Model Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  “So then who did it?” I mused aloud. “And how, and why?”

  “How? Well, it’s no mystery where someone got the jet fuel,” Bess said. “I mean, we were at the airport, right?”

  “Right,” I said, glancing around the room. “And that means it was probably someone at the party who did it.”

  “Had to be,” George agreed. “You saw the security at the airport. And we know it wasn’t my mom or her people, so someone must’ve added the jet fuel after the PowerUp got to the party.”

  As the caterers of the event, Mrs. Fayne and her crew had been first in line for suspicion—at least as far as the police were concerned. But I hadn’t bothered with that possibility for a second. All the employees working the party had been with her for a while. And of course I knew Mrs. Fayne herself had nothing to do with it.

  I decided that as long as we were all stuck at the hospital together, we might as well start poking around a little. Parting ways, we all headed off to talk to people and find out whatever we could. I decided to start with a college kid named Terrence who was one of the cater waiters. He was crouched on the edge of a chair looking anxious.

  “Hey,” I said, perching on the next chair. “You okay?”

  “I hope so, Nancy,” Terrence replied miserably. “If I lose this job, I’ll never be able to pay my car insurance!”

  “You won’t lose your job,” I assured him. “Whatever happened today, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “But Andrea and I were the ones who got that punch bowl ready,” he exclaimed. “We spent all morning pouring that stupid purple stuff into it.”

  “Did the punch bowl smell funny or anything?”

  “No way. It was all dusty from being in storage in Mrs. F’s basement, so Andrea spent, like, twenty minutes scrubbing it out.” Terrence shook his head. “Trust me, it was clean when we started filling it. And before you can ask, yes, all the bottles of PowerUp were sealed. No funny smells there, either.”

  “Where was the punch bowl between when you filled it and when you guys brought it out for the toast?” I asked.

  “In the foyer off this little office-type room at the back of the hangar,” he replied. “We did most of the setup in the bigger part of the room, but we stuck the punch out there so nobody would bump into it and spill it.”

  “A foyer? So was there a door to the outside?”

  Terrence nodded. “Actually there were doors in both rooms,” he said. “Our staff and some of those TV people were going in and out all day. Andrea joked that maybe the TV peeps missed New York, because it was like Grand Central Station back there.”

  Thanking him for the information, I left him to his worries. I thought about going over to talk to Andrea next. She’d been with Mrs. Fayne just as long as Terrence and was just as unlikely a suspect in my opinion. But there was always a chance she’d noticed something he hadn’t.

  Just then there was a burst of raucous laughter. Glancing that way, I saw that Bo, Pandora, and Dragon were hanging out together at the far end of the room. A cameraman was filming their every move.

  That reminded me that the entire party had been caught on film. I wondered if the police had asked for access to the footage to see if anyone had left the party at a suspicious time.

  I wish I could get a look at those tapes myself, I thought, glancing from one camera to the next. Then again, maybe there wouldn’t be much point. That hangar has a bunch of doors, and anyone could’ve come or gone for perfectly innocent reasons. Besides, I seriously doubt the cameras ever went back into the catering prep areas….

  Another burst of laughter broke into my thoughts. The Daredevils seemed pretty cheerful after their near-death experience. Then again, I supposed that was sort of the point of the show.

  Wandering over, I smiled at them. “Hey,” I said. “I’m Nancy, one of the bridesmaids. So I hear Vic is going to be okay.”

  Bo turned serious immediately. “He better be,” he blustered, clenching his meaty fists. “If anyone hurts my bro like that, or messes up his big day with his lady…”

  Pandora gave him a shove. “Chill out, man,” she said. “Vic’s fine. I knew he would be. He’s got karma on his side.”

  Dragon didn’t say anything. He just stared at me as if trying to figure out who I was and why I was talking to them.

  Just then the cameraman shifted positions, still filming away. I glanced at him, feeling a bit self-conscious.

  At the same time, Dragon cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. I guess he’d just remembered the camera was there too, because it was like he suddenly came to life and went into full performance mode.

  “Dude,” he announced to no one in particular, “it’s a good thing I wasn’t the one who tasted that first sip instead of Vic.” He pounded his chest with one fist. “See, I’ve got a cast-iron stomach. I can handle anything!”

  Pandora rolled her eyes. “You mean like death?” she said with more sarcasm than I might have expected from a hippie chick. “You can handle that, huh? Wow, you must be even more talented than you’re always telling us.”

  Bo snorted with laughter. I cleared my throat, still doing my best to ignore the camera. “So listen,” I said. “Who do you guys think did it? Um, does Vic have any enemies or anything?”

  All three of them turned to stare at me. “Who are you again?” Bo asked.

  “Nancy,” I said. “Bridesmaid.”

  Dragon shrugged. “Every celebrity has enemies,” he said, flicking a speck of dust off his bicep. “Nature of the beast.”

  Just then Akinyi and Candy hurried over. “This is out of control!” Akinyi blurted out immediately. “How can everyone just sit around talking and acting like this isn’t happening? I can’t stand it!”

  “Easy, Kinnie.” Candy looked distraught too, though she seemed to be holding it together a little better than the other model. “Vic’s going to be okay, remember? Freaking out isn’t going to help anyone, including yourself.”

  Akinyi shuddered and waved her slim hands as if pushing away her friend’s words. “You didn’t see it, Candy!” she cried. “You were outside. It was horrible! Horrible!”

  Pandora got up and hurried over to Akinyi, looking concerned. “Please, darling,” she said soothingly, rubbing Akinyi’s back. “Don’t do this to yourself. Gather your spiritual energy and resist the negative forces. I can already see that your aura is in crisis….”

  Bo and Dragon were just staring at Akinyi, not seeming to know what to say as she melted down in front of them. I knew how they felt. I remembered Akinyi joking around about being neurotic earlier; maybe that wasn’t such a joke after all.

  I turned to Candy. “That’s right, I almost forgot you and Syd went outside before it happened,” I said. “Did you see or hear anything weird while you were out there?”

  Candy bit her lip and shook her head. “No, and I’m really glad we didn’t. Syd’s pretty shaken up about this. I can’t even imagine how she’d be taking it if she’d witnessed it all.”

  Pandora nodded. “The poor thing. I hope she can recover her joyous spirit of love after this. Maybe I can help by doing a reading for her—does anyone know where I can get some tea leaves?”

  Deciding I wasn’t likely to learn much more from anyone in that group at the moment, I quietly extricated myself and wandered off. Spotting Bess and George, I hurried over to rejoin them.

  “Hi,” I greeted them, quickly filling them in on the little I’d learned. “You guys find out anything interesting?”

  “Not really. George and I got stuck for most of the time talking to Syd’s friend Deb,” Bess said. “She’s all aflutter.”

  Despite the serious situation, I smiled. Only Bess could get away with using a word like “aflutter.” But I had to admit it suited Deb’s usual demeanor perfectly.

  “Yeah,” George put in. “She kept babbling about how she couldn’t believe something like this could happen right here in good ol’ River Heights.”

  “If she only kn
ew!” I joked, thinking back over the countless criminals, wrongdoers, and assorted bad guys I’d busted over the years right there in our sleepy little Midwestern city. “Anyway, from talking to Terrence I think it’s safe to speculate that the punch probably got poisoned while it was waiting off in that little side room.”

  George shrugged. “Okay, but what does that tell us?” she said. “Anyone at the party could’ve sneaked in there, either through the catering prep room or by going outside and then back in the other door.”

  “Yeah, I know. Doesn’t help us much.” I shot a look at the closest camera, which was being wielded by a burly man with bushy eyebrows, a gleaming bald head, and a grumpy expression. “Although if we could check out the footage and see who might’ve left at an opportune time…”

  My voice trailed off as I heard a commotion from nearby. We were standing at the edge of the waiting area, very close to the arched doorway leading out to the hospital’s main entrance. Stepping closer, I peered out and saw Deirdre there talking to someone with a camera.

  However, that someone wasn’t part of the Daredevils crew. The familiar logo of one of the local news teams was plastered all over the camera.

  “…and it was just such a near-tragedy,” Deirdre exclaimed, a single tear wending its way down her cheek. “Just imagine if everyone at the party had taken a drink of that stuff—the carnage! The horror! What kind of terrible person would do something like that to a bunch of innocent people?”

  Uh-oh. One glance at the reporter holding the microphone up to Deirdre’s face told me that he was eating this up. If the local press ran with the over-dramatized story Deirdre was spouting, the Daredevils TV crew would be the least of Sydney’s problems. More important, the culprit might get nervous enough to back off. That would make it much harder to figure out who’d done it.

  “What is it?” Bess asked as I ducked back into the waiting room and glanced around.

  “Deirdre,” I said succinctly. “She’s spilling her guts to the TV news out there.”

  “Want me to go out and tell her off?” George offered eagerly, already taking a step toward the entryway. “I can explain to the reporters that Deirdre’s brain is only the size of a pea and so they shouldn’t listen to a word she says.”

  Bess grabbed her by the arm to stop her as I shook my head. “Thanks, but I think we’d better let the TV people take care of it,” I said. “They’re the experts at handling this sort of thing, I’d imagine.”

  “True,” George agreed reluctantly. “Daredevils is always having to deal with the local press while they’re filming. Like the time the contestants got busted by the local decency police for swimming across the Mississippi River naked in January…”

  I left Bess alone to hear the rest of the anecdote. I’d just spotted Hans Eberhart wandering across the room nearby chatting with one of the camera operators. Hurrying over, I politely interrupted their conversation and asked to speak privately with the director. Once the cameraman had hurried off to film Sydney’s father, who had just wandered out into the waiting room, I explained to Eberhart what was happening just outside.

  The director listened, stroking his stubbly beard. Then he thanked me and called over Madge, the assistant director. “We have a press situation out in the lobby,” he told her calmly. “Please handle it.”

  Madge nodded shortly. “I’m on it.”

  She took off across the waiting room, her high heels clicking on the tile floor. I winced, recalling the way she’d yelled at Donald the PA. Maybe this time Deirdre would meet her match!

  “Good,” Hans said. “That should take care of it. Madge, she is a piranha—it’s why I put up with her other, er, idiosyncrasies.” He chuckled with amusement.

  I smiled along. “Yes, she should be able to take care of that problem easily enough,” I said. “But, um, have you thought about maybe backing off on this filming for a little while, sir? You know—just until the police get a handle on who might have done this.”

  Eberhart stared at me with what appeared to be genuine astonishment. “Stop filming?” he said. “You mean now, just when this is turning from a bit of vanity fluff into something much more interesting?”

  “But that’s my point,” I said. “Someone appears to be seeking attention by trying to sabotage things. Why give that person what he or she wants?”

  Eberhart shook his head. “No, no, my dear, you don’t understand,” he said patiently, as if explaining things to a dull-witted child. “This danger, this sabotage, it is quite within the spirit of what Daredevils is all about. The audience, they will eat it up with a spoon.” He finished by mimicking lifting a spoon to his mouth, complete with an enthusiastic smacking of lips.

  “I understand, sir,” I said. “But this isn’t just a TV show. It’s real life. If whoever’s doing this escalates the sabotage and someone gets really hurt—”

  “Hans! There you are!” I was interrupted by Josh, Akinyi’s nerdy-looking boyfriend. He rushed up to us, barely seeming to notice my presence as he zeroed in on the director. “Listen, what happened today made me rethink the revenge scene in my screenplay. What do you think if instead of the heroine tossing the beetles into the wood chipper, she tricks them into ingesting pollen laced with bug spray, or…”

  There was more, but I didn’t bother trying to keep up with his torrent of words. Eberhart, on the other hand, was nodding along with interest. Realizing I’d been dismissed, I wandered back to my friends, feeling troubled.

  “Did they take care of Deirdre?” Bess asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, her. Yeah, Eberhart sent Madge out to do it. But listen—do you think he could possibly have anything to do with what’s been happening?”

  “You mean Hans Eberhart? Are you kidding?” George looked scandalized. “He’s not some two-bit hack who needs to drum up scandal to get work. He’s an artist! A much better one than people give him credit for.”

  “Right,” I said. “You keep saying he’s so talented that he should have a better career. What if he agrees—and is trying to get himself noticed this way?”

  Bess’s eyes widened. “You mean he’s setting up the sabotage so the show—and he—will get more attention?”

  “Maybe. I have to admit, it sounds like a wild theory,” I admitted. “But he certainly had the access. Nobody would think twice about him rushing in and out of any doors in the place earlier. And he’d probably have no trouble getting his hands on one of Syd’s invitations, so he could have set up that mock one, and sent the e-mails….”

  I let my voice trail off, thinking over what I was saying. It really did sound a little nuts. Then again, it wasn’t any crazier than anything some culprits in my past cases had done.

  “I don’t know, Nancy,” Bess said dubiously. “Do you really think—”

  She never got the chance to finish her question. Deb Camden came rushing up to us, wringing her hands.

  “Oh my gosh, you guys!” she cried, her eyes wide and horrified. “You’ve got to come help me talk some sense into Sydney. She’s so freaked out by what happened to Vic that she’s threatening to call off the wedding!”

  CLUES AND ALIBIS

  Deb was pointing down the hall leading to the patient rooms, which was a few yards from where we were standing. I turned that way just in time to see Sydney burst out from the hallway with her mother and Vic right behind her.

  “No!” Sydney wailed, her face streaked with tears and her pale cheeks red and splotchy. “I can’t handle it. It’s too much!”

  “Sydney, settle down!” Ellie said firmly. She glanced around the waiting room, obviously realizing that just about everyone had stopped their own conversations to turn and stare.

  “Hang on, Mama Ellie. Let me try, okay?” Vic put an arm around Sydney’s shoulders. “Come with me, baby,” he said, his voice softer and more emotional than I’d heard it so far. “Let’s just go talk about this, okay? Please, Syd?”

  Sydney sniffled but didn’t protest as he steered her back down the hallway o
ut of sight—and hearing—of the waiting room. The rest of us watched them go.

  “Whoa,” Bess said quietly. “Sydney seems really upset.”

  I shot a glance at Deb, who had wandered off to talk excitedly at Candy and Akinyi. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “It seems pretty extreme.” I gestured to my friends. “Come here, we need to talk about this.”

  Soon we were huddled in a corner of the room well out of earshot of the rest of the people in the waiting room—and out of view of any of the TV cameras. “What’s up?” George asked. “Did you have one of your hunches or something? Sleuth-O-Meter going off?”

  “Not exactly.” I took a deep breath, feeling a bit guilty for what I was about to say. “But listen—do either of you think it’s weird that Syd would threaten to call off the wedding because of this?”

  “Not really,” Bess said with a shrug. “I mean, her fiancé could’ve been killed. That would be enough to shake up almost anyone.”

  George nodded. “And we all know Syd can be a little high-strung.”

  “I know, I know.” I shook my head. “I guess that’s sort of my point. What if she has cold feet, or maybe just wants out of this TV deal, and is sabotaging her own wedding?”

  My friends stared at me. “No way,” George said. “Syd wouldn’t do that.”

  “She’s right,” Bess added. “Besides, she couldn’t have spiked that PowerUp. I’m pretty sure she was front and center the whole time we were at the airport—someone would’ve noticed and said something if she’d disappeared off by herself, even for a few seconds.”

  George nodded, leaning back against the wall. “And when she did go outside right before it happened, Candy was with her, remember?”

  “True.” I’d already thought of that myself. “But she could have an accomplice or something.”

  Bess waved her hands. “What are we doing, sitting around here discussing this like it could actually be true?” she exclaimed. “I mean, come on! Even if Syd did want to get out of this wedding, she’d never do something so horrible. Vic could have died if he’d swallowed that jet fuel!”