The Case of the Lost Song

open doorway to Lisa's closet. Her face was pale, but

  otherwise she looked okay. Nancy's heart stopped

  racing. “What happened?” she asked, touching Bess's

  arm.

  “You look like you've seen a ghost!” George ex-

  claimed.

  “Look,” Bess said in a tragic voice. She turned and

  pointed into the spacious closet. Nancy walked in. It

  boasted a custom-made system of drawers, shelves for

  sweaters, cubbyholes for shoes, and separate hanging

  areas for short and long clothes. An acoustic guitar case

  was propped against the back wall. The top drawer of a

  built-in unit was open. Planted squarely in the middle

  of a stack of scarves was a reel of tape.

  “The tape!” Nancy gasped, not wanting to believe

  her eyes.

  George pushed past Bess. “Lisa had it all along!”

  “Oh, how could she?” Bess wailed.

  “Where's the box?” Nancy asked, picking up the

  tape and rummaging through the scarves.

  “And the tape recorder?” Ned added, taking the

  tape from Nancy and looking it over.

  “She obviously ditched it,” George grumbled as Ned

  brought the tape out of the closet.

  “Are you sure this is the right tape?” Ned's skeptical

  tone made Nancy look up. “I'm no expert, but this tape

  doesn't look thirty years old to me.”

  Nancy took it back and examined it again. “I can't

  swear it's the same tape, Ned, but it sure looks like the

  one Dave Leinberger played yesterday.”

  “I'll check the closet for the recorder,” George

  volunteered, and plunged back in. “It's not here,” she

  said a minute later.

  “But where is it, George?” Nancy wondered. “If Lisa

  is the culprit, then there was no break-in. But when

  would she have stolen the tape and gotten rid of the

  recorder?”

  “Beats me,” George said. “Maybe she got rid of the

  box and recorder while Bess was in the shower.”

  “Got rid of them where?” Bess asked.

  “I bet there's a room for trash disposal on this floor,”

  Ned said. “Maybe the recorder is still there.”

  Ned went to check, then came back empty-handed.

  “It's not there. So next step is to scare up a recorder so

  we can play the tape to see if it's really George's.”

  “I'm sure it is,” Bess said. “I mean, why would Lisa

  have a tape she couldn't even play?”

  “More like, why would she hide it?” George said,

  irritated.

  “So where do we find a machine?” Nancy wondered.

  “That's easy,” George said. “I'm supposed to bring

  the tape to the party tonight to have Ethan's buddy

  check it out.”

  “Maybe we should leave Ethan out of this,” Ned

  suggested. “But I've got a friend who might help us

  out.”

  “Who?” Nancy wondered.

  “One of my frat brothers' dads owns a blues club

  here in Chicago. He can probably scare up the right

  equipment on pretty short notice.”

  “That would work,” George said. “We can go now.”

  “No,” Nancy contradicted. “Not now. Ned, call him,

  and tell him we'll come over later. I want to go to that

  party first.”

  “To confront Lisa?” George asked.

  “No, not until we hear the tape. And, Bess, don't tell

  Lisa or Jason we found it. Remember, we're not a

  hundred percent sure this is the missing tape.”

  “I hate that Lisa's the bad guy here, but at least

  you're getting closer to solving the puzzle,” George

  said.

  “I wonder,” Nancy mused aloud. “Lisa's stealing the

  tape doesn't prove that she was involved in the other

  burglaries.”

  “Now, why do I get the feeling you don't quite

  believe Lisa's guilty?” Ned teased lightly.

  “Because my gut instincts tell me she isn't. And Lisa

  wasn't anywhere near me when the fingerprinting kit

  was taken.” Nancy checked her watch. “Let's get ready

  for the party. An art opening should be the perfect

  place to nose around.”

  “What a scene!” Ned remarked as he, Nancy, and

  George lingered near the front door of Jason's loft,

  waiting for Bess to return from the rest room. The

  place was wall-to-wall bodies. Outfits ranged from

  almost formal, to extremely casual, to outrageous— but

  always stylish.

  To freshen up their outfits, Nancy and George had

  traded pieces. George was wearing Nancy's black

  trousers, while Nancy was wearing George's miniskirt.

  “No wonder this place was featured in a design

  magazine,” Bess commented as she joined them. “You

  won't believe his collection of vintage photos. I spotted

  two Edward Weston prints on the wall. This guy must

  be loaded.”

  “Maybe his family has money,” Ned suggested,

  hands in the pockets of his dark cords as he surveyed

  the room.

  Nancy had no idea, but she remembered Jason's

  teasing Ethan about his not making much money at his

  Westfield's job. Obviously, Jason was the more

  successful of the two brothers. Still, Nancy hadn't

  expected to find such an expensive art collection or

  such a sumptuously catered affair.

  Exactly how did Jason manage to support his ex-

  pensive tastes? Fencing museum-quality collectibles

  would be a tempting option. Now that Nancy thought

  of it, Jason's business contacts—like Lisa's, Inez's, and

  Wes's—might provide just the right connections.

  Putting aside her frustration, Nancy said, “Why

  don't we split up. George, you feel Ethan out about the

  tape.”

  “He expects me to have it with me,” George said,

  “but I'll pretend I forgot it.”

  “Good thinking,” Nancy said. “Bess, why don't you

  keep Jason occupied. See if you can hang out with him.

  Ask him about his art—whatever.”

  Bess smiled broadly. Looking around, she said, “I

  might have trouble getting close to him, though. Oh, by

  the way, I saw Lisa on my way back from the rest room.

  You'll be proud of me. I just said hi.” Bess appeared

  troubled for a moment, but then she brightened. “But,

  hey, hanging with Jason's not bad.”

  “What about me?” Ned asked playfully. “Don't I get

  to help?”

  Nancy grinned. “Mingle. Be the social soul you are.

  Keep an eye on the people Lisa talks to. That might

  give us a lead.”

  “So you don't think she was working alone?”

  “Not if she's involved in the other burglaries. But if

  it's just the tape she's stolen, then she's a dead end.”

  “Which I think would make you happy,” Ned

  predicted.

  “Right. I doubt George would press charges once

  she had the tape back. Without the tape, the recorder

  isn't worth anything.”

  As Ned strolled off in search of Lisa, Nancy worked

  her way through the crush, heading toward Jason's

  exhibit.

  “Nancy!” Lisa gr
abbed Nancy's arm. She took in

  Nancy's outfit and grinned. “So you made it home

  okay. I'm so sorry to have stranded you guys.”

  Nancy managed a small smile. How could Lisa play

  so innocent? She was half tempted to confront her, but

  Lisa wasn't going to give her time to get a word in

  edgewise.

  Lisa rolled her eyes. “This turns out to be an all-

  work, no-play party for me, though Ethan said

  something about getting together later—with George,

  whatever. Anyway I've got to socialize.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, and I heard about your run-in with Wes today.”

  Lisa pursed her lips. “Mr. L. said that Wes was

  accusing you of stealing. What a creep that guy can

  be—Wes, I mean.”

  “That got cleared up,” Nancy assured Lisa, although

  both times Nancy had seen Wes at the party, he'd

  glared at her. It was obvious he still thought she was

  some kind of crook.

  Before Lisa left, she handed Nancy an envelope.

  “Mr. L. told me to give this to you. It's that list of

  burglaries you asked for.”

  Wondering how Lisa managed to act so innocent,

  Nancy finally made it to the exhibit. The framed photos

  were displayed on a whitewashed brick wall. Few

  people were actually looking at the art. Nancy had no

  trouble getting close enough to study the pictures.

  Unlike Jason's tightly composed colorful commercial

  work, these photos were all black and white. One

  group consisted of close-ups of graffiti-covered walls.

  Nancy moved to the next group and found herself

  drawn to a haunting photograph of . . . Nancy wasn't

  sure which twin until she read the title: “My Brother,

  My Keeper.” “Ethan,” she murmured, amazed at the

  brooding photo. Ethan was sitting in a small, simply

  furnished room. Bookshelves on either side of his easy

  chair were crammed. The room—and Ethan—were in

  stark contrast to Jason and his elegant digs. The only

  items of value in the photo were five or six rock posters

  on the wall: Nancy recognized one as being from the

  first USA tour of the Beatles, back in the 1960s. If the

  poster was the real thing, Ethan must have paid a lot to

  acquire it.

  “The series is called How the Other Half Lives.' ”

  Nancy looked up. Jason or Ethan? The guy was

  wearing a charcoal gray shirt, a black tie, and a black

  blazer. He was offering her a glass of something

  sparkling.

  “Just seltzer—you look underage.”

  Nancy took the drink and sipped it, glad for the cold

  refreshment. The room, in spite of the cool evening,

  was hot.

  “He means me, of course,” the twin said, taking a sip

  of wine.

  “Oh, Ethan, hi!” Nancy wondered why the two

  brothers were dressed alike. The brief glimpse she'd

  had of Jason earlier revealed that he was dressed in

  black and gray as well. “These photos are pretty

  incredible.”

  “He's good, you know. I can't deny that. What does

  bug me is he might get famous for these pictures

  someday—and they are, after all, a kind of put-down of

  me. Jason is always mocking my lifestyle.”

  “Which is?” Nancy probed, taking another gulp of

  seltzer.

  “Minimal.” Ethan laughed. “I can't afford any of

  this. How Jason does is beyond me, but, hey, he's the

  guy who charged two dollars a glass for lemonade and

  sold out faster than any kid on the block. He's got a

  talent for money, I guess. Anyway, I'm the family dork.

  I'd rather work at a low-paying job doing what I love—

  and one that leaves me time to pursue my real

  passion.”

  “I thought appraising antiques was your passion.”

  “Don't get me wrong,” Ethan went on. “I adore

  antiques and the amazing things people have collected

  over the years. Every piece has a history—fascinating

  stories. Usually just family stories, but sometimes you

  find something George Washington might have

  handled.”

  Nancy had to stifle a yawn. “So then what else are

  you passionate about?”

  “Music. Seventies rock music specifically. I'm

  working on a history of the era. I've already got quite a

  good discography—you know, a list of all the releases

  in each given year.”

  “You're writing a history of seventies rock?”

  “You bet. And I might even have a publisher soon. I

  met an agent at one of these parties, and he's trying to

  interest Tumbleweed in taking it on. My hook is to

  have a Web site for the book where, for a small fee,

  readers can download bits of songs mentioned in the

  text.”

  Tumbleweed was a leading rock magazine that had

  started a book-publishing business, part of which was

  on the Internet. Nancy would have been impressed,

  except she was too busy trying to fit in this new piece of

  the puzzle. Ethan's motive for wanting George's tape

  was strong. Except it was Lisa who had it. Were they in

  cahoots?

  “What's your relationship to Lisa?” Nancy asked.

  Ethan blinked. “Why?”

  “Just wondered,” Nancy said with a coy smile. “One

  of my friends sort of likes you but wasn't sure if you

  were taken.”

  Ethan returned Nancy's steady gaze. “She's a friend.

  Though I can't say I'm free right now.” Ethan looked

  over Nancy's shoulder and frowned. “Speaking of

  friends, one of mine just turned up.”

  “Wait.” As Nancy turned to stop Ethan, she saw Inez

  hovering by the front door. Nancy caught her eye, and

  for a second Inez looked distressed; then she flashed

  Nancy a tiny smile. Nancy quickly said to Ethan, “I was

  wondering, in this picture”—she pointed to “My

  Brother, My Keeper”—“there's a Beatles poster on the

  wall. Is it the real thing?”

  Ethan's eyebrows shot up. “What do you think?”

  “That you couldn't afford it,” Nancy said bluntly.

  “I couldn't, but I did. Just as I'd come up with the

  money for your pal's tape.” Then he strode away.

  Nancy tried to keep an eye on Ethan, but she

  quickly lost sight of both him and Inez in the crowd.

  She turned back to the pictures. One a little farther

  down the wall caught her attention. Like “My Brother,

  My Keeper,” it was black and white. This time the

  model was a woman: a slim, leggy blond in a clingy

  black cocktail dress. The model was posed in front of a

  double glass door. The sky was twilit, and the model

  was turned away from the camera, so that Nancy could

  see only the chiseled profile of her face. She looked

  familiar. In fact, the whole picture reminded Nancy of

  something. But what?

  Nancy turned away and saw Ethan, or was it Jason,

  bearing down on her. “So are you impressed or what?”

  he asked with a cocky smile.

  Then she noticed the Rolex watch on his wrist.

>   “Jason?”

  He put an arm around her. “What if I said no?”

  “You'd be lying,” Nancy said with more confidence

  than she felt. “I was just speaking with Ethan about

  your picture of him.”

  “And he was less than enthusiastic? Don't deny it.”

  Nancy evaded the question to press one of her own.

  “So why do you dress alike?”

  “We're twins. It's fun. But it's not like we call each

  other and plan what to wear. I like fooling people, and

  I know Ethan's wardrobe is limited. He has only one

  art-opening outfit. Ethan, unlike me, is very

  predictable.”

  Nancy filed that information away. “So tell me about

  this picture.” She tapped the glass-framed photo with

  her fingernail.

  “What about it?”

  “I feel like I've seen it before.”

  “How could you?” Jason gasped, then quickly re-

  gained his composure. “Sorry, didn't mean to react like

  that. It's just I'm very protective of my work . . . but I

  know why it's familiar.”

  Nancy just lifted her eyebrows.

  “It's the model. She's Yvonne Bly. She was on last

  month's Trend.”

  “Oh, that's it then.” Nancy was disappointed. Yvonne

  Bly was one of the world's top fashion models. “I didn't

  realize you knew her.”

  Jason looked smug. “She's a friend. She would have

  been here tonight, but she left yesterday—or the day

  before,” he corrected himself quickly. “For Paris.”

  “Jason! Stop hiding. This is your party. Your pretty

  friend has to share you with the rest of us,” a large

  woman said as she walked up. She wore a sequined

  blouse with a plunging neckline, and an ankle-length

  velvet skirt. She was middle-aged but very pretty and

  perfectly made up. She hooked a plump hand through

  Jason's arm. “I'll bring him back to you later, sweetie,

  but I want Jason to meet the head of a Taipei gallery.

  He's in town just for the evening.”

  Before heading for the rest room, Nancy cast one

  last glance at the photograph. The title was simply “By

  Dark of Night.” Something about the picture bothered

  Nancy. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't

  recognized the model. Nancy got in line for the guest

  bathroom. While she was waiting, she noticed the

  entrance to Jason's work area. He had partitioned off a

  small room in the back of the loft. In one corner was a

  door marked Darkroom. One wall was covered with

  windows, opening out onto a fire escape. In front of the