Designs in Crime (5 page)

Nancy nodded. “I thought it was strange, too. If he was really determined to stop the wedding, Michael Rockwell could easily have hired someone to steal the gown.”

“What about the stolen designs?” Bess asked as she flopped back on her bed. “If they are connected to the dress, why would Mr. Rockwell steal Beau's designs and sell them to Budget Fashions?”

“Good question,” Nancy agreed. “First thing tomorrow I'm going to call my father and ask him to check out Michael Rockwell.”

• • •

Early the next day the girls were in the kitchen making breakfast when Nancy remembered “Fashion Flash.” “Let's see what Delia Rogers has to say about the stolen gown,” Nancy said as
she switched on the small television in the kitchen.

“That's right,” Bess said. She stifled a yawn as she poured two glasses of juice.

Nancy turned to the right station to find a critic reviewing a new film. She was buttering her toast when she heard a new voice. “This is Delia Rogers with ‘Fashion Flash.' ”

“There's Delia,” Bess said. The girls climbed onto stools at the kitchen counter to watch the program.

“Today's fashion news is loaded with glamour
and
intrigue,” Delia said, cheerfully smiling at the camera. “Our crew was on the scene at designer Beau Winston's studio yesterday when we came upon unhappy heiress Joanna Rockwell and detective Nancy Drew.”

As Delia spoke, videotape of Joanna, Nancy, and Bess leaving Beau's studio filled the screen. “Hey,” Bess said, perking up. “We're on TV, Nan!”

“Too bad,” Nancy groaned. Now there was no way to keep a low profile on the case.

“Joanna's bridal gown has been stolen!” Delia said with relish. “The theft is especially poignant since the gown was made from material from Joanna's mother's wedding dress and trimmed in pearls that belonged to Coral Rockwell, who passed away two years ago. What does this mean for the couple?” Images of Sam and Joanna flashed on the screen. In one clip, Sam was
wearing the flame-retardant suit of a race car driver. He held a shiny trophy up high before hugging Joanna.

“ ‘Fashion Flash' can name two people who might benefit from this crimp in the wedding plans. First there's Mimi Piazza—” A closeup of a beautiful woman in her twenties flashed on the screen. With her creamy skin and short red hair that curled in wisps around her face, Mimi looked more like a cover girl than a designer.

“ ‘Fashion Flash' viewers will recall that one of Mimi's bridal designs was Joanna Rockwell's second choice,” Delia explained. “Mimi went ahead and worked up a sample of that design. The dress—a size six, perfect for the petite Joanna—will make its debut at Mimi's show on Thursday.”

Delia smiled like a smug cat, adding, “Unless, of course, Joanna now decides to wear Mimi's dress down the aisle. With Beau Winston's gown missing, it may be a possibility.

“Another person who's in no rush to see Joanna at the altar is her father, billionaire Michael Rockwell,” Delia continued as the wide pink face of Mr. Rockwell flashed on the screen. “It's no secret that Rockwell does not see eye to eye with his future son-in-law. Sources close to Rockwell say he would love to see Sam Speed disqualified from the race to the altar with his beloved Joanna.”

“What a story,” Bess said as Delia Rogers
signed off. “Maybe Joanna's father
is
the one behind the missing gown.”

Nancy thought the idea through as she finished her toast. “A man with Michael Rockwell's billions could have paid someone on Beau's staff or a thug to steal the gown from the vault. He could have assumed the theft would upset the wedding plans.”

“But what about Beau's stolen designs?” Bess asked. “Why would Rockwell want to ruin Beau's design business?”

“Maybe the stolen designs are just a diversion,” Nancy suggested. “Only two people were in Beau's studio the night Joanna's gown disappeared—Angel and Mrs. Chong,” Nancy went on. “So it seems that both thefts have to be inside jobs.”

Bess rinsed off the breakfast dishes. “I'll keep an eye on both of them while I'm modeling at the studio.”

“Thanks,” Nancy said. “But first I think we should check out Mimi Piazza. She might think she's got a shot at being Joanna's designer. I don't know how she could have managed to steal from Beau, but I'd like to visit her studio this morning to see what we can find out.”

“You can begin your research right here,” Bess said. “Mimi is mentioned in a lot of the fashion magazines I was reading on the plane.”

“Great!” Nancy said.

As Bess ran to get the magazines, Nancy picked
up the phone to call home. She smiled when she heard the warm voice of her father, Carson Drew. “Is this
the
Nancy Drew, as featured on ‘Fashion Flash'?” he teased.

“You saw the report!” Nancy said.

“I was a little surprised to see my daughter rubbing elbows with a celebrity bride,” Carson said. “What's going on there?”

Quickly Nancy explained the events of the past day, describing the situation at Beau's studio, as well as the tension between Michael Rockwell and his children. “I need a favor. What do you know about Michael Rockwell?” she asked her father.

“The man is in a league of his own,” he answered. “From what I've read, he seems to be honest and well-respected. I've never met him, though I do have a colleague who once handled a real estate deal for him.”

Carson Drew agreed to see what he could learn about Michael Rockwell. “I'll call you as soon as I have some answers,” he told Nancy. “Though I'll probably be seeing you before then—on TV.”

“It's possible,” Nancy said, laughing.

By the time Nancy hung up, Bess had skimmed a few magazines and marked articles that featured Mimi and her designs.

While Bess took a shower, Nancy studied every photo and blurb she could find on Mimi Piazza. The thin, fragile-looking woman was always pictured in a well-tailored suit with a handkerchief
in her breast pocket. Many of the articles mentioned that Mimi was a security freak, with one of the best guarded studios in the garment district.

Bess and I will need a story to get in the door, Nancy thought as she planned their visit to Mimi's studio. I hope she won't recognize us from the videotape on “Fashion Flash.”

• • •

An hour later Nancy and Bess climbed out of a cab on Seventh Avenue, in front of the impressive white building that took up half the block and housed Mimi Piazza's studio. In the lobby Nancy checked the directory and saw that Mimi's studio occupied the second and third floors.

Next Nancy glanced at the uniformed guard who sat at a wide counter that blocked the elevators. A burly man with a bulldog face, he was intimidating. He nodded at a young man heading in who flashed an ID card, then turned back to Nancy and Bess.

“What can I do for you, ladies?” the guard asked.

“We're here to see Mimi Piazza,” Bess said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled at the man.

“Do you have an appointment?” he asked.

“We're design students at the Fashion Institute,” Bess began. “We met Mimi at a lecture she gave last week.”

“She said we could stop in for a tour of her
studio when we had a chance,” Nancy fibbed, without batting an eyelash.

They told the guard their names, and he called the studio. Nancy crossed her fingers as the guard told their story to the person on the other end of the line, then hung up.

“Sorry, ladies,” he said. “Ms. Piazza won't be able to see you today.”

“There must be some mistake,” Nancy insisted. “She's going to be upset when we tell her we were turned away.”

The guard wouldn't budge. “I've got my orders, miss. Have a nice day.”

Outside the building Nancy said she refused to give up. “There's got to be another way in,” she said, studying the building's facade and walking to the end of the block. The driver of a truck was backing his rig into an open loading dock for the building. Two men directed him from the sidewalk.

“There's the loading dock for this building,” Nancy said.

Bess nodded. “But we'll never get in that way past those men.”

“That's why you have to distract them,” Nancy said. “Give me two minutes, then you're on.” Leaving Bess behind, Nancy turned the corner and walked beyond the loading dock so she was waiting behind the truck. A minute later she heard Bess exclaim, “Ouch!”

Peering around the truck, Nancy saw Bess collapse to the sidewalk and grab her ankle. “Can somebody help me, please!” she called.

The two men ran to Bess. Nancy heard the door slam on the cab of the truck as the driver joined them.

Seizing her chance, Nancy darted into the quiet loading dock area. In five lunging steps she was up the ramp and facing a narrow door. It wasn't locked. She slipped inside, finding herself in a dimly lit stairwell—the fire stairs.

Mimi's studio is on the second and third floors, she reminded herself. Her pulse raced at the thrill of being inside. She climbed a few steps.

Then Nancy felt a hand close over her shoulder. Another gripped her upper arm and yanked her back down the stairs.

S
TRUGGLING TO STAY
on her feet, Nancy stumbled down to the landing. The quick descent sent her twisting around, and suddenly she was face-to-face with the burly guard from the lobby.

“Not so fast,” he growled like a bulldog ready to attack. “Hey—you're the girl from before.” He darted a look up the stairs, then added, “Where's your friend?”

“She's waiting outside,” Nancy answered.

“Well, if you're lying, she won't get far. Nobody ever does.” He released Nancy and put his hands on his hips. “So you're a design student? Let's see your student ID.”

“I—I didn't bring it with me,” Nancy said, clutching the shoulder bag that hung at her side.

“Yeah, sure.” The guard screwed up his face as
he assessed her, then pointed her toward a door. Nancy went through the door first and found that she was back in the lobby. From that angle, she could see the half-dozen monitors concealed behind the guard's station.

“I don't know what you kids think you'll find up there,” the guard said, “but you're not going to score any points with Ms. Piazza by sneaking into her studio. Next time you won't get off so easily,” he warned as he escorted Nancy to the front door.

When Nancy emerged through the main entrance, Bess was waiting there. She did a double take. “What happened?” she asked.

“I got snagged,” Nancy said, explaining how she'd run into the guard. “I didn't realize they had surveillance cameras everywhere.”

“That place is guarded like a fortress,” Bess said. “What next?”

“We can walk over to Beau's studio,” Nancy said, heading down Seventh Avenue. “It's only four blocks from here.”

“So I guess Mimi Piazza is a dead end,” Bess said, turning her head to watch as a man rolled a rack of plaid jumpers in plastic bags past them.

“Not yet,” Nancy said, weaving through a group of men who were loading bolts of fabric into a truck. “I'm more determined than ever to check out Mimi Piazza. I just have to figure out how to get close to her.”

• • •

When Nancy and Bess arrived at Beau's studio, they found the designer in his office, reviewing sketches with Angel Ortiz. Eager for an update on the case, Beau sent Angel off and closed the door. “Any new developments?” Beau asked the girls.

Nancy told him about her thwarted attempt to sneak into Mimi's studio.

“Kicked out?” Beau winced. “Sorry, Nancy. I could have told you that would happen if I'd known your plan. Nobody gets past the security guards in Mimi's building.”

“But there's got to be some way to find out what's going on at Mimi's studio,” she said.

“Her show is on Thursday,” Beau said. “Mimi always presents her new line at her studio. She's afraid to let her collection leave the building.”

“Then we'll go to her show,” Bess suggested.

“The only problem is, you need to get on the guest list,” Beau pointed out, “and that's impossible unless you're a buyer, a magazine editor, or a celebrity.”

“Could Jill get us in?” Bess asked.

“She's in Tokyo,” Nancy reminded her.

Beau shook his head. “If you think security was tight today, it's three times as bad the day of a show. You need to get on that list.”

“I'll think of something,” Nancy vowed. “In the meantime, I'd like to spend the rest of the day here, checking out your security system, your help, your routine.”

“Feel free,” Beau offered.

“I think I need to know a little more about your key employees,” Nancy said, hedging a little.