Designs in Crime by Carolyn Keene Page A

“There’s a chance that Angel stole Joanna Rockwell’s wedding gown. If he did, it might be stashed at his apartment.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Bess said, perking up.
    â€œThe Rockwell heiress’s gown,” Noonan said, scratching his chin. “That wedding is the only thing my wife talks about these days. And you think the gown might be at Ortiz’s apartment?”
    â€œThere’s a chance,” Nancy said hopefully.
    â€œAngel rented a place in the East Village,” Beau said. “I can show you where it is.”
    The detective lowered his clipboard and sighed. “Something tells me you people can’t wait till tomorrow to check the place out.”
    â€œThe gown contains pearls that are family heirlooms,” Bess pointed out. “By tomorrow it might be gone.”
    Detective Noonan shrugged. “Let’s go.”
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    The detective pulled the unmarked police car to a stop in front of the old brownstone where Angel Ortiz lived. After Noonan opened a rear door for Nancy and Bess—there were no handles on the inside—they were able to climb out. They followed the two men through a waist-high wrought-iron gate and down a few steps to the door of the basement apartment.
    â€œThis is it,” Beau said, “but we need to go upstairs and ask the landlord to let us in.”
    â€œLooks as if someone has already beat us here,” Detective Noonan said.
    Nancy peered over his shoulder and saw that the door was already ajar. The detective shoved it with the toe of his shoe until it was open. He stepped inside, and Nancy followed.
    At first the only thing she could make out was darkness and clutter. Papers, cushions, and clothes were strewn everywhere.
    â€œEither this guy was a slob or someone has searched this place,” Detective Noonan muttered.
    â€œAngel was impeccably neat,” Beau said. “Someone must have been here.”
    Just then Nancy heard a noise coming from the rear of the apartment. Everyone froze.
    â€œGet back,” the detective said, motioning them toward the door.
    As Nancy took a step back, she saw Detective Noonan reach inside his jacket and draw his revolver. He crept forward, stepped around a pile of clothes, then turned into a doorway.
    Her heart beating like a drum, Nancy waited for a moment. She decided she couldn’t stand back while Noonan might need help.
    She tiptoed forward and found herself beside Detective Noonan in the doorway of a bathroom.
    The same noise came again, and Nancy saw a flicker of movement in the opaque shower curtain drawn across the tub. Motioning for Nancy to wait, the detective raised his gun and inched forward.
    Nancy held her breath as he ripped the curtain open.
    A bare tub gleamed in the dim light. Nancy’s eyes followed the tile up to a small open window, where a pair of feet were scurrying out!

Chapter

Thirteen
    N ANCY PUSHED past Noonan and jumped into the tub to grab one of the lace-up combat-style boots. Struggling to hold on, she saw that the intruder was a small, wiry guy, dressed in black jeans and a dark flak jacket. A black wool cap covered his head.
    Beside her, the detective had clasped a hand over one of the man’s legs. Nancy was about to pull him back into the tub when the intruder kicked wildly, knocking both Nancy and Noonan off balance.
    â€œYee—ow!” Nancy cried, slipping back against the tiled wall.
    Detective Noonan shoved his pistol back into the holster and pulled himself up to the window. “There he goes,” he said disgustedly.
    Considering the small size of the window andthe lead the man had, Nancy doubted that they’d be able to catch him. “I’m going around front to see if I can snag him,” the detective said, darting out the doorway.
    Standing on tiptoes, Nancy checked out through the window. The bottom of the frame rested on the pavement of a small yard. She saw a clump of