Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1 - The Missing Model
Chapter 2 - Design Scoop!
Chapter 3 - Stranger“s Story
Chapter 4 - Studio Clue
Chapter 5 - The Lion’s Message
Chapter 6 - Medallion Mystery
Chapter 7 - The Fake Bidder
Chapter 8 - A Precious Secret
Chapter 9 - Fashion Accusation
Chapter 10 - A New Discovery
Chapter 11 - Puzzling Information
Chapter 12 - The Culprit
Chapter 13 - Baffling Trail
Chapter 14 - A Developing Pattern
Chapter 15 - Stylist Trouble
Chapter 16 - Undercover Disguise
Chapter 17 - A Four-Handed Ruse
Chapter 18 - Escort Accomplices
Chapter 19 - Flaming Rescue
Chapter 20 - The Last Twist
WHEN star model Jacqueline Henri disappears, Aunt Eloise insists that Nancy replace the young woman in a benefit fashion show. Nancy reluctantly accepts the invitation, only to discover that several of the clothes she is supposed to wear have been stolen! To make matters worse, someone has also scooped the designer’s collection—and sold the originals to a store chain! There’s more bad news. Miss Henri’s brother, an investigative reporter, may have been kidnapped!
Once on the trail of her elusive enemies, Nancy discovers clue after clue pointing to a diabolical scheme that she must stop at all cost!
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any
other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or
encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s
rights is appreciated.
Copyright © 1981 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. All rights reserved. Published in 2005
by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street,
New York, New York 10014. NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES® is a registered
trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of
Penguin Group (USA) Inc. S.A.
eISBN : 978-1-101-07764-1
http://us.penguingroup.com
1
The Missing Model
“Nancy!” Eloise Drew exclaimed happily as she opened the door of her apartment. “Am I glad you’re here!”
“That makes two of us, Aunt Eloise,” the eighteen-year-old said. “I mean, four of us!”
The young detective gestured toward her friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, who were dragging large suitcases down the carpeted hallway.
“You didn’t know we planned to stay in New York forever,” Nancy said teasingly as the girls set the luggage down in the apartment.
Aunt Eloise laughed. “I hope you’re as well prepared for the assignment I have for you as you seem to be with all that luggage you brought along. It’s a model mystery.”
There was a glint of mischief in her doe-brown eyes as she noticed her niece’s bewilderment. Nancy was the daughter of Carson Drew, Aunt Eloise’s brother, a well-known attorney in River Heights. Nancy had frequently assisted him on cases and had gained a substantial reputation for herself as an amateur detective.
Bess and George looked surprised as well. “I thought we were here to see a benefit fashion show and have a fun vacation,” Bess said, poking a strand of blond hair behind her ear.
“Is that where the model mystery is?” George asked. Unlike her plump cousin, Bess, she was tall and slim with dark hair cropped fairly short.
“Yes and no,” Aunt Eloise replied. “Remember, I told you I’m involved in running a benefit fashion show? Well, one of our models has disappeared. She wasn’t at the rehearsal today, and she isn’t at home. Nobody seems to know where she went. Jacqueline Henri is her name. Perhaps you’ve heard of her.”
“Oh, she’s gorgeous,” Bess swooned. “Bony thin with fabulous black hair and violet eyes. She’s been on the covers of lots of magazines. I’d love to meet her!”
“I was planning to introduce you tonight—” “What if we can’t find her before the show starts?” Nancy said, assuming that the search was the assignment her aunt had mentioned.
“You’ll be stuck without a model,” George said to Nancy’s aunt.
“No, I won‘t,” Eloise Drew said. “If you promise not to disappear on me, too, Nancy, I’d like you to stand in for Jacqueline.”
“Me? Oh, I couldn‘t!” the girl protested.
“Sure you could,” Bess spoke up. “You’ve done modeling before.”
“But only at the Woman’s Club,” Nancy said. “Besides, how could I possibly wear clothes meant for Jacqueline Henri? She must be thinner than I am, and we don’t have the same coloring.”
“Not much thinner,” Aunt Eloise said, stepping back to look at the girl. “And your coloring is fine, too. You’ll see.”
“But what about Jacqueline?” Nancy asked.
Her aunt pursed her lips. “I don’t know what to think. Marjorie Tyson, my co-chairman, has been trying to track her down ever since this morning.”
“Maybe something happened to her,” Bess commented.
“Or maybe she’s just unreliable,” her cousin added.
“Well, I don’t want you girls to trouble yourselves about her until after the show,” Aunt Eloise said. “We expect to have more than five hundred people in the audience and we can’t disappoint them.”
Although the program was still several hours away, the visitors quickly freshened up and changed. Aunt Eloise made a number of telephone calls, and when she finally laid down the receiver, she sighed happily.
“It’s all arranged. We have to get over to the hotel as soon as possible,” the woman said, ducking her head into the girls’ room. “Mr. Reese—”
“Richard Reese, the famous designer?” Bess interrupted.
Aunt Eloise nodded. “He needs to see you for a fitting, Nancy.”
“I’m almost ready,” the young detective said, fumbling nervously with the zipper of a long, emerald-green taffeta skirt.
“Very pretty, dear,” her aunt replied, “but why not carry it with you? You can change for the party after the show.”
“Oh, you’re right,” Nancy said while Bess and George helped each other fasten tiny hooks on their gowns.
“Come on, slowpoke,” George teased Nancy as she slipped out of the skirt into another and kicked off her satin shoes in favor of leather heels.
She put everything into a garment bag with pockets for accessories, then joined the others in the living room. Bess giggled while George stepped toward Nancy, her eyes clearly fixed on the girl’s titian head.
“What’s so funny?” Nancy asked.
George removed a hairclip that had pinned back an unruly curl.
“The stylist will fix your hair,” Aunt Eloise assured her niece as they left.
The girls didn’t discuss the model again until their cab cut across Fifth Avenue toward Rockefeller Center. It came to a halt for a few moments while two limousines merged into the line of traffic, giving Nancy and the others a chance to study the crowd who watched the skaters in the rink below. They were gliding in tempo to a familiar melody.
As the cab started to move again, Nancy and Bess, who was nearest the window, noticed an attractive young woman among the pedestrians on Fifth Avenue. She wore a dappled fur coat and a hat to match that barely covered a thick mane of ebony hair.
“It’s Jacqueline Henri!” Bess cried, as the model darted to the corner of the block behind
them.
“Are you sure?” Nancy asked.
“Positive.”
Instantly, Aunt Eloise, who was squeezed tightly between the girls, reached for the cab door.
“Please stop,” she told the driver, but retracted the request when she observed Jacqueline stepping into a cab that was evidently headed downtown, away from their destination.
“We couldn’t catch her if we tried,” she concluded.
“Does Jacqueline live around here?” Nancy inquired.
“On the other side of Rockefeller Center, near Broadway, I think,” Aunt Eloise answered. “Perhaps she had trouble getting a taxi up there and decided to walk until she found one.”
“At least we know she’s all right,” Bess said.
“Aunt Eloise, you said people were trying to track her down all day,” Nancy commented. “Did anyone actually go to her apartment?”
“Probably not. Everybody’s been terribly busy at the hotel ballroom.”
“Does Miss Henri have an answering service ?” Nancy went on.
“Oh, yes. I’d venture to say every working model does.”
“But she didn’t leave a message?” George put in.
“No. There was no explanation for her absence whatsoever.”
“That’s strange,” Nancy said. “Seems to me that she didn’t become a top model by being irresponsible. And yet, she’s obviously in town. She could have called.”
They rode in silence until they reached the hotel. By now the last glimmer of sun had faded between the tall buildings, and there was only a residue of dusky glow when the girls got out of the cab and smiled at the doorman under the gold canopy.
Nancy took a deep breath as he opened the door, admitting the visitors to an elegant, wood-paneled lobby. Aunt Eloise led the way past velvet ottomans to a room adjacent to the dining area. It was filled with clothing racks.
“I can’t wait to see everything,” Bess sighed, watching a girl pull a soft coral-colored pants suit off one of the racks. “Which outfits will Nancy be wearing?”
George noticed a sheer turquoise dress on the same rack marked REESE. “That one, maybe?” she said.
“No,” Aunt Eloise replied. “Because of the switch in models, Mr. Reese has made a few changes in his selection. Follow me, everybody.”
“Suppose Jacqueline shows up in time?” Nancy asked.
“She’ll be out of luck,” Aunt Eloise said firmly. “We won’t rearrange everything again at the last minute.”
She stepped across the room and introduced the girls to Marjorie Tyson, a petite woman with short, gray hair that framed her thin, lively face.
“Am I glad you’re here!” she greeted Nancy, causing the girls to laugh.
“That’s what Aunt Eloise said, Miss Tyson,” Nancy explained. Then she told the woman about the model they had spotted at Rockefeller Center.
“Well, if she comes now, she’ll be too late,” Miss Tyson said, agreeing with Aunt Eloise’s decision. “And please call me Marjorie. Nancy, the dresses you’ll be modeling are over there. Bess and George, do you mind waiting while I take Nancy to a dressing alcove? There’s a bench for you in the corner.”
“Of course not,” Bess replied and Marjorie strode toward the rack of clothes. Then she gaped in shock.
“There are only a few outfits left! I wonder what happened to the rest.”
Suddenly, a man in a turtleneck sweater and jeans appeared from behind a screen carrying an empty box. He dumped it on the floor, his face a contortion of rage.
“They’re gone! Every last one gone!” he shouted angrily.
“But what about these?” Marjorie said, touching one of the pastel gowns on the rack.
“Never mind these,” he roared. “They’re the ones the thief left!” With that, he snapped them off the metal hanger and stormed past the two women.
“Mr. Reese!” Majorie pleaded. “Please tell us what’s going to happen. This is Nancy Drew, Jackie’s replacement. She’s all ready to—”
“Forget it!” the designer snapped. “I don’t care who she is. All I know is that my clothes are gone!
2
Design Scoop!
The force of his words made Nancy flinch. She knew it was futile to try to stop the man. He had already ignored Marjorie Tyson and was marching forward, blinded by the puffed sleeves of an organza dress he was clutching tightly.
“Out of my way!” he bellowed at no one in particular.
But it was too late! Bess and George, who had left their seats to talk with Aunt Eloise, were just crossing the room in front of him. He crashed into them, causing them to stumble in different directions. Mr. Reese himself tripped over the metal foot of the rack, and fell headlong into the clothes that hung on it, ripping them off hangers.
“Oh, Mr. Reese!” Marjorie squealed, running to help the man up.
Aunt Eloise and the girls joined her, but he refused their assistance. He sputtered as he tried to get to his feet, then slipped on the hem of a satin skirt and wound up on the floor again.
The young detectives tried to keep from laughing, but the designer heard Bess’s giggle and gritted his teeth. He flung the satin skirt aside, clearing his path at last. When he stood up to face Miss Tyson and Aunt Eloise, he glared at them.
“I should never have listened to Sheila,” he complained.
“Who’s Sheila?” George whispered.
“Maybe his wife?” Bess guessed, as the girls picked up the fallen clothes and hung them on the rack.
“Those don’t belong there,” Mr. Reese snarled, pointing to the four outfits he had held in his arms before he fell. “Can’t you read?”
The sign on the rack said STEINER, referring to another designer in the fashion show.
“Did you want to leave your things on the floor?” a voice from behind them asked.
It belonged to a woman who wore a smock and a pincushion on her wrist that contained plenty of needles.
“And you’re fired, Rosalind!” he growled back, sending the woman into a flood of tears.
“You can’t walk out on us now,” Aunt Eloise begged him.
“What do you mean I can’t? I can and I am.”
“Mr. Reese,” Nancy interrupted in the sweetest tone she could muster, “perhaps I can be of help. I’m a detective.”
He looked at the girl, his expression changing dramatically. He gave a war whoop and laughed loudly.
“Sure. And I’m the Emperor of China!”
Bess and George bit their lips to keep from saying something they might regret later.
“Nancy is a detective.” Aunt Eloise defended her niece.
“Of course, maybe Mr. Reese doesn’t need a detective,” Nancy challenged. “He hasn’t told us yet what his problem is!”
“I’ll tell you what I need—a bodyguard for my clothes!” he stated flatly. “The ones I selected for you, Miss Drew, were taken.”
“Stolen?” George asked.
“Exactly.”
“What makes you so positive they were stolen ?” Nancy inquired. Then, seeing the irritation grow in his face, she quickly changed the question. “Might they have been misplaced?”
“No. I personally rode over here with everything, and up until an hour ago when I had to make a phone call, I did not leave this room.”
As he talked, Nancy walked toward two chairs, leaving her friends to discuss the situation among themselves. By now, the man’s temper had subsided and he followed her, anxious to know her thoughts on the situation.
“It was all Sheila’s idea—my wife‘s,” he said. “She’s involved in practically every charity in New York, including this one. She asked me if I’d mind showing a few of the new spring designs before their official debut. Well, I said I would look over the lot and pull what I could for this show.”
“How many outfits in all?” Nancy questioned.
“In the spring collection or for this show only?”
“For this show.”
“Seven.”
“There were four in the alcove,” Nancy muttered, “so three are missing.”
“That’s right.”
“I still don’t understand, though, how they could’ve disappeared without someone seeing the thief.”
“I can’t figure it out, either.” The designer moaned. “I’ll have to leave that mystery up to you.”
The girl detective had only been in New York a short time and already she had encountered two mysteries—Jacqueline Henri’s strange behavior and the theft of the Reese creations.
Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Aunt Eloise checking her watch. The fashion show was scheduled to begin in fewer than forty-five minutes, and Nancy wondered how they would compensate for the missing portion of the program.
Richard Reese saw the anxiety in her eyes, cleared his throat several times, and finally spoke. “You’re not Jacqueline, but you’ll do.”
“You mean it?” Nancy gasped in excitement. “You’ll let me model your clothes?”
He nodded, somewhat embarrassed, then regained his composure and ordered her into the dressing alcove.
“Rosalind?” he called out, but there was no response. “Where is she?” he asked Marjorie Tyson.
“You fired her, remember?”
“Oh, that’s ridiculous,” Mr. Reese said. “She knows I have a bad temper.”
Even so, his assistant did not return and another young woman was asked to help out.
“This is Yolanda. She’s one of our stylists and she will help you dress,” the designer announced. “We don’t have much time left and I must fit you before you go onstage.”
It was decided that instead of introducing the program, Nancy would be third.
“Good luck—I mean, break a leg,” George told her friend as she and Bess excused themselves to find their table in the ballroom.
Nancy, however, was busy listening to instructions from the designer and did not hear the girls say good-bye. She was quickly hurried behind the screen in the dressing room and handed a softly ruffled, blue silk blouse and a matching skirt with a short linen jacket.
I hope it fits, she murmured to herself, fastening the skirt waist. It was snug, but not uncomfortable. Then came the jacket over the blouse. The sleeves slid over her arms easily and, to her relief, the cuff length was perfect. She stepped out in front of the mirror, letting Yolanda tug and smooth the clothes until they hung neatly.
The Twin Dilemma Page 1
