Model Crime Page 2

  Sydney’s lower lip trembled with consternation. “She’s doing a shoot in Bermuda this week, so we had her dress shipped out there so she could try it on.”

  “That’s right,” the bridal shop owner put in. “We sent all three of the out-of-town dresses via overnight delivery.”

  “I told Akinyi to let me know as soon as she tried hers on,” Sydney went on. “She’s super tall and thin, even for a model, so her dress needed a lot more alterations than the others.”

  “So what happened?” Bess asked. “It didn’t fit?”

  Sydney’s lip started trembling more than ever. “See for yourself!”

  She held out her PDA. The three of us crowded around for a look. The screen was pretty small, but even so it was easy to see the image of a very tall, very thin young woman with gleaming ebony skin and a regal, exotic look. She was wearing a rose-colored dress that matched the ones we had on.

  Bess gasped. “Oh, no!” she cried.

  I’m no fashion expert, but even I could see why Sydney was so upset. Akinyi’s dress didn’t fit her at all. It was way too short, for one thing, plus it sagged in several spots where it should have been fitted.

  “Akinyi’s totally freaking out,” Sydney said anxiously. “And no wonder. I mean, the wedding’s only, like, a week and a half away, and she’s in Bermuda, and—”

  “It’ll be okay, Syd.” Deb put one plump arm around her and gave her a hug. “Really, don’t have a cow, okay? We’ll work it out.”

  “Listen to Deb,” Ellie added. “We’ll take care of this.”

  The bridal shop woman looked frantic. “It has to be some sort of mix-up,” she muttered, pulling a cell phone out of her pocket. “The measurements were right, I know they were. Let me just call that nice woman at the modeling agency who was supposed to forward the dresses….”

  I was sympathetic to the problem, especially since Sydney was clearly on the verge of tears. But it didn’t seem like there was much we could do to help. So I decided the best thing might be to get out of the way and let them sort it out.

  “The good news is, ours fit fine,” I told Ellie. “Should we take them with us today?”

  “Yes, go ahead, Nancy.” Ellie sounded a bit distracted. “Thanks so much for coming out today.”

  “No problem, Aunt Ellie,” Bess said, obviously thinking along the same lines I was. “Maybe we’ll see you later, okay?”

  Leaving the others dealing with the Great Dress Disaster, the three of us hurried back to our dressing room to change. Minutes later the little bell over the door dinged again as we left the bridal shop carrying our dresses. Actually, Bess was carrying all three of them. She didn’t seem to trust George and me to get ours from the shop to the car without ruining them.

  We’d barely stepped outside when I spotted someone rushing toward us. It was Deirdre Shannon. As usual she was dressed in an expensive-looking designer outfit, not a single strand of her long, curly, dark hair out of place.

  “Hi, you guys!” Deirdre greeted us with a big smile on her face. “Ooh, are those your dresses for the Marvin-Valdez wedding? They’re gorgeous!”

  None of us answered her for a second, because we were all too startled. Despite how she was acting at the moment, Deirdre wasn’t exactly a close friend of ours. We’d all been in school together our whole lives, so we knew her pretty well—well enough to know that she’s a huge snob who thinks most people aren’t worthy to breathe the same air she does. At least that’s how George likes to put it. Bess and I aren’t crazy about Deirdre either, but she really rubs George the wrong way.

  “Um, thanks,” Bess said at last. That’s Bess for you. Her impeccable manners can overcome even the most surprising obstacles. “How are you, Deirdre?”

  “Great!” Deirdre replied happily. “By the way, did you hear? I’ll be at the wedding too.”

  “You will?” George said. “Why?”

  Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most polite question in the world. But it was a fair one. As far as I knew, Deirdre and Sydney didn’t even know each other.

  If Deirdre was annoyed by George’s blunt question, she hid it well. “It’s a funny story, actually,” she said. “Daddy went to law school with one of the attorneys who drew up the releases and whatever other paperwork for this particular, er, project. The attorney called him from LA to check something about our local ordinances or whatever, and I guess the TV people were sooo grateful for his help that Vic Valdez invited our whole family to the wedding.”

  That was typical. Mr. Shannon is a successful local attorney; he has a reputation for winning his cases no matter what it takes, which means he’s always got lots of clients. Deirdre has been taking advantage of his money and connections her whole life.

  Her gaze wandered once again toward the dresses Bess was holding. Then she glanced at George, and I braced myself. Deirdre loves to take every opportunity to mock George for her tomboy ways.

  “That dress is going to look great on you, George,” she said.

  “Wha—huh?” George replied, as stunned as I was by Deirdre’s compliment. She narrowed her eyes, clearly waiting for the punch line.

  Deirdre reached over and fingered the hem of satin fabric sticking out of the protective plastic. “You’ve got dark hair just like I do, and I know this particular shade of rose works really well on me,” Deirdre said. “I mean, okay, maybe your skin is kind of, you know, swarthier or whatever. And of course, your figure…Well, anyway, it should work just fine,” she finished brightly.

  “Is that supposed to be some kind of—” George started hotly.

  She was interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone. Deirdre reached into her designer handbag, pulled out her phone, and checked the screen.

  “Oops, I’d better take this,” she said, pressing the Talk button. “Toodles, guys! See you at the wedding, if not before!”

  With that, she pressed the phone to her ear and hurried off down the block. We all stared after her.

  “Was that some kind of threat?” Bess joked weakly. “About seeing us before the wedding, I mean.”

  George rolled her eyes. “Probably just means she’s going to try to weasel her way into some of the prewedding events Syd was talking about last night. Just like she managed to weasel herself into an invitation.” She frowned. “Anyway, it’s totally obvious why she’s being so sickeningly-sweet to us all of a sudden. She probably thinks hanging out with the bridesmaids will get her more screen time. I guess she thinks we’re too stupid to remember we’re not all BFFs.”

  “Hey, at least she’s acting human for a change,” Bess said with a grin. “Let’s not overanalyze it—we should just enjoy it!”

  “True,” I agreed. “Because it probably won’t last long.”

  We were all still laughing about that when we heard the bridal shop’s bell tinkle again. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Deb Camden hurry out.

  “Oh, gosh, you guys are still here!” she said with a breathless giggle. “Wow, stuff is really crazy in there!”

  “You mean about the dress?” Bess said. “Did they get that straightened out?”

  Deb nodded vigorously, then pushed her straight brown bangs out of her eyes. “They called Syd’s modeling agency in New York. The lady there swore she sent them out to the two models just like she was supposed to. But then she checked around and called back, and it turns out Akinyi got sent the wrong dress. Hers is still in New York, and the one she got was meant for one of the other bridesmaids, Candy Kaine.”

  “Huh?” George blinked. “Candy Kaine? Is that a person, or, like, a holiday treat?”

  Deb giggled. “It’s the name of another model from Syd’s agency.”

  “I’ve heard of Candy Kaine,” Bess put in. “I think her real first name is something else, like Christy or Connie. But she’s got bright red hair like Syd’s, plus she’s pretty tall and skinny, so some photographer started calling her Candy Kaine and it kind of stuck.”

  “Oh wait, I remember her,” George said. “She�
��s the other redhead in that photo Aunt Ellie and Uncle Ted have framed on the mantel in their den, right? Syd’s first big paying job as a model or something?”

  Bess nodded. “An ad campaign hired the two of them to play sisters because of the hair thing. I guess they’ve been friends ever since.”

  “Anyway, the dresses are being overnighted back to the right bridesmaids as we speak, so they should have them before they get on the plane to come here tomorrow afternoon,” Deb continued. “Whew! Syd’s so relieved that she isn’t even mad at the agency, even though it was their mistake.” She shrugged. “It’s weird, though. The lady at the agency insists she definitely addressed the right dresses to the right girls.” She turned and smiled at me. “I guess it’s a real mystery, huh? Maybe you should investigate, Nancy!”

  I forced a smile. Yeah, some mystery! “Maybe I should,” I joked back politely.

  Just then Sydney and her mother emerged from the shop. “Oh good, you guys are still here!” Sydney said when she spotted us. “Mom just called the printers, and they won’t be ready for us until tomorrow morning. So I was thinking we could all head back to my place and hang out—you know, catch up before all the New York and Hollywood people arrive tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure?” Bess said. “I mean, of course we’d be happy to help out if there’s stuff we can do to help you get ready for the wedding or anything, but we definitely don’t want to cause more work by coming over—”

  “No, no, I really want you guys to come,” Sydney broke in earnestly. “It’ll be nice to spend one last afternoon with some normal people.”

  Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me all your friends from New York are abnormal?”

  Sydney laughed. “You know what I mean, Mom. I’m just talking about hanging with some regular, down-to-earth River Heights people. Once the TV crew gets here tomorrow, things are probably going to be pretty crazy.”

  Deb shivered. “I can’t even imagine it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been on TV before.”

  “Trust me, it’s not that exciting after a while,” Sydney told her with a slight grimace. “But come on-please say you guys will come!”

  What could we say? Soon we were all walking into Sydney’s parents’ house. They lived in a tidy Colonial on Grant Street. Sydney’s father wasn’t home—he taught Latin at the university and had office hours on Wednesday afternoons. So the house was dark and quiet when we entered.

  Ellie had stopped to pick up the mail on her way in. Now she flipped through it as we all headed into the living room. “Here’s something for you, Sydney,” she said, holding up a cream-colored envelope. “Looks like another RSVP.”

  Sydney crinkled her forehead in confusion. “It can’t be,” she said. “All the RSVPs have been in for weeks.”

  “That’s what I thought. But now I’m wondering if someone fell through the cracks somehow.” Ellie shrugged. “Maybe your Great-Uncle Farley decided to come back early from Australia.”

  “Maybe.” Sydney took the envelope and slit it open with one pale pink fingernail.

  Meanwhile George had flopped down on a cushy armchair, while Bess and I made ourselves comfortable on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Deb was wandering along the mantel, checking out the framed family photos there.

  I glanced over as Sydney pulled a thick white card out of the envelope. From where I was sitting it looked just like the response card that had been included with the invitations we’d all received two months earlier. But when Sydney looked at it, her face went even paler than usual.

  George saw her expression too. “What is it, Syd?” she asked.

  Sydney turned the card so we could all see it. Just as I’d thought on first glance, it looked exactly like the response cards from Sydney’s invitations. But embossed right in the middle of it in fancy script were some extra words:

  RSVP: I WILL ATTEND.

  BUT IF YOU KNOW WHAT’S BEST

  FOR YOU, SYDNEY, YOU WON’T.

  MEET AND GREET

  I sat up straight. “Who’s it from?” I asked, getting a tingle from my Sleuth-O-Meter—that’s what George sometimes calls the weird little sixth sense that tells me when there’s a mystery afoot. “Is there a return address?”

  Ellie grabbed the envelope from her daughter and checked. “Nothing,” she said grimly. “Just a New York City postmark.”

  “Oh, dear!” Deb’s hands fluttered at her cheeks as she stared at Sydney. “I always thought New York seemed so scary….”

  Ignoring her, I hurried over for a better look at the RSVP card. Even close up, it was barely distinguishable from the real thing.

  “It has the same border I picked out for mine, and the same font, too,” Sydney said, her voice shaking a little. “I wonder…”

  “What?” I shot her a sharp look, instantly noting an odd twinge in her voice. “Sydney, is there something else? Have you gotten other mysterious messages like this in the mail?”

  “Not in the mail,” Sydney replied. “Um, but I did get a few weird e-mails a week or two ago.”

  My Sleuth-O-Meter was right. Suddenly it was looking like there might be some kind of mystery here. “E-mails?” I echoed. “What kind of e-mails?”

  “They were horrible.” Sydney shuddered. “They all said I shouldn’t marry Vic if I knew what was good for me, or something like that. Like a threat, even though they didn’t really say anything too specific.”

  “Who were they from?” I asked.

  “A bunch of made-up fake addresses,” Sydney replied. “The police checked them out and said they were all sent from public computers at libraries or coffeehouses all around New York City. They never figured out who sent them, but I was starting to think…Well, never mind. That’s all over anyway.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about these e-mails, Sydney?” Ellie demanded, rushing over and grasping her daughter by the arm. “I had no idea!”

  “It wasn’t that big a deal, Mom.” Sydney sighed and shook her arm loose. “Probably just some of Vic’s more obnoxious admirers pulling a prank or something. He’s got some pretty weird fans out there.”

  Ellie still looked horrified. I was a little surprised by that, since she’d never struck me as the type to get so easily rattled. But I was more concerned about getting to the bottom of what Sydney was telling me—and whether it had any connection to the fake RSVP card.

  “Do you still have those e-mails?” I asked her. “If so, I’d love to take a look.”

  “No, I don’t have them anymore,” Sydney said. “I forwarded them to the police, of course. But then it was like I couldn’t think about anything else while they were on my computer. Akinyi and I were both freaking out and couldn’t sleep while we knew they were there, sort of like they were haunting us. So she talked me into just deleting them.”

  I was disappointed. If there truly was a mystery here, it would be helpful to get a look at those e-mails. Maybe I’d be able to guess whether the same person had written them and the RSVP.

  Still, it didn’t take a detective to figure out that the NYPD was unlikely to just hand over a piece of evidence to a total stranger from several states away. I would have to rely on Sydney’s memory of what they’d said.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t seem too eager to dredge up those memories. “Like I told you, they were all sort of vaguely threatening,” she said when I pressed her for details. “You know—‘Vic might seem like the one, but he’s not the one for you. Add it up before you regret it.’ Something like that. I don’t really remember the rest that well.”

  “What do you think it means, Nancy?” Deb asked. “Is it a real mystery?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But if it is, I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of it.”

  By the time I met up again with Bess and George the next day, my new case—if that’s what it was—hadn’t gone much further than that. My friends seemed to think it was nothing to worry about. “Celebrities get weird messages from weird fans all t
he time,” George pointed out as we drove through town. “Those e-mails probably came from some lonely twelve-year-old boy somewhere.”

  “And what about that RSVP card?” I asked, leaning forward from the backseat of George’s car. “It can’t be a coincidence that it matches the real ones from her invitations. A random kid wouldn’t even know what the invites looked like.”

  George just shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s one of the Daredevils guys playing a prank or something.”

  “Maybe.” I’d thought of that possibility myself. During Vic’s season, the Daredevils cast was infamous for constantly trying to play pranks on one another. Maybe this was their weird way of inducting Sydney into their fraternity or something. If so, it didn’t seem like a very funny prank to me, but then again, I’d never really gotten the whole Daredevils phenomenon in the first place. In any case, I was determined to keep an eye on things from now until the wedding, just in case there was something more serious going on.

  Bess checked her watch. “We’d better hurry,” she said to George, who was driving. “We’re supposed to be at the airport in less than ten minutes.”

  “I still don’t get why Vic and those guys are bothering to fly in to the River Heights Municipal Airport,” George said. “I mean, couldn’t they have just driven down from Chicago like the TV people did?”

  The Daredevils TV crew had descended on the town early that morning, arriving in a long line of vans and SUVs. Half the population of River Heights had turned out to see them drive into town as if it was some kind of parade. At least that was what Dad had told me when he’d called from his office, amused by the whole spectacle. Now my friends and I—along with everyone else involved with the wedding—were on our way to welcome the arrival of the real stars of the show. Namely, Vic and his showbiz pals. After the meet and greet, we were all supposed to attend some kind of welcome party at the airport. They’d told us the dress was “stylish casual.” For Bess, that translated into a pair of silky black pants, chic heels, and a shimmery blue top. I was a bit more understated, in nice slacks, a button-down shirt, and flats. George had refused to do more than put on black jeans instead of her usual blue, and dig out her cleanest sneakers.