Miklos glared at her. “Of course. That’s what they’re there for, to keep the set from falling over,” he replied in a testy voice.
“But the set did fall over,” Nancy reminded him. “And the sandbags are still sitting on the floor in a little line.”
“Then somebody must have moved them,” Miklos said with a shrug. “They were in place this morning. That’s all I know.”
“That’s not good enough,” Carlo said. “I have given you more than one warning. I told you what would happen the next time there was a problem. Now I have finally had it. You’re fired, Miklos. Come back at the end of the day and I will pay you what you are owed.”
“You can’t—” Miklos started to say. Then he stopped. Turning on his heel, he stomped toward the door. He gave Nancy a dirty look as he passed her.
Carlos clapped his hands together loudly. “People?” he called out. “Enough gaping. Let’s get this set back in order, okay?” With a buzz of excited gossiping, the crew moved into action.
“Whew!” Bess murmured, appearing at Nancy’s side. “I think we just lost our places on Miklos’s list of favorite people.”
“I can live with that,” Nancy said dryly. “What I’m wondering is—did he really sabotage the set? He had plenty of chances.”
“But why would he do that?” Bess demanded.
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But he sure has an attitude about something. Maybe Carlo can tell us.”
They found Carlo watching as three of the crew members put the set back together. “Get Wei Lee on the phone,” he was telling Charmaine. “Tell her we need her here right away. I think the set will need only some touch-up paint—at least, I hope so.”
As Charmaine headed for the telephone, Nancy stepped over to Carlo, with Bess right behind her. “Carlo, about this incident,” Nancy said quietly. “Can you think of anybody who might want to delay your work? Miklos, for example?”
Carlo gave her a shrewd glance. “I was wondering the same myself,” he replied. “First, Cindy does not arrive. Now this accident to the set. I hope it was simple carelessness on the part of Miklos, but I do not know. Could someone hate me so much?”
“It might not be personal,” Bess pointed out. “What if a business rival just wanted to hurt your reputation?”
Carlo shook his head wearily. “You may be right. What a world it is!” he said. “Nancy, you and Bess offered to help before, to look for Cindy. I said no then. Is your offer still open?”
Nancy glanced at Bess, who met her eyes in eager agreement. “You bet,” Nancy told Carlo.
The director beamed with relief. “Wonderful!” he exclaimed. “If only you can find out who is causing these problems, then everything will be fine.”
“We’ll get right on it,” Nancy promised him.
As the lighting director broke in to ask Carlo a few questions, Nancy took Bess aside. “Let’s get Ann Bowers’s phone number from Charmaine,” she suggested. “If we can trace Cindy’s movements this morning, maybe it’ll give us an idea of what might have happened to her.”
Over the phone, Ann Bowers agreed to see Bess and Nancy. On Charmaine’s advice, they took a cab to the address on Lake Shore Drive. They pulled up in front of a luxury apartment tower facing a green park. The doorman directed them to the seventeenth floor, to apartment 17M.
The door to 17M was right across from the elevator. Before Nancy could buzz, it swung open.
A woman with carefully styled bright blond hair greeted them. Nancy guessed her to be about forty. “You must be Nancy and Bess,” she said. “I’m Ann Bowers. Please come in.”
As Ms. Bowers led them into the living room, Nancy heard Bess let out a tiny gulp of admiration. The room was large, with gilt-framed paintings, pale carpeting, and elegant striped silk wallpaper. The far wall was all windows, with an amazing view across the park to Lake Michigan.
Ms. Bowers motioned them to a pale leather sofa, then pulled a flowered brocade armchair around to face them. As she sat, she smoothed down her chic sky blue dress and posed her slender legs neatly to the side. “I’m so pleased to meet you,” she said. “Cindy has told me all about you. Your visit may be the only bright spot in this whole terrible morning.”
Nancy decided to dive right in. “Ms. Bowers, do you have any idea why Cindy didn’t show up at the studio this morning?”
“None whatsoever,” Ms. Bowers replied. She fiddled with a pair of gold-rimmed reading glasses dangling from a chain of turquoise beads around her neck. “Frankly, I’m worried. This assignment is a huge step up for Cindy. Not many models make the jump to commercials. And hardly anyone this young has the opportunity to be a spokesperson for a major new product.”
“Spokesperson?” Bess said. “I thought she was just appearing in a commercial.”
“Not just one commercial,” Ms. Bowers corrected her. “Cindy is contracted for four commercials, with an option to continue for four more. And she’ll be making personal appearances all around the country—at sports events, outdoor festivals, anything that’s likely to attract teens. Healthibits, you see, is a new cereal designed for young people who care about nutrition but still want good taste.”
Nancy hid a smile. Ms. Bowers was sounding like a Healthibits spokesperson herself. “When was the last time you saw Cindy?” she asked.
“Why, early yesterday evening,” Ms. Bowers replied, frowning as she tried to remember. “I had to go to the theater with some colleagues, but I made a point of chatting with Cindy before I left. I urged her to get a good night’s sleep. These girls think nothing of watching television until all hours the night before a shoot!”
“What sort of mood was she in?” Bess asked.
Ms. Bowers hesitated. “Excited, I’d say, and naturally a bit nervous,” she answered.
“Was there anything unusual in the way she was acting?” asked Nancy.
“Not in the least,” Ms. Bowers insisted. “And I don’t care much for this line of questioning. You surely can’t think Cindy missed this assignment on purpose! She is a total professional. She has never missed an engagement, not even a minor go-see.”
Bess blinked. “What’s that?” she asked.
Ms. Bowers smiled. “Sorry. That’s when a model is sent to a photographer or agency that’s looking for someone. We say, ‘Go see so-and-so,’ so it’s called a go-see.”
Nancy pressed on. “So you didn’t speak to Cindy when you got home from the theater?”
“No, she was already asleep,” Bowers replied.
“Did you look in on her?” Bess asked.
Ms. Bowers looked offended. “Certainly not,” she said. “Her door was closed. I have the greatest respect for my girls’ privacy.”
