Designs in Crime (9 page)

The saleswoman shook her head. “You wouldn't be able to guess that one. We bought that design from a free-lance designer, a new talent you've probably never heard of. His name is Angel Ortiz.”

A
NGEL
?” Bess responded, blinking in surprise.

“Ah, you've heard of him,” Katrina said as if pleased.

“I—I,” Bess stuttered. “I was just thinking that—that it's a great name for a designer.”

Nancy barely registered the conversation. Her mind was backtracking, going over the clues that should have pointed to Angel. Suddenly she couldn't wait to get back to the studio and warn Beau.

“What about this one?” Katrina's eyebrows wiggled as she held up another gown.

But Nancy had lost interest in the game. The sooner she and Bess could get out of there, the better. Pretending to have another appointment, Nancy cut the conversation short and thanked
Katrina. Within minutes, the girls were in a cab on their way to Beau's studio.

“Angel!” Bess repeated. “A big part of the mystery is solved. But he's the last person I suspected. He seems so quiet and sweet.”

“But he is an aspiring designer,” Nancy said, telling Bess about the argument she'd watched between Angel and Beau. “Angel thinks Beau is holding him back. He may be selling off Beau's designs for revenge.”

“Or maybe he's using the designs to get ahead,” Bess pointed out. “The people at Budget think Angel designed that blue gown. If his name is heard often enough, he could gain acceptance in the industry.”

“I should have guessed it was Angel,” Nancy said. “He draws all of Beau's sketches, so it would be easy for him to whip up copies.”

“Do you think Angel was the one who tossed that dummy down on us last night?” Bess asked.

“It had to be,” Nancy said. “He said he was in the vault, but he must have been lying.”

“It's creepy,” Bess said as the cab turned toward Beau's studio. “He was willing to hurt or maybe kill us, just to get you off the case.”

Nancy nodded thoughtfully. “A strong reaction for a guy who just wants his designs shown.”

“Wait a second,” Bess said, studying her friend's face. “I smell an idea brewing. You don't like Angel's motive.”

Nancy nodded. “Even if he stole the designs
and
Joanna's wedding gown, it's not enough to kill us over,” she said.

“Do you think he's working for someone else?”

“It's possible,” Nancy said. “I know Angel must be the design thief. What I need to find out is if he has an accomplice—someone like Mimi Piazza or Michael Rockwell.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Bess.

“I need to talk to Beau. I'm sure he'll fire Angel on the spot,” Nancy said. “The fact that he tried to hit us with a dress form is a matter for the police—if we report it.”

“Why don't we call the police now and have him arrested?” Bess asked as the cab pulled up in front of Beau's studio.

Nancy considered the idea as she pulled several bills out of her purse and handed them to the driver. “I don't think there's enough evidence to convict him of throwing that dress form at us,” she said. “As for the design theft, fashion espionage isn't usually prosecuted.”

Bess climbed out of the cab and slammed the door behind her. “I don't like it,” she said, staring up at the building grimly.

“Don't worry,” Nancy said, taking her friend by the arm and guiding her toward the lobby. “The minute Beau finds out what's been going on, Angel will be out of here.”

Beau was nowhere to be found, though. “You just missed him,” Eleni told Nancy when the
girls went into the workroom after checking Beau's office. “He went to the Plaza Hotel to make arrangements for next week's show.”

Nancy noticed Bess biting her lip nervously.

“Don't look so worried,” Eleni said, sewing a tiny pearlized button into place on an ice pink gown. “He'll be back this afternoon.”

“Maybe we should go to lunch and come back later,” Bess suggested. “We can—”

“No, no, no,” Mrs. Chong interrupted. She took Bess by the hand and pulled her toward one of the fitting rooms. “Eat here. You need to have final fittings on your gowns. And you,” she added, eyeing Nancy, “we'll find something to keep you from climbing the walls.”

Nancy was pushing up the sleeves of her sweater when she saw Angel standing in the doorway, sketchbook in his arms.

“Nobody gets out alive,” he said wryly, adding, “at least not during the week before a show.”

Forcing a smile, Nancy nodded, though she felt uncomfortable now that she knew Angel was the one who was betraying Beau. She followed Bess into the fitting room just before Mrs. Chong shoved the ice pink gown at her, then charged out, slamming the door behind her.

“Suddenly modeling has lost its glamour,” Bess said, unzipping the pink gown.

“Listen, I'll try to reach Beau at the Plaza,” Nancy promised her friend. “In the meantime, just act normal. If Angel figures out that we know
he's the thief, there's no telling what he might do.”

• • •

The afternoon dragged.

Bess tried to avoid Angel, but every time she had a final fitting, he was at her side, sketching the gown.

Nancy had tried to reach Beau, but he never answered the page at the Plaza. She resigned herself to fetching notions, removing pins, and unrolling bolts of lace for Mrs. Chong.

All the while, Nancy kept thinking of Joanna's gown. Had Angel stolen that, too? Since he had a key to the vault, it didn't seem likely that he'd have dragged it through the air shaft. Still, he might have used the air shaft to draw suspicion away from himself.

Nancy then recalled the surprise on Angel's face the day before when the vent cover had popped off so quickly. Was he acting? Or had Joanna's wedding gown been stolen by someone else?

If Angel is the thief, I hope he has the Rockwell gown stashed in a safe place, Nancy thought, crossing her fingers. Maybe Beau would give him a chance to make amends by returning the gown. If things fall into place, Nancy told herself, two crimes could be solved by the end of the day.

“Enough lace!” Mrs. Chong snapped, interrupting Nancy's thoughts. The older woman measured and cut off the yardage she needed,
then pointed to two small boxes on the floor of the workroom. “Those go to storage,” she said.

Nancy saw that the boxes contained leftover buttons and spools of trim. She picked them up and carried them to the storage room next to Beau's office.

The shelves were cluttered, but she managed to clear a space beside a plastic bin of silk flowers. Nancy was on her way out when she heard someone talking in Beau's office. He must be back, she thought, moving to the hole in the wall to check.

When she peered through the peephole, she saw only Angel. He was sitting at Beau's desk, talking so quietly on the phone that she could barely make out what he was saying.

Holding her breath, Nancy concentrated on listening.

“The way I see it,
I'm
the one who's taking all the chances,” he muttered. “You're locked up all safe and sound behind your castle walls.”

Castle walls? Nancy mused. Who was Angel talking to?

“I'm losing patience. We have to talk—no, not now!” he insisted. “Meet me here tonight at ten-thirty. No one else will be around.”

Angel listened in silence for a moment, then snapped, “I'm not in this alone. Meet me here—unless you want to see yourself on the next installment of ‘Fashion Flash'!”

I
'
M NOT IN
this alone.”

Angel's words rang through Nancy's mind as she watched him hang up the phone and leave Beau's office. So he
was
working with a partner. But who?

From what he'd said, she knew Angel's partner had to be involved in the fashion industry, which seemed to rule out Michael Rockwell.

Nancy was also surprised that Angel had told his partner to meet him at the studio. With Beau's show next week, wouldn't Beau and Mrs. Chong be working late, too?

The mystery deepened when Nancy returned to the workroom to find Mrs. Chong buttoning her coat. “Tell Mr. Beau I'm gone for the day,” she ordered Angel. “You covering tonight?”

He nodded and assured her, “I'll be here.”

Nancy checked her watch as Mrs. Chong marched out. It was only four-thirty. “What's going on?” she asked Angel. “Mrs. Chong doesn't usually leave so early.”

“You'll have to ask Beau,” Angel told her. “I've been sworn to secrecy.” He picked up his sketchpad and went down the hall toward the vault.

Nancy turned to Bess, who was modeling a navy sequined gown for Eleni. “You'd better change back into your own clothes,” Nancy told her friend. “If we don't leave soon, we're going to be late for the wedding rehearsal.”

“But Beau still isn't back from the Plaza,” Bess pointed out. “I wonder what's keeping him.”

“The details of a show are endless,” Eleni volunteered. “He's got to check out the space and make sure the runway can be seen by all members of the audience. He has to work with the hotel on seating arrangements and security. Then there's the music and the little extras that turn a show into a publicity event. Last year we gave an orchid to each guest. I don't know what Beau has planned for this year.”

“I hate to leave without speaking to him,” Nancy said, “but we can't let Joanna down.”

“Can I give him a message?” Eleni offered. “Or I'll give you Beau's home phone number so you can leave a message on his machine,” she suggested to Nancy. “He checks his messages every hour or so.”

While Bess changed, Nancy called and left a
message for Beau on his machine. “We've got to talk—it's urgent,” she said. “I'm going to be moving around, so I'll try you later.”

With no time to spare, Nancy and Bess left the studio and waved down a cab. It was just a few minutes after five when the taxi pulled up in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

“I'd forgotten how grand this place is,” Bess said as she leaned forward to pay the driver.

Nancy stepped out of the cab and looked up at the cathedral's twin Gothic spires. Tourists streamed in and out through one set of wide doors tucked beneath graceful arches.

Inside, the girls had to maneuver past more sightseers. There, past a stand of candles glittering in red glass, Nancy finally spotted Sam Hollingsworth standing in the aisle with a group of men.

“Hi, Sam,” Nancy said, smiling as she approached the guys. “How's it going?”

“Don't ask!” he said, rubbing his temples. “We just got word that Joanna's father is stuck in Chicago. He flew there for a business meeting, and now the airport is fogged in. He's not going to make it back tonight so Joanna's in a tizzy.”

Following the direction of his gaze, Nancy spotted Joanna standing at the side of the altar. She was talking with Liz Baker and a priest, a young man dressed in a black shirt with a clerical collar. When Nancy and Bess joined them, Joanna apologized.

“I'm sorry you two made the trip for nothing,” she said, her green eyes wide.

“You mean you're canceling the rehearsal?” Bess asked.

“We might as well,” Joanna said. “What's the use? Half the people in the bridal party aren't here.”

“That's a bit of an exaggeration,” Liz pointed out, trying to calm her friend.

“Well,” Joanna said sadly, “I'm the only member of the Rockwell family here, and it sure doesn't feel right. Maybe this whole wedding just wasn't meant to be.”

Nancy was struck by Joanna's statement. Her gown had been stolen. Her father, who had suggested canceling the wedding, couldn't make it to the rehearsal. Her brother had refused to be in the bridal party. The Rockwells were hardly surrounding Joanna with warmth and support during this hectic time.