Model Crime 1

by Carolyn Keene

Sydney and I laughed, while Bess looked horrified. Vic just grinned and saluted. “I hear you, cousin,” he said. “And you don’t have to worry. I’d gnaw my own arm off before I’d ever hurt my beautiful lady.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” Bess cooed.

  George shot her a look. “Are you kidding?” she said with a smirk. “I’ve seen every episode of Daredevils. Chewing his arm off is nothing compared to what this guy has done!”

  That made all of us laugh. “Touché,” Vic said, his grin wider than ever. “I guess that means you’ll just have to trust me when I say I’d do anything to make Sydney happy.”

  “Vic!” someone shouted from nearby. “Hans wants you for some close-ups.”

  “Coming!” Vic called back. Throwing his arm around Sydney, he leaned over and planted a kiss on top of her head. “Be back soon, love,” he said, then disappeared into the crowd.

  Sydney gazed after him with a sigh. “Isn’t he great?” she said. “Having him here makes this whole crazy wedding-planning thing a little less…”

  “Crazy?” Bess supplied helpfully.

  Sydney shrugged. “I was going to say aggravating,” she said. “But crazy works too!”

  Soon one of the TV people dragged Sydney off too, leaving the three of us to fend for ourselves. “Now what?” George said.

  “I was thinking I’d call Tonya,” I said, referring to the switchboard operator at the local police HQ. “I want to find out what kind of tip they got about that plane. It must’ve sounded pretty serious if it sent Chief McGinnis running out here in person.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that,” George said, swaying to the song the DJ had just put on, a fast-paced hip-hop number. “Even Chief McGinnis isn’t clueless enough not to know about this whole TV-production thing.”

  “Of course not,” Bess put in. “Syd mentioned that they had to get all kinds of permits to shoot here in town.”

  George ignored her. “Anyway, my guess is he was hoping to get his ugly mug on TV too. For all we know, he made up the whole story about that tip!”

  I doubted that. Chief McGinnis might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was pretty honest. And like I said before, he takes his job very seriously. He wasn’t going to change that for a few minutes of TV fame.

  Sticking my hand in my purse, I realized my cell phone wasn’t in there. Drat. I belatedly remembered that I’d never put it back after charging it the previous night.

  Before I could ask my friends if I could borrow one of theirs, I noticed Sydney’s two model friends, Akinyi and Candy Kaine, hurrying toward us. Candy was in the lead, a big smile on her pretty face.

  “Hi! Are you guys the other bridesmaids?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the pounding music.

  “That’s us,” Bess replied. “Three of them, anyway. There’s one more floating around here somewhere. I’m Bess, and this is George and Nancy.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Candy, and this is Akinyi.”

  “Hello,” Akinyi said, though she seemed a little distracted. Close up, she was more impressive than ever. I tried to estimate just how tall she was—six two? Six three?

  Candy elbowed her in the ribs. “Chill out, Kinnie,” she said cheerfully. Then she rolled her eyes at us. “She’s been worried about the lighting since we got here.”

  Akinyi frowned at her. “Do not mock me, girl. The lighting in here is atrocious!” she said in a voice lightly tinted with some kind of exotic accent. Now that I thought about it, I vaguely remembered Bess or maybe Sydney mentioning that Akinyi had been born somewhere in Africa before coming to the U.S. as a child. “I’ll be lucky if I show up on camera at all.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Candy told us jokingly. “She’s just cranky because she had to fly straight through from her shoot in Bermuda.”’

  “Yeah,” George said. “I can see how traumatic it must be to be forced to go to Bermuda.”

  Akinyi shot her a strange look, not seeming to get the joke. “My skin tone doesn’t work well in low light,” she said. “I’ll probably look terrible in this dark place!”

  “You’ll look fine,” Candy reassured her. “I’m the one who should be worried. I’m so pale, I’ll probably look like a ghost who’s haunting the party!”

  We all chuckled, and even Akinyi cracked a smile. It made her look slightly less exotic but a whole lot prettier. “My friend is right,” she said, sounding a bit more relaxed. “Never mind me. I’m sure Syd has already told you I’m the most neurotic person she knows.”

  “Not at all,” Bess said. “She has only great things to say about you. Like how you helped her learn her way around New York, and how much she enjoys being your roommate…”

  We all made polite small talk for a few minutes after that, mostly about Sydney and the wedding. Then I noticed Hans Eberhart winding his way toward us through the crowd.

  “Hello, everyone,” he said when he reached our little group. Bowing toward the two models, he added, “Ladies, it is wonderful to have you involved in this production. Please, enjoy the party, and do feel free to circulate.” He waved his hand around the room. More people had arrived, though I didn’t recognize most of them. I wondered if some of them were TV people dressed up to look like guests.

  George was grinning like a fool. “Hi, Mr. Eberhart!” she said, her voice oddly high-pitched and breathy. “It’s so awesome to meet you! I’m probably your biggest fan. I’ve seen your first film, Fall from Grace, like, a million times—I even had the opening scene as my computer wallpaper for a while. And of course I watch Daredevils every week, and…”

  Bess and I traded an amused look as she rattled on. George generally likes to play the world-weary cynic. It was rare—and sort of entertaining—to see her go all fangirly.

  She was still chattering eagerly at the director when I saw someone else approaching the group. I recognized him as one of those anonymous extra people who’d emerged from the plane behind the celebrities.

  “Ah, there you are, darling,” Akinyi greeted the newcomer fondly, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. She had to lean way down. The guy was at least six inches shorter than she was, and maybe four or five years older. He was thin and stoop-shouldered, with receding mouse-brown hair, round rimless glasses, and skin so pasty it looked as if it had never seen sunlight. Akinyi took his arm and glanced around the group. “Please let me introduce my boyfriend, Josh Kochman, everybody,” she said proudly. “He’s a very talented screenwriter.”

  Whatever I might have expected a fashion model’s boyfriend to look like, Josh wasn’t it. Akinyi introduced all of us, but Josh did little more than nod hello before turning all his attention toward Eberhart.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” he said. “As Akinyi said, I’m a screenwriter, and I was really hoping to talk to you about my latest project. It’s a sort of horror-humor-suspense-love story with a twist, totally retro in an art-punk kind of way. The story begins with a beautiful woman who turns to a wisecracking scientist for help after nearly being killed by a swarm of genetically altered beetles….”

  “Come on,” Bess murmured in my ear. “I think it’s time to take his advice and circulate. Otherwise I have a feeling we’ll be hearing the whole screenplay.”

  I nodded. Dragging along the rather reluctant George, we excused ourselves and wandered off, leaving the models and Josh with the director.

  “Now what?” George said.

  “Now I call Tonya and see what she knows,” I said. “Can I borrow a phone?”

  Bess pulled hers out of her handbag. “Do you really think there’s a mystery here, Nancy?” she asked. “I mean, the police tip is a little weird, and so is that RSVP. But these Daredevils guys do seem pretty wild—what if they really are the ones behind this?”

  “Then I’m going to bust them so Syd can relax a little,” I said, already dialing.

  Unfortunately, the person who answered told me that Tonya had the day off. I left a message for her to call me the n
ext day, then returned Bess’s phone.

  “So much for that,” I told my friends. “Come on, let’s go find Sydney. I want to ask her if she and Vic have any enemies that they know of.”

  Finding Sydney in the airport-hangar-turned-fake-nightclub proved to be easier said than done. We swam through the crowds of people, but there was no sign of her distinctive red hair.

  “There’s that Donald PA guy,” George said, pointing. “Maybe you should ask him where Sydney is. He seems to be in charge of keeping track of everything and everyone around here.”

  “Maybe later. He looks a little busy right now.” I grimaced, noting that Madge, the foul-tempered assistant director, appeared to be haranguing the PA again. He nodded a few times without speaking, then hurried off and disappeared while Madge stalked off in the direction of one of the camera operators.

  My friends and I wandered toward the temporary dance floor, where Pandora Peace was doing some kind of elaborate interpretive dance in her bare feet, not seeming to notice or mind that she was out there all alone. She wasn’t lonely for long, though—as we watched, Bo Champion and Dragon ran out and starting dancing with her. Bo and Pandora were soon laughing and goofing off, each of them throwing in more and more outrageous dance moves to try to one-up each other. Meanwhile Dragon stayed a little apart, dancing athletically while his eyes shot around toward the nearest cameras.

  At that moment I finally spotted Sydney. She was standing off to one side with Deb, now joined by Candy, watching the action on the dance floor.

  “There’s Syd,” I told my friends. “Let’s go talk to her.”

  We made our way toward the trio. Before we got there, I heard a commotion from the dance floor. Glancing that way, I saw Vic being pushed out onto the floor by Madge, the ill-tempered assistant director. He was laughing and protesting loudly that he didn’t feel like dancing. But Bo waved to him.

  “Get out here, bro!” he called. “Show the people how it’s done!”

  “Oh, all right!” Vic exclaimed as Madge backed off. “If you insist…”

  With that, he broke into a series of gravity-defying dance moves, jumping and spinning around to the beat. Bo and Dragon joined in, while Pandora clapped along nearby. The activity was attracting lots of attention all through the party, and people crowded closer for a better look, blocking Sydney from my view.

  The song ended and everyone applauded. “And now for something a little slower,” the DJ crooned into his mic as a slow ballad poured out of the speakers. “Miss Pandora Peace requests this dance from Mr. Valdez—for old times’ sake.”

  “What? I did not!” Pandora exclaimed, laughing.

  Meanwhile Vic was glancing off the floor, searching the crowd. “Where’s my girl?” he said, squinting against the bright colored lights pulsing toward him from the edge of the dance floor. “This dance should be for her.”

  Madge reappeared, this time pushing Vic toward Pandora. “Go on, you two,” she urged. “Just one friendly little dance. For the fans.”

  I shook my head, guessing what was going on. The TV people wanted to give their viewers what they wanted, which was a reunion of the Vic-Pandora “showmance.” And they didn’t seem to care how Vic—or Sydney—might feel about that.

  “So much for reality,” I muttered.

  “Huh?” Bess said, watching as Vic finally held out one hand gallantly toward Pandora, laughing sheepishly. Pandora gave a cute little curtsy and took his hand, and the two of them began playfully slow-dancing.

  “Come on.” I turned away. “Sydney could probably use some distraction right about now. Let’s see if we can talk to her.”

  It took only a moment to reach Sydney, who was still standing with Candy and Deb. It took even less time than that to see that she wasn’t happy about what was going on out on the dance floor.

  “Never mind,” Deb was saying cheerily. “You’re the one he’s marrying, right?”

  That didn’t seem to give Sydney much comfort. “I knew this filming was a mistake,” she said. “When the cameras are on, Vic just forgets everything else.” She sniffed. “Including me, I guess.”

  I winced. Sydney could be a little high-strung at the best of times, but this was beyond that. She looked really upset.

  I was about to suggest we step outside or something, just so she could get away from the sight of her fiancé slow-dancing with Pandora. But Candy beat me to it, putting a protective arm around Sydney’s slim shoulders.

  “I could use some fresh air,” she said. “Come on, let’s go outside for a bit, okay?”

  Sydney sniffed again, merely shrugging in response. But she went along as Candy steered her firmly toward the nearest exit. Deb stared after them, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as if uncertain whether to follow.

  It was tempting to follow them myself. But I figured Sydney wasn’t in the mood for my interrogation just then, so instead I turned to see what was happening out on the dance floor.

  I was just in time to see a couple of Mrs. Fayne’s waiters wheeling out a cart with a huge crystal bowl on it. “What’s going on?” Bess asked.

  George squinted toward the bowl, which was filled with vibrant purple liquid. “Oh, I remember Mom talking about this,” she said. “The producers requested it—it’s a punch bowl filled with PowerUp.”

  “You mean the sports drink?” I asked.

  George nodded. “It’s one of the main sponsors of the show. Mom had to buy up every case of the stuff in River Heights to make sure she had enough to fill up that stupid punch bowl. She sent a couple of people over early with it—figured they’d have to spend, like, an hour opening and pouring to make sure it was ready for the big moment.”

  The song ended and the DJ came on again, reciting what sounded like a mini-commercial for PowerUp before inviting everyone out onto the floor for a drink of the stuff. “We’ll start with the happy groom and his buddies from the world’s most powered-up show, Daredevils!” he finished.

  Vic, Bo, Pandora, and Dragon all whooped and pumped their fists. Then Vic hurried over to grab the first cup of PowerUp from the catering employee who was scooping it out.

  “Hang on, Vic,” the DJ said. “I know it looks delicious, but don’t drink it yet, buddy. We want to let your wedding party give a toast to your happy day. So let’s get everyone powered up first.”

  Madge joined the employee, busily passing out cups to Pandora, Bo, and Dragon. Akinyi had just wandered over, but when Madge tried to shove a cup into her hand, she waved her off.

  “None for me, thanks,” she said. “Too many calories.”

  “Anyone else?” Madge called out, holding up the cup. “We want the whole wedding party up here for the toast!”

  “Let’s not and say we did,” George muttered to Bess and me. “I’ve had grape PowerUp before. I tried it when they first started advertising it on Daredevils, actually. Trust me, the stuff is vile. Even my brothers wouldn’t touch it after the first sip, and they’ll eat or drink just about anything.”

  Meanwhile Deb pushed her way to the front of the crowd, giggling. “I’m in the wedding party,” she said. “But no PowerUp for me. I’m allergic to caffeine.”

  Madge just shrugged and set the cup back on the table. “Where’s Hans?” she said, glancing around.

  She spotted the director at the same time I did. He was standing a short distance away with Josh. It looked as if the would-be screenwriter was still bending his ear about his ideas.

  Madge shrugged and clapped her hands. “Let’s proceed, people!” she called out. “Vic—a toast, if you please?” Then she backed off out of camera range.

  Vic cleared his throat and stepped to the center of the floor, holding his cup aloft. “First of all, where’s my blushing bride?” he called out. “She should be up here with me!”

  “She went outside for a while,” George called.

  Vic looked disappointed, lowering his cup. “Should we wait for her?” he called to the assistant director.

  �
�Just go!” Madge called back. “We can stick her in during postproduction.”

  Yeah. So much for reality, I thought again.

  Vic shrugged and lifted the cup back up. “Okay, whatever,” he said with a laugh. “Thanks for coming, everyone. It’s cool to be here with my best girl and my best friends. Bottoms up!”

  He lifted the cup to his lips while everyone else was echoing the “bottoms up.” But he’d barely tipped it for the first sip when his eyes widened, and he tossed the cup away, spitting all over the floor.

  “Stop! Don’t drink it!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “There’s, like, gasoline or something in it!”

  IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH

  I couldn’t believe the film crew was still filming at the hospital. Most of us were sort of milling around the reception area, much to the confusion of the nurses and receptionists on duty. Vic had been whisked off to a room right away, accompanied by Sydney and her parents. But since nobody else had even come close to drinking the jet fuel–laced PowerUp, the staff didn’t seem to know what to do with us.

  “It’s a good thing Vic’s used to eating and drinking all kinds of weird stuff on the show,” George commented. She was flopped on one of the couches in the waiting area, flipping through a dusty old magazine she’d grabbed from the end table. “It might have taken a normal person longer to recognize the smell and taste of jet fuel.”

  “Ya think?” Bess said sarcastically, leaning against the back of the couch. “I mean, I certainly don’t go around drinking jet fuel every day of the week myself.”

  “It’s also lucky that nobody thought Vic was kidding around and drank the stuff anyway,” I said with a shudder. “Anyway, one thing’s for sure. There’s definitely a mystery here.”

  The police had already come and gone. One of the officers who’d responded was a friend of mine, and he’d confirmed Vic’s suspicions. The sports drink appeared to have been laced with a small amount of jet fuel.

  “True,” George agreed. “As nuts as the Daredevils guys might be, I doubt they’d actually try to poison one another. Besides, they pretty much stick to just messing around within their own little group as far as I know. I can’t see them trying to involve innocent bystanders.”