Model Mystery Trilogy 01: Model Crime (2 page)

“T
hat sounded like Sydney!” I exclaimed. “Come on, let’s see what’s wrong!” We all gathered up our skirts and raced out of the dressing room. Sydney and the others were in the bride’s dressing room. Sydney was still in her dress, which was now half-unzipped. She was holding a PDA, staring down at it with a look of horror on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Bess demanded breathlessly. “We heard you scream.”

“Yeah,” George put in. “Did you catch your skin in your zipper or something? I’ve done that before—it really hurts.”

“Nothing like that,” Ellie said. “Sydney just received an upsetting message on her little phone machine.”

I hid a smile. Ellie kept on top of most things, but it seemed current technology might not be one of her areas of expertise.

“It’s about one of the dresses,” Deb explained to us.

Sydney nodded, still staring down at the PDA, which was encased in a stylish green beaded skin. “I just got an e-mail from Akinyi.”

“That’s her maid of honor,” Bess told me before I could ask. “She’s a model—she does those cool new perfume ads that are in all the magazines right now. She goes by the one name—Akinyi. Kind of cool, huh?”

“She’s my best friend in New York,” Sydney said. “We started out together at the agency. She’s been my roommate since, like, the first week I came to the city.”

I had no idea which ads Bess meant, and I’d never heard of Akinyi. Then again, I’d never heard of most of the high-fashion models Bess could name off the top of her head. But I figured it didn’t matter. “So what’s the problem?” I asked.

Sydney’s lower lip trembled with consternation. “She’s doing a shoot in Bermuda this week, so we had her dress shipped out there so she could try it on.”

“That’s right,” the bridal shop owner put in. “We sent all three of the out-of-town dresses via overnight delivery.”

“I told Akinyi to let me know as soon as she tried hers on,” Sydney went on. “She’s super tall and thin, even for a model, so her dress needed a lot more alterations than the others.”

“So what happened?” Bess asked. “It didn’t fit?”

Sydney’s lip started trembling more than ever. “See for yourself!”

She held out her PDA. The three of us crowded around for a look. The screen was pretty small, but even so it was easy to see the image of a very tall, very thin young woman with gleaming ebony skin and a regal, exotic look. She was wearing a rose-colored dress that matched the ones we had on.

Bess gasped. “Oh, no!” she cried.

I’m no fashion expert, but even I could see why Sydney was so upset. Akinyi’s dress didn’t fit her at all. It was way too short, for one thing, plus it sagged in several spots where it should have been fitted.

“Akinyi’s totally freaking out,” Sydney said anxiously. “And no wonder. I mean, the wedding’s only, like, a week and a half away, and she’s in Bermuda, and—”

“It’ll be okay, Syd.” Deb put one plump arm around her and gave her a hug. “Really, don’t have a cow, okay? We’ll work it out.”

“Listen to Deb,” Ellie added. “We’ll take care of this.”

The bridal shop woman looked frantic. “It has to be some sort of mix-up,” she muttered, pulling a cell phone out of her pocket. “The measurements were right, I know they were. Let me just call that nice woman at the modeling agency who was supposed to forward the dresses….”

I was sympathetic to the problem, especially since Sydney was clearly on the verge of tears. But it didn’t seem like there was much we could do to help. So I decided the best thing might be to get out of the way and let them sort it out.

“The good news is, ours fit fine,” I told Ellie. “Should we take them with us today?”

“Yes, go ahead, Nancy.” Ellie sounded a bit distracted. “Thanks so much for coming out today.”

“No problem, Aunt Ellie,” Bess said, obviously thinking along the same lines I was. “Maybe we’ll see you later, okay?”

Leaving the others dealing with the Great Dress Disaster, the three of us hurried back to our dressing room to change. Minutes later the little bell over the door dinged again as we left the bridal shop carrying our dresses. Actually, Bess was carrying all three of them. She didn’t seem to trust George and me to get ours from the shop to the car without ruining them.

We’d barely stepped outside when I spotted someone rushing toward us. It was Deirdre Shannon. As usual she was dressed in an expensive-looking designer outfit, not a single strand of her long, curly, dark hair out of place.

“Hi, you guys!” Deirdre greeted us with a big smile on her face. “Ooh, are those your dresses for the Marvin-Valdez wedding? They’re gorgeous!”

None of us answered her for a second, because we were all too startled. Despite how she was acting at the moment, Deirdre wasn’t exactly a close friend of ours. We’d all been in school together our whole lives, so we knew her pretty well—well enough to know that she’s a huge snob who thinks most people aren’t worthy to breathe the same air she does. At least that’s how George likes to put it. Bess and I aren’t crazy about Deirdre either, but she
really
rubs George the wrong way.

“Um, thanks,” Bess said at last. That’s Bess for you. Her impeccable manners can overcome even the most surprising obstacles. “How are you, Deirdre?”

“Great!” Deirdre replied happily. “By the way, did you hear? I’ll be at the wedding too.”

“You will?” George said. “Why?”

Okay, maybe it wasn’t the most polite question in the world. But it was a fair one. As far as I knew, Deirdre and Sydney didn’t even know each other.

If Deirdre was annoyed by George’s blunt question, she hid it well. “It’s a funny story, actually,” she said. “Daddy went to law school with one of the attorneys who drew up the releases and whatever other paperwork for this particular, er, project. The attorney called him from LA to check something about our local ordinances or whatever, and I guess the TV people were sooo grateful for his help that Vic Valdez invited our whole family to the wedding.”

That was typical. Mr. Shannon is a successful local attorney; he has a reputation for winning his cases no matter what it takes, which means he’s always got lots of clients. Deirdre has been taking advantage of his money and connections her whole life.

Her gaze wandered once again toward the dresses Bess was holding. Then she glanced at George, and I braced myself. Deirdre loves to take every opportunity to mock George for her tomboy ways.

“That dress is going to look great on you, George,” she said.

“Wha—huh?” George replied, as stunned as I was by Deirdre’s compliment. She narrowed her eyes, clearly waiting for the punch line.

Deirdre reached over and fingered the hem of satin fabric sticking out of the protective plastic. “You’ve got dark hair just like I do, and I know this particular shade of rose works really well on me,” Deirdre said. “I mean, okay, maybe your skin is kind of, you know, swarthier or whatever. And of course, your figure…Well, anyway, it should work just fine,” she finished brightly.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of—” George started hotly.

She was interrupted by the shrill ring of a cell phone. Deirdre reached into her designer handbag, pulled out her phone, and checked the screen.

“Oops, I’d better take this,” she said, pressing the Talk button. “Toodles, guys! See you at the wedding, if not before!”

With that, she pressed the phone to her ear and hurried off down the block. We all stared after her.

“Was that some kind of threat?” Bess joked weakly. “About seeing us before the wedding, I mean.”

George rolled her eyes. “Probably just means she’s going to try to weasel her way into some of the prewedding events Syd was talking about last night. Just like she managed to weasel herself into an invitation.” She frowned. “Anyway, it’s totally obvious why she’s being so sickeningly-sweet to us all of a sudden. She probably thinks hanging out with the bridesmaids will get her more screen time. I guess she thinks we’re too stupid to remember we’re not all BFFs.”

“Hey, at least she’s acting human for a change,” Bess said with a grin. “Let’s not overanalyze it—we should just enjoy it!”

“True,” I agreed. “Because it probably won’t last long.”

We were all still laughing about that when we heard the bridal shop’s bell tinkle again. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Deb Camden hurry out.

“Oh, gosh, you guys are still here!” she said with a breathless giggle. “Wow, stuff is really crazy in there!”

“You mean about the dress?” Bess said. “Did they get that straightened out?”

Deb nodded vigorously, then pushed her straight brown bangs out of her eyes. “They called Syd’s modeling agency in New York. The lady there swore she sent them out to the two models just like she was supposed to. But then she checked around and called back, and it turns out Akinyi got sent the wrong dress. Hers is still in New York, and the one she got was meant for one of the other bridesmaids, Candy Kaine.”

“Huh?” George blinked. “Candy Kaine? Is that a person, or, like, a holiday treat?”

Deb giggled. “It’s the name of another model from Syd’s agency.”

“I’ve heard of Candy Kaine,” Bess put in. “I think her real first name is something else, like Christy or Connie. But she’s got bright red hair like Syd’s, plus she’s pretty tall and skinny, so some photographer started calling her Candy Kaine and it kind of stuck.”

“Oh wait, I remember her,” George said. “She’s the other redhead in that photo Aunt Ellie and Uncle Ted have framed on the mantel in their den, right? Syd’s first big paying job as a model or something?”

Bess nodded. “An ad campaign hired the two of them to play sisters because of the hair thing. I guess they’ve been friends ever since.”

“Anyway, the dresses are being overnighted back to the right bridesmaids as we speak, so they should have them before they get on the plane to come here tomorrow afternoon,” Deb continued. “Whew! Syd’s so relieved that she isn’t even mad at the agency, even though it was their mistake.” She shrugged. “It’s weird, though. The lady at the agency insists she definitely addressed the right dresses to the right girls.” She turned and smiled at me. “I guess it’s a real mystery, huh? Maybe you should investigate, Nancy!”

I forced a smile.
Yeah, some mystery!
“Maybe I should,” I joked back politely.

Just then Sydney and her mother emerged from the shop. “Oh good, you guys are still here!” Sydney said when she spotted us. “Mom just called the printers, and they won’t be ready for us until tomorrow morning. So I was thinking we could all head back to my place and hang out—you know, catch up before all the New York and Hollywood people arrive tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?” Bess said. “I mean, of course we’d be happy to help out if there’s stuff we can do to help you get ready for the wedding or anything, but we definitely don’t want to cause more work by coming over—”

“No, no, I really want you guys to come,” Sydney broke in earnestly. “It’ll be nice to spend one last afternoon with some normal people.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Is this your way of telling me all your friends from New York are abnormal?”

Sydney laughed. “You know what I mean, Mom. I’m just talking about hanging with some regular, down-to-earth River Heights people. Once the TV crew gets here tomorrow, things are probably going to be pretty crazy.”

Deb shivered. “I can’t even imagine it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never been on TV before.”

“Trust me, it’s not that exciting after a while,” Sydney told her with a slight grimace. “But come on-please say you guys will come!”

What could we say? Soon we were all walking into Sydney’s parents’ house. They lived in a tidy Colonial on Grant Street. Sydney’s father wasn’t home—he taught Latin at the university and had office hours on Wednesday afternoons. So the house was dark and quiet when we entered.

Ellie had stopped to pick up the mail on her way in. Now she flipped through it as we all headed into the living room. “Here’s something for you, Sydney,” she said, holding up a cream-colored envelope. “Looks like another RSVP.”

Sydney crinkled her forehead in confusion. “It can’t be,” she said. “All the RSVPs have been in for weeks.”

“That’s what I thought. But now I’m wondering if someone fell through the cracks somehow.” Ellie shrugged. “Maybe your Great-Uncle Farley decided to come back early from Australia.”

“Maybe.” Sydney took the envelope and slit it open with one pale pink fingernail.

Meanwhile George had flopped down on a cushy armchair, while Bess and I made ourselves comfortable on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Deb was wandering along the mantel, checking out the framed family photos there.

I glanced over as Sydney pulled a thick white card out of the envelope. From where I was sitting it looked just like the response card that had been included with the invitations we’d all received two months earlier. But when Sydney looked at it, her face went even paler than usual.

George saw her expression too. “What is it, Syd?” she asked.

Sydney turned the card so we could all see it. Just as I’d thought on first glance, it looked exactly like the response cards from Sydney’s invitations. But embossed right in the middle of it in fancy script were some extra words:

I
sat up straight. “Who’s it from?” I asked, getting a tingle from my Sleuth-O-Meter—that’s what George sometimes calls the weird little sixth sense that tells me when there’s a mystery afoot. “Is there a return address?”

Ellie grabbed the envelope from her daughter and checked. “Nothing,” she said grimly. “Just a New York City postmark.”

“Oh, dear!” Deb’s hands fluttered at her cheeks as she stared at Sydney. “I always thought New York seemed so scary….”

Ignoring her, I hurried over for a better look at the RSVP card. Even close up, it was barely distinguishable from the real thing.

“It has the same border I picked out for mine, and the same font, too,” Sydney said, her voice shaking a little. “I wonder…”

“What?” I shot her a sharp look, instantly noting an odd twinge in her voice. “Sydney, is there something else? Have you gotten other mysterious messages like this in the mail?”

“Not in the mail,” Sydney replied. “Um, but I did get a few weird e-mails a week or two ago.”

My Sleuth-O-Meter was right. Suddenly it was looking like there might be some kind of mystery here. “E-mails?” I echoed. “What kind of e-mails?”

“They were horrible.” Sydney shuddered. “They all said I shouldn’t marry Vic if I knew what was good for me, or something like that. Like a threat, even though they didn’t really say anything too specific.”

“Who were they from?” I asked.

“A bunch of made-up fake addresses,” Sydney replied. “The police checked them out and said they were all sent from public computers at libraries or coffeehouses all around New York City. They never figured out who sent them, but I was starting to think…Well, never mind. That’s all over anyway.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about these e-mails, Sydney?” Ellie demanded, rushing over and grasping her daughter by the arm. “I had no idea!”

“It wasn’t that big a deal, Mom.” Sydney sighed and shook her arm loose. “Probably just some of Vic’s more obnoxious admirers pulling a prank or something. He’s got some pretty weird fans out there.”

Ellie still looked horrified. I was a little surprised by that, since she’d never struck me as the type to get so easily rattled. But I was more concerned about getting to the bottom of what Sydney was telling me—and whether it had any connection to the fake RSVP card.

“Do you still have those e-mails?” I asked her. “If so, I’d love to take a look.”

“No, I don’t have them anymore,” Sydney said. “I forwarded them to the police, of course. But then it was like I couldn’t think about anything else while they were on my computer. Akinyi and I were both freaking out and couldn’t sleep while we knew they were there, sort of like they were haunting us. So she talked me into just deleting them.”

I was disappointed. If there truly was a mystery here, it would be helpful to get a look at those e-mails. Maybe I’d be able to guess whether the same person had written them and the RSVP.

Still, it didn’t take a detective to figure out that the NYPD was unlikely to just hand over a piece of evidence to a total stranger from several states away. I would have to rely on Sydney’s memory of what they’d said.

Unfortunately, she didn’t seem too eager to dredge up those memories. “Like I told you, they were all sort of vaguely threatening,” she said when I pressed her for details. “You know—‘Vic might seem like the one, but he’s not the one for you. Add it up before you regret it.’ Something like that. I don’t really remember the rest that well.”

“What do you think it means, Nancy?” Deb asked. “Is it a real mystery?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But if it is, I’ll do my best to get to the bottom of it.”

By the time I met up again with Bess and George the next day, my new case—if that’s what it was—hadn’t gone much further than that. My friends seemed to think it was nothing to worry about. “Celebrities get weird messages from weird fans all the time,” George pointed out as we drove through town. “Those e-mails probably came from some lonely twelve-year-old boy somewhere.”

“And what about that RSVP card?” I asked, leaning forward from the backseat of George’s car. “It can’t be a coincidence that it matches the real ones from her invitations. A random kid wouldn’t even know what the invites looked like.”

George just shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe it’s one of the
Daredevils
guys playing a prank or something.”

“Maybe.” I’d thought of that possibility myself. During Vic’s season, the
Daredevils
cast was infamous for constantly trying to play pranks on one another. Maybe this was their weird way of inducting Sydney into their fraternity or something. If so, it didn’t seem like a very funny prank to me, but then again, I’d never really gotten the whole
Daredevils
phenomenon in the first place. In any case, I was determined to keep an eye on things from now until the wedding, just in case there was something more serious going on.

Bess checked her watch. “We’d better hurry,” she said to George, who was driving. “We’re supposed to be at the airport in less than ten minutes.”

“I still don’t get why Vic and those guys are bothering to fly in to the River Heights Municipal Airport,” George said. “I mean, couldn’t they have just driven down from Chicago like the TV people did?”

The
Daredevils
TV crew had descended on the town early that morning, arriving in a long line of vans and SUVs. Half the population of River Heights had turned out to see them drive into town as if it was some kind of parade. At least that was what Dad had told me when he’d called from his office, amused by the whole spectacle. Now my friends and I—along with everyone else involved with the wedding—were on our way to welcome the arrival of the real stars of the show. Namely, Vic and his showbiz pals. After the meet and greet, we were all supposed to attend some kind of welcome party at the airport. They’d told us the dress was “stylish casual.” For Bess, that translated into a pair of silky black pants, chic heels, and a shimmery blue top. I was a bit more understated, in nice slacks, a button-down shirt, and flats. George had refused to do more than put on black jeans instead of her usual blue, and dig out her cleanest sneakers.

“I guess they want to film them making a big entrance,” Bess said. “Anyway, Syd says the TV people want lots of people there to cheer and stuff.”

“Sounds kind of silly to me,” I commented.

George shot me a look in the rearview mirror. “What do you know? You hardly ever even watch reality TV.”

I couldn’t argue with her there. Besides, we were already turning into the small municipal airport, which appeared to be as busy as O’Hare at the moment. There were even a couple of security guards at the entrance gate. They flagged us down and demanded to see photo ID before they’d let us pass.

“Guess they don’t want the local riffraff coming in,” George commented once we’d finally satisfied the guards that we were who we said we were. “I hope Mom remembered her ID when she came over.”

George’s mother runs a catering company. Not only was she catering the wedding itself, but Sydney had arranged for her to cater several functions for the TV producers as well. All the extra work was keeping Mrs. Fayne and her employees pretty busy.

“I feel kind of bad about your mom,” I told George. “If we weren’t bridesmaids, she probably would’ve drafted all three of us as cater waiters.”

George shrugged, not looking too broken up about that. “It’s okay,” she said. “The TV people are paying her a ton. She can afford to hire all the waitstaff she needs without using us as her indentured servants.”

She parked her car and we climbed out. “Which way do we go?” Bess wondered.

“Mystery solved.” I pointed to a large man carrying a heavy-looking camera on his shoulder. He was hurrying down a path leading around the side of the main airport building.

We trailed along behind him. When we rounded the back corner of the building, we spotted a crowd gathered along the edge of one of the airstrips.

“Looks like this is the place,” George said.

The airstrip was a zoo. Tons of people were buzzing around setting up lights, cameras, microphones, and all sorts of other equipment. About two dozen more familiar faces—Sydney’s family and friends—were clustered nearby, watching it all.

We wandered over and found Deb standing at the edge of the crowd of onlookers. “Isn’t this exciting?” she gushed, clasping her hands together. Her brown eyes were wide with amazement as she watched a grizzled-looking man stride past, barking orders into a walkie-talkie. “It’s like we’re on the set of a Hollywood movie!”

“Hard to believe our little Syd is part of this world now, huh?” George said with a grin.

“Hello, hello!” A skinny young man with horn-rimmed glasses and a mop of sandy brown hair hurried toward us. He was carrying a clipboard and wore a large nametag that identified him as Donald Hibbard. “Are you with the bride?”

“Uh-huh. Bridesmaids,” Bess said. She gave him our names.

“Wonderful.” Donald checked us off on his clipboard. “I’m Donald, one of the PAs. Mr. Eberhart wants me to make sure everyone’s here and pass out the releases for you all to sign.”

“Mr. Eberhart?” Bess echoed.

“PA?” Deb added curiously.

“Mr. Eberhart is Hans Eberhart, the director,” George said before Donald could answer. “He’s a genius! I can’t believe I’m going to meet him. Is he here yet?” She glanced around eagerly.

“PA stands for production assistant,” I told Deb. “That’s someone whose job it is to sort of keep things running on a movie or TV set by looking after all the details.” I turned to smile at Donald. “Did I get that right?”

“Absolutely,” Donald agreed, returning my smile. He showed us the releases, which basically gave the TV crew the right to use our images in their production. Then he waited while we all signed. “And now I’d better skedaddle,” he said, tucking the releases at the back of his clipboard. “I see some more newly arrived details right over there. Enjoy the day, ladies!” He gave us a wave and turned to leave.

But he’d barely gone two steps when a woman came barreling toward him, a look of fury on her narrow, overly made-up face. “I wonder who that is,” I murmured to Bess and George. “She doesn’t look happy.”

“Hibbard!” the woman barked, stabbing a red-tipped finger toward Donald’s face. “Are you a complete imbecile? A total moron? Do you even
have
a brain stem?”

“What’s the matter, Madge?” Donald asked mildly, not seeming the slightest bit disturbed by her insults or the stabbing finger.

The woman waved the Styrofoam cup she was holding in her other hand. Brown liquid sloshed over the side. “This coffee is ice cold!” she shouted. “I can’t drink it like this. You might as well serve me a cup of fresh mud!”

“Sorry about that, Madge.” Donald reached out and expertly plucked the cup out of her hand without spilling another drop. “I’ll get you a fresh cup right away.”

“Good. And be quick about it,” Madge spat out. Then she spun on her heel and stormed off.

“Nice lady,” George said sarcastically when she was out of earshot.

“That’s Madge Michaels, the assistant director,” Donald explained. “She’s, er, a little high-strung. Excuse me—I’d better go find her some hot coffee before she bursts a blood vessel.” Giving us one last wry smile, he hurried off.

“Poor guy,” Bess commented. “I know some people will do anything to be a part of Hollywood, but I sure wouldn’t want to have his job.”

“Whew! You’re not kidding,” Deb exclaimed. “I guess show business isn’t all it’s cracked up to be! I just hope poor Sydney knows what she’s getting into by marrying a TV star.”

Personally I thought the term “TV star” might be a bit too strong a description of a reality-TV contestant, but I decided to keep that opinion to myself. “Well, as a model she’s used to being in the spotlight,” I said instead.

“That reminds me,” Deb said. “I’d better go check on Sydney and see how she’s holding up. See you later!”

Bess, George, and I spent the next few minutes wandering around, saying hi to people we knew and watching the TV crew set up. When we came across Sydney, she was standing with her parents and Deb and a couple of others. She looked beautiful in a fashionable green wraparound dress, but her face was extra pale and her eyes kept skittering off toward the runway nearby. It was hard to tell whether she was anxious to see her fiancé or just nervous about this whole extravaganza. Probably both, I figured.

My friends and I were chatting with one of our old schoolteachers when a sharp whistle silenced the entire area. “Check it out,” George said, nodding toward the temporary platform the TV people had set up near the runway. “It’s our good pal Donald.”

Sure enough, Donald Hibbard was standing up on the platform. He had a bullhorn in his hand.

“Thank you for your attention!” Donald shouted through the bullhorn. “And now, may I introduce our director, Mr. Hans Eberhart!”

My friends and I clapped politely along with everyone else as the director climbed up to stand beside Donald. Hans Eberhart was of average height and weight, with unruly gray hair, a close-cropped graying beard, and a fiercely intelligent look on his broad, weather-beaten face. He took the bullhorn from the PA.

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” he said, his words tinged with a slight German accent. “I have received word that the plane will be landing in just a few moments. Please gather in the area marked off by the ropes to welcome our visitors, all right?”

“Wow, now I really feel glamorous,” Bess joked as we all shuffled over to the roped-off area.

George was walking backward, craning her neck to keep an eye on the director. “I can’t believe Hans Eberhart is really here,” she said. “I’m dying to talk to him about his early work.”

Soon the entire River Heights contingent was crowded behind the ropes. We didn’t have long to wait before there was a mechanical whine from overhead. Moments later a small, sleek jet with the
Daredevils
logo printed on the side was touching down on the airstrip.