and decided that no one could drop down from the
terrace above without a rope or some kind of climbing
gear. Then she noticed that Lisa's terrace directly
joined the one next door. A waist-high metal divider
separated them. “Who lives next door?” Nancy called
to Lisa.
“No one. Though I think some people may have
rented it for a photo shoot.”
“Think it's okay if I peek in the window?” Nancy
asked.
“Why not? As I said, it's empty.”
Nancy climbed over the low wrought-iron divider
and peered through the door. She tried the handle.
The door was locked. Inside, the apartment was dark,
though light from Lake Shore Drive reflected off some
metal-shaded lamps. Nancy was also able to make out
the vague outlines of a sofa, but that was about all.
Back inside Lisa's apartment Nancy said, “As you
said, it's empty and locked. Whoever broke in here
came via the terrace, or had the code.”
“Is anything else missing?” Bess asked.
“As far as I can tell, no,” Lisa said.
“This is totally weird,” Nancy mused, looking at the
case. “No one even knows if Georges tape is real.”
“And not many people knew I had it here,” George
reminded her.
“You can't be sure. If Wes has already told Ethan,
who knows how many other people he blabbed to,”
Bess pointed out.
“Let alone how many people at the show overheard
both the appraiser's comments and the tape itself,”
Nancy reminded them. “We have to call the police,”
she said to Lisa. “Even if we never find the tape, we'll
need a police report in order to file an insurance
claim.”
Lisa headed for the kitchen. “I'll phone them now.”
As Lisa left the room, George said, “Amazing. This
morning I thought that tape recorder was a throwaway.
Now I'm all worried and upset about losing it.”
“And you should be,” Bess commiserated. “Trash
turns out to be treasure.”
“Something doesn't make sense to me,” Nancy
commented, half to herself. “A thief should have
walked out with at least some of the artifacts in that
case. I'd better remind Lisa to tell the police about this
collection.”
She hurried toward the kitchen but stopped at the
door. Lisa had her back to Nancy and was speaking
softly into the phone. “I'm telling you, they brought
that tape recorder here, with the tape. Now they've
discovered it's missing. What should I do?”
Nancy backed out of the kitchen. Who was Lisa
talking to? Certainly not the police. Whoever was on
the other end of the line already knew something about
the tape recorder. Then Lisa hung up the phone and
made another call. “Hello,” she said. “I need the police.
There's been a burglary.”
Nancy walked into the kitchen when Lisa finished.
“I called 911. They put me on hold and said to come
to the precinct in the morning to file a report,” Lisa
said. “I guess burgling an old tape recorder doesn't
rank very high on their list of serious crimes.”
“In a way they're right,” Nancy conceded as George
and Bess wandered into the kitchen.
“I'm too upset to sleep,” Lisa said. “Anyone else
want some hot chocolate?”
“Yes!” the three other girls chimed at once.
After making the cocoa, Lisa sat down at the kitchen
table and propped her chin in her hands. “This is
beyond a bummer, and it isn't the first time this has
happened.”
Nancy was startled. “You've been burgled here
before?”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Believe me, Betty and
Nick wouldn't keep the collection here if this building
wasn't really secure—at least until now. I'd better e-
mail them to let them know what happened, in case
they want to move their stuff somewhere safe.”
“So then what's happened before?” Bess asked.
“This is really secret—I mean the police know about
it—but we're trying to keep it out of the press. Objects
that have been appraised at Old Can Be Gold sites
around the country have been stolen. No one's been
able to pinpoint any connection between the types of
things taken, or any of the appraisers at the sites,
except that every object stolen was very valuable, say,
worth more than ten thousand dollars, or generally of
museum quality, or once in a while just highly
collectible—like George's tape. It's a real mystery.”
Chuckling, Bess turned to Nancy. “I don't mean to
laugh, but, Nancy, you've done it again. Headed off for
a fun weekend and wound up with the chance to solve
a crime.”
“What do you mean?” Lisa asked Nancy.
George answered for her friend, “Nancy's got this
knack for solving mysteries. It's sort of a hobby with
her, except she's extremely good at it.”
“I didn't realize that.” Lisa looked at Nancy more
closely.
“So Nancy can help you and Old Can Be Gold,”
Bess declared.
“Not so fast,” Nancy demurred. “That's up to Lisa's
boss. But I am curious about one thing, Lisa. If you
knew about these crimes, why didn't you tell us to lock
up the tape?”
5. The Truth Will Out
“Yeah, how come?” George chimed in. “Back at the
show you told us there was nothing to worry about.”
Lisa colored slightly. “Hey, how was I supposed to
know this place would be burgled tonight? The security
here is excellent, or else my aunt and uncle wouldn't
keep their collection in the house.”
Nancy felt annoyed. “You still should have warned
us that there have been problems related to the
appraisal show.”
“I couldn't.” Lisa's dark eyes were troubled. “It's not
like I had any idea that anyone would be after your
tape specifically, George, honest. And those other
burglaries—they happened after people had received
formal appraisals from our experts.”
“You should have clued us in,” Bess said.
“I know. But I couldn't.” Lisa blew out her breath.
“No point keeping quiet now. Mr. Landowski would
have killed me if I mentioned those burglaries to
anyone outside of the office. Let alone where someone
might have overheard me at the show. It's top secret.
Don't you see, if the press and general public finds out
about these burglaries, it would wreck our reputation.”
“Only if Old Can Be Gold were behind them,”
George commented.
“Wrong, even the whiff of suspicion that Old Can Be
Gold could be hooked up with a ring of thieves would
close us down,” Lisa said bitterly, looking at George.
“I'm sorry, but I couldn't say anything.”
“That makes sense,” Nancy conceded after a mo-
ment. “Do you think someone in the company is in-
r /> volved in the thefts?”
Lisa shrugged. She got up and cleared the table of
the mugs. “It's a possibility, though whoever it is is
certainly good at covering their tracks. And is a real pro
. . .”
“Or in league with real pros,” Nancy corrected,
jumping up to help Lisa. As she sponged off the table,
she thought a bit about tonight's burglary. Whoever
had broken into the apartment had barely left a trace.
The building was so secure, with a twenty-four-hour
concierge and secret codes to unlock the doors, that it
would take not just skill but some big-time planning to
break in. But who would have had time to plan to steal
the tape? Nancy tried to focus on possibilities, but she
was just too tired.
Bess seemed to read her mind. “I don't know about
you guys, but it's past two A.M. and I'm wiped! I'm
turning in.”
“Me, too,” George said, getting up and pushing in
her chair. “Let's face it—the tape and the recorder are
gone. We probably won't find them again, and I just
have to live with it. Besides, maybe they weren't worth
much after all,” she concluded, forcing a smile.
“That may be true,” Nancy said, fighting back a
yawn. “But even if someone made off with a perfectly
worthless old tape and recorder, they did break in
here. That's a problem.”
“And one you can deal with tomorrow, Nancy
Drew,” Bess said, putting her hands on Nancy's
shoulders and marching her through the foyer.
“Everything will look different in the morning.”
“Wait, Nancy,” Lisa hurried after them. “What Bess
said about you being good at solving mysteries, I was
thinking—if Mr. Landowski is willing—you might be
the perfect solution to our problem. You could
investigate the burglaries for Old Can Be Gold, and no
one has to know you're doing it, except him, Bess and
George, and me.”
“That's true. I certainly could keep a low profile.”
“So then it's okay if I ask him tomorrow?”
“Your office is open Saturday?” Bess asked, sur-
prised.
Lisa made a face. “Usually, at least mornings. But
with the show in town, the whole staff is working
overtime, both in the office and at the Lakeview U.
gym.”
“Then we'll go over together after we file a report on
the burglary at the police station,” Nancy said.
Lisa brightened. “I'm sure once the boss meets you,
he'll be glad to have your help. And, George,” she
added, “you had better come to the police station with
us, since it was your property.”
“Right,” George agreed. “But I don't think we want
to mob your boss at the office.”
“No problem,” Bess spoke up. “After we finish with
the police, George and I can go back to Old Can Be
Gold to scope out the scene there. Maybe we'll
overhear something about the tape. Word sure seems
to travel fast with those appraisers. . . . Take Jason's
brother knowing all about your even having a tape,
George.”
“Oh, Ethan knew about it?” Lisa frowned. Then
shrugged. “Why am I surprised? The antiques and
collectibles scene is a small world, and word spreads
faster than fire. Bess has a point. We can all meet up
for lunch when Nancy and I get back from the Old Can
Be Gold office.”
Though it was primarily a traveling antiques ap-
praisal show, Old Can Be Gold was headquartered in
downtown Chicago. The next morning, when Nancy
walked into the office suite located on the fifteenth
floor of a deco-era high-rise, she was impressed by the
art on the walls, and the Giacometti statue on a
pedestal in the reception area. Lisa led the way past
the receptionist and, after dumping her bag and jacket
in her cubicle, headed directly for her boss's office.
The door was open. Lisa crossed her fingers and
mouthed “Wish me luck” to Nancy, then knocked on
the doorframe.
“Mr. Landowski, may I come in?” Lisa asked from
the doorway of the large corner office.
“Of course. Did that tape recorder ever show up?”
he asked, then spotted Nancy and frowned, casting a
quizzical look at Lisa. Before proceeding farther into
the room, Lisa waited for Nancy to come in, before
closing the door.
Nancy looked around. Windows lining two walls
revealed a brilliant blue sky. Dark wooden bookcases
held elegantly bound books, and a tall grandfather
clock in a mahogany case stood in dignified grandeur to
one side of the vintage desk. Mr. Landowski was seated
in a leather chair behind the desk. Its wooden surface
was uncluttered and gleamed with the patina of age.
Lisa cleared her throat, then gave her boss a small
nervous smile. “I'd like you to meet my friend Nancy
Drew. She was at the house last night when I called
you. It was her friend George's tape recorder that was
stolen.” Mr. Landowski's frown deepened, but Lisa
plunged ahead. “I told her all about the other
burglaries.”
“Lisa, you swore not to mention them to anybody
outside of this office,” the man said in a shocked voice.
“She explained all that,” Nancy said, hurrying to
defend the other girl. “You see, Lisa knows I have a
knack for solving mysteries. She thought I might be of
help to you and Old Can Be Gold, if you want to use
me.”
Mr. Landowski eyed Nancy skeptically. He folded
his arms across his chest and rocked back in his leather
desk chair. “Why should you be able to find out more
than the police, who have been looking into these
burglaries? And why should I trust you?”
Nancy stood taller. “Because I'm honest. My father's
Carson Drew—he's a lawyer. Sometimes I help with
investigations involving his cases. You can check with
him. Often I can find out things that the police can't.”
Mr. Landowski studied Nancy from behind his wire-
rimmed glasses. “That's probably true,” he admitted
after a moment. Steepling his fingers, he asked, “How
much has Lisa told you?”
Nancy turned to Lisa. “Only that the burglaries keep
happening after objects have been appraised at your
shows.”
“And usually after we've left town,” he added.
“Though of course we've brought the police in, as have
the victims of the burglaries, but we have asked them
to keep a very low profile. Some insurance investigators
have also been snooping around, trying to ferret out
the bad guys, but so far”—he lifted his shoulders in a
shrug—“all trails seem to peter out.”
“Have they been concentrating on your staff?”
Nancy asked.
“Of course, though I'm sure it's not someone on
staff, or not on my permanent staff. We do very
thorough background checks,” he
said.
Nancy considered that and made a mental note to
learn more about how Old Can Be Gold operated.
“Maybe so, but being exposed to all these valuables and
the kind of money collectors are willing to pay, even on
the black market, can change people.”
Mr. Landowski arched his eyebrows. “You're young
but pretty smart. I can see that. Okay. Why don't you
get on the case. But I'd prefer that no one outside of
the office staff know that you're involved.”
“Bess and George will have to know, too,” Lisa said.
“They're here with Nancy, and it's George whose tape
went missing.”
“Then that can't be helped,” Mr. Landowski said,
not looking too happy about Bess and George. “But it's
important we don't panic the clientele at the show.” He
promised to provide Nancy with anything she needed
for her investigation, including access to records, data
banks, and so forth. “Inez Rivera can help you there.
Just let her know you're looking into the other
burglaries, without mentioning last nights. . . . After all,
we don't absolutely know that it's connected to the
others. It could be random.”
But probably not, Nancy thought.
The grandfather clock chimed half past the hour.
Mr. Landowski capped a fountain pen lying on his
desk, then stood up. “I've got to get over to Lakeview
now to see how the show is going. I'll see you there
soon,” he told Lisa as he gathered his things and went
to the closet. “And good luck, Nancy,” he said, putting
on his overcoat. “You're going to need it.”
When the girls left his office, Lisa stopped by her
desk to check her e-mail. Nancy decided to take the
opportunity to look around. The layout of Old Can Be
Gold was like most offices Nancy had visited. Small
cubicles like Lisa's defined a main work area, which
was bordered by several private offices like Mr.
Landowski's with window views. As Nancy strolled
down the corridor, she saw that most of the private
spaces were empty. Most but not all. A small corner
office was lit, the door ajar.
Nancy cautiously peered inside and smiled. “Inez?”
she called out, recognizing the young woman in front
of the computer screen. The screen was covered with
data and some photos. Nancy couldn't make them out
from her vantage point.
Inez's head snapped up. “What are you doing here?”