Designs in Crime (2 page)

S
O YOU THINK
someone on your staff is a spy, working for Budget,” Nancy said.

Beau nodded. “Only a handful of people see my completed designs. I hate to accuse any of my employees, but I have to be realistic and I have to stop the thefts. Budget is already manufacturing knockoffs of three designs that I'd planned to show next week.”

“Do you have a suspect?” Nancy asked gently.

Beau frowned. “It's got to be someone who knows my designs well. I have two key employees who I share everything with, but I don't think they'd betray me. I—I just don't know. Maybe it's one of my design assistants.”

“What a shame,” Bess said, admiring the chiffon skirt of Beau's gown. “The imitation doesn't do justice to your design.”

“And the cut of the Budget gown is all wrong. My dress really comes to life on a model,” Beau added, nodding at Bess. “You look as if you're the right size for this sample. Do you want to try it on?” he asked.

Bess's eyes lit up. “I'd love to—if I can.”

“Sure,” said Jill. “It will give us a better idea of how Beau's design differs from Budget's.”

“Right this way,” Nola said, taking the deep blue gown from the rack and leading Bess into the changing rooms.

“You mentioned that you're presenting your spring designs next week,” Nancy said. “How often do you have a show?”

“Twice a year,” Beau explained. “All the New York designers are showing their spring fashions over the next two weeks. Six months from now, in April, we'll bring out our fall fashions.”

“Can you sue Budget Fashions for stealing your designs and selling the knockoffs?” Nancy asked.

Beau frowned. “The chances of winning a case like that are slim,” he told Nancy. “Not to mention the sky-high legal fees—which I can't afford.”

“Knockoffs are so common in the fashion industry that everyone has come to accept them,” Jill explained. “At every fashion show in town, you'll see people in the audience sketching as the models walk down the runway. Within days, they'll be using those designs to manufacture
low-priced garments. It's not unusual for a design to be copied
after
a show. But when it happens before a show, it's fashion espionage.”

“Do you think you can help me, Nancy?” Beau asked earnestly. “I've got to catch the spy in my studio before whoever it is sells off all my ideas.”

“I'll give it my best shot,” Nancy said.

Just then Bess emerged from the dressing room. The cobalt blue of the dress complemented the pink glow of Bess's skin. The shiny silver and white beads accentuated her shimmering blond hair, and the tight bodice gracefully hugged her curves.

“You look fabulous!” Jill exclaimed.

“That's definitely your color,” said Nancy.

“What do
you
think?” Bess asked, twirling around once before beaming at Beau.

“This dress was made for you,” Beau agreed, stepping forward to kneel in front of Bess. “Except for the hemline.” He folded the hem up a few times until it reached the bottom of Bess's knees. “That's more like it.”

“I know I'm not tall enough to be a model,” Bess admitted. “But it's great fun trying on a gorgeous creation like this.”

“We do tend to design with tall women in mind,” Beau said, rocking back on his heels to peer up at Bess. “But you'd be perfect for a new label I've been planning—a line called Petite Elite.”

“I'm five four,” Bess said, “so I guess I'd qualify for that line.”

“Would you be interested in modeling for me in my studio?” Beau asked. “There are a few dresses in my new collection that might suit someone of your proportions—shapely but shorter than our regular models.”

“Your Petite Elite line sounds like a label Mitchell's would be interested in,” Jill said thoughtfully.

Bess was astounded. “You want
me
to be a model?”

“I wouldn't expect you to do any photographic or runway work. Just in the studio. Studio models are hired for their perfect proportions.”

“It might be a good way for you to help me find the spy at Beau's studio,” Nancy added.

“I can't believe this is happening!” Bess said, throwing up her arms. “Of course I'll do it. It's a dream come true!”

“Great!” Beau said, and Nancy was happy to see a smile soften the hard lines of his face for a moment. “If you want to start now, we can share a cab back to my studio. I've got a three o'clock fitting with Joanna Rockwell.”

“Joanna Rockwell!” Bess said, scurrying toward the dressing room. “This is going to be so much fun.”

As soon as Bess had changed, Jill walked them to the elevator.

“I guess it's time for me to say goodbye,” Jill said reluctantly.

Beau gave her a hug. “Have a good trip to Japan.”

“My return flight is booked for Sunday,” Jill told Nancy. “I'll call as soon as I get back to check on your progress.”

“If I know Nancy, she'll have the whole case solved by then,” Bess said with a smile.

• • •

“Maybe we should get out and walk,” Beau suggested as their cab crawled across Fortieth Street.

In front of them a truck had the street jammed as workers unloaded boxes from the back. The cab driver tried to cut around the truck but had to slam on the brakes when a stocky man rolled a rack of plastic-covered dresses right into the street, just inches from the taxi's bumper.

“That was close,” Bess said.

“Welcome to the garment district,” Beau said, checking his watch. “In this part of town, walking is the best way to get around. My studio is just two blocks away.”

He paid the driver, then they climbed out of the cab. On the way to his studio, Beau pointed out a shop that specialized in gloves and a wholesaler that sold buttons by the pound.

Nancy noticed that the buildings were old, with graying cornices and grimy windows. But
everyone on the streets hummed along at an energetic clip, moving merchandise and making deliveries.

“This is it,” Beau said, turning toward a tall brick building with double glass doors for an entrance. He pulled a metal key ring from his pocket and selected a gold key. “My studio takes up the entire fourth floor. The rest of the building is occupied by suppliers.”

Watching Beau unlock the door, Nancy wondered about the security system in the building, but there was no time to ask about it right then. Joanna Rockwell was to arrive in five minutes.

When the doors of the small elevator opened on the fourth floor hall, Nancy found herself blinking in intense white light.

“What's going on?” Bess asked.

“Cut the lights—it's not her!” someone called.

The bright light faded, and Nancy walked from the elevator car into a cluster of people with cameras and microphones.

“Sorry about that,” said a slender woman with shoulder-length silver hair. Wearing a red silk suit and a fair amount of makeup, the woman was elegant. Nancy thought she recognized her as a TV news reporter. “We're waiting for Joanna Rockwell,” the woman explained.

“Delia,” Beau grumbled, “I can't have you bugging my clients.”

“Give me a break, Beau,” she snapped. “You're her designer, not her publicist.”

Beau folded his arms and gave the woman's crew a stern look. “Out of the building—now.”

The woman started to scowl but forced a smile instead. “Oh, come on, Beau. It's just a fluff piece for ‘Fashion Flash.' ”

Bess leaned close to Nancy to whisper, “That's the national news segment that highlights fashion events. Delia Rogers is the fashion reporter.”

“Think of all the potential clients who might come calling after they see your face on TV,” Delia said to Beau.

From the dark expression in his eyes, Nancy could see that Beau would not back down. “Right now I'm more concerned about protecting the privacy of—”

Just then the elevator bell dinged, and everything happened at once.

“There she is!” a man on the camera crew shouted.

Nancy watched as the elevator doors slid open to reveal a petite young woman standing alone in the car. Bright lights flooded the area again as the crew surged forward. Startled, the young woman held her hands over her face.

“Ms. Rockwell, are you happy with the progress Beau has made on your gown?” Delia asked, shoving her microphone toward the young heiress.

So this is Joanna Rockwell, Nancy thought, taking in the pretty brunette who lowered her hands and blinked several times as her eyes
adjusted to the bright light. Then, almost without missing a beat, she smiled and said, “Beau Winston's gown makes me feel like a princess.”

Before Joanna could take another step forward, Delia fired off more questions. “Any prewedding jitters? Has your fiancé seen the gown? Where are you going for your honeymoon?”

“So many questions! I don't know where to begin,” Joanna said lightly. “But if I don't get moving, I'll be late for my last fitting, and Mr. Winston will never forgive me.” She glanced over at Beau and winked. “Isn't that right, Mr. Winston?”

“Absolutely,” Beau said, taking Joanna by the arm and escorting her past the camera crew to the door of his studio. Nancy and Bess pushed past them, too, and managed to squeeze in behind Beau and Joanna just before the door was firmly shut by a small woman with black hair shot through with gray strands.

“Good riddance!” she said, locking the door. “I told them to go away, Mr. Beau, but do they listen?” She waved at the door disgustedly, then moved toward Joanna. “I'll take your coat, miss. We're ready for you in the fitting room.”

“And hello to you, Mrs. Chong,” Joanna teased, slipping out of her leather jacket and handing it to the small woman, who scurried out of the reception area.

“That was Mrs. Chong, my sample maker and
right hand,” Beau explained to Nancy and Bess. “And this is Joanna Rockwell, who, as you can see, travels with an entourage of reporters.”

“I'm Nancy Drew, and this is Bess Marvin,” Nancy said, shaking Joanna's hand.

“I've been reading all about you,” Bess told Joanna.

“Gee,” Joanna said, wincing, “I hope you've read nothing but the good stuff. Some writers really roast me.”

“Nancy's a detective who's—” Beau hesitated to glance at Nancy. “She's here to evaluate my security system,” Beau said. “And Bess is modeling for me now.”

“You handled that woman and her camera crew with finesse,” Nancy told Joanna. “I'm sure it's not easy.”

“I'm used to the prying eye of the camera,” Joanna said, shrugging. “Though I'm determined not to let the media see my wedding gown until I walk down the aisle on Saturday. I think there are some traditions a girl should uphold.”

Nancy liked Joanna's attitude.

“Your gown is in the vault,” Beau told Joanna. “Right this way.”

He led her through a large, sunny workroom just off the reception area, where a handful of people were measuring and cutting fabric on huge tables. Nancy noticed Mrs. Chong tucking and pinning a pink gown on a dress form, while beside her a young man sketched on a tablet.

Walking briskly, Beau took them through a doorway to the left and down a narrow hall.

“Do you really keep the gown locked in a safe?” Bess asked.

“The vault is a secure room where we store the new samples,” Beau explained as he paused in front of a steel door at the end of the hall. He unlocked the door with a magnetic card key and flicked on the light.

Curious about the setup of the vault, Nancy entered right behind him. Three walls of the room were lined with racks holding gowns, which were covered with clear plastic. In the center of the room sat an ornate gold rack.

“Wait a minute,” Beau said, pausing in front of the empty gold rack. “It should be right here. Where is it?” He crossed to one wall of the room, frantically pushing gowns aside on the rack.

“Maybe Mrs. Chong took it to the fitting room already,” Nancy suggested.

“She'd never leave it there unattended.” Beau ran to the doorway and shouted, “Mrs. Chong!”

“You mean, the gown is missing?” Bess asked.

Noticing the stricken look on her friend's face, Nancy said, “Let's not jump to conclusions. I'm sure it's here somewhere.” Nancy could hear Beau out in the hall, barking questions and orders at his staff. Their voices rose as the word spread.

Mrs. Chong appeared in the doorway, her jaw dropping open when she spotted the empty rack.
She lapsed into Chinese for a moment, then threw up her hands.

“Where is it?” Beau asked her.

“I don't know! I don't know where it could be,” Mrs. Chong cried. “Someone must have stolen Joanna's gown!”