Model Mystery Trilogy 01: Model Crime (4 page)

The song ended and everyone applauded. “And now for something a little slower,” the DJ crooned into his mic as a slow ballad poured out of the speakers. “Miss Pandora Peace requests this dance from Mr. Valdez—for old times’ sake.”

“What? I did not!” Pandora exclaimed, laughing.

Meanwhile Vic was glancing off the floor, searching the crowd. “Where’s my girl?” he said, squinting against the bright colored lights pulsing toward him from the edge of the dance floor. “This dance should be for her.”

Madge reappeared, this time pushing Vic toward Pandora. “Go on, you two,” she urged. “Just one friendly little dance. For the fans.”

I shook my head, guessing what was going on. The TV people wanted to give their viewers what they wanted, which was a reunion of the Vic-Pandora “showmance.” And they didn’t seem to care how Vic—or Sydney—might feel about that.

“So much for reality,” I muttered.

“Huh?” Bess said, watching as Vic finally held out one hand gallantly toward Pandora, laughing sheepishly. Pandora gave a cute little curtsy and took his hand, and the two of them began playfully slow-dancing.

“Come on.” I turned away. “Sydney could probably use some distraction right about now. Let’s see if we can talk to her.”

It took only a moment to reach Sydney, who was still standing with Candy and Deb. It took even less time than that to see that she wasn’t happy about what was going on out on the dance floor.

“Never mind,” Deb was saying cheerily. “You’re the one he’s marrying, right?”

That didn’t seem to give Sydney much comfort. “I knew this filming was a mistake,” she said. “When the cameras are on, Vic just forgets everything else.” She sniffed. “Including me, I guess.”

I winced. Sydney could be a little high-strung at the best of times, but this was beyond that. She looked really upset.

I was about to suggest we step outside or something, just so she could get away from the sight of her fiancé slow-dancing with Pandora. But Candy beat me to it, putting a protective arm around Sydney’s slim shoulders.

“I could use some fresh air,” she said. “Come on, let’s go outside for a bit, okay?”

Sydney sniffed again, merely shrugging in response. But she went along as Candy steered her firmly toward the nearest exit. Deb stared after them, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if uncertain whether to follow.

It was tempting to follow them myself. But I figured Sydney wasn’t in the mood for my interrogation just then, so instead I turned to see what was happening out on the dance floor.

I was just in time to see a couple of Mrs. Fayne’s waiters wheeling out a cart with a huge crystal bowl on it. “What’s going on?” Bess asked.

George squinted toward the bowl, which was filled with vibrant purple liquid. “Oh, I remember Mom talking about this,” she said. “The producers requested it—it’s a punch bowl filled with PowerUp.”

“You mean the sports drink?” I asked.

George nodded. “It’s one of the main sponsors of the show. Mom had to buy up every case of the stuff in River Heights to make sure she had enough to fill up that stupid punch bowl. She sent a couple of people over early with it—figured they’d have to spend, like, an hour opening and pouring to make sure it was ready for the big moment.”

The song ended and the DJ came on again, reciting what sounded like a mini-commercial for PowerUp before inviting everyone out onto the floor for a drink of the stuff. “We’ll start with the happy groom and his buddies from the world’s most powered-up show,
Daredevils
!” he finished.

Vic, Bo, Pandora, and Dragon all whooped and pumped their fists. Then Vic hurried over to grab the first cup of PowerUp from the catering employee who was scooping it out.

“Hang on, Vic,” the DJ said. “I know it looks delicious, but don’t drink it yet, buddy. We want to let your wedding party give a toast to your happy day. So let’s get everyone powered up first.”

Madge joined the employee, busily passing out cups to Pandora, Bo, and Dragon. Akinyi had just wandered over, but when Madge tried to shove a cup into her hand, she waved her off.

“None for me, thanks,” she said. “Too many calories.”

“Anyone else?” Madge called out, holding up the cup. “We want the whole wedding party up here for the toast!”

“Let’s not and say we did,” George muttered to Bess and me. “I’ve had grape PowerUp before. I tried it when they first started advertising it on
Daredevils
, actually. Trust me, the stuff is vile. Even my brothers wouldn’t touch it after the first sip, and they’ll eat or drink just about anything.”

Meanwhile Deb pushed her way to the front of the crowd, giggling. “I’m in the wedding party,” she said. “But no PowerUp for me. I’m allergic to caffeine.”

Madge just shrugged and set the cup back on the table. “Where’s Hans?” she said, glancing around.

She spotted the director at the same time I did. He was standing a short distance away with Josh. It looked as if the would-be screenwriter was still bending his ear about his ideas.

Madge shrugged and clapped her hands. “Let’s proceed, people!” she called out. “Vic—a toast, if you please?” Then she backed off out of camera range.

Vic cleared his throat and stepped to the center of the floor, holding his cup aloft. “First of all, where’s my blushing bride?” he called out. “She should be up here with me!”

“She went outside for a while,” George called.

Vic looked disappointed, lowering his cup. “Should we wait for her?” he called to the assistant director.

“Just go!” Madge called back. “We can stick her in during postproduction.”

Yeah. So much for reality,
I thought again.

Vic shrugged and lifted the cup back up. “Okay, whatever,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks for coming, everyone. It’s cool to be here with my best girl and my best friends. Bottoms up!”

He lifted the cup to his lips while everyone else was echoing the “bottoms up.” But he’d barely tipped it for the first sip when his eyes widened, and he tossed the cup away, spitting all over the floor.

“Stop! Don’t drink it!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “There’s, like, gasoline or something in it!”

I
couldn’t believe the film crew was still filming at the hospital. Most of us were sort of milling around the reception area, much to the confusion of the nurses and receptionists on duty. Vic had been whisked off to a room right away, accompanied by Sydney and her parents. But since nobody else had even come close to drinking the jet fuel–laced PowerUp, the staff didn’t seem to know what to do with us.

“It’s a good thing Vic’s used to eating and drinking all kinds of weird stuff on the show,” George commented. She was flopped on one of the couches in the waiting area, flipping through a dusty old magazine she’d grabbed from the end table. “It might have taken a normal person longer to recognize the smell and taste of jet fuel.”

“Ya think?” Bess said sarcastically, leaning against the back of the couch. “I mean, I certainly don’t go around drinking jet fuel every day of the week myself.”

“It’s also lucky that nobody thought Vic was kidding around and drank the stuff anyway,” I said with a shudder. “Anyway, one thing’s for sure. There’s definitely a mystery here.”

The police had already come and gone. One of the officers who’d responded was a friend of mine, and he’d confirmed Vic’s suspicions. The sports drink appeared to have been laced with a small amount of jet fuel.

“True,” George agreed. “As nuts as the
Daredevils
guys might be, I doubt they’d actually try to poison one another. Besides, they pretty much stick to just messing around within their own little group as far as I know. I can’t see them trying to involve innocent bystanders.”

“So then who did it?” I mused aloud. “And how, and why?”

“How? Well, it’s no mystery where someone got the jet fuel,” Bess said. “I mean, we were at the airport, right?”

“Right,” I said, glancing around the room. “And that means it was probably someone at the party who did it.”

“Had to be,” George agreed. “You saw the security at the airport. And we know it wasn’t my mom or her people, so someone must’ve added the jet fuel after the PowerUp got to the party.”

As the caterers of the event, Mrs. Fayne and her crew had been first in line for suspicion—at least as far as the police were concerned. But I hadn’t bothered with that possibility for a second. All the employees working the party had been with her for a while. And of course I knew Mrs. Fayne herself had nothing to do with it.

I decided that as long as we were all stuck at the hospital together, we might as well start poking around a little. Parting ways, we all headed off to talk to people and find out whatever we could. I decided to start with a college kid named Terrence who was one of the cater waiters. He was crouched on the edge of a chair looking anxious.

“Hey,” I said, perching on the next chair. “You okay?”

“I hope so, Nancy,” Terrence replied miserably. “If I lose this job, I’ll never be able to pay my car insurance!”

“You won’t lose your job,” I assured him. “Whatever happened today, it wasn’t your fault.”

“But Andrea and I were the ones who got that punch bowl ready,” he exclaimed. “We spent all morning pouring that stupid purple stuff into it.”

“Did the punch bowl smell funny or anything?”

“No way. It was all dusty from being in storage in Mrs. F’s basement, so Andrea spent, like, twenty minutes scrubbing it out.” Terrence shook his head. “Trust me, it was clean when we started filling it. And before you can ask, yes, all the bottles of PowerUp were sealed. No funny smells there, either.”

“Where was the punch bowl between when you filled it and when you guys brought it out for the toast?” I asked.

“In the foyer off this little office-type room at the back of the hangar,” he replied. “We did most of the setup in the bigger part of the room, but we stuck the punch out there so nobody would bump into it and spill it.”

“A foyer? So was there a door to the outside?”

Terrence nodded. “Actually there were doors in both rooms,” he said. “Our staff and some of those TV people were going in and out all day. Andrea joked that maybe the TV peeps missed New York, because it was like Grand Central Station back there.”

Thanking him for the information, I left him to his worries. I thought about going over to talk to Andrea next. She’d been with Mrs. Fayne just as long as Terrence and was just as unlikely a suspect in my opinion. But there was always a chance she’d noticed something he hadn’t.

Just then there was a burst of raucous laughter. Glancing that way, I saw that Bo, Pandora, and Dragon were hanging out together at the far end of the room. A cameraman was filming their every move.

That reminded me that the entire party had been caught on film. I wondered if the police had asked for access to the footage to see if anyone had left the party at a suspicious time.

I wish I could get a look at those tapes myself,
I thought, glancing from one camera to the next.
Then again, maybe there wouldn’t be much point. That hangar has a bunch of doors, and anyone could’ve come or gone for perfectly innocent reasons. Besides, I seriously doubt the cameras ever went back into the catering prep areas….

Another burst of laughter broke into my thoughts. The Daredevils seemed pretty cheerful after their near-death experience. Then again, I supposed that was sort of the point of the show.

Wandering over, I smiled at them. “Hey,” I said. “I’m Nancy, one of the bridesmaids. So I hear Vic is going to be okay.”

Bo turned serious immediately. “He better be,” he blustered, clenching his meaty fists. “If anyone hurts my bro like that, or messes up his big day with his lady…”

Pandora gave him a shove. “Chill out, man,” she said. “Vic’s fine. I knew he would be. He’s got karma on his side.”

Dragon didn’t say anything. He just stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was and why I was talking to them.

Just then the cameraman shifted positions, still filming away. I glanced at him, feeling a bit self-conscious.

At the same time, Dragon cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. I guess he’d just remembered the camera was there too, because it was like he suddenly came to life and went into full performance mode.

“Dude,” he announced to no one in particular, “it’s a good thing I wasn’t the one who tasted that first sip instead of Vic.” He pounded his chest with one fist. “See, I’ve got a cast-iron stomach. I can handle anything!”

Pandora rolled her eyes. “You mean like
death
?” she said with more sarcasm than I might have expected from a hippie chick. “You can handle that, huh? Wow, you must be even more talented than you’re always telling us.”

Bo snorted with laughter. I cleared my throat, still doing my best to ignore the camera. “So listen,” I said. “Who do you guys think did it? Um, does Vic have any enemies or anything?”

All three of them turned to stare at me. “Who are you again?” Bo asked.

“Nancy,” I said. “Bridesmaid.”

Dragon shrugged. “Every celebrity has enemies,” he said, flicking a speck of dust off his bicep. “Nature of the beast.”

Just then Akinyi and Candy hurried over. “This is out of control!” Akinyi blurted out immediately. “How can everyone just sit around talking and acting like this isn’t happening? I can’t stand it!”

“Easy, Kinnie.” Candy looked distraught too, though she seemed to be holding it together a little better than the other model. “Vic’s going to be okay, remember? Freaking out isn’t going to help anyone, including yourself.”

Akinyi shuddered and waved her slim hands as if pushing away her friend’s words. “You didn’t see it, Candy!” she cried. “You were outside. It was horrible! Horrible!”

Pandora got up and hurried over to Akinyi, looking concerned. “Please, darling,” she said soothingly, rubbing Akinyi’s back. “Don’t do this to yourself. Gather your spiritual energy and resist the negative forces. I can already see that your aura is in crisis….”

Bo and Dragon were just staring at Akinyi, not seeming to know what to say as she melted down in front of them. I knew how they felt. I remembered Akinyi joking around about being neurotic earlier; maybe that wasn’t such a joke after all.

I turned to Candy. “That’s right, I almost forgot you and Syd went outside before it happened,” I said. “Did you see or hear anything weird while you were out there?”

Candy bit her lip and shook her head. “No, and I’m really glad we didn’t. Syd’s pretty shaken up about this. I can’t even imagine how she’d be taking it if she’d witnessed it all.”

Pandora nodded. “The poor thing. I hope she can recover her joyous spirit of love after this. Maybe I can help by doing a reading for her—does anyone know where I can get some tea leaves?”

Deciding I wasn’t likely to learn much more from anyone in that group at the moment, I quietly extricated myself and wandered off. Spotting Bess and George, I hurried over to rejoin them.

“Hi,” I greeted them, quickly filling them in on the little I’d learned. “You guys find out anything interesting?”

“Not really. George and I got stuck for most of the time talking to Syd’s friend Deb,” Bess said. “She’s all aflutter.”

Despite the serious situation, I smiled. Only Bess could get away with using a word like “aflutter.” But I had to admit it suited Deb’s usual demeanor perfectly.

“Yeah,” George put in. “She kept babbling about how she couldn’t believe something like this could happen right here in good ol’ River Heights.”

“If she only knew!” I joked, thinking back over the countless criminals, wrongdoers, and assorted bad guys I’d busted over the years right there in our sleepy little Midwestern city. “Anyway, from talking to Terrence I think it’s safe to speculate that the punch probably got poisoned while it was waiting off in that little side room.”

George shrugged. “Okay, but what does that tell us?” she said. “Anyone at the party could’ve sneaked in there, either through the catering prep room or by going outside and then back in the other door.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t help us much.” I shot a look at the closest camera, which was being wielded by a burly man with bushy eyebrows, a gleaming bald head, and a grumpy expression. “Although if we could check out the footage and see who might’ve left at an opportune time…”

My voice trailed off as I heard a commotion from nearby. We were standing at the edge of the waiting area, very close to the arched doorway leading out to the hospital’s main entrance. Stepping closer, I peered out and saw Deirdre there talking to someone with a camera.

However, that someone wasn’t part of the
Daredevils
crew. The familiar logo of one of the local news teams was plastered all over the camera.

“…and it was just such a near-tragedy,” Deirdre exclaimed, a single tear wending its way down her cheek. “Just imagine if everyone at the party had taken a drink of that stuff—the carnage! The horror! What kind of terrible person would do something like that to a bunch of innocent people?”

Uh-oh. One glance at the reporter holding the microphone up to Deirdre’s face told me that he was eating this up. If the local press ran with the over-dramatized story Deirdre was spouting, the
Daredevils
TV crew would be the least of Sydney’s problems. More important, the culprit might get nervous enough to back off. That would make it much harder to figure out who’d done it.

“What is it?” Bess asked as I ducked back into the waiting room and glanced around.

“Deirdre,” I said succinctly. “She’s spilling her guts to the TV news out there.”

“Want me to go out and tell her off?” George offered eagerly, already taking a step toward the entryway. “I can explain to the reporters that Deirdre’s brain is only the size of a pea and so they shouldn’t listen to a word she says.”

Bess grabbed her by the arm to stop her as I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think we’d better let the TV people take care of it,” I said. “They’re the experts at handling this sort of thing, I’d imagine.”

“True,” George agreed reluctantly. “
Daredevils
is always having to deal with the local press while they’re filming. Like the time the contestants got busted by the local decency police for swimming across the Mississippi River naked in January…”

I left Bess alone to hear the rest of the anecdote. I’d just spotted Hans Eberhart wandering across the room nearby chatting with one of the camera operators. Hurrying over, I politely interrupted their conversation and asked to speak privately with the director. Once the cameraman had hurried off to film Sydney’s father, who had just wandered out into the waiting room, I explained to Eberhart what was happening just outside.

The director listened, stroking his stubbly beard. Then he thanked me and called over Madge, the assistant director. “We have a press situation out in the lobby,” he told her calmly. “Please handle it.”

Madge nodded shortly. “I’m on it.”

She took off across the waiting room, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. I winced, recalling the way she’d yelled at Donald the PA. Maybe this time Deirdre would meet her match!

“Good,” Hans said. “That should take care of it. Madge, she is a piranha—it’s why I put up with her other, er, idiosyncrasies.” He chuckled with amusement.

I smiled along. “Yes, she should be able to take care of that problem easily enough,” I said. “But, um, have you thought about maybe backing off on this filming for a little while, sir? You know—just until the police get a handle on who might have done this.”

Eberhart stared at me with what appeared to be genuine astonishment. “Stop filming?” he said. “You mean now, just when this is turning from a bit of vanity fluff into something much more interesting?”

“But that’s my point,” I said. “Someone appears to be seeking attention by trying to sabotage things. Why give that person what he or she wants?”

Eberhart shook his head. “No, no, my dear, you don’t understand,” he said patiently, as if explaining things to a dull-witted child. “This danger, this sabotage, it is quite within the spirit of what
Daredevils
is all about. The audience, they will eat it up with a spoon.” He finished by mimicking lifting a spoon to his mouth, complete with an enthusiastic smacking of lips.