Carolyn Keene - Nancy Drew (6 page)

Bess and George looked at each other unde cidedly. George finally suggested that they could save some time if she and Bess checked out the police mug shots.

“Good idea,” Nancy concurred. “By the time you get back, I ought to have the papers, and then we can head for Mr. Reese’s.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Bess said, knowing that Nancy would have liked to review the police pictures herself.

“I’m positive,” Nancy said. “You saw the same man I did at the auction.”

That was reassurance enough to send the girls on their way.

“Oh, wait a minute,” Nancy said. “Here, take this. It’s the address of a dress shop Jacqueline told me about. Since we’re running short on time, maybe you ought to stop there before you come back.”

“Great!” Bess exclaimed.

Nancy handed each of the girls an umbrella from the closet. To Bess she said, “It’s supposed to rain today. I’m sure you don’t want those new curls to come undone.” The tiny curls that had framed her face the day before had begun to sag a bit, but Bess was determined to keep the hairdo.

In reply, Bess merely rolled her eyes and said, “Be back soon.”

Leaving Nancy to wait for the mysterious documents, Aunt Eloise followed the cousins out the door. When they arrived at the police station after a circuitous ride in a taxicab that had deposited Eloise Drew en route, George introduced herself and Bess.

“We’re friends of Nancy Drew, the amateur detective.”

The sergeant on duty had heard of Nancy and smiled. “Are you helping her on a case?” he inquired.

George nodded. “That’s why we’re here. We’d like to take a look at mug shots, if you don’t mind. We’re searching for a man whose name we don’t know.”

“What’d he do?” the sergeant asked.

“Impersonated a client of ours who doesn’t want any publicity about it. We promised to try finding the man on our own.”

“I see. Well, go ahead. Take a look at our file.”

He led them into a room and provided the photographs they had requested.

“Thanks,” the girls chorused almost in unison.

“Let me know if you recognize the guy!” The sergeant grinned.

For several minutes, the young detectives pored over the pictures, stopping once in a while to stare at a face that seemed familiar. A couple of the men bore similar features to the impostor—a bald head, for instance, but the shape of the eyes or nose was different.

“Hey!” Bess said suddenly as they reached the bottom of the pile. “Look at this!”

The girls stared at a photograph of a man in his late thirties, maybe early forties, whose eyes were pinched together under thick, straight brows. His nose was long and slim, the mouth full, and the face was framed by blondish hair.

“It’s Russell Kaiser!” George gasped. “Not the bald man who bought the medallion and who we assumed to be the impostor. It’s the man who approached Nancy and asked us to help him!”

“His real name is Pete Grover, and he’s wanted for check forgery in the State of California,” Bess added. “It says so right here under the picture.”

“Maybe the sergeant has more information about him: Let’s ask,” George suggested.

The officer was very interested when he heard that they found a man in the mug shots who resembled someone they had met the night before.

“Now, you say you saw him at an auction,” the sergeant asked. “Did he buy anything?”

“No,” George replied, “but he bid on a medallion. He didn’t get it, though.”

The policeman nodded. “We’ll look into it.”

“What do you think is going on?” Bess asked her cousin on the way out.

“Beats me, but I have a hunch we’ll have to do a little more investigating before we find out. Pete Grover’s hair was a little different, but I’m sure he was the man we met last night.”

The girls headed for the dress shop on East 67th Street. It was small and stocked with expensive, imported clothes.

“No wonder Jacqueline comes here,” Bess commented. She thumbed through the hangers, pausing to look at a gold lamé jumpsuit. “These pants are meant for sticks to wear.”

George laughed. “Well, that lets you out!”

“Very funny,” said Bess, who was used to being teased by George about her waistline. She shoved the suit along the rack. “Now, here’s something. Oh, I want to try it on.”

Before George could get a close look at what it was, Bess dashed into a dressing room in the back of the store. Within a few minutes, a clerk went after her, then returned to the rack for a larger size.

George sat down on a velvet cushion, preparing for Bess’s entrance. She heard peculiar noises from the dressing room—sighs, and then giggles.

“Ready or not,” Bess called out at last.

She stepped into view, watching the frozen look in her cousin’s eyes.

“Like it?” she asked gaily.

George gulped.

The one-piece pants suit was a shimmer of silver and black that ballooned over Bess’s figure, ending in a tight hug over her ankles. Bess turned in front of a mirror and grinned at George.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asked.

“Mm-hmm,” George said. “You’re a true vision.”

“Thanks,” Bess replied, evidently pleased. “How much is it?” she asked the clerk.

“Only four twenty-five.”

“Four hundred and twenty-five dollars?” Bess gasped. “Oh, and I do love it! ”

“Well, maybe you can find a dressmaker in River Heights to sew something like it,” George consoled her.

“These are one of a kind,” the clerk insisted haughtily.

“I’m sure,” George replied. “Let’s go.”

“I’m so disappointed,” Bess said when they were outside again.

“Just think of it this way. If you had bought that outfit, Dave would have thought something had happened to the good old Bess he once knew! Besides, it would have looked better on a thinner girl.”

“Good old Bess. That’s me,” Bess sighed. “I guess I’m just never going to be very sophisticated.”

When they reached the apartment again, they were still talking about their excursion. George described the silver-black creation Bess had wanted to purchase, then they discussed the visit to the police station. Nancy was flabbergasted when she heard about the photograph they had seen.

George mentioned something that had been on her mind. “If Pete Grover is the impostor, though, why would he have deliberately introduced himself to you?” she asked Nancy.

“I have no idea.”

“What about the papers your father sent? Did they come?” Bess inquired.

“No. A few letters arrived for Aunt Eloise. That was all. But I figure Dad must’ve mailed everything by special delivery, which means it could turn up here almost any time today.”

The girls prepared a light lunch, and when they were done, it was almost two o‘clock.

“I really ought to go to Mr. Reese’s office,” Nancy decided.

“If you want us to wait here, we will,” George offered.

“But suppose the papers come and Nancy has to do something with them right away?” Bess objected. “No, I think she’d better stick around.”

“I agree,” Nancy said, “but I’d hate to spend the entire day cooped up in Aunt Eloise’s apartment waiting for something that might never arrive. Maybe Dad’s secretary can tell me where he is. I don’t like to disturb him during a business meeting, but what else can I do?”

She called the attorney’s office once more and, to her delight, discovered that her father had returned earlier than expected.

“What’s up, dear?” Carson Drew asked pleasantly.

“Did you send me a telegram today?”

“No.”

“And some important papers?”

“Papers? Why, no!”

As quickly as she could, Nancy gave an account of recent events, ending with the mysterious message.

“It was a phony, Nancy,” her father said gravely. “Someone obviously didn’t want you to leave the apartment for a reason!”

But who? And why would anyone play such a mean trick on me? Nancy wondered.

When Mr. Drew heard about the events at the fashion show, he sounded even grimmer. “It seems to me that someone thinks you’re getting too close for comfort.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Dad, but I don’t feel very close to anything.”

“Maybe you just can’t see the forest for the trees,” the lawyer said. “And before you get lost in the wilderness, I want you to promise to call me every day!”

“I will, Dad. And I won’t get lost. You’ll see.”

His deep, reassuring voice was enough to bolster Nancy’s confidence. “We have a lot to do,” she told her friends. “I’ve been thinking about my conversation with Jacqueline this morning.”

“And?” George prompted.

“And I wonder if she has passed information along to the fashion thief who figured he’d keep me from going to Reese Associates today.”

“You think Jacqueline is an accomplice in some way?” Bess asked in disbelief.

“No, but she could be an innocent conduit.”

Her listeners pondered the idea for a moment.

“She and Chris are the only people who know you’re trying to help Mr. Reese,” George said.

“Also, it was only moments after I talked to her that the telegram came,” Nancy added.

“Maybe we ought to talk to her again,” George suggested.

“She’s probably working now,” Bess said. “A model who’s as popular as Jacqueline would be in great demand.”

“I’d like to visit Mr. Reese first, anyway,” Nancy stated. “I don’t want to give away my schedule again—”

“Especially to a thief!” Bess interrupted.

When the girls arrived at the designer’s office, Nancy was pleased to learn that he had returned from the business trip he had been on the day before, and was out doing some investigating on his own!

“Did he leave a message for me?” she asked the receptionist, whose long, polished fingernails sifted through a basket of papers on her desk. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything marked for Nancy Drew,” she said, lifting her head in a smile. “Perhaps you ought to speak with Mr. Reese directly. He’s at Zanzibar’s.”

The name didn’t sound familiar to the girls.

“It’s a photographic studio,” the receptionist went on. “They do a lot of catalog work for major department stores.”

“Okay,” Nancy said. “If by any chance Mr. Reese should return before we get there, will you tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Will do.”

The receptionist jotted down the address of the studio, which was located in the heart of the garment district. The buildings were gray and, apart from a sign that said Zanzibar‘s, the young detectives might have passed by without realizing what it was. The entrance was small, too. There were a few color advertisements from old store catalogs that hung on the wall, but no evidence of what lay beyond.

Nancy led the way to a desk at the end of the hall, where a stubby woman was seated. She greeted the visitors pleasantly, but when Nancy mentioned the name Reese, the woman stiffened.

“He is talking with one of our photographers,” she said, “and I’m sure they don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“But Nancy is trying to help him investigate the thefts from the hotel last ni
^g
ht,” Bess blurted out.

The woman stared at Nancy. “You hardly look like a detective,” she said, as shouting voices broke through a far door.

Nancy recognized Mr. Reese’s instantly. She strode past the receptionist with Bess and George close at her heels.

“You can’t go in there!” the stubby woman cried, but the girls had already opened the door.

“My models are getting paid plenty by the hour,” the photographer was barking at Mr. Reese, “and you’re taking both my time and theirs!”

A young brunette, who was standing in front of a long sheet of seamless blue paper, moved out of the strong light that poured over her.

“It’s getting too hot for me,” the detectives overheard her remark. The men, however, had missed the comment.

“I am going to have you arrested, Mr. Vinton!” the fashion designer yelled.

“Fine! Go ahead!”

“Oh, Nancy, let’s get out of here,” Bess whispered.

“And that includes your assistant!” Reese was pointing a threatening finger at a woman in slacks and a smock who was standing near the model. He charged angrily toward her. “What’s your name?” he growled, pushing aside one of the tall lights.

It teetered, then crashed to the floor in splinters of glass!

“Oh!” the woman cried as a chunk slid close to her foot. “You’re a madman! That’s what you are!”

Reese boiled at the remark. “You haven’t seen anything yet!” he fired at her, shoving the young model out of the way and tearing the paper off a metal bar.

“Mr. Reese! Please, Mr. Reese!” Nancy called from the doorway.

But the man paid no attention. His face and neck were a blaze of red as he turned back to the photographer, who grabbed him firmly by the shoulders.

“I am going to throw you out personally!” Vinton roared.

“Stop him, somebody!” Bess trembled as Reese swung a fist at the man, just missing him.