A Model Crime, Page 2

  “I know,” Kelly agreed. “It’s scary.”

  “Help! I’m—sputter, sputter—not a good swimmer!” Nancy heard someone imitating Maggie’s desperate cry. She turned in the direction of the voice.

  While the crew repositioned the lights Heather Richards had walked up to the photographer and was now doing a bad imitation of Maggie. “Imagine the picture that reporter got of her. She looked like a drowned rat. It should be charming,” she purred.

  The photographer was obviously uncomfortable, but Heather continued anyway. “Oh, and that hair! Don’t you just love the dead mermaid look?”

  Nancy walked over to where the other girls were standing.

  “What a witch!” Bess seethed. “How can she be yukking it up at a time like this?”

  “Oh, Heather thinks we’re all a riot,” Alison Williams remarked quietly. “When I told her I was from Tennessee, she asked me if it was really in the United States.”

  “And according to her, only blue-eyed people should use blue eyeliner,” Trudy Woo added saucily. “She said it looks ‘weird’ on someone like me.”

  “Really? She told me my jacket would look great in a stable,” Carey Harper joined in.

  “She said my haircut was ‘totally retro.’ What was that supposed to mean?” Diana Amsterdam wondered aloud, fingering her mop of black curls.

  “I don’t think it was anything nice.” Trudy narrowed her eyes and glared at Heather, who was still flirting with the photographer.

  “Well, she may not have been nice to any of us, but I notice she’s been as sweet as pie to the people from Smash and Elan,” Alison said.

  Nancy stepped away from the contestants and wandered closer to Heather.

  “Can you imagine?” Heather was telling the photographer. “I was supposed to be standing in Maggie’s spot. That could have been me!”

  Yes, thought Nancy, nodding her head slowly. It could have been. . . .

  She looked more closely at the iron railing next to her. It had a simple design composed of vertical bars that gleamed in the afternoon sun. If Nancy guessed right, the railing wasn’t more than a few years old.

  “People! Can we finally get started?” Bettina wailed. “Remember, Elan is paying for this shoot!”

  “Let’s do it.” The photographer stepped in front of the girls. “Let’s get a few with your arms out wide. Careful of the people next to you. And now, big smiles!” the photographer told them.

  Nancy looked over at the contestants and smiled. Bess was finally getting her first taste of modeling.

  Taking a deep breath, Nancy strolled casually back to where they’d first been shooting. She moved right up to the broken railing.

  With a gasp, she reached out to touch it. Thom Fortner had been wrong. The railing wasn’t rusty at all. In fact, it was almost perfectly smooth—except for the jagged markings of a saw.

  It seemed that someone had cut through that railing on purpose!

  Chapter

  Three

  STARTLED, NANCY STARED at the broken railing and then glanced down at the pier. Tiny metal shavings were gleaming in the fading sun. There was no doubt about it—the railing had been sawed.

  As she fingered the edge of the broken railing once more, the word sabotage came to mind. But why? Why would anyone want to sabotage a modeling contest? Come on, Nancy, she told herself. It’s probably just a simple case of vandalism.

  Walking back toward the contestants, Nancy looked for Thom Fortner. As public relations director of the Face of the Year contest, Thom ought to know what was going on, Nancy thought.

  He was sitting on a bench, a black leather briefcase open on his lap. When Nancy approached he shut the case and smiled at her.

  “Hi,” he said, his brown eyes lively. “Can I help you with something?”

  “There’s something I think you should see,” Nancy said.

  “Is it terribly important?” Thom asked, a small line creasing his forehead. “We’re already behind schedule, and—”

  “It’s about the broken railing,” Nancy told him. “I think you should see it.”

  Thom stood up, sighing heavily. Despite his obvious reluctance, he followed Nancy.

  “You thought the fence must have been rusty, but it isn’t. And look at these tiny jagged saw marks, and that pile of metal shavings. This railing was sawed through!”

  Thom seemed taken aback. He examined the shavings for a moment, then got up and shrugged. “Well, I can’t pretend to understand why vandals do what they do. Thanks for pointing it out, Nancy.” Flashing her a smile, he began walking away.

  “Wait!” Nancy called, trotting up beside him. “That was a serious accident! Maggie could have been badly hurt.”

  “Yes,” Thom replied, walking back to his bench. “She was lucky. We all were.”

  “And what if it wasn’t the work of vandals?” Nancy pressed.

  Thom stopped in his tracks and gave Nancy a startled look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Suppose someone was out to get Maggie, or one of the other girls. Shouldn’t you call the police?”

  Thom seemed amused. “Young lady, I must say, you have quite an imagination—an overactive imagination.”

  “So you’re not going to tell anyone?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course I am. I’ll be sure to contact the city to let them know the railing needs to be repaired,” Thom said, sitting down. “And I’m sure when they see it they’ll think exactly what I think—that vandals cut the railing.”

  Thom didn’t want to talk about it anymore, which he made clear with a pleasant but dismissive smile. “Now I have to get back to some really important work, Nancy,” he said apologetically. “Would you like a quick peek at the pairings for tomorrow night’s banquet? We’re bringing in some of Elan’s top male models to escort the girls.”

  “I’d love to see the list,” Nancy said, willing to play it light. Maybe Thom Fortner was right. Maybe the cut railing was the work of vandals. Chicago was a big city, with big-city problems.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Thom winked at her.

  “Usually,” she said, disarmed.

  Thom fished through his papers and pulled one out. “Here it is. Top secret stuff,” he said, winking again. “I think Maggie Adams will be happy when she sees this.”

  Maggie Adams had been paired with Roger Harlan. Bess had drawn a fellow named Ernest Mullins. Though Nancy had never heard of him, Bess probably had. She studied fashion magazines and knew every model in the business.

  They were interrupted then by the sound of one person clapping. Nancy saw the photographer giving the contestants a hand. “That’s it, girls. We’re done,” he said as the crew started dismantling the lights. “You were great.”

  Bettina Vasquez nodded her approval. “Very nice, girls. If you’ll give me your attention,” she said loudly, “we’re finished for now, so you can get back to the hotel. Tonight at dinner you’ll be meeting”—Bettina paused dramatically—“Monique Durand.”

  A ripple of excited murmurs broke the silence. Even Nancy knew that Monique Durand was the head of Elan Modeling Agency. A nod from her could send a girl to the heights of a dazzling modeling career.

  “I also want to mention the banquet tomorrow night. You’ll be wearing designer dresses, so you’ve got to find a few minutes tomorrow morning for a fitting. Please don’t tell anyone what your dress is like, though. The designs are top secret until the banquet. Each of you will be paired with a top Elan male model for the evening. His name will be given to you tonight.”

  Another excited murmur passed through the group. Nancy noticed Bess’s eyes light up.

  “But I’m sorry to say,” Bettina went on in an amused but dry voice, “only one of you will be lucky enough to get Roger Harlan for an escort. And if you don’t get Roger, don’t blame me. Thom Fortner is making up the pairs. Those are the breaks, girls. Modeling can be a tough business.”

  Soft laughter went through the group. But Nancy noticed H
eather Richards wasn’t laughing. She was staring at Thom Fortner. Nancy wondered what Heather’s reaction would be when she found out Maggie Adams was to be Roger’s date.

  While they waited for the bus to take them back to the hotel, Nancy spoke with the lighting crew.

  “Get the four hundred twenties in the truck first, Pat,” a middle-aged man was saying to a young man in a plaid shirt. “And have the gaffers roll up the cable.”

  When the middle-aged man saw Nancy, he greeted her pleasantly. “How come you’re not in the contest?” he asked with a smile. “You’re as pretty as any of the other girls.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Nancy told him, feeling herself blush a little. “I don’t want to interrupt you,” she continued, “but I noticed that the place where the railing broke was sawed through.”

  Both men’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding,” the young man called Pat murmured. “Why would anyone pull a nasty stunt like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy answered. “But I’d like to find out.” She led them over to the railing and showed them the saw marks. “Do you know what kind of saw could go through that?” she asked.

  “I suppose you could get through it with a hacksaw,” the older man said slowly. “I have one in the truck. Want to see it?”

  “Sure,” Nancy told him. The middle-aged man led Nancy back to the truck.

  “Come to think of it,” he offered, “we had the truck parked right in front of that spot when we did our setup this morning. The truck could have hidden anybody cutting the railing.”

  “Who was here then?” Nancy asked, staring up into his blue-green eyes.

  The lighting man shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “Honey, this is a public pier. Anybody could’ve been here.”

  He leapt onto the back of the truck and held out a hand for Nancy. She was struck by how immense the truck was.

  “Now, a hacksaw is a pretty small tool,” the lighting man explained, kneeling down beside a large red toolbox. “Let’s see . . .” He opened the box and began rummaging around in it.

  Nancy knelt beside him, leaning over to peer inside.

  “Here it is,” the man said, holding up a small saw with a pistol-grip handle.

  But Nancy wasn’t looking at the saw. Instead her eyes were riveted on the bottom of the toolbox. Reaching in, she picked up a tie tack. Gold initials were set in an onyx base.

  The initials were RH.

  “Is this yours?” she asked the man.

  He studied the tie tack carefully. “Nope. I don’t even wear ties. Besides, my initials are CM. None of my guys have those initials—”

  But Nancy knew someone who did—Roger Harlan!

  Chapter

  Four

  ROGER HARLAN. Could he have sawed through the railing? Why would he do it? Nancy wondered.

  Roger claimed he’d been filming a commercial all day. But had he? They had only his word for it.

  Before Nancy continued to speculate about Roger Harlan she realized she had to make sure the tie tack was really his.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take this with me,” she said to the lighting man. “I think I know whose it is, and I can return it.” What I’d really like to know is how it got here, she added silently.

  • • •

  “I’m so hungry I could just die.” Bess looked as if she meant every word. Every time one of the white-jacketed waiters passed through the small banquet room reserved for Face of the Year participants, she practically fainted.

  “Me, too,” Nancy agreed. It had been a long day, and they realized they’d forgotten to eat lunch. Breakfast had been hours before. No wonder they were famished. “But help is on the way. Here comes a waiter with menus for us.”

  As the waiter handed the two girls large engraved menus, Nancy considered telling Bess what she’d discovered that day. But the last thing she wanted to do was ruin Bess’s good time.

  “Look, Nan,” Bess said excitedly. “They have shrimp scampi!”

  “One of your favorites,” said Nancy. “Well, that makes things easy. I’ll have the filet of sole.” Closing her menu, Nancy sat back and smiled at her friend.

  Bess was frowning. “I can’t get scampi, Nancy,” she said. “It’s cooked in butter. Do you know how many calories are in one tiny little pat of butter? Billions!”

  The waiter had walked up to the table, his pencil poised to take their order. “Are you ready?”

  Nancy ordered her sole. Then Bess asked for a green garden salad and whole-wheat toast, no butter.

  Nancy rolled her eyes to the gilt-painted ceiling. “Bess, just because you don’t want to gain weight doesn’t mean you have to starve yourself! We missed lunch, remember?”

  “Nancy Drew, you were born thin,” Bess said, sounding a little irritated. “Don’t tell me how to order, okay?”

  “Sorry,” Nancy apologized. It wasn’t like Bess to snap at her. Nancy understood—Bess was under a lot of pressure.

  Glancing around the dining room, Nancy saw that most of the other models had ordered very light meals, too. Alison Williams, sitting with a woman who had to be her mother, was munching on hearts of celery, and Carey Harper had barely touched her London broil before she asked the waiter to take it away.

  “Look! There’s Roger Harlan,” Bess whispered excitedly, pointing to the door.

  Nancy turned to watch Roger step into the room. Thom Fortner was with him, and the two men seemed to be chatting amicably.

  “Isn’t he adorable?” Bess murmured.

  Nancy watched as Roger and Thom separated. Roger walked over to where Bettina was sitting, and Thom seemed to be heading for Kelly Conroy’s table.

  Before he could get there, Heather Richards took Thom by the arm and led him off to the side of the room.

  That’s strange, Nancy thought as she watched Heather buttonhole Thom. Whatever she was telling him made him appear glum. Heather, on the other hand, seemed animated and happy about the conversation.

  “It’s worth it. It’s all worth it. No pain, no gain,” Bess chanted as she looked down at the meager dinner the waiter had set before her. She picked up her fork and stabbed her salad, but all the time her eyes were hungrily attacking Nancy’s appetizer.

  “Have a stuffed mushroom, Bess,” Nancy offered.

  “Oh, all right, you convinced me.” Instantly Bess’s fork was on Nancy’s plate. “Super,” she pronounced, her mouth full of the succulent mushroom. “Can I have another?”

  “Of course,” Nancy said, pushing the plate closer to Bess.

  Thom and Heather were walking to their tables now. Heather returned to hers while Thom went to the table occupied by Kelly Conroy and a regal-looking chestnut-haired woman in a white woolen suit. Although Fortner said hello and smiled at everyone as he passed by, Nancy noticed that his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  “That older woman in white, sitting with Thom and Kelly,” Bess said excitedly, “is Monique Durand. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

  Nancy moved her head to get a better look at the world-famous former model Monique Durand. When Nancy and Bess were young children, her perfect face had been plastered everywhere. Now she was the creator and owner of Elan Modeling Agency. Though she had to be thirty-five, Monique was as lovely as ever.

  “Achoo!” A sudden burst from the table directly behind theirs made Nancy’s head snap.

  “Oh, sorry.” Maggie Adams apologized to the room in general for her ear-splitting sneeze. Aside from her single sneeze, Maggie seemed fully recovered from her spill into the lake. She was radiant in a pale blue angora sweater.

  Trudy Woo, who was sitting with Maggie, had burst out laughing at Maggie’s sneeze. “I never heard anything like that!” Trudy said, still giggling.

  “Isn’t it awful?” Maggie included Nancy and Bess as well as Trudy in her conversation. “I’ve always had this incredibly loud sneeze. No matter how hard I try to make it quieter, it always comes out like that!”

  The clinking of a spoon against a glass brou
ght everyone’s attention to the table where Monique Durand had risen to her feet.

  “Hello, everyone,” Monique said in an accent that was faintly French and thoroughly charming. “I am Monique Durand. I want to thank you all for participating in our Face of the Year contest. We had more entrants this year than ever before, so you are very special young ladies to have made it this far.”

  Nancy glanced across the table at Bess, who was beaming, drinking in every one of Monique Durand’s words.

  “When I was a young model new to this country,” Monique was saying, “the biggest problem I had was meeting photographers and getting my first portfolio. I had to knock on many doors until someone gave me a chance. But I’m happy to announce that for you, assembling a portfolio will be much easier. Tonight each of you will be assigned a photographer who will create a portfolio for you, courtesy of Elan.”

  Monique let the girls react to this wonderful news with a small burst of applause before she began speaking again. “Tomorrow your first ‘professional assignment,’ so to speak, will be a sportswear spread. Later in the week you’ll be posing in formal wear, casual wear, and sundresses. The clothing has all been supplied by Smash! Unlike a real modeling assignment, you’re free to keep any clothes you wear.”

  “Wow! I didn’t know we’d get to keep anything!” Bess said excitedly.

  Monique continued, “We’ve been having unseasonably cool weather, and I’m sorry that we’ve scheduled the sessions to be shot outdoors. But modeling is hard work, girls. You might as well learn that now. To be a successful model you have to be willing to wear a sundress in cold weather and a heavy coat in the summer. And through it all you must smile, smile, smile. Our profession requires a great deal of discipline. In fact, lack of discipline is the reason most girls fail to achieve the success they deserve.”

  Was Nancy imagining it, or had Monique Durand aimed her remarks about discipline straight at Bettina Vasquez? Bettina was glaring at Monique. Except for Nancy, nobody seemed to notice. Everyone else was totally captivated by Monique.