“Didn’t they send anyone over here to investigate?” Nancy asked.
Ms. Bowers made a face. “The officer I spoke to offered to send someone,” she said, “but I could tell he thought it would be a waste of their time. So I said not to bother. The police have so many more serious affairs to deal with, after all.”
Nancy looked at her and wondered, More serious than menaces from an apparent kidnapper? She was about to ask the question aloud when the telephone rang. Ms. Bowers excused herself and disappeared into another room. When she returned, her face was pale and drawn.
“That was Cindy’s mother,” she reported. “Poor woman—she’s handling her daughter’s disappearance much better than I would, I’m sure. But the strain is really beginning to tell on her. She asked me if I think Cindy is still alive. Of course, I said yes. The alternative is . . . unimaginable.”
Nancy shook her head sympathetically, then asked, “Do you have any way to pin down when the vandalism happened?”
Ms. Bowers thought a moment. “Not really,” she said. “I had no reason to go down there earlier. But the man who parks in the next space lives on this floor, and I saw him coming home around three. If my window had been broken then, I’m sure he would have noticed and told me.”
“So it must have been smashed sometime after three,” Nancy said. She checked her watch—just past five-thirty. She couldn’t believe what a long, event-filled day this was turning out to be. “What time did you discover the damage?”
“Around four forty-five,” Ms. Bowers said.
“Is there a garage attendant?” Nancy asked.
“No, it’s quite deserted,” Ms. Bowers said. “I find it a little scary down there, to tell the truth.”
Nancy frowned. “There’s no security of any kind?”
“Well, access is very carefully controlled,” Ms. Bowers explained. “The only ways in are by elevator—which means you have to go past the staff upstairs—or through the driveway. There’s a big metal gate blocking the driveway, and you have to have a key card to open it. Only residents are given those.”
“You gave us one,” Nancy reminded her.
“Well, of course, dear. You’re my guests,” Ms. Bowers replied.
“Gayle and Cindy are your guests, too,” Bess said. “Do they have key cards?”
Ms. Bowers nodded. “Why, yes,” she said. “But neither of them owns a car. They only use the garage when one of them rents a car for a weekend.”
“Does Cindy usually carry hers?” asked Nancy. “If she does, her kidnappers must have it now.”
Ms. Bowers looked startled. “I never thought of that,” she gasped. “So that’s how they got in.”
“We should check with Gayle to see if she still has her key card,” Bess suggested. “Is she home?”
Ms. Bowers suddenly seemed uncomfortable. “Uh, no, she’s working this evening,” she said, turning to look out the window at the lake.
“Still for Paul Norman?” Nancy asked, wondering about Ms. Bowers’s abrupt change of manner.
“Oh, no,” Ms. Bowers said, looking back at Nancy with a nervous little smile. “For Carlo.”
Nancy exchanged a glance with Bess. Gayle was working for Carlo? Doing what?
“It was an emergency,” Ms. Bowers continued. “The ad agency, McVie and Martin, is taking a lot of heat from the cereal company about the delay. I’m afraid they’re considering invoking the escape clause in Cindy’s contract, kidnapping or no kidnapping.”
“Fire Cindy? That would be a disaster for her!” Bess exclaimed.
“I agree,” Ms. Bowers said. “That’s why I suggested an alternative. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Gayle looks a lot like Cindy in build and hair color. Their features are different, but from the back you could easily mistake them. So I suggested to Carlo that he use Gayle as a stand-in for Cindy—just the parts that don’t show Cindy’s face, you understand. They’ll be working late tonight, trying to get on schedule again.”
Nancy thought that over for a moment. “Wasn’t Gayle one of the top candidates for this job, before they finally picked Cindy?” she asked.
“Yes, she was,” Ms. Bowers replied. She blushed and added, “I can guess what you’re thinking. Gayle’s my client, too—why should I care which of them has this job, as long as one of them does? But it’s not that way, really it isn’t. I’d never toss Cindy aside like that. Besides, I want her to be the Healthibits girl—she’s perfect for the part, in a way that Gayle isn’t.”
“What happens if Cindy doesn’t show up soon?” Bess asked.
Ms. Bowers winced. “Frankly, I don’t know,” she said. “I suspect McVie and Martin will try to use the escape clause. But if enough of the commercial has already been shot, that might sway them to take Cindy back when she returns.”
“Or to give the job to Gayle?” Nancy suggested.
“It’s possible,” Ms. Bowers admitted. “Let me put it this way: If there’s absolutely no way to save Cindy’s job, then I hope Gayle gets it rather than some stranger. But until that happens, as far as I’m concerned, Cindy is still the Healthibits girl.”
She sounded sincere, but Nancy couldn’t be sure.
There were so many complicated pieces in this case. How did they all fit together?
“Can we take a look at your car?” Nancy asked. “Then we need to go back to the Film Center to pick up my Mustang. We can drop by Carlo’s studio while we’re down there.”
“I’m in space C27 downstairs,” Ms. Bowers said. “Do you mind if I don’t come to the garage with you? I have to call the dealer to come get my car. They’re going to have to repaint it, as well as replace the window.”
“That’s okay,” Nancy assured her. “We’ll see you later.”
Ms. Bowers walked them to the door. “Good luck,” she said. “And, oh—if you see Cody, would you ask him to give me a call?”
“Cody?” Bess asked, puzzled. “Why would we see him?”
“He called a while ago, to ask if there were any new developments. When I told him about substituting Gayle, he wasn’t very happy,” Ms. Bowers admitted. “He decided to go by the studio, to talk to Stella about Cindy’s contract. Like a lot of law students, he thinks he knows everything.” Ms. Bowers rolled her eyes.
