The Twin Dilemma Read online

  “Now the hair,” the stylist said. She pulled a brush out of a pocket and swept it through Nancy’s titian waves. “We want a natural look,” she said as she finished, and then led her to Mr. Reese.

  “Wonderful!” he exclaimed, then asked Nancy to walk the length of the room. “Just relax,” he told her. “Now turn and come back.”

  The grin on his face proved that he was pleased with her performance. A few moments later, he escorted her to the stage, leaving her to wait for her cue.

  “The spring season would not be complete ...” Nancy heard the hostess say into the microphone, and she felt someone nudge her onto the runway.

  Lights flashed around the ballroom as the girl detective posed in front of the curtain for a few seconds. The hostess, a striking woman in a glittering sequined gown, smiled at Nancy, motioning her to move forward.

  “The jacket is reversible,” she told the audience, something Nancy had not even noticed. The girl opened the jacket to reveal the lining and was about to remove it when Mr. Reese suddenly bolted toward the microphone.

  “Leave, Miss Drew!” he shouted. “Get off the stage—now!”

  Nancy blinked her eyes, momentarily stunned. Surely he wasn’t serious, she thought, and remaining poised, she turned on her heels and walked back to the curtain.

  “I am very sorry about this, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “but I must remove my designs from this program! I have been robbed!”

  The hostess quickly cupped her hand over the microphone, begging him to say no more. He shrugged, then grabbed Nancy’s arm and pulled her offstage. “I should never have listened to you,” he snapped.

  Nancy stared at him, openmouthed. “What happened?”

  Mr. Reese hurried her back to the dressing room and pointed to a large catalog that bore the name Millington.

  “Look at it,” he told the girl.

  Nancy leafed through the book, unsure of what she was supposed to find. It contained a variety of items, mostly clothing.

  “Stop there,” Mr. Reese said as she turned to a page near the end.

  By now Bess and George had made their way into the dressing room, wondering anxiously what had caused the latest disruption. Aunt Eloise and Marjorie Tyson, on the other hand, had darted behind the stage to soothe the nerves of the next model.

  “I think Reese is a bit daffy,” Marjorie confided to Aunt Eloise. “The way he blows hot and cold, why, it’s enough to drive anyone crazy!”

  The designer, however, had not acted on an emotional whim when he took Nancy out of the fashion show. He had a very good reason, which he now explained to her.

  “These dresses,” he said, indicating pictures in the Millington catalog, “are copies of gowns I designed for this year’s spring collection. They haven’t even been shown in public yet!”

  “It’s not unusual, though, to see copies of originals, is it?” Bess asked.

  “No, it isn‘t,” the man replied with a steely glance at the girl. “But usually, and I stress the word usually, copies, or knock-offs, as we say in the industry, appear after the originals are shown, not before!”

  Nancy raised her eyebrows. “You mean, someone actually scooped your designs?”

  “That’s right! Now none of my clients will buy my spring collection when they see copies of original dresses on every woman in the country!”

  Reese clothing was very expensive, the girls knew, so the designer would probably lose a lot of income as a result.

  “Is Millington a retail operation or a manufacturer of clothes?” Nancy asked.

  “They’re a manufacturer selling to big retailers all over the United States!” the designer explained. “Now do you see how serious this is?”

  “Could you rustle up some new designs to replace the ones that were stolen?” Bess inquired timidly.

  “Hardly. They take weeks, months, to create and execute!” Mr. Reese insisted. “No, I’m absolutely ruined!”

  3

  Stranger“s Story

  “But how could anyone get hold of your designs ?” George asked Mr. Reese.

  He had collapsed into a chair and buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know, I don’t know,” he kept repeating. “We have very tight security in the office.”

  “Maybe that’s part of the answer,” Nancy said.

  She was about to inquire into his staff but realized she ought to wait until after the fashion show. The sponsors had lost a precious contribution when the designer pulled out so abruptly, and she was determined to do all she could to reverse the effect.

  “Please let me go on,” Nancy begged the man.

  “And have these clothes photographed for the Millington catalog, too? Never!”

  “But the damage has already been done,” Nancy said. She thrust the catalog under the man’s nose and pointed to a picture of a skirt and jacket that closely resembled the one she wore.

  “That’s right,” Aunt Eloise, who was standing in the doorway, chimed in. “Our patrons have paid a lot of money for their tickets, Mr. Reese, and to disrupt every—”

  Her voice broke off as tears welled up in her eyes. She started to walk away when Marjorie Tyson strode past her, carrying a message.

  “Maybe this will change your mind,” she said confidently.

  Mr. Reese glanced at the folded paper with disinterest.

  “Please—read this,” the woman persisted.

  As he opened it, Nancy could not help seeing that it was a request to buy the same outfit she had modeled only a short while ago.

  “Zoe Babbitt is an old customer of mine,” the man mumbled, referring to the signature on the note.

  “Then—” Nancy said hopefully.

  “Yolanda, get the organza!” Mr. Reese demanded, and the stylist hurried off.

  Instantly, Aunt Eloise threw her arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re wonderful,” she said gaily.

  “Oh, stop it,” he replied in embarrassment. “And hurry up!”

  “Thank you,” Aunt Eloise said quietly. She and Marjorie followed Bess and George back to the ballroom, leaving Nancy to attend to the next change of clothing.

  As before, the second outfit fit almost perfectly. This time, however, Nancy winced as Yolanda drew the long zipper over her waist and up the back.

  “Can you breathe?” Yolanda teased, noting the pinch in the midriff.

  “Barely,” Nancy replied hoarsely. She didn’t dare relax for fear she would split a seam!

  “What do you think, Mr. Reese?” Yolanda asked when the girl stood before him at last.

  Instantly, he noticed the thin crease in the waistline, but a glance at his watch made him admit, “I’m afraid we haven’t time to fix it.” Then, as if a bolt of lightning had struck, he snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute,” he said, and dived into a nearby box filled with assorted buttons and ribbons. He pulled out a long, wide band of grosgrain that was the same shade of lilac as the gown.

  “Perfect,” Yolanda said. She tied it into a pretty bow around the girl’s waist, then quickly pinned Nancy’s hair back, letting only a few wisps play against her cheekbones.

  It was no surprise to either Mr. Reese or his assistant that the young model was greeted with loud applause. Nancy was stunning and sailed down the runway as if she had done it many times. The remaining two outfits, a tailored white suit and a silk hostess gown, were equally popular.

  When Nancy stood at the end of the platform for the last time, a camera flashed in the back of the room, drawing her attention there. Not far from where the flash had come stood a woman in a dappled fur coat thrown casually over her shoulders.

  That looks like Jacqueline Henri, Nancy thought. She was tempted to stare, but forced herself to turn instead and walk slowly toward the curtain where she posed once more before exiting.

  “Wasn’t she marvelous?” the hostess said to the audience over the microphone, bringing another round of applause for Nancy.

  But the girl detective heard o
nly an echo of it as she rushed back to the dressing room to change into her own skirt and blouse. She wondered if Bess and George had spotted the model, too. However, before she could consider the possibility further, she found herself surrounded by Mr. Reese and several young women. All of them complimented her profusely.

  “Miss Drew,” Mr. Reese said with an air of formality, “will you help me find the thieves?”

  “I was just about to ask you for your business card,” Nancy replied, smiling.

  She pulled away long enough to slip into the clothes she had brought from Aunt Eloise‘s, then emerged to face Mr. Reese once again.

  “Where are you running to, Nancy?” he asked inquisitively, adding, “I’d like to talk with you if you can spare a minute.”

  Nancy glanced past the man in preoccupation. She was eager to find Jacqueline Henri but decided not to mention anything to Mr. Reese.

  “Perhaps we could discuss the theft tomorrow,” she suggested, smiling politely.

  “I may have to leave on business,” was the reply. “Can’t we—”

  The girl detective broke in gently. “On second thought,” she said, “I wonder if you would draw me some rough sketches of the dresses that were stolen tonight.”

  “Of course, I’d be glad to, but—”

  “And jot down the type of material you used for each one,” Nancy concluded. “Now, I really must get back to the ballroom.”

  As she hurried toward the corridor, Mr. Reese told her he would have the sketches ready by morning.

  “Great,” Nancy called back. Her feet picked up speed as the sound of music drifted into the lobby, but when she stepped into the ballroom, she halted immediately.

  What if Jacqueline had left? She trained her vision on the couples who were dancing, then shifted it to the tables. Bess and George waved to her, but Nancy did not see them. Instead, she was struck by the sight of a dappled fur coat on a nearby chair.

  That’s Jacquel—Nancy gasped to herself when the young woman seemed to appear from nowhere.

  “Miss Henri!” Nancy exclaimed, running to her. “We’ve been worried sick about you.”

  The puzzled expression that greeted her prompted Nancy to explain the comment. She introduced herself as Eloise Drew’s niece.

  “I tried to be here on time for the show,” Jacqueline said, “but couldn’t make it. I phoned your aunt, but she had already left.”

  “I’m sure she’d like to talk to you now,” Nancy said. “She—” Her sentence was interrupted by an announcement over the loudspeaker.

  “Will Jacqueline Henri please come to the desk.”

  The young woman looked worried and tense. “That’s for me,” she said. “I’ll have to go now.”

  “Is something the matter?” Nancy asked, sensing that there was.

  “No—I’ll call your aunt tomorrow.” But before the model was able to excuse herself, Bess and George had joined the two.

  “Oh, Miss Henri! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Bess called out, extending her hand at the same time. Jacqueline’s was cold and clammy. “Wasn’t Nancy wonderful?” Bess rambled on until her cousin spoke.

  “We wondered what had happened to you,” George said. “Why didn’t you come to work?”

  “I—I couldn‘t,” Jacqueline said. “Something terrible happened and—” She broke off and started to turn away from the trio.

  Nancy gently put her hand on the model’s arm. “Maybe we can help?”

  Jackie shook her head. “No, you can‘t,” she answered. “It’s about my brother. He may have been kidnapped! ”

  4

  Studio Clue

  “Kidnapped! Are you sure?” Nancy asked.

  Again the call came over the loudspeaker, interrupting the model before she could reply.

  “Miss Jacqueline Henri, will Miss Jacqueline Henri please come to the desk,” the voice repeated.

  “I’ll be back,” she told the girls abruptly and walked away.

  “If she believes her brother was kidnapped,” George said, “what’s she doing here?”

  “Maybe he was supposed to be here,” Nancy suggested, glancing in the direction of the lobby.

  The hotel desk was not visible from where the girls stood and Nancy wondered how much longer it would be before the young woman returned.

  “Maybe she said that only to keep us from following her,” George remarked after several minutes.

  “Come on,” Nancy said, leading the two cousins across the corridor. “Let’s see if we can find her.”

  As they stepped into the main lobby, they were astonished by the number of people with suitcases crowding the registration area.

  “They must’ve come in on a late plane,” Nancy observed.

  “Or a bus,” George said, directing everyone’s attention to a man in a driver’s uniform.

  He pushed his way through the crowd, waving his hands and talking at the same time. The hubbub dissipated as the group huddled around him.

  “I don’t see Jacqueline anywhere,” Bess commented.

  “She could’ve met someone and left,” Nancy said, and hurried toward one of the desk clerks, asking if he knew where the stunning, black-haired woman had gone.

  “I haven’t seen her at all,” the young man replied, “and from your description, I’m sure I’d remember her.”

  Then, on a sudden thought, she approached the bus driver. He had been outside the hotel when Jacqueline left, if, in fact, she had. But to Nancy’s chagrin, the man said he had not seen her, either.

  “Let’s go back to the ballroom,” Nancy said. “I’m sure Aunt Eloise is wondering what has happened to us.”

  As the trio weaved between tables, several patrons stopped Nancy, complimenting her performance and the gowns she had worn.

  “Absolutely exquisite,” someone said from behind, causing Nancy to turn toward the dance floor. “Miss Drew?” The young man who spoke stepped closer, aligning himself under the soft light of a chandelier.

  Nancy judged him to be in his thirties, despite the deep lines under his gray eyes. “Did you say something?” Nancy asked.

  “I was just about to invite you to dance,” came the unexpected reply.

  The orchestra was switching tempos and Nancy nodded. She followed the stranger to the center of the floor where several other couples were trying unsuccessfully to keep from bumping into each other.

  “I don’t know your name,” the young detective said as the two began to dance.

  “It’s Chris,” he said. “Chris Chavez. You took Jacqueline Henri’s place on the program, didn’t you?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Nancy replied casually. “Do you know her?”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “I guess so.”

  Chris swirled her away from him, but held her hand firmly, drawing her back.

  “Do you do a lot of modeling?” he inquired.

  “As a matter of fact,” Nancy said, “this is the first time I’ve done anything like this. I’ve modeled before, but not on this scale.”

  “That’s really hard to believe. You looked so professional up on that runway,” Chris went on. Despite the dim light, he could see the blush in Nancy’s cheeks. “I hope I’m not embarrassing you,” he said.

  “Oh, no,” the girl said, starting to giggle. “I was just thinking how happy it would make our housekeeper if I changed careers.”

  Her dance partner appeared bewildered. “What’s your current occupation?” he asked as the music finished at last.

  “I’m a detective,” Nancy said. Now it was her turn to watch for a change of expression, but to her surprise, there was none. Chris made no comment. Instead, he trailed her to the table where Bess and George sat with Aunt Eloise and Marjorie Tyson, and Nancy introduced him to her friends.

  “Not the Chris Chavez.” Marjorie grinned. “The photographer?”

  Chris nodded. “And I’d like to take a picture of Nancy in that gorgeous gown she wore earlier.”

  “Well, I’m su
re that can be arranged,” Aunt Eloise said enthusiastically.

  Bess, meanwhile, tugged on Nancy’s arm. “George and I were wondering where you went,” she whispered. “We didn’t realize you had met such a handsome man. Does he have a couple of friends?”

  “I don’t know. Shall I ask?” Nancy replied.

  The blond girl giggled while the young photographer jotted down his phone number and handed it to Nancy. “I’ll be at the studio tomorrow, so let me know if you can come by,” he said, then walked off quickly.

  “What will Ned think when he sees you on the cover of some famous magazine—and photographed by the world-famous Chris Chavez?” George teased Nancy.

  “Ned Nickerson,” Nancy replied, referring to her boyfriend from Emerson College, “won’t think anything because he won’t see any such thing.”

  “Want to bet?” Bess winked.

  “It’s not so farfetched, Nancy,” her aunt said instantly. “You could become a top model like Jacqueline.”

  “But I don’t want to be,” Nancy declared. “I’m very happy doing what I do. Which reminds me—what do you know about Jacqueline Henri? I assume Bess and George told you about our encounter with her.”

  “Yes, they did,” Marjorie said. “I really don’t know very much about her. You should have asked Chris.”

  Chris! Nancy thought, irritated that she had literally let him slip through her fingers.

  “I’m going to call him in a little while,” she declared.

  “You are?” Bess repeated. “But it’s after midnight.”

  “He only left a few minutes ago, so I’ll try his house in half an hour,” Nancy decided.

  The ballroom had begun to empty as Nancy made her way down the quiet hallway to a phone booth not far from the dressing room. The overhead lights had been turned off, but the sconces on the wall were still lit.

  Nancy gasped as the silhouette of a man played across a distant, smoke-colored mirror. She ducked into the booth, waiting for the stranger to show himself.