Model Menace 2 (12 page)

Bess looked sympathetic and nodded. “So let’s go apologize,” she suggested. “George and I will come with you.”

We made our way across the dance floor. As we approached, Akinyi turned and saw me and sighed deeply. She didn’t look angry—but she did look disappointed and exhausted. I could see that talking to me was not high on her “to do” list.

“Akinyi, Jamal,” I said quickly and loudly, before I could lose my nerve. “I just want to say I’m very sorry. I was trying to use logic to solve the case when I accused you, but I know all the evidence was circumstantial—and, as it turned out, totally wrong.” I sighed. “I’m so sorry. You’re both such good friends to Syd and Vic, and I helped ruin their wedding for you.”

Akinyi looked away, like she didn’t want to deal with this, but Jamal looked at me and nodded. He didn’t look thrilled, but he did seem to be impressed by my apology. “I understand how you got to your conclusion, Nancy,” he said simply. “It may take us a while to get over this, but we don’t blame you, okay? We just want to enjoy the reception as much as we can and tell our friends how happy we are for them.”

I nodded. All in all, the two of them were being very gracious. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” I offered, but just as I spoke, Syd came barreling out of nowhere and tackled Akinyi in a hug.

“Akinyi!” she cried, followed closely by her new husband, Vic. “I’m so sorry. I know nothing I say will ever make this right. And I’ll never forgive myself for doubting you, or for keeping you from being part of my wedding.”

Akinyi, who had looked stiff and uncomfortable since entering the reception, seemed to soften a little. “Syd,” she said, her voice rough, “just don’t do that again, okay? You know I love you.”

Syd pulled back and looked her friend in the eye. “I do,” she said sincerely. “I really do, Akinyi. And I’m so sorry it took something like this for me to realize it.”

Meanwhile Vic held out his hand to Jamal. “It looks like I owe you for a lot of things, buddy,” he said, his own voice sounding pretty close to tears. “I’m so sorry. I should have known you would never hold a grudge.”

Jamal nodded, looking very serious, then a smile peeked out. “I know you’re a jerk, Vic,” he said, starting to chuckle. “It’s part of what I love about you, okay? You’re larger than life.”

Grabbing Vic’s hand like he was going to shake it, Jamal pulled his friend close and they embraced.

“I’ll never forgive myself,” Vic said, sounding sincere.

“I know,” Jamal said simply, “but I will. You be good to this woman, and have a long happy marriage, and we’ll call it square.”

Syd smiled, gesturing to me. “If it weren’t for Nancy, we never would have figured out it was really Pandora causing all the trouble,” she told Jamal and Akinyi. “Thank goodness she’s so observant! Without her, we’d be headed off to the Caribbean still feeling afraid.” She turned to me. “Nancy,” she said, “I know this hasn’t been an easy case for you. You’ve had to make a lot of tough decisions, and hurt a lot of feelings.” She paused. “How can Vic and I ever repay you?”

I smiled. “It’s just like Jamal said,” I replied. “Have a long, happy life together, and forget all of this ever happened.”

Vic turned to his bride with a big smile, squeezing her hand. “Done, and done,” he promised me.

“O
kay, I thought Syd and Vic’s wedding was nonstop action,” George told Bess and me a few days later as we piled into my kitchen after seeing a movie. “But that was the most action I’ve
ever
seen crammed into two hours.”

“Definitely,” I agreed. “When they blew up that trailer?”

“Or when that lion showed up?” Bess added, shaking her head. “He was
hungry
.”

I sighed, happily settling down at our kitchen table. It felt so nice not to have to worry about dresses, or shoes, or fittings, or cameras, or threatening messages. Syd and Vic had left for their honeymoon on a remote Caribbean island the day before, and their silence seemed to indicate they were having a perfectly normal honeymoon.

“What’s going on with Pandora?” George asked, finding some chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar, freshly baked by our housekeeper and unofficial caretaker, Hannah.

“She’s still being held by the police,” I replied. I’d called the RHPD for an update just that morning. “They’re testing some of the evidence they found in her room for fingerprints, DNA, that sort of thing. She still insists those printouts, the raincoat, and the shaving cream were not hers.”

Bess shuddered. “She seemed so harmless and spacey all week,” she commented. “Scary to know how dangerous she really was.”

“Nancy?” I looked up and spotted Hannah standing in the kitchen doorway, pulling the vacuum cleaner behind her. “Did you see you have mail? It’s on the counter.”

I sprung up. “Anything important?” I asked. “Or is it something boring, like my cell phone bill?”

Hannah smiled. “It’s postmarked from London,” she replied. “And it was sent express mail. Who do you know in London?”

I glanced at Bess and George, honestly confused. “I have no idea,” I replied.

Getting up and walking over to the counter, I found a thick, business-size envelope addressed to “NANCY DREW” in messy, all-caps handwriting. Sure enough, the return address was a Thistle Kensington Gardens hotel in London. Curious, I tore open the envelope and pulled out a thick stack of paper with a sticky note on top:

“Whoa,” I breathed, as Bess and George got up to peer over my shoulder.

“Wasn’t
Daredevils
starting out its season in London?” Bess asked.

“I think you’re right,” George confirmed. “So Dragon would be there—and most of the crew we worked with.”

Peeling off the sticky note, I turned my attention to the papers beneath. The first seemed to be a photocopied page of a contract—upon further inspection, it seemed to be the contract
Daredevils
contestants signed that outlined the rules and regulations they must follow to compete in the show.

One section in particular had been highlighted in orange marker:

“No contestant shall have any current or prior connection to anyone involved in the production of
Daredevils.
This includes producers, crew members, employees of the FUN television network…” I paused, breathing in. “…or prior contestants.” I gave a meaningful look to my friends, who seemed to get it immediately.

“Dragon and Pandora,” Bess whispered.

I nodded, reading on. “If producers or crew members become aware of any such association during the filming of
Daredevils
, the contestants involved will be ejected from the show, and any monies paid to the contestant, either in the form of winnings or appearance fees, will be returned to the production company.”

George whistled. “So if Dragon and Pandora made their relationship public, they’d both lose a bunch of money. Whatever they received for appearing on the show, plus any money Pandora won.”

Bess nodded. “And Dragon would be kicked off this season,” she added. “Which is kind of a big deal, since he’s favored to win.”

I flipped through the papers, turning to the next page, and gasped. It was a printout of a typed page titled “Traditional Wedding Blessing.” Scanning the paragraph, I picked up on bits and pieces: “The officiant then waves the knife over the couple’s heads, chanting…the knife must be very sharp, symbolizing the threats the couple will face to their union…”

At the top of the page was a handwritten note:

Pandora—would make a great scene if you could perform this on the couple after the ceremony!

My jaw dropped. The handwriting was identical to the handwritten notes in the margins of the printout the producers had found in her room!

I heard Bess breathe in sharply behind me. “You know what this means, don’t you?” Bess asked.

I nodded, slowly putting the papers back down on the counter. “Pandora was set up,” I replied. “And Dragon wants us to know about it.”

Just then a musical
beep
sounded from my purse on the table. I glanced at my friends. It had to be my phone—and the tone of the
beep
told me it was an e-mail.

I walked over to the table, pulled out my phone, and sucked in a breath as I flipped it open.

YOU HAVE
1
NEW E-MAIL FROM SYDNEY VALDEZ.

I pushed the buttons to open it.

There were four attachments, which I opened one by one. The first three were e-tickets—one each for George, Bess, and I to join Syd and Vic on their semiprivate island.

The final attachment was a photo. It showed what must have once been a beautiful hotel room—now totally trashed. Wrecked furniture—so battered and broken, it looked like it had been bashed into the walls—was piled around an unmade bed, with torn bedding strewn everywhere. On the bottom sheet, scrawled in a red liquid that looked like blood, was a chilling message:

On the bottom of the message there was a messy red smear. I pointed, my stomach clenching nervously. “What
is
that?” I whispered to my friends.

George blinked, shaking her head as it came to her. “It’s a silhouette,” she breathed. “For Mr. Silhouette.”

Gulping, I leaned in. I could see it now: the dark profile, eyes, nose, mouth. “Syd’s stalker.” I shivered.

“Oh my gosh,” whispered Bess. “I guess we’re headed for the Caribbean! Because Mr. Silhouette is still on the prowl.”

George stared at the photo, nodding grimly. “And he’s upped his game,” she pointed out. “From saboteur—to
murderer
.”