089 Designs in Crime Read online

  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.

  "Don't let anyone leave," Nancy whispered to Bess. "I'll be right back."

  Motioning for Sam to join her, Nancy found a quiet place in one of the side aisles. "Do you know how to get in touch with Tyler?" she asked him. When he nodded, she added, "You have to call him to see if he'll take Michael Rockwell's place for the rehearsal. Joanna feels as if her family has let her down, and right now Tyler's the only person who can change that."

  "Tyler's not the most reliable guy in the world," Sam admitted, his blue eyes thoughtful. "But he and Joanna used to be close when they were kids. I'll give it a shot."

  He strode down the aisle and led Nancy to an area in the back of the cathedral with a gift shop, lavatories, and pay phones. While Sam phoned Tyler, Nancy called Beau's studio but was told he hadn't returned yet. As Nancy thanked the assistant and hung up, she began to worry that something had happened to Beau.

  Her attention was diverted when Sam hung up the phone and flashed her a grin. "He's coming," he said. "I had to twist his arm, but finally he agreed. He'll be here in a few minutes."

  Back at the altar, Nancy met Sam's two younger brothers, Matt and Larry. Lean, athletic guys with warm smiles, they were joking around with Joanna, trying to cheer her up.

  "What happened?" Matt teased, his head thrown back to take in the huge vaulted ceiling of the cathedral. "Couldn't find a place bigger than this?"

  Ten minutes later the bridal party was sitting in two pews, listening to the priest describe the ceremony. Tyler walked in just then. Joanna seemed startled at first, but then she jumped out of her seat and danced into the aisle to give her brother a big hug.

  "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "Taking Dad's place," he said nonchalantly. "Someone's got to represent the Rockwells."

  Joanna's face was beaming when the priest politely asked, "Are we ready to continue?''

  With a giggle and a nod, Joanna slid into her pew, pulling her brother along beside her.

  After the priest finished the instructions, everyone but Sam and the best man assembled at the back of the cathedral to practice the bridal march.

  "Gentlemen, you set the pace," the priest instructed. "Not too fast, but not the walk of a condemned man. This is a happy occasion."

  Nancy was paired with Sam's brother, Larry Hollingsworth. He had short, auburn hair and a fun sense of humor. "Ready to rock 'n' roll?" Larry asked, extending his arm.

  Smiling, Nancy linked her arm through his. "I'm just your partner for the day," she told him, explaining that she and Bess were filling in for two bridesmaids who wouldn't arrive until Friday.

  "You mean I don't get to keep you?" he teased.

  "Ladies, remember that you'll be carrying baskets of flowers," the priest said as organ music filled the air and the bridal march began.

  Bess sighed. "I love this stuff," she said, reaching up to take Matt's arm. A moment later they were strolling down the aisle.

  As she walked beside Larry, Nancy felt relieved that the rehearsal was going on as planned. Michael Rockwell's disapproving face flashed through her mind, and she wondered if her father had uncovered any information about the billionaire. I need to call and check in with Dad, she thought.

  After more than an hour of rehearsing, the bridal party piled into three stretch limousines outside the cathedral.

  Their next stop was the Russian Tea Room, a restaurant in a narrow building next door to Carnegie Hall. Inside, the bold red, green, and gold decor reminded Nancy of Christmas.

  "My mother used to bring me here for lunch when I was a little girl," Joanna told Nancy and Bess.

  "Listen," Tyler said, turning to his sister. "I have to get going if I want to make my seven-thirty call for our eight o'clock curtain."

  "That's right!" Joanna exclaimed. "I almost forgot. It's the last preview before tomorrow's big opening."

  Tyler frowned, then added, "It's no big deal. Dad's not coming. You'll be there, though, right?"

  "Sam and I both will be," Joanna promised, then turned to Nancy and Bess. "You guys are welcome to come if you're free."

  "If it's for the opening of Tyler's show, we'll make sure we are," Bess said, smiling.

  "No big deal," Tyler said, shrugging. For a minute Nancy wondered why he was trying so hard to downplay the importance of his off-Broadway debut.

  "Thanks for coming through for me at the rehearsal today/' Joanna told her brother. "Isn't there any way I can convince you to be an usher?"

  Tyler shook his head. "Sorry, Sis, but I just can't fall in line like a good little soldier and take Dad's orders."

  "Can't you set aside your feelings about Dad —just until the wedding is over?" Joanna pleaded. "Can't you do it for me?"

  Frowning, Tyler zipped up his leather jacket and shoved his hands in the pockets. "I wish I could," he muttered, then cut through the crowd toward the door.

  As Nancy watched him leave, she felt sorry for Joanna. Tyler's feud with Michael Rockwell was bound to put a damper on the wedding.

  The wedding party settled in at one long table headed by Sam's parents, the hosts of the dinner. The best man, one of Sam's racing buddies named Chase, delivered a humorous toast to the bride and groom. Then the waiters served borscht soup and platters of buttery chicken Kiev.

  Around nine o'clock, Nancy went to a pay phone and called Beau's studio. Angel answered. He told her that Beau wasn't expected back at all that night.

  What's going on? Nancy wondered.

  She called Beau's home number and left a message: "If you can, meet us on the street outside your studio at ten-fifteen tonight," Nancy said. "Whatever you do, don't let anyone see you, and don't go inside!"

  "We're not going to make it in time," Nancy said to Bess, checking her watch as the cab lurched forward then stopped for pedestrians. It was almost ten-thirty. The cab was stalled in traffic. It looked as if they were going to miss their chance to discover who Angel's partner was.

  "Where did all this traffic come from?" Bess asked the driver.

  "We have to cut through the theater district, and the Broadway shows are just ending," he explained, rolling to a stop at a red light.

  "We should have left earlier," Bess told Nancy. "But I was having so much fun. Joanna's friends know how to have a good time, and Sam's brothers are so cute. Not to mention all that delicious Russian food."

  Staring out the window, Nancy checked the street sign. They were four blocks from Beau's studio, but with the traffic, they'd make better time on foot. "We'll walk the rest of the way," she said as she paid the driver.

  Bess climbed out of the cab, then looked down at her flats. "Good thing I didn't wear heels," she said as the girls ran down the street.

  By the time they reached the block where Beau's studio was located, it was already ten-forty. From the street Nancy noticed that the studio lights were on, though Beau was nowhere to be seen.

  "I told him to keep a low profile," Nancy muttered. "I wonder if he's here." As she
walked, she peered into the shadowed entryway of each building, looking for the designer.

  "No sign of Beau," Bess said breathlessly as they reached the front door.

  "Let's go on up to the studio," Nancy said. "If we're quiet, we may be able to catch Angel and his partner off guard." She unlocked the lobby door, then motioned Bess to move toward the stairs. "They might hear the elevator," she whispered as they started up the steps.

  When they reached the fourth floor, Nancy went over to the electronic keypad beside the door to press in the code to disarm the lock. The light was off, which meant the alarm wasn't on and the door wasn't locked.

  She held a finger to her lips, reminding Bess to be quiet. Then she pushed open the studio door and stepped into the reception area.

  Dead silence filled the air. Where were they? Nancy wondered as she stole through the outer room. Bess followed, moving carefully to keep from making a sound.

  The door to the workroom was open, and a shaft of light spilled onto the floor of the reception area. Nancy's senses tingled in warning. It was too quiet. Something was wrong.

  She pressed herself against the wall near the doorway, then peered inside.

  A man's body lay facedown on the floor in a pool of dark red blood. Nancy's eyes darted to his face. "It's Angel," she whispered in shock.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bess joined Nancy in the doorway, then shrank back in horror. "Someone killed him!" she gasped.

  Nancy moved into the doorway to survey the scene. From the looks of the body and the amount of blood, it appeared that Angel had been dead for a few minutes at least.

  Mrs. Chong's scissors, with their gold handles, were sunk deep in Angel's back. The wooden scissors box was open, and the other scissors were sprawled haphazardly in it. Everything else in the workroom seemed to be in place. There was no sign of a struggle, so Nancy had to assume the killer had taken Angel by surprise.

  "I'm calling the police," Bess said. She took a deep breath to regain her composure, then picked up the phone on the desk in the reception area. "There's been a murder," she said, her voice shaking slightly as she gave the address.

  When Nancy stepped into the workroom, Bess hung up the phone and called after her, "Where are you going? The killer might be in there!"

  "I don't think the person who did this stuck around," Nancy said. A swatch of blue fabric lay on the floor near Angel's body. Not wanting to disturb the evidence, Nancy didn't touch it, but she saw it was a folded piece of fabric with dark blue lace trim around the edge.

  It's a handkerchief, she thought, not a fabric sample. The handkerchief was stained with blood. Did it belong to Angel? Or had the killer dropped it accidentally? From the looks of the dainty piece of cloth, Nancy suspected that it belonged to a woman. Suddenly a picture of Mimi Piazza formed in her mind. Didn't Mimi favor tailored suits accented with a dainty hankie?

  Maybe Mimi was working with Angel, Nancy thought. Maybe this hankie is the clue that will tie Mimi to the murder! She'd make sure that the police didn't miss this bit of evidence.

  Within minutes two uniformed police officers had arrived at the studio. Nancy and Bess were sitting in the small reception area, talking with the female officer, when Beau arrived.

  "What's going on?" he asked.

  "Beau!" Bess said, sighing with relief. "We were worried about you."

  Nancy was overjoyed that Beau was all right. He looked tired, though. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his usually neat hair looked slightly disheveled.

  "It's Angel," Nancy said, stepping into Beau's path so that he couldn't walk into the workroom. "He's dead—stabbed with a pair of Mrs. Chong's scissors."

  Beau's face registered shock, then horror. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," he said.

  Just then three men in suits appeared at the door. The female officer greeted them and pointed them to the body. Two men carried large briefcases into the workroom, while a tall, portly man with salt-and-pepper hair stayed behind.

  "I need to go inside and brief the guys from our crime-scene unit," the female officer explained. "They'll collect samples and dust everything for fingerprints." She nodded at the tall man, adding, "This is Detective Noonan. He'll be handling this homicide."

  "There's a handkerchief on the floor by the body," Nancy pointed out. "It may be important."

  "I'll make sure they get it," the officer said. Then she ducked into the workroom.

  While Beau took several deep breaths to calm himself, Nancy introduced herself and Bess to

  Detective Noonan. "And this is Beau Winston/ 9 she said. "He brought Bess and me into his studio to find out who was stealing his designs. We figured it out, but just a little too late,"

  "What?" Beau stared at Nancy. "You mean Angel—"

  "Was selling your designs to Budget Fashions," Nancy said, explaining how Bess had tricked the saleswoman in the Budget showroom. She also told them about the phone call she'd heard Angel make. "They were going to meet here at ten-thirty. When we arrived at quarter to eleven, Angel was dead. There was no sign of the killer."

  "Poor Angel," Beau said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "It was lousy of him to steal my designs, but he didn't deserve to die."

  The detective jotted notes on a clipboard. "Now, let me get this straight," he said to Nancy. "You think Angel was working with a partner, who turned on him tonight, stabbing him in the back?"

  Nancy nodded.

  "Any idea who this accomplice might be?" Detective Noonan persisted.

  "There's Mrs. Chong," Nancy said speculatively. "After all, Angel was stabbed with her scissors."

  "And she left the studio early today, without any explanation," Bess added.

  "Mrs. Chong is not the killer," Beau said wearily. "I've just spent the past five hours with her in the waiting room of Midtown Hospital."

  Seeing the girls' surprised reactions, Beau explained. "Her husband was in surgery all night. I didn't finish up at the Plaza till six, so I went straight over to the hospital to stay with her. He's going to pull through just fine. But by the time I called in and got your message to meet you here, it was already well after ten."

  "Did you find out how Mrs. Chong got the money for the operation?" Nancy asked him.

  Beau nodded. "From her great-uncle."

  "Why was the surgery such a secret?" Bess asked. "Angel wouldn't tell us anything about it."

  "Mrs. Chong is very secretive about her personal life," Beau answered. "But Angel knew about the operation. In fact, he'd agreed to cover for us at the studio tonight."

  "That makes sense," Nancy said, snapping her fingers. "That's why Angel told the person on the phone to meet him here. He knew the studio would be empty, since you and Mrs. Chong would be at the hospital. And if one or two of the assistants had wanted to work late, he had the authority to send them home."

  Detective Noonan pointed his pen at Nancy. "I like the way you work," he said.

  "She's a great detective," Bess said. "Nancy's solved lots of famous cases."

  "If Mrs. Chong is not the killer, we should check out Mimi Piazza," Nancy said thoughtfully. "I think that blue handkerchief sitting beside Angel's body might belong to her."

  "That's quite a charge," the detective said. "Who is this Mimi?"

  "Mimi Piazza, a rival designer," Beau said, explaining his history with the woman.

  "Wait a minute," Nancy said, her mind racing. "When Angel was talking on the phone, he complained that he was taking all the risks, that the other person was safe in a castle. Mimi is known for being a security freak. And she would have a lot to lose if Angel revealed their theft to Delia Rogers, as he threatened on the phone."

  "Sounds as if it might be worth checking this woman out," Detective Noonan agreed.

  "In the meantime, are you going to search Angel's apartment for clues?" Nancy asked him.

  "That's standard in a case like this." The detective nodded, then hesitated. "Why?"

  "I'd like to go along," Nancy said. "There's a chance tha
t Angel stole Joanna Rockwell's wedding gown. If he did, it might be stashed at his apartment."

  "That's right," Bess said, perking up.

  "The Rockwell heiress's gown," Noonan said, scratching his chin. "That wedding is the only thing my wife talks about these days. And you think the gown might be at Ortiz's apartment?"

  "There's a chance," Nancy said hopefully,

  "Angel rented a place in the East Village," Beau said. "I can show you where it is."

  The detective lowered his clipboard and sighed. "Something tells me you people can't wait till tomorrow to check the place out."

  "The gown contains pearls that are family heirlooms," Bess pointed out. "By tomorrow it might be gone."

  Detective Noonan shrugged. "Let's go."

  The detective pulled the unmarked police car to a stop in front of the old brownstone where Angel Ortiz lived. After Noonan opened a rear door for Nancy and Bess—there were no handles on the inside—they were able to climb out. They followed the two men through a waist-high wrought-iron gate and down a few steps to the door of the basement apartment.

  "This is it," Beau said, "but we need to go upstairs and ask the landlord to let us in."

  "Looks as if someone has already beat us here," Detective Noonan said.

  Nancy peered over his shoulder and saw that the door was already ajar. The detective shoved it with the toe of his shoe until it was open. He stepped inside, and Nancy followed.

  At first the only thing she could make out was darkness and clutter. Papers, cushions, and clothes were strewn everywhere.

  "Either this guy was a slob or someone has searched this place," Detective Noonan muttered.

  "Angel was impeccably neat," Beau said. "Someone must have been here."

  Just then Nancy heard a noise coming from the rear of the apartment. Everyone froze.

  "Get back," the detective said, motioning them toward the door.

  As Nancy took a step back, she saw Detective Noonan reach inside his jacket and draw his revolver. He crept forward, stepped around a pile of clothes, then turned into a doorway.