Designs in Crime (4 page)

When they reached the ground floor and pushed open the staircase door, the crush began. The lobby glowed with the lights of the camera crew, who had surrounded the door.

“Here's the distraught bride now,” Delia said into her microphone. “Is there any hope of recovering the gown?” she asked, shoving the mike at Joanna.

“Sorry, Delia, but we're late for dinner,” Joanna answered as she made her way past the reporter. A minute later the three girls stepped into the back of a black limousine and sank into
the plush seats. The camera crew was still clamoring outside the limo when the driver pulled away from the curb.

Joanna sighed. “I'm glad that's over.”

“So much for keeping a low profile,” Nancy said as the limo joined the stream of cars heading uptown. “When does Delia's report usually air?”

“ ‘Fashion Flash' is on every morning,” Bess answered, turning to Joanna. “I guess you'll be featured tomorrow.”

“My father's going to have a fit,” Joanna said, staring out the window. “He hates negative publicity.”

Twenty minutes later the limousine pulled up at the canopied entrance of a tall building on Fifth Avenue. No sooner had the limo stopped than the door was opened by a uniformed doorman. “Good evening, Miss Rockwell,” he said, extending a white-gloved hand to help the girls out of the car.

Nancy climbed out and looked around her. Though it was now dark, she could still make out the majestic old stone and brick buildings that lined this side of Fifth Avenue, across the street from Central Park.

Inside, a guard escorted them through the paneled lobby lit by brass wall sconces. Bess paused in front of a painting and smiled. “It's like a museum.”

“I grew up in this building,” Joanna said as another guard ushered them into a private elevator.
“Our apartment takes up three full floors, but as a kid I felt the real action was downstairs. I used to drive the poor doormen crazy, playing hide-and-seek and other games in the lobby. Sam's and my new apartment isn't nearly so grand as my dad's, but it's a lot cozier.”

Upstairs, the elevator opened on a marble-floored foyer.

“Good evening, Miss Rockwell—ladies,” a slight, white-haired man in a black suit greeted them.

“Hello, Max,” Joanna said, handing him her jacket. “Will you tell cook there'll be two more for dinner?”

“Of course,” the butler said, taking Nancy and Bess's coats. “Mr. Hollingsworth has arrived. You'll find him in the library with your father.” He nodded, then hurried off.

“Hello,” Joanna called, leading Nancy and Bess down the marble-floored corridor to an arched doorway. Inside were rows and rows of books set on the dark wood shelves lining every wall.

Seated in an upholstered chair beside the marble fireplace was Michael Rockwell, the gray-haired billionaire whose broad, beefy face had appeared on the cover of every major business magazine at least once. An unlit pipe was wedged in his mouth, and a newspaper was open on his lap.

“Hi, Daddy.” Joanna crossed the room and kissed her father on the cheek.

A young man jumped up from the sofa opposite Rockwell and joined her. So this is Joanna's fiancé, Nancy thought, looking over the solidly built guy with sandy blond hair and hazel eyes. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a cherry red sweater.

“Joanna,” he said, going over to kiss her. He paused suddenly and studied her closely. “What's up. I can tell something's wrong.”

“Oh, Sam—I have bad news.” Joanna's voice cracked as she hugged her fiancé. She remembered her manners and turned to the girls in the door. “Meet Nancy Drew and Bess Marvin,” Joanna said. “This is my father, Michael Rockwell, and my fiancé, Samuel Hollingsworth.”

“Please, call me Sam,” the young man insisted.

“The press calls you Sam Speed, king of the racing circuit,” Bess said as she shook his hand.

Sam beamed. “You're a racing fan?”

Dimples appeared in Bess's cheeks as she smiled. “Not really, but I read a lot of magazines.”

“Hello, ladies,” Mr. Rockwell said. He rose and shook their hands before returning to his chair. “What's this about bad news?” he asked Joanna.

“Don't tell me,” said a voice from behind Nancy. A young man in his twenties ambled in.
His brown hair curled over his collar, and a single gold earring glimmered in one earlobe. The resemblance to Joanna was unmistakable. This must be her brother, Nancy thought.

“Let me guess,” the young man said sarcastically. “The flowers have wilted? The cake is missing a layer? Or is it the caterer? He can't get the ice sculpture you want.”

“This is my brother, Tyler, the dramatic one in the family. He's an actor. His first off-Broadway show is opening this week,” Joanna said, introducing the girls. “Tyler, I know you're sick of hearing about my wedding plans, but this is serious.”

Quickly Joanna told how her gown had been stolen and Delia Rogers had overheard the news. “Nancy has offered to help track down the dress, and I jumped at the idea,” she finished.

“Now, don't skip ahead, Joanna,” Michael Rockwell said. “We can hire the finest investigators money can buy.”

“But Nancy's a fantastic detective,” Bess insisted. “She's solved some impossible cases.”

“No offense, Ms. Drew, but I'd prefer someone with more experience,” Mr. Rockwell said.

Standing her ground with the man who was pointing the stem of his pipe at her, Nancy said, “My age has never kept me from solving a mystery.”

“Daddy,” Joanna said firmly, “Nancy is working on this case, and that's final.”

“A stolen gown! Less than a week before your wedding,” Mr. Rockwell barked. “I don't like it.”

Tyler crossed his arms. “Kind of puts a damper on your big media event, doesn't it, Dad?”

Nancy noticed the tension between the two men even before Michael Rockwell glared at his son.

“What about the material taken from your mother's gown?” Sam asked. “And all her pearls?”

“They're gone, along with the dress,” Joanna said sadly. “And I feel awful about it.”

“It's a bad omen,” Mr. Rockwell warned. “Perhaps the wedding should be canceled.”

“Maybe he's right,” Joanna said, her eyes filling with tears. “I'm so upset, I don't know what to do.”

“Take it easy, Sis,” Tyler said.

Sam took her in his arms. “I'm not going to let a wedding dress stand between us,” he said gently. “We're getting married this Saturday—even if we have to wear grass skirts! The only thing I care about is
you.
”

“Oh, Sam.” Joanna laughed through her tears.

Nancy was touched by Sam's response, although Michael Rockwell clearly was not.

“It's not too late to call the wedding off,” Mr. Rockwell said, pacing now in front of the fireplace. “It's the only thing to do. I'll call the caterer right away and—”

“Dad!” Tyler exploded, slamming his fist on a
table to get his father's attention. “There you go again, bulldozing ahead, not listening to a word anyone else says. Didn't you hear Sam and Joanna? They're going ahead with their wedding.”

“Nonsense,” Michael Rockwell insisted. “I'm just doing what's best for everyone. Of course, we'll have to contact all the guests, and—”

“No!” Tyler interrupted. “Leave Joanna alone!”

“Tyler—” Joanna said, taking his arm. “Take it easy.”

“No!” Tyler said, shaking his sister off. He glared at his father. “You can push the rest of the world around, but not Joanna and me!”

M
ICHAEL
R
OCKWELL
glared silently at his son for a full ten seconds. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might know what's best for this family?” he finally growled.

“No. You only know what
looks
best—to the media,” Tyler snapped. “Our feelings are never taken into account.”

“If you had a head for business, you'd understand how important appearances are.” Mr. Rockwell crossed the library to a paneled door that led to an office. “I have a few calls to make,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

“I'm out of here,” Tyler muttered. “I have a preview tonight.”

“Wait,” Joanna said, taking his hand. “Talk to me for just a minute, and please try not to be too upset with Daddy.”

“He drives me crazy, Joanna—you know that,” Tyler said, stepping backward like an agitated colt. “Three months ago he wasn't going to allow this marriage to happen. He wanted you to marry someone with assets, so there could be a merger instead of a marriage.”

“But he seems okay with Sam now—” Joanna began.

“Yeah, when he finally realized he couldn't stop your marriage,” Tyler interrupted. “So what does he do then? He decides to turn your wedding into a media event, with you and Sam as chief tightrope walkers. All to keep the Rockwell name in the news. It makes me sick, Joanna,” he went on, shaking his head. “And you let him do this to you.”

She sighed wearily as if she'd heard it all before. “It's not so bad. In fact, I'm having fun. Really.” Nancy could tell that fun was the last thing Joanna was having. The young heiress was under pressure from all sides, and Nancy felt deeply sorry for her.

“I just wish you'd reconsider being in the bridal party,” Joanna said weakly. “I don't want to put extra pressure on you, and I know the press has been hounding you. But it just won't feel right without you.”

“I can't do it,” Tyler said coldly. “I don't have time for wedding games. I'm going to the theater. I have to perform tonight.” With that he turned and strode toward the penthouse elevator.

“Wow,” Bess whispered to Nancy. “He sure left in a huff.”

Joanna stood still, staring after her brother.

“Does Tyler argue with your father often?” Nancy asked quietly.

“The fights have gotten worse in the last few years, ever since Tyler announced he was going to be an actor,” Joanna said. “My father doesn't approve.”

“It's not easy to win her dad's approval,” Sam added with a wry smile. “I speak from experience. The old man
hates
racing.”

“That's different,” Joanna insisted. “Racing is dangerous. Daddy's concerned that you might get hurt.” When Sam raised an eyebrow doubtfully, Joanna smiled. “Okay, okay—
I
worry that you might get hurt.”

“Your father's main concern is what the guys at his club think,” Sam said. “They don't approve of his daughter marrying a mere race car driver.”

Joanna rolled her eyes. “They're just jealous because your life is a zillion times more exciting than theirs,” she told Sam.

“That's because I'm marrying you,” he said, placing a kiss on Joanna's cheek.

Seeing them together, Nancy was glad Sam and Joanna had decided to go ahead with the wedding, despite the missing gown.

“You two need to give me some help,” she told the couple. “Is there anyone you can think of
who might want to get back at you by stealing Joanna's gown?”

Sam checked with Joanna, then shrugged. “No one that I can think of. I pride myself on not having any enemies. In my business, you have to be a good sport.”

Just then Max announced that dinner was served. Bess and Nancy followed the couple through the richly decorated apartment to the dining room, where savory smells filled the air. Mr. Rockwell joined them.

First the maid brought out a green salad. The main course was sole stuffed with crabmeat. Joanna and Sam entertained the other three with humorous stories of their endless wedding preparations while they ate.

“I bet you'll be relieved when it's all over,” Nancy said. “Are you going on a honeymoon?”

Joanna's smile faded and Nancy knew she'd touched on a delicate subject.

“Well . . .” Joanna hesitated. “We might spend a few days in Florida.”

“Florida!” Mr. Rockwell huffed. “You mean you're going to hang around at some racetrack while Sam wastes his time with a bunch of grease monkeys!”

Sam tossed his napkin on the table, but before he could object, Joanna said, “Daddy, Sam agreed to drive at Daytona long before our wedding plans were set. We'll go on our honeymoon later.”

The subject was dropped when a servant appeared with a tray of fruit and pastries. As they finished dessert, Nancy couldn't help thinking there was much more to the Rockwell family than met the eye.

She still was focused on the Rockwells and their problems when she unlocked the door of her aunt's apartment.

Nancy took in the light blue comforters on the freshly made beds in the guest room and sighed. “It's been a long day,” she told Bess.

“Can you believe Joanna's father wanted to cancel the wedding?” Bess said as she hung her clothes in the closet and pulled on a nightgown.