Designs in Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  “But what about Beau’s stolen designs?” Bess asked. “Why would Rockwell want to ruin Beau’s design business?”

  “Maybe the stolen designs are just a diversion,” Nancy suggested. “Only two people were in Beau’s studio the night Joanna’s gown disappeared—Angel and Mrs. Chong,” Nancy went on. “So it seems that both thefts have to be inside jobs.”

  Bess rinsed off the breakfast dishes. “I’ll keep an eye on both of them while I’m modeling at the studio.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said. “But first I think we should check out Mimi Piazza. She might think she’s got a shot at being Joanna’s designer. I don’t know how she could have managed to steal from Beau, but I’d like to visit her studio this morning to see what we can find out.”

  “You can begin your research right here,” Bess said. “Mimi is mentioned in a lot of the fashion magazines I was reading on the plane.”

  “Great!” Nancy said.

  As Bess ran to get the magazines, Nancy picked up the phone to call home. She smiled when she heard the warm voice of her father, Carson Drew. “Is this the Nancy Drew, as featured on ‘Fashion Flash’?” he teased.

  “You saw the report!” Nancy said.

  “I was a little surprised to see my daughter rubbing elbows with a celebrity bride,” Carson said. “What’s going on there?”

  Quickly Nancy explained the events of the past day, describing the situation at Beau’s studio, as well as the tension between Michael Rockwell and his children. “I need a favor. What do you know about Michael Rockwell?” she asked her father.

  “The man is in a league of his own,” he answered. “From what I’ve read, he seems to be honest and well-respected. I’ve never met him, though I do have a colleague who once handled a real estate deal for him.”

  Carson Drew agreed to see what he could learn about Michael Rockwell. “I’ll call you as soon as I have some answers,” he told Nancy. “Though I’ll probably be seeing you before then—on TV.”

  “It’s possible,” Nancy said, laughing.

  By the time Nancy hung up, Bess had skimmed a few magazines and marked articles that featured Mimi and her designs.

  While Bess took a shower, Nancy studied every photo and blurb she could find on Mimi Piazza. The thin, fragile-looking woman was always pictured in a well-tailored suit with a handkerchief in her breast pocket. Many of the articles mentioned that Mimi was a security freak, with one of the best guarded studios in the garment district.

  Bess and I will need a story to get in the door, Nancy thought as she planned their visit to Mimi’s studio. I hope she won’t recognize us from the videotape on “Fashion Flash.”

  • • •

  An hour later Nancy and Bess climbed out of a cab on Seventh Avenue, in front of the impressive white building that took up half the block and housed Mimi Piazza’s studio. In the lobby Nancy checked the directory and saw that Mimi’s studio occupied the second and third floors.

  Next Nancy glanced at the uniformed guard who sat at a wide counter that blocked the elevators. A burly man with a bulldog face, he was intimidating. He nodded at a young man heading in who flashed an ID card, then turned back to Nancy and Bess.

  “What can I do for you, ladies?” the guard asked.

  “We’re here to see Mimi Piazza,” Bess said, her cheeks dimpling as she smiled at the man.

  “Do you have an appointment?” he asked.

  “We’re design students at the Fashion Institute,” Bess began. “We met Mimi at a lecture she gave last week.”

  “She said we could stop in for a tour of her studio when we had a chance,” Nancy fibbed, without batting an eyelash.

  They told the guard their names, and he called the studio. Nancy crossed her fingers as the guard told their story to the person on the other end of the line, then hung up.

  “Sorry, ladies,” he said. “Ms. Piazza won’t be able to see you today.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Nancy insisted. “She’s going to be upset when we tell her we were turned away.”

  The guard wouldn’t budge. “I’ve got my orders, miss. Have a nice day.”

  Outside the building Nancy said she refused to give up. “There’s got to be another way in,” she said, studying the building’s facade and walking to the end of the block. The driver of a truck was backing his rig into an open loading dock for the building. Two men directed him from the sidewalk.

  “There’s the loading dock for this building,” Nancy said.

  Bess nodded. “But we’ll never get in that way past those men.”

  “That’s why you have to distract them,” Nancy said. “Give me two minutes, then you’re on.” Leaving Bess behind, Nancy turned the corner and walked beyond the loading dock so she was waiting behind the truck. A minute later she heard Bess exclaim, “Ouch!”

  Peering around the truck, Nancy saw Bess collapse to the sidewalk and grab her ankle. “Can somebody help me, please!” she called.

  The two men ran to Bess. Nancy heard the door slam on the cab of the truck as the driver joined them.

  Seizing her chance, Nancy darted into the quiet loading dock area. In five lunging steps she was up the ramp and facing a narrow door. It wasn’t locked. She slipped inside, finding herself in a dimly lit stairwell—the fire stairs.

  Mimi’s studio is on the second and third floors, she reminded herself. Her pulse raced at the thrill of being inside. She climbed a few steps.

  Then Nancy felt a hand close over her shoulder. Another gripped her upper arm and yanked her back down the stairs.

  Chapter

  Six

  STRUGGLING TO STAY on her feet, Nancy stumbled down to the landing. The quick descent sent her twisting around, and suddenly she was face-to-face with the burly guard from the lobby.

  “Not so fast,” he growled like a bulldog ready to attack. “Hey—you’re the girl from before.” He darted a look up the stairs, then added, “Where’s your friend?”

  “She’s waiting outside,” Nancy answered.

  “Well, if you’re lying, she won’t get far. Nobody ever does.” He released Nancy and put his hands on his hips. “So you’re a design student? Let’s see your student ID.”

  “I—I didn’t bring it with me,” Nancy said, clutching the shoulder bag that hung at her side.

  “Yeah, sure.” The guard screwed up his face as he assessed her, then pointed her toward a door. Nancy went through the door first and found that she was back in the lobby. From that angle, she could see the half-dozen monitors concealed behind the guard’s station.

  “I don’t know what you kids think you’ll find up there,” the guard said, “but you’re not going to score any points with Ms. Piazza by sneaking into her studio. Next time you won’t get off so easily,” he warned as he escorted Nancy to the front door.

  When Nancy emerged through the main entrance, Bess was waiting there. She did a double take. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I got snagged,” Nancy said, explaining how she’d run into the guard. “I didn’t realize they had surveillance cameras everywhere.”

  “That place is guarded like a fortress,” Bess said. “What next?”

  “We can walk over to Beau’s studio,” Nancy said, heading down Seventh Avenue. “It’s only four blocks from here.”

  “So I guess Mimi Piazza is a dead end,” Bess said, turning her head to watch as a man rolled a rack of plaid jumpers in plastic bags past them.

  “Not yet,” Nancy said, weaving through a group of men who were loading bolts of fabric into a truck. “I’m more determined than ever to check out Mimi Piazza. I just have to figure out how to get close to her.”

  • • •

  When Nancy and Bess arrived at Beau’s studio, they found the designer in his office, reviewing sketches with Angel Ortiz. Eager for an update on the case, Beau sent Angel off and closed the door. “Any new developments?” Beau asked the girls.

  Nancy told him about her thwarted attempt to sneak into Mimi’
s studio.

  “Kicked out?” Beau winced. “Sorry, Nancy. I could have told you that would happen if I’d known your plan. Nobody gets past the security guards in Mimi’s building.”

  “But there’s got to be some way to find out what’s going on at Mimi’s studio,” she said.

  “Her show is on Thursday,” Beau said. “Mimi always presents her new line at her studio. She’s afraid to let her collection leave the building.”

  “Then we’ll go to her show,” Bess suggested.

  “The only problem is, you need to get on the guest list,” Beau pointed out, “and that’s impossible unless you’re a buyer, a magazine editor, or a celebrity.”

  “Could Jill get us in?” Bess asked.

  “She’s in Tokyo,” Nancy reminded her.

  Beau shook his head. “If you think security was tight today, it’s three times as bad the day of a show. You need to get on that list.”

  “I’ll think of something,” Nancy vowed. “In the meantime, I’d like to spend the rest of the day here, checking out your security system, your help, your routine.”

  “Feel free,” Beau offered.

  “I think I need to know a little more about your key employees,” Nancy said, hedging a little.

  “Let me guess,” Beau said. “You want to know why I put up with Mrs. Chong’s attitude.”

  Bess rolled her eyes. “The woman’s about as subtle as a bulldozer—and she scares me.”

  Beau smiled. “Ah, but there’s a heart of gold inside that bulldozer. Mrs. Chong hasn’t had it easy. She fled China years ago and came here with just the clothes on her back and her incredible sewing ability.”

  “And what about Angel?” Nancy asked.

  “His family moved to New York from Puerto Rico when he was a kid,” Beau explained. “We met when I gave a speech at a design institute where he was a student. He’s bright and talented.”

  “Does he ever design for you?” Bess asked.

  “He’s always sketching,” Beau said, “but none of his designs have worked for me yet. I know he’ll break through one of these days.

  “Anything on Joanna’s gown?” Beau asked. “I know it’s early.”

  “Not yet,” Nancy told him. “We spent the evening with her family and fiancé last night, but I still don’t have any clues about her gown.”

  “What a mess,” Beau said. “We’re working against the clock, trying to finish designs for next week’s show. Meanwhile, Mrs. Chong is tied up, altering the substitute gown that Joanna is less than thrilled with.” Frustrated, he raked his fingers through his long hair. “This studio has seen better times.”

  “For now you need to focus on getting your collection ready for next week,” Nancy said. “I’ll do my best to find your leak—and Joanna’s gown.”

  “In the meantime I’ll be putting you to work,” Beau said, turning to Bess. “Angel and I have picked out some gowns we’d like to alter for the Petite Elite line. If you try them on, one of my assistants will pin the hems and mark the other alterations.”

  “Let’s go!” Bess said, jumping to her feet.

  While Beau and Bess went off to work on Petite Elites, Nancy got to work on the case.

  Nancy thought through what she knew, which wasn’t much. She did know that Budget Fashions was producing the knockoffs of Beau’s designs. She decided that maybe she could find the thief through his or her connection to Budget.

  Pulling a phone book down from Beau’s bookcase, she found a listing for Budget and called the number. The woman who answered told her the showroom was open only to retail buyers.

  Another obstacle, Nancy thought as she hung up the phone. If Jill were in town, she could use Mitchell’s clout to get Nancy in, but Jill was in Tokyo. Somehow Nancy had to find a way to do some investigating at Budget Fashions.

  She called Jill’s assistant at Mitchell’s and explained the problem. The woman said she’d mention it to Jill when she called in. Nancy thanked her, then hung up.

  In the meantime she could work the case from this end. Beau was sure that someone on his staff had to be the thief. Still, Nancy had to wonder how hard it would be for someone else—such as Mimi Piazza or Michael Rockwell—to break into the studio.

  She started by checking the main entrance on the first floor. Unlike Mimi’s building, no guard was stationed in the lobby.

  Nancy pulled open one of the glass doors at the main entrance and inspected the lock. “A cinch!” she said, testing the way the bolt fit against the striker plate. A burglar could slip a thin piece of plastic—like a credit card—between the two parts of the lock. The door would open in seconds.

  Nancy was about to close the door when the elevator opened and Eleni, one of Beau’s employees, emerged carrying two plastic sacks.

  “Guess who scored today’s errands—and trash detail?” Eleni said wryly.

  Nancy held the door open, then peeked outside to watch the girl walk to a metal Dumpster in front of the building and toss both bags in.

  Another security risk, Nancy thought. Anyone walking by could pick through the trash to find discarded sketches of Beau’s designs.

  Maybe the lock on the studio door is stronger and more efficient, she thought. But when she reached the fourth floor, she found that the door to the studio was unlocked. A sophisticated lock and alarm panel was built into the wall beside the studio door, but it wasn’t activated.

  The staff probably turned on the alarm only when they locked up at night. During the day anyone could sneak items out.

  Inside the studio, Nancy went into the workroom and found Bess wearing an ice pink satin gown. Kneeling at her feet, a young woman was pinning up the hem.

  “Isn’t this gorgeous?” Bess asked, smoothing the material over her waist and touching the tiny satin-covered buttons that ran up the front. “They’re going to take up the hem and shorten the bodice for women with my proportions.”

  “It’s lovely,” Nancy agreed, dodging an assistant who was carrying a bolt of fabric over his shoulder. The room buzzed with activity. Supervised by Angel, Mrs. Chong, and Beau himself, workers moved through their tasks, their fingers deftly stitching, pinning, or cutting.

  Sunlight streamed in through the tall, arched windows along the outer wall. An adjacent wall contained floor-to-ceiling shelves full of binders and black portfolios. Against a third wall, bolts of material were stacked haphazardly. The center of the room was dominated by two large work-tables.

  Mrs. Chong tugged a bolt of lace from the stack, tucked it under her arm, then turned to Nancy. “You better find that gown—soon,” she barked at Nancy. “I’m sewing like crazy, and still I know Miss Rockwell won’t be happy.” She snorted, then charged off to her sewing room, little more than a cubicle in the corner, attached to the workroom by a narrow door.

  “Don’t let her bother you,” Angel said, smiling up from his sketch. “Mrs. Chong is abrupt, but she means well.” He was drawing a gown that was on a dress form, a padded replica of a woman’s torso that stood on a metal stand, like a statue without arms, legs, or a head.

  Nancy peeked over Angel’s shoulder and watched as his hand moved the pencil across the page in sure, even strokes. His drawing was a copy of the gown executed in sweeping, romantic lines.

  “I don’t understand,” Nancy said. “Isn’t sketching a design the first step? Then don’t you make a sample from the sketch?”

  “Some designers work that way,” Angel explained. “But Beau likes to work with the fabric, playing with the texture and weight of the cloth. He drapes the fabric on a dress form or model until the right shape emerges. Then, after the design is complete, I sketch it.”

  “What are the sketches for?” Nancy asked.

  “Promotion pieces, catalogs, and records.” Angel pointed to the binders that lined the shelves on one wall. “Those books are filled with sketches of gowns in the Beau Bridal collection.”

  “There are sandwiches for everyone in the lounge,” Beau announced. “We won’t have
time to break for lunch today.”

  Angel added a few touches to the sketch, then stood up. “Hungry?” he asked Nancy.

  “I could use a sandwich,” Nancy said, smiling at the soft-spoken young man. As she followed him down the hall, Nancy pointed to closed doors, and Angel told her what was inside.

  “Those two are fitting rooms,” he explained. “That’s a storage room. Bathroom. And this is our home away from home.” The lounge was a small room furnished with two sofas, a table and chairs, a microwave, and a refrigerator. On the table were a platter of sliced meats and cheeses and bowls of rolls, bread, salad, and pickles.

  Angel bit into a pickle. “My mother always told me to eat my vegetables,” he teased.

  Nancy laughed as she made herself a turkey sandwich. “And you’d better stay healthy with the show coming up.”

  “That’s for sure,” Angel agreed.

  “How long have you worked for Beau?” she asked.

  “Almost two years,” he answered. “I was hired when Beau moved into this studio. Before that, he worked out of his apartment with Mrs. Chong and one or two part-time assistants.”

  “You sketch beautifully,” Nancy said. “Do you enjoy your work?”

  Angel shrugged. “It gets crazy around here, but I like working in the field. I’m actually trained as a designer.” His dark eyes took on a dreamy look as he added, “Beau might include some of my designs in his next collection, which would be a dream come true.”

  Nancy was about to ask another question when two workers came in, chattering loudly as they pushed toward the food.

  “Guess I’d better get back to work,” Angel said, heading down the hall with a plate of food.

  After Nancy had finished her sandwich, she set off to check out the rest of the studio. The fitting rooms were furnished with a few chairs, thick carpeting, mirrors, and oriental screens.

  Then she opened the door to the storage room Angel had pointed out. She could only make out heaps of clutter in the darkness. She switched on the light and found herself in an unfurnished room with exposed studs, laths, and wiring.