Carolyn Keene - Nancy Drew Read online

  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!”

  9

  Fashion Accusation

  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 night,” 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.

  By now the noise had traveled through the whole studio, where, behind several closed doors, other photo sessions were being conducted. One after another, people infiltrated Mr. Vinton’s room and, at last, two men tackled Reese before he could land another swing.

  “I’ll send you a bill for this mess!” Mr. Vinton rasped loudly.

  “And I’ll see to it that you pay for every dress you filched!” the designer snapped, as Nancy stepped closer to interrupt.

  “Mr. Reese,” she said firmly, catching his attention at last.

  “What do you want?” he grumbled.

  “You should be careful about making accusations you can’t back up.”

  Now the man laughed hard. He flexed his arms, seeking to be free of the tightening hold.

  “That’s very funny. Are you a lawyer, too?”

  Nancy took a deep breath and Bess and George pulled
behind her.

  “No, I’m not a lawyer,” the girl replied calmly. “But I do know that you can get into an awful lot of trouble if you can’t support your charges.”

  “Well, I can support them,” he snarled. “These men are nothing more than cheap crooks, and if I ever find out who commissioned them to photograph my clothes, I will sue them!”

  The girls wondered if Zanzibar’s had, in fact, photographed the copies of Mr. Reese’s original designs that had appeared in the Millington catalog. Nancy noticed the torn page of one sticking out of his coat pocket.

  “Is that from the Millington book?” she asked.

  “No. This is from the Chalmers catalog,” the designer replied, referring to an expensive department store.

  He whipped out the page and waved it under Nancy’s nose, his hand still trembling in rage. “Here, look for yourself. See these two gowns? High-priced merchandise, wouldn’t you say? Not at all like the stuff Millington manufactures. But they’re my designs, too!”

  “What makes you think the photographer had something to do with the theft?” Nancy inquired.

  “Because he wouldn’t tell me who gave him the assignment! He’s covering up for someone, I’m sure of it!”

  10

  A New Discovery

  Nancy stared at the pictures in the Chalmers catalog. The two beautiful gowns Reese had indicated were, in fact, credited to Arnaud Hans, a competing designer!

  The girl’s mind was racing with questions, but she decided to wait until they had left the studio before asking them.

  “I think we should go,” she said to Mr. Reese. “There’s nothing more we can accomplish here.”

  Apparently the temperamental designer agreed, because he walked to the door. “You’ll hear from my lawyer!” he called back to Vinton.

  “And you from ours!” the photographer replied coldly as the girls followed Reese out the door.

  The young detectives trooped after him to his office past the receptionist and into an oak-paneled room where he gestured for them to sit.

  “Mr. Reese, who saw your spring collection before all of these terrible things began to happen to you?” Nancy asked.

  “Very few people,” he replied.

  “Would you mind giving me their names?”

  “Chris Chavez is one.”

  “Chris Chavez, the photographer?” Nancy was aghast. “I thought a collection wasn’t supposed to be photographed before it was shown in public.”

  “Well, Chris didn’t shoot anything, but he’s a good friend, and I showed him a few things.”

  “Who else had access to the designs?” George inquired.

  “Only three, maybe four other people on my staff, and they’re all trustworthy. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some important appointments.”

  He led the girls to the door, indicating that he didn’t wish to continue the discussion.

  “I think he was insulted when you asked him about the people he had shown his collection to,” George said to Nancy on the way out.

  “I think he’s just upset about everything that happened,” Bess declared.

  “Well, he isn’t helping his own case very much,” Nancy remarked, “which means we’ll have to put on two thinking caps apiece!”

  “I can easily wear two, but I doubt that Bess can!” George laughed. She eyed the mountain of curls her cousin had coaxed back into place after trying on clothes that morning.

  Bess tugged on a few stray wisps, saying, “I’m going to pretend you never said that, George Fayne.”

  Another round of teasing was brewing, which Nancy decided to cut short. “I have a choice,” she said.

  “A choice?” Bess replied.

  “Yes, I can either try to get a job with the Millington Company or with Chalmers.”

  “Are you kidding?” George said. “You’ve never worked for anybody in your whole life—other than your father, of course.”

  “I know,” Nancy said, “but there’s always a first time. Besides, how else am I going to get any inside information?”

  The cousins had to admit Nancy was making good sense.

  “Can you type?” Bess asked.

  “Some.”

  “Take shorthand?” George inquired.

  Nancy shook her head. “But I can scrub floors if I have to.” She giggled. “What about you?”

  “You mean we have to get jobs also?” Bess asked.

  “Well, I won’t be able to work in two places at the same time,” Nancy persisted.

  “Okay, okay,” Bess said. “I’ll sure try. But how about a snack first? I’m starved!”

  The girls went into a nearby restaurant where Nancy found a Manhattan telephone directory on a back table. She quickly located addresses for Millington and Chalmers, noted them on a pad, then headed into the dining room where Bess and George were already seated behind menus.

  “Lunch was only three hours ago,” Nancy said.

  “So we’ll have some dessert,” Bess remarked. “I can’t work on an empty stomach.”

  “That’s assuming we get jobs,” George said. “What if we don’t?”

  “And what if no one will interview us?” Bess added.

  “Then I’d like you to track down Jacqueline and find out whom she may have talked to about the Reese investigation.”

  The cousins agreed and Bess shut her menu as if she had reached a decision.

  “On second thought,” she sighed, “I’ve been thinking about that gorgeous silver and black pants suit. If I lose a few pounds—”

  “And find four hundred and twenty-five dollars,” George put in.

  “I might be able to get into a smaller size and buy it when it goes on sale,” Bess finished.

  “By that time,” Nancy said, “the suit will be out of style. Come on, let’s go.”

  She rose to lead the way past the cashier when someone opened the restaurant door and held it for a woman in a wheelchair.

  Through the open door, Nancy heard a man in the street greet another. “Well, if it isn’t Chris Chavez. How’ve you been, buddy?”

  “Oh, just fine, Sam,” the other man replied. “Sorry I can’t stop to talk to you, but I’m in a hurry.”

  Nancy stared at him in surprise. He had a short, sculpted haircut, and a pencil-thin mus tache. Certainly he was not the photographer she had met!

  The man waved to his friend and hailed a taxi. The door, meanwhile, was still blocked by the wheelchair and the girls had to wait. Nancy bit her lip, hoping she would get out in time to talk to the man. Was he really Chris Chavez? And if so, who was the man who had pretended to be the photographer?

  Bess and George had witnessed the conversation, too, and now George tugged on Nancy’s arm. “Do you believe this!” she whispered. “Now there are two impostors in our case!”

  Nancy nodded. “I wish I knew how to solve this dilemma,” she murmured, “or rather this twin dilemma!”

  Finally the woman in the wheelchair was through the door. The girls rushed outside, but at the same moment, Chavez climbed into a cab that had pulled to the curb. Before the girls could reach him, however, the taxi pulled away!

  “What are we going to do now?” Bess wailed.

  “Proceed with our original plan,” Nancy said. “Let’s flip a coin. Heads, you take Chalmers, tails, I do.”

  A moment later, while Nancy went off by herself to tackle the Millington Company, Bess and George caught a bus to the Chalmers building. When the cousins reached it, they couldn’t help comparing the lobby with that of the Zanzibar studio. Catalog covers in beautiful, gilt-edge frames hung low over spotlights, and the walls were papered in rich, brown suede that created an aura of luxury.

  “I’m nervous,” Bess admitted as she and George went to the personnel office.

  An attractive woman wearing gold-rimmed eyeglasses greeted them with a smile. “Are you applying for the secretarial jobs?” she asked.

  “Were they the ones advertised in the paper?” George replied with an ai
r of confidence.

  “Yes.”

  “Then those are the ones we’re interested in,” George said, causing Bess to gulp.

  “Fine. Please follow me, if you will,” the woman responded.

  She motioned them toward a table and asked them to fill out applications. Then, with only a brief glance at the forms, led them toward a room with a desk and typewriter.

  “I have some material for you to type,” she said. “I can see from your applications that you don’t have much prior experience.”

  “None,” Bess murmured to herself.

  “Even so, I don’t mind giving young talent a chance,” the interviewer went on. “If you pass this test, we’ll move on to the next one.”

  Next one! The cousins moaned. How many hurdles would they have to overcome before the company would hire them?

  “Now, who wants to go first?” the woman inquired.

  George offered instantly, but the confidence she exuded was short-lived as she stared at a mass of information she was instructed to type in orderly fashion.

  “I’ll shut the door,” the woman told her, “so no one will disturb you.”

  For a moment, George froze in front of the typewriter. Then she set her fingers on the keys, pressing out a few words slowly and carefully until she was able to pick up speed. But as the words fell on the paper in rapid succession, she stopped paying close attention. It wasn’t until she had finished one page of work that she realized what she had done! By mistake, she had typed most of it in capital letters and put in wrong punctuation!

  “Oh, no!” She gasped in horror. “I’ve ruined it!”

  She tore out the paper, slipping another one in place, racing to make up for lost time. But the keys jammed.

  “It’s no use!” George cried aloud, as the door opened.

  “How are you doing?” the personnel manager inquired pleasantly.

  “I’m not doing well at all,” the girl admitted, pushing back her chair.

  “You’re not giving up, are you?”

  George never liked being called a quitter, but she realized that she wasn’t qualified for a secretarial job. Neither was Bess, who, meanwhile, had looked at magazines, including the current Chalmers catalog.