A Model Crime

  Slipping off her black pumps, Nancy eased the door open quietly and stepped inside.

  Bettina was talking to someone on the stairs below.

  “And when I looked at it,” Bettina was saying in hushed tones, “the gown had been slashed to ribbons. I tell you, it’s sabotage, pure and simple. And I can promise you this—it’s going to happen again!”

  Holding her breath, Nancy tiptoed lightly down another step or two. Maybe if she could reach the next landing, she’d be able to see who Bettina was talking to.

  “Well,” Bettina went on with a laugh. “Do you have enough?”

  “Yes, definitely,” answered a male voice. From the sound of it, Nancy guessed the speaker was an older man. “And here’s something for your trouble. Keep me in mind if you find out anything more.”

  The light rustling of paper alerted Nancy to the fact that Bettina was being paid for what she knew.

  “You know, you really don’t have to give me anything,” Bettina purred. “Anything that reflects badly on Elan is payment enough.”

  The man chuckled. “Buy yourself a little something,” he said.

  “Well, if you insist,” Bettina replied with a little laugh. “Thanks, E.B. Shall we go?”

  With that, Nancy heard the click of Bettina’s heels and the creak of a door opening. Nancy tore down another flight, but before she could see E.B., he and Bettina were gone.

  Pounding down the last stairs, Nancy threw open the fire door. The long carpeted hallway of the second floor was deserted in both directions. She’d lost them—for the time being, at least. Her shoes still in hand, Nancy thought about what she’d just heard.

  It’s sabotage, Bettina had said, and it’s going to happen again.

  How can she be so sure? Nancy wondered. Unless she’s causing the sabotage herself.

  Chapter

  Ten

  NANCY EXPECTED TO SEE Bess and the other contestants the minute she stepped into the banquet hall. Under the crystal chandeliers, the room was abuzz with guests and waiters and waitresses flitting around.

  But the only contestant Nancy saw was Heather Richards. She was sitting at the long rectangular table set up on a platform in the front of the hall. Roger Harlan, devastating in a crisp white shirt and black tuxedo, sat beside her, looking uncomfortable. Heather was pressed close to him, keeping up a steady stream of talk.

  At the same head table were seven other young men in formal wear—the Elan models who were to escort the Face of the Year contestants. They kept glancing at the entrance, and from the expressions on their faces, Nancy could tell they, too, were wondering where the girls were.

  Behind the head table, Thom Fortner was standing beside Monique Durand. Both were frowning.

  “Nancy!”

  Nancy whirled around to see Kelly waving to her from the service door. Kelly threw up her hands in a questioning gesture and hurried over to Nancy.

  “The whole fashion industry is arriving, and nobody can find the girls!” Kelly lamented.

  “They were in the elevator on their way down at least fifteen minutes ago,” Nancy said, surprised.

  Kelly nervously fingered the collar of her blue satin blouse. “Well, they’re not here yet.”

  “I don’t see Bettina either,” Nancy said, scanning the room again. She felt a growing sense of alarm.

  “She was here a minute ago. I think she’s in the ladies’ room now,” Kelly replied. “I wish I knew what was going on.”

  “I don’t like any of this,” Nancy said. “In fact, I’m going to check out the elevators.”

  Nancy walked out of the ballroom into the lobby, heading for the elevators, but she hadn’t gotten far when she heard and saw seven severely shaken females.

  “I was so scared!” Trudy Woo was saying. “I thought we were going to die in there!”

  “Nancy! Nancy!” Bess cried, running up to her with eyes wide. “Am I ever glad to see you!”

  “Me, too!” Nancy said, returning Bess’s hug. “What happened?”

  “We were trapped in the elevator,” Bess told her. “A couple of seconds after we got in, the lights went out, and then we just sat there!”

  “It felt like hours!” Alison added.

  “How did you get out?” Nancy asked.

  Bess shrugged. “The elevator just started working again.”

  “Well, we were all worried about you,” Nancy told them. “Your escorts are here, and so are the media, and people from the fashion industry. They’re all waiting inside.”

  The girls hurried toward the banquet hall with Nancy following.

  “You made it!” Kelly said as they stepped inside. She nodded to Nancy and grinned. “I saved two seats for us at a table up front.”

  Just outside the banquet hall a hand clutched Nancy’s arm. “Nancy, I see Ernest Mullins!” Bess whispered excitedly. “He’s sitting two seats away from Roger Harlan, on the left.” Ernest had chestnut hair and deep-set eyes. Even from where she stood, Nancy could see the dimple in his chin that Bess said had made him so famous.

  “Better go inside and meet him, Bess,” Nancy said, giving her friend a gentle push. “I’m not going to sit down just yet.”

  Bess turned back to Nancy with a questioning look. “Where are you going? Are you going to investigate something? Need any help?”

  Nancy let out a little laugh. “Forget it, Bess. Your job is to look beautiful and have a good time tonight.”

  Bess shrugged her shoulders and joined the line of girls as they got ready to make their entrance. Heather had come out to join them.

  “How about me?” Kelly asked after the girls entered the ballroom to oohs and aahs and applause. “Can I help?”

  “I’d rather you stay here and keep an eye on things,” Nancy said. “I don’t think I’ll be long.” Nancy headed for the elevator and got in. Pressing a button, she made her way to the hotel basement.

  The doors opened on an underground world—the hidden underbelly of the hotel. Here were all the power and supplies needed to keep the guests comfortable.

  When Nancy stepped out, she saw a man in a green maintenance uniform. “Do you know anything about an elevator breakdown?” she asked.

  “I sure do,” he said, pointing to a huge control board on the other side of the corridor. “It happened right here. I was on my dinner break, and somebody pushed this circuit breaker.”

  “Who’d do a thing like that?” Nancy asked.

  “That’s what I’m wondering. We don’t usually have people pulling pranks around here.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But anybody could have gotten here—just like you did. Tomorrow I get a lock for this board.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy told him. “I appreciate your showing me.”

  When Nancy reentered the banquet hall, Kelly instantly asked, “Find anything out?”

  Nancy filled her in. While she was at it, she took out the note that had fallen from Thom Fortner’s pocket and handed it to Kelly.

  “ ‘I’ll miss you tonight,’ ” Kelly read out loud. “So whoever wrote this note isn’t here. ‘Your new president.’ What new president?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Nancy said.

  “By the way,” Kelly said, handing Nancy the note, “see the gray-haired man with the red bow tie?” She nodded in the direction of the press, two tables away. “That’s Earl Banks, the gossip columnist.”

  “Earl Banks—E.B.,” Nancy murmured, thinking about what she’d heard in the stairwell.

  “Right,” Kelly said. “That’s what they call him. He’d love to get something nasty to write about this contest, you know.”

  “Why?” Nancy asked.

  “E.B. has two jobs. He writes his regular column. And he also writes copy for Let’s Go, Trina Evans’s clothing company,” Kelly explained. “Whenever he can hurt Smash, he does.”

  “Wow,” Nancy said. “They really play hardball in the fashion business, don’t they?”

  “You got it,” Kelly said.

&n
bsp; “E.B. and Bettina had a private chat not too long ago,” Nancy began, filling Kelly in on the conversation she’d heard in the stairwell.

  When the waiter came with their dinners, Nancy’s gaze flicked up to the platform. Ernest Mullins was leaning over Maggie, talking to Roger. Bess caught Nancy’s eye. She rolled her eyes subtly to the ceiling. “Boring,” she mouthed, pointing inconspicuously at Ernest.

  Nancy smiled and shrugged, and a playful grin came over Bess’s face. She shrugged lightly, too, to show that she accepted her fate. She was still going to have fun at the banquet.

  After dinner Thom Fortner received an award from the Chamber of Commerce. For bringing the Face of the Year to Chicago, Thom deserved the thanks of the whole city, the chamber speaker said.

  Then there was a photo session with the models on a small runway. Everyone could watch the girls and their escorts having their pictures taken.

  The Smash designers were introduced last, and the ceremonies were over by about ten-thirty. Nancy and Kelly stepped up onto the runway with a few of the other contestants’ friends after the girls and their escorts were done.

  “A bunch of them are going out to Zero Hour, the music club,” Bess said, walking over to Nancy. “They want me to go, too.”

  “Sounds like fun, Bess,” Nancy commented. “Even if your date isn’t the most exciting guy in the world, you’d have a chance to dance and cut loose a little.”

  Bess’s face grew serious. “Nancy, I can’t think about having fun,” she protested. “Not if I’m going to win this contest. I’m meeting Alex Bogorofsky tomorrow morning, remember? I’ve got to look my best.”

  There was no doubt about it, Nancy thought, Bess wanted to be the Face of the Year more than anything. Despite the tension surrounding the contest, she was committed to doing her absolute best. That made Nancy proud. It also made her determined.

  If Bess was going to fight hard to win, Nancy was going to fight just as hard—to make sure the contest was fair.

  • • •

  “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like my cubicle,” Kelly joked as she led Nancy into the small partitioned office that was part of the larger offices of Teen Scene magazine. The reporter had invited Nancy to stop by so they could look at the morning papers together and see what Earl Banks and the other columnists were saying about Face of the Year.

  “This is definitely the desk of a busy person,” Nancy remarked. Papers, pencils, and an open container of spring water were scattered across the top.

  “All I really need is my computer and a phone,” Kelly explained, walking behind the desk, pulling out her chair, and sitting down.

  “So. Any word about Heather?” Nancy asked, sitting in the chair next to Kelly’s desk.

  “Not yet. But I have feelers out.”

  A knock on the cubicle wall interrupted them. “Got your papers, Kelly,” said a short man who tossed a pile of newspapers onto Kelly’s small desk.

  “Thanks, Fred,” Kelly yelled, but he was already gone.

  “I can’t wait to see what Earl Banks said about the contest,” Kelly said, thumbing through a paper.

  Nancy watched as Kelly’s eyes widened. She smoothed out the paper and said, “Nancy, listen to this. ‘Smash calls it the Face of the Year, and let me tell you, Chicago, this face needs a lift. Oh, the girls are pretty enough, and the clothes are cute. But word has it that some nasty little gremlin is doing everything he or she can to make sure the face gets plenty of worry lines and wrinkles before its time. Did I say sabotage? Of a beauty contest? My, my, what will they think of next. . . .’ ”

  Kelly closed the paper with a sigh. “It’s strange,” she said. “Bettina was the one who said the girls had to be quiet about the contest problems. She obviously didn’t take her own advice.”

  Nancy began tapping her fingers on Kelly’s desk. “Kelly, let’s go back to the beginning for a minute. Why would anybody want to sabotage something as innocent as this contest?”

  Kelly let out a breath in a single loud puff. “Well, it could just be personal. You know, one individual trying to hurt another individual—”

  “Right, like Bettina trying to hurt Monique by hurting Elan,” Nancy suggested.

  “Right, or Roger Harlan trying to make Elan look bad so he can get out of his contract—”

  “But what if it’s not personal?” Nancy asked. “Why else would anyone be interested in sabotaging this contest?”

  “Nancy, there’s a lot of money in the rag trade, as we call the clothing business. Millions—no, billions—of dollars are spent on clothes every year, and competition between the major producers can get pretty ugly.”

  “You’re saying rival companies may resent all the publicity Smash is getting from the Face of the Year contest?” Nancy asked. “Then maybe they want to make sure a good portion of that publicity is bad.”

  Kelly nodded thoughtfully. “But Smash and Elan are keeping such a tight rein on the contest. Only their people are anywhere near it.”

  Nancy looked over at Kelly. “Corporate war is a fact of life, isn’t it? Maybe another clothing company has an employee on the staff at Smash.”

  Kelly’s green eyes widened. “You may have something there, Nancy. Hmmm . . .”

  The phone rang, and Kelly held up a hand to signal Nancy to wait while she answered. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there right away.” Kelly put the phone down. “The Chicago Bears are going to be at the airport in twenty minutes, and I’ve got to go interview them. They’re serious superhunks, Nancy. Want to come?”

  Tempted, Nancy considered briefly, then shook her head. “I can’t,” she answered. “Bess may need me.”

  “Now that’s what I call true friendship,” Kelly said with a laugh as she stood up and grabbed a raincoat from a nearby coat rack.

  Nancy decided to walk back to the hotel. On the way, she passed a large pharmacy and stopped in to see if they had Heavenly Pink nail polish. They did.

  Nancy bought a bottle and smiled as she tucked it into her pocket. Bess would be pleased.

  But when Nancy got back to the hotel and up to her room, she knew that nail polish wasn’t going to help. The moment she stepped up to the door to put her key in, she could hear Bess sobbing inside.

  “Bess!” Nancy cried as she opened the door and saw her friend’s tearstained face. Rivulets of teal-blue mascara ran down her flushed cheeks, and her eyes were all red and puffy.

  Bess glanced up for a moment, then buried her face in the pillow she was clutching. “Oh, Nancy. My life is over!” she wailed.

  “What happened?” Nancy asked, going to the bed and sitting down beside her.

  Bess lifted her head and said, between sobs, “Alex Bogorofsky said I was st-st-stiff and phony, and that I’d never make it as a model.”

  “But, Bess,” Nancy said, gently stroking her friend’s back, “that’s ridiculous! I saw the pictures that George took of you, and they were great! You didn’t look stiff at all!”

  “That’s because I was with George,” Bess moaned. “With her I was relaxed. But Bogorofsky made me tense. The minute I walked into his studio he said, ‘What is this? A circus shoot? You look like a clown—go wash your face.’ He hated me!”

  “I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Bess,” Nancy said gently. “And besides, you said yourself Bogorofsky’s known for photographing the essence of a person. He probably wanted you to start fresh so that he could get pictures of you that were really unique.”

  Bess nodded thoughtfully. “That could be true.”

  “For all you know, those were the best photos ever taken of you,” Nancy added. “Bogorofsky is one of the greatest photographers in the world, right?”

  A small smile began to play on Bess’s lips. “He did smile at me at the very end. When he said, ‘Zank goodness, we’re through.’ ”

  A knock on the door interrupted them.

  “Bess, it’s me, Thom Fortner.”

  “Oh, no, and look at me,” Bess whisp
ered to Nancy. “Coming!” she called out loudly. She raced to the bathroom and slapped some clean water on her face. Then Nancy held out a pair of sunglasses for Bess to put on so the P.R. man wouldn’t notice that she’d been crying.

  “Hi, Thom,” Bess purred as she cracked the door open. “What is it?”

  Thom bit his lip. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he said, “but I just spoke to Alex Bogorofsky a few minutes ago. The camera he took your pictures with was stolen—along with all your negatives.”

  Bess swallowed hard. “My negatives are g-gone?”

  Suddenly Bess had forgotten how badly her session had gone. Nancy stepped over to stand beside her trembling friend.

  “You mean I won’t get to have a portrait?” Bess asked in a quavering voice.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” Thom said, coming into the room. “But there’s nothing I can do.”

  Nancy knew what her friend was thinking—without those pictures she had no chance of winning the contest!

  Chapter

  Eleven

  NANCY STRODE up to Thom. “Where was the camera stolen from?” she asked.

  Thom looked puzzled. “I’m not sure. I believe it was left at the studio or something. In any case, the odds of its being recovered are extremely slim.”

  “Well, there’s got to be something we can do,” Nancy insisted. “Can’t Bess have the pictures reshot?”

  Fortner turned to Bess and took her hand. “Well, I suppose we could try to get you another session with Bogorofsky.”

  “You mean you might not be able to?” Bess moaned.

  “Even if it can be arranged, you’d have to miss one of the group shots,” Thom said.

  “But I already missed one!” Bess protested.

  “Now, let’s not get all upset,” Thom said in a soothing tone of voice. “Tell you what. Bogorofsky is going to be at the sundress shoot this afternoon. We’ll talk to him then.” Squeezing her hand, he turned to walk out the door.

  “That guy is creepy,” Bess said after he’d gone. “I know he’s trying to be nice, but he seems phony.”