glancing at the diamond watch on her wrist. “To bed, everyone! A good night’s rest is essential for success in modeling. We’ll see you early tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Kelly. Come on, Nan! I’ve got to get to sleep immediately!” Bess said, rising from the table and getting her handbag. “Yesterday I noticed I was starting to get circles under my eyes.”

  “Bess,” Nancy groaned, waving good night to Kelly and following her friend, “you do not have circles under your eyes.”

  “Can you imagine, Nancy? Alex Bogorofsky? Taking my picture?” Bess seemed to float out of the dining room to the elevator. “It’s going to be so much fun being famous!”

  Nancy pressed the button for the elevator as Natasha and an older woman who looked like her mother walked up speaking in a foreign language.

  “Hello. Who is your photographer again?” Natasha asked Bess.

  Nancy knew that Bess was trying to downplay her feelings when she answered. “Oh, Alex Bogorofsky.”

  Natasha’s green eyes widened. When they stepped into the elevator, she admitted her feelings in an outright and charming manner. “I am so jealous!”

  Bess smiled and shrugged. “I can bet. I’m even jealous of myself!”

  That made them all laugh.

  “Good night,” Bess called out as she and Nancy reached their floor. “Oh, Nancy. Isn’t life beautiful?”

  “It certainly is,” Nancy replied, getting the key out of her bag. She opened the door for Bess, who floated into the room and flopped down on her bed.

  “The Bogorofsky Portraits,” Bess said with a sigh. “That’s what they call his annual show at the Hollywood Palace. Maybe I’ll be in it next year!”

  “But, Bess, isn’t that for established stars?” Nancy asked gingerly.

  “By this time next year I could be an established star, Nancy.”

  There was no sense arguing, Nancy thought as she began changing into a nightgown. She was terribly concerned for her friend. Bess’s expectations of winning the contest and going on to instant stardom could leave her very hurt.

  “I’m going to wash up, Bess.” Nancy walked into the bathroom and took a thick white washcloth off the towel rack.

  “Wait, Nancy! Look!” Bess called frantically from the other room.

  Nancy hurried back and saw Bess leaning into the mirror over her bureau. She was wearing a look of horrified alarm. “I can’t believe this!” she moaned, pointing to a tiny red blotch on her cheek. “This is terrible! I’m getting a pimple—an enormous, gigantic, humongous one!”

  “Calm down, Bess,” Nancy said, deftly swiping at the red mark with her washcloth. “That enormous, gigantic, humongous pimple is just a little ol’ piece of tomato.”

  • • •

  “Morning, Nancy!” Bess called out brightly as a beam of sunlight landed on Nancy’s pillow.

  “Morning.” Nancy wiped the s
leep from her eyes and yawned. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven-thirty,” Bess said, all dressed and ready for the day. She pulled a small piece of paper from the top of her dresser. “This was slid under our door last night. It’s my agenda. What a day! First my makeover, then the interview, a dress fitting, the sportswear shoot, and tonight the banquet! So, Nan,” Bess added, floating back to earth, “what do you have on for today?”

  Tracking down Roger Harlan, Nancy thought. She hoped to find out whether the model was implicated in the railing sabotage.

  “Earth to Nancy!” Bess said with a wry grin. “I asked you what you’re doing today.”

  “Oh,” Nancy fibbed, not wanting to bring up anything even potentially upsetting, “I guess I’ll go to the Art Institute.”

  “Morning, Bess and Nancy!” a girl called from the hall.

  “That must be Maggie,” Bess explained. “Last night I told her to knock on our door when she was ready to go to breakfast.”

  “You go. I’ll meet you downstairs,” Nancy said, not wanting to hold up Bess and Maggie.

  “Okay—if you’re sure.” Bess waltzed out the door without waiting for an answer. “Morning, Maggie,” Nancy heard her say. “Isn’t life beautiful?”

  Nancy made it downstairs as Bess and the other contestants were leaving for their makeovers.

  “Take a good look, Nan!” Bess called out from the dining room door. “You may never see me looking like this again!”

  “Good luck!” Nancy waved a last goodbye to Bess and the others and touched the tie tack in her pocket. Then she turned to Kelly Conroy, who was also leaving the dining room. “Kelly, where are Elan’s offices?” she asked.

  Since Roger was a signed client at Elan, Nancy thought they’d know where he’d be that day.

  “They’re on Illinois Avenue,” Kelly told her as they stepped out of the dining room. “Are you going over there now?”

  “I thought I might,” Nancy said, hoping that Kelly wouldn’t ask her why.

  “Well, maybe I’ll see you there,” Kelly told her with a breezy smile. “I have to drop some copy off later. Monique gets to approve every word I write about her agency.”

  Just as they approached the revolving door Kelly stopped suddenly. “Yikes! I left my work in the dining room. Wait while I get it, okay?”

  “Sure,” Nancy said.

  The lobby of the Inter-Continental Hotel was sleek and luxurious. Nancy was admiring the black lacquered tables and deep red plush couches when she heard someone moan, “How could I be so dumb?”

  Nancy turned and saw two bellhops talking to each other not far from where she stood. One was a short, red-haired man, and the other was a tall, thin, balding man.

  “Mr. Johnson is going to blow his stack,” the balding one said.

  “I know,” the redhead agreed. “When he gave me that passkey he said, ‘Guard it with your life’!”

  “And you’re sure it didn’t slip off the key ring somewhere?”

  The redhead shrugged helplessly. “I had it yesterday, when all those models and the people from the clothing company checked in. But this morning when I went to find it, it was gone.”

  Suddenly the balding man seemed to notice Nancy. He poked his colleague in the ribs, and the two fell silent. Not surprising, thought Nancy—no hotel employee is going to advertise the fact that a passkey is missing.

  “Here I am!” Kelly came trotting toward Nancy. She was waving a fat manila envelope in one hand.

  “Thanks for waiting,” Kelly said with a smile.

  Nancy flicked her eyes over Kelly as the two girls pushed through the exit and stepped out onto the avenue. Kelly might be a good source of information—about Roger Harlan, about Thom Fortner, even about Monique and Bettina. A columnist for Teen Scene magazine was bound to know most of the gossip.

  “Taxi?” the doorman asked the two girls.

  “Not for me, thanks,” Kelly said, turning to Nancy. “I’ve got to run this by my office before I go up to Elan. Maybe I’ll see you there.” With that, she hurried off into the sunny, cold day.

  “I’ll take a cab,” Nancy told the doorman, who put up a gloved hand for her right away.

  • • •

  Nancy rode up to the twenty-fifth floor of the Century Building and into a world of white. White marble flooring, white lacquered furniture, and white-on-white wallpaper printed with the Elan logo adorned the office. Brass poster-size frames lined the walls. In them were featured some of the world’s most beautiful women and men. Several were of Monique Durand and her top models on a Caribbean sailing excursion.

  “May I help you?” a sultry young receptionist asked Nancy.

  “Can you tell me where I can find Roger Harlan?” Nancy asked.

  “I expect him in later this morning. Do you have an appointment to see him?” the receptionist asked.

  “No, I don’t,” Nancy said apologetically. “But I found something valuable that I think is his. I’d like to give it to him.”

  “Well, have a seat,” the receptionist told her, motioning to the white leather couches that surrounded a low, square table piled with fashion magazines.

  “Thanks.” Nancy sat down and picked up a glossy magazine. One of its pages was dog-eared. Curious, Nancy flipped to the marked page. Inside was an interview with a woman named Trina Evans. Nancy scanned the article and learned that Trina Evans was the creator and owner of Let’s Go, Smash’s major competitor in the clothing business.

  Shown in the accompanying picture, Trina was a willowy blonde with green eyes and bangs cut straight across her salon-tanned forehead. She wore a stunning Egyptian-looking bronze necklace. Someone had circled one of her comments in pencil. “Promotional contests like Face of the Year are shallow attempts to capture the public’s attention. They represent the lowest level of marketing, in my opinion. Let’s Go will never involve itself with such nonsense.”

  When the people from Elan or Smash had read this article, it must have made them see red, Nancy thought with an amused grin.

  Nancy tossed the magazine back onto the low table. She was restless. Fashion magazines weren’t on her mind.

  If Roger Harlan had stolen the saw and sabotaged the railing, why did he jump into the lake to save Maggie? To divert suspicion from himself, Nancy reasoned. But why would Roger Harlan want to sabotage the Face of the Year contest in the first place?

  Nancy’s hands were smudged from handling the magazine. “Where’s the ladies’ room, please?” she asked the receptionist.

  “Right down the hall,” the woman answered, pointing into the inner offices of the agency. “Second left after Bettina Vasquez’s office.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, pushing through the glass door and starting down the corridor.

  “Hello, dear,” she heard a voice call when she passed an office. Nancy stopped. Inside, Bettina Vasquez was standing behind a white-lacquered desk. “You’re Bess Marvin’s friend. Right?”

  “Right,” Nancy answered. “Hi.”

  “Are you interested in modeling?” Bettina asked, peering at Nancy over a pair of oversize flamingo-pink glasses. “Your friend Bess is a little on the short side, but you might really be able to have a career, if you want.”

  Nancy felt bad when Bettina mentioned Bess’s height. Bettina was confirming Bess’s worst fears about her size.

  “Don’t be shy,” Bettina added. “Come in. I have a minute or two.”

  Nancy stepped into the modeling executive’s office. Bettina’s carpet was a deep royal blue, and a blue-and-white loveseat stood out against the white walls. Photos in hot pink frames of a younger Bettina were arranged in clusters on the walls.

  “I’m really not interested in modeling as a career,” Nancy admitted, smiling at Bettina, who was staring hard at her.

  “Well, if you change your mind, let me know,” Bettina said with a smile. “With your red hair and blue eyes, you’d be a big hit.”

  “Sorry,” Nancy said. “But modeling’
s just not for me.”

  Bettina seemed almost lonely, as if she needed to talk to someone. “Well, what brings you to Elan then?”

  Unable to think of a good story, Nancy decided to come right out with the truth. “I found something that belongs to Roger Harlan,” she said.

  “Oh? Well, you can give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.” Bettina held out her hand.

  “Er, no,” Nancy said, hedging. Giving her real reason for being there was one thing. Handing over her only piece of evidence was another. “I’d—uh—rather give it to him myself. I—well, he’s so handsome.” It was the first thing she could think to say.

  It wound up being perfect. “Say no more,” said Bettina, giving Nancy a little wink. “Oh, I’d better get to the hotel. Look at the time. Is it terribly chilly out?”

  “It’s brisk,” Nancy answered.

  “Oh, dear, that means it’ll feel freezing to me,” Bettina said. “I’d better take a coat.”

  Bettina opened her closet.

  Nancy gasped out loud at what she saw hanging on the inside of the door. It was a poster-sized portrait of Monique Durand—riddled with dozens of small red darts!

  Chapter

  Six

  SLIPPING INTO HER COAT, Bettina giggled wickedly. “Are you shocked? Don’t be,” she said. “Believe me, Monique is not the sweet person she pretends to be. In fact, she deserves everything and anything she gets.”

  “Why?” Nancy asked. “What did she do?”

  Bettina shook her head. “Oh, it’s a long, sad story. Let’s just say that even though Monique and I were once the best of friends, we’re now the best of enemies.”

  “If you feel like that, it must be hard to work with her,” Nancy observed.

  “Well, I won’t be here much longer,” Bettina replied. “When the contest is over I’m leaving Elan.”

  “To go where?”