The Case of the Lost Song

  windows was a long desk, and on the desk were a single

  lamp, which was lit, a computer, a scanner, some

  photographic equipment, and a stack of photos.

  Nancy walked into the room. She stared at the top

  photo and smiled. In spite of his party-boy image,

  Jason was obviously a hard worker. He had already

  developed the photo she'd seen him take earlier that

  day, the one with the man in front of his wooden cigar-

  store Indian statue. Nancy realized Jason must have a

  pretty good color darkroom to be able to get such

  professional results. That was his business, though she

  reminded herself, and he had the money for top

  equipment.

  She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. No one

  was watching, and it still wasn't her turn for the

  bathroom. She picked up the top picture. The next one

  showed Bess and the man and the Indian. Bess looked

  terrific, though Jason, in spite of his flirting, had done a

  good job capturing the Indian, catching it at an angle

  that partially cut off Bess.

  She began thumbing through the stack of prints.

  There was one of George and her and Bess the day

  before, and right dead center was the tape recorder.

  Nancy turned the photo over and frowned. Scribbled

  in a photographic pen was a note: “Knight? Carey?

  Tape.”

  Nancy flipped to the next picture, and her frown

  deepened. It was a picture of a young woman, grinning

  broadly as she held up a large, elaborate art deco

  brooch toward the camera. Nancy turned that photo

  over: just a street address was penned on the back. The

  next picture in the pile was of a plump grandmotherly

  woman in a pair of shorts and sandals standing next to a

  wonderful Tiffany stained-glass lamp. On the other

  side of the lamp was an elderly man, probably her

  husband. Nancy slowly turned the photo over and her

  hand flew to her mouth as she read, “Tiffany/777/

  Canyon Drive/ Denver.”

  “What do you think you're doing?” a furious voice

  cried behind her.

  Nancy spun to face the door. Jason was staring

  daggers at her—or was it Ethan?

  12. Bad News Blues

  “Messing with stuff on my brother's desk is a real no-

  no. Believe me, I learned that a long time ago.”

  Ethan, not Jason. Relief swept across Nancy.

  “I wasn't messing around,” Nancy protested, then

  tried to look sheepish. “I really like your brother's

  work, and while I was waiting for the bathroom, I just

  peeked at his desk.”

  Ethan eyed Nancy quizzically. “Why do I get the

  feeling you weren't just casually checking over his

  stuff.”

  His tone was curious, a little mocking, but not angry.

  Nancy took courage and added, “Well, I wasn't being

  completely casual. He took some photos of my friend

  Bess today, and I was looking to see if he'd developed

  them.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “He has.” Nancy grabbed the photo of Bess off the

  desk.

  “Oh, your blond friend,” Ethan remarked. “Nice

  shot. But then, what would you expect from Jason?

  He's a pro.” He leaned over Nancy's shoulder and

  checked the photos. Nancy wondered if he was trying

  to see if she'd taken any. Suddenly he chuckled. “I

  remember this picture. Those folks in Denver with that

  lamp. It was one of those great Old Can Be Gold

  moments. What they thought was a copy turned out to

  be a genuine Tiffany. Jason caught their expressions

  well.”

  “You sound as though you were there,” Nancy said.

  “I was.” Seeing the expression on Nancy's face, he

  laughed. “Don't look so surprised. Westfield's loves the

  publicity and contacts Old Can Be Gold provides. Why

  do you think most of the auction and appraisal houses

  pay for tables at these shows? Primo networking.

  Westfield's sends me when there's no affiliated

  appraiser in the area.”

  Nancy groaned inwardly. So Ethan had as much

  opportunity as Jason did to scout out the valuable items

  when the show was on the road.

  Ethan flicked out the desk light and closed the door

  behind them. “Jason would not be happy if more

  people wandered into his study.”

  “I'm sure Jason will be glad you were looking out for

  him.”

  Ethan winked at Nancy. “Mum's the word. My

  brother thinks you girls are pretty cool. I don't want to

  disappoint him. And speaking of cool, I just spoke with

  George. It's too bad she zoned out and forgot to bring

  the tape.”

  Nancy managed a casual shrug. “Well, I guess she'll

  just have to have it checked out tomorrow at the show

  or back home in River Heights.” Just then a woman

  came out of the rest room. Fortunately Nancy was next

  in line, which made it easy to cut short her con-

  versation with Ethan. “See you later,” Nancy told him.

  Once inside, she took out her notebook and ran her

  finger down the list of stolen items Mr. Landowski had

  mentioned. Her suspicions were confirmed: three of

  the stolen pieces matched photos of items she had seen

  in Jason's office.

  Next Nancy checked the inventory of the robberies

  Lisa had given her. She wondered how many of the

  photos in Jason's study matched the stolen items on the

  list. She was tempted to slip back into the study, but

  that would be risky. She didn't relish breaking and

  entering, but she needed to investigate here when

  Jason wasn't around—maybe tomorrow afternoon

  when he'd be at the show.

  After putting away her notebook, Nancy left the

  bathroom to search for Inez. Maybe she'd have more

  luck tonight drawing the woman out. As she made her

  way through the crowd, Ned appeared at her elbow,

  ready to head outside. “Nan, I think we'd better leave.

  I told my friend we'd bring the tape over around

  eleven, when he'd be between sets. Bess went to get

  her coat.”

  Nancy hesitated. “I wanted to find Inez first. She

  works for Old Can Be Gold and may be mixed up in all

  this,” she told him as Bess walked up. She had Nancy's

  jacket over her arm, too.

  “If you're looking for Inez,” Bess remarked, “don't

  bother. She cut out after she and Ethan had a heavy

  conversation. Ethan's still here, though. He seems to

  have suddenly developed an interest in George.” Bess

  jerked her head over her shoulder.

  Nancy saw George talking animatedly to Ethan.

  When George spotted Nancy, she headed directly for

  her, motioning Ethan to stay put.

  “You're leaving?” George asked. “Look, I'm going to

  hang out here longer,” she added, then lowered her

  voice. “Ethan's a wealth of information about Lou

  Knight and Carey Black. Anyway, if I wait until he can

  cut out of here, he said he'd show me something

  related to the tape. He's being prett
y mysterious, but I

  thought I should follow through. He can drive me back

  to the condo afterward.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “The more information we

  have about that tape and how this whole appraisal

  scene works, the better.”

  Clutching the mike, the blues singer wailed the

  closing bars to his song. He let the last note float over

  the audience gathered in the Back Street Blues Club.

  The audience remained spellbound a second, then

  exploded into applause. Seated at a front corner table,

  Ned, Nancy, and Bess joined in enthusiastically.

  “Ned, that was incredible!” Nancy exclaimed,

  clapping until her hands hurt. Before Ned could reply,

  the singer announced the next set would begin in forty-

  five minutes.

  The singer came down the side steps of the small

  stage and walked toward Ned's table, holding out his

  hand. “Ned Nickerson?” he asked. Ned jumped up as

  the singer introduced himself. “Bobby Morgan. Greg's

  dad. Greg called earlier to make sure I'd reserve you a

  table.”

  “These are my friends Nancy Drew and Bess

  Marvin,” Ned told the musician.

  “We loved the show,” Nancy told Mr. Morgan.

  “That last song was awesome!” Bess added, her eyes

  still misty.

  Bobby Morgan gave a little bow and beamed at the

  girls. “I thank you, but it seems you came because of

  some mysterious tape. Greg said you were pretty vague

  about it but needed me to listen to it?”

  “If you can, Mr. Morgan,” Nancy said. “A friend

  found it in her attic, and we want to know if it's au-

  thentic. Ned said you were an expert on some of the

  rock-blues crossover music of the late sixties and early

  seventies.”

  Bobby's dark eyes widened. “You've got that tape?

  The one with Lou Knight and Carey Black and Mama's

  Bad Boys?”

  “You know about it?” Bess gasped.

  Bobby Morgan chuckled. “I heard it turned up at an

  appraisal show. You bet I want to hear it. Come on, I've

  got a reel-to-reel set up in the back of the club.” He led

  them backstage to a small but fully functional

  recording studio. A bank of recording equipment and a

  technical console were set up on the near side of a glass

  partition. Behind the partition was a microphone, with

  earphones draped across a music stand. A drum set was

  stashed in a far corner.

  “So where's the tape?” Bobby said.

  Ned took it out of his pocket. Before leaving the

  house Nancy had carefully slid it into a self-locking

  plastic bag. Ned handed Bobby the tape.

  The musician looked at it with reverence. “You have

  no idea how many people have speculated about the

  existence of a tape of this jam session. Carey Black

  mentioned it in some interview, but the tape had

  vanished.” As he spoke, Bobby unpacked the tape,

  flicked on his reel-to-reel player, then carefully

  threaded the lead in an empty spool. He spun some

  knobs, then looked up with his fingers crossed. “Here

  goes nothing,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.

  A blast of static was followed by the sound of a

  woman clearing her throat and the strum of an acoustic

  guitar. A deep, mellow female voice began to sing a

  traditional folk ballad. For a second Nancy was

  mesmerized by the hauntingly beautiful voice.

  It was Ned who exclaimed, “That's not Lou Knight!”

  Nancy snapped back to the present. “This isn't the

  tape we heard yesterday.”

  “But who's the singer?” Bess wondered.

  “Me!” an angry voice cried from the door.

  Nancy turned. “Lisa?” Lisa was standing in the

  doorway. Next to her were Ethan and George.

  “Turn off that tape,” Lisa demanded. Her dark eyes

  were furious. Her expression was a mixture of anger,

  shock, and hurt.

  “This is you?” Bobby asked, switching off the music.

  “Not that it's anyone's business,” Lisa fumed, “but

  yes.” Then, turning on Bess, she said through gritted

  teeth, “I can't believe you'd go snooping in my things

  when I wasn't around.”

  “Lisa, it wasn't like that,” Bess answered. “I was

  looking for a scarf to wear to the party, and the tape

  was in your drawer.”

  “And you all just assumed that I had stolen the Lou

  Knight tape.”

  “Stolen?” Ethan looked aghast. “Did you know this

  earlier?” he asked George.

  George looked embarrassed. “I couldn't tell you. It's

  part of an investigation.”

  “Into what?”

  “Those burglaries,” Lisa said sharply. “Jason knew

  about the tape and about Nancy's involvement in the

  burglary investigation.”

  Ethan shook his head. “Guess he was too busy

  tonight to mention it. He's with one of his model

  friends. They were heading out to an all-night club

  after the opening.” To Nancy's dismay, Lisa proceeded

  to fill him in on all the details.

  Meanwhile, Nancy took George aside. “What in the

  world are you doing here?”

  “Bobby Morgan is a friend of Ethan's. Ethan wanted

  me to meet him to hear some bootlegged material that

  Bobby's collected over the years.”

  “But why is Lisa with you?” Bess wondered.

  “Because she overheard him say we were going to

  the club, and she's a fan of Bobby's.”

  “You kids have really fallen into a pot of gold with

  that tape—too bad it's gone missing. I'll keep my eye

  out for it and notify the cops if copies turn up,” Bobby

  promised.

  Ethan stayed behind with Bobby, but Lisa left with

  Nancy and the others. Once they were outside, she

  said, “You guys owe me an apology, big time.”

  “Yes, we do, Lisa,” Nancy said. “And I'm sorry. I've

  got no excuses except that the problem is how someone

  else would have had access to your apartment without

  your being involved. This tape rules you out.” Nancy

  poked out her hand toward Lisa. “Friends?”

  Lisa smiled wanly. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How come I never knew you sang?” Bess asked.

  “I just decided to give it a shot,” Lisa said. “Now and

  then I perform at the smaller clubs. This tape is part of

  a demo I'm putting together.”

  “Well,” Ned remarked, “with your voice you should

  have no problem finding a producer.”

  Lisa gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, it's about the same

  level of problem as Nancy is having finding the Old

  Can Be Gold thieves. Any luck?” she asked as they

  headed toward Nancy's car. Back Street Blues was

  within walking distance of Jason's loft, where Nancy

  had left the car parked.

  “No. Do you have any new ideas?” Nancy asked.

  Lisa shrugged.

  Nancy thought a minute. “The culprit has access to

  Old Can Be Gold's database of clients and addresses.

  So the robberies have to be
an inside job.”

  Lisa stopped in her tracks. “Do they?” she said,

  obviously puzzling something out in her mind. “I don't

  think so. I mean people can access anything over the

  Internet.”

  “Aren't Old Can Be Gold's records secure?” George

  wondered.

  Ned laughed. “Nothing's totally secure online. And I

  doubt you'd need big-time hackers to break into Old

  Can Be Gold's files. I bet we could if we had access to

  a computer.”

  “We do—right down the block,” Lisa said excitedly.

  “CyberScoops—it's an ice cream parlor/coffee-

  house/Internet café. Come on. They're open all night!”

  A few minutes later Nancy, George, Ned, and Bess

  were peering over Lisa's shoulder at a computer

  screen. The café was relatively empty so late on a

  Saturday night, but the coffee was good.

  Nancy had her notebook open on her lap. At her

  suggestion, Lisa punched in the name of the couple in

  Denver, Max and Minnie Cordel. The search engine

  brought up several Cordels: a retail store, a cabaret

  singer named Max, a pet-food site, and finally

  something called Thriftytreasures.com.

  “Let's try another name,” Bess suggested, “and see if

  they have anything in common.”

  The next name they tried belonged to a woman in

  Memphis who'd had a small bronze Southeast Asian

  statue burgled. “L-A-P-P-I-T-O.” Lisa spelled out the

  name as she typed. The first four listings were for

  cheese and dairy products sold by a family in

  Wisconsin. But when Nancy spotted the fifth site, she

  grabbed Ned's arm. “Hey there's Thriftytreasures

  again. We're onto something here,” she said.

  “Let's check it out.” With a click of her mouse Lisa

  surfed over to Thriftytreasures.com. As the Web page

  loaded, Nancy looked on, amazed.

  “This is no amateur site,” she remarked. The Web

  page boasted a sophisticated design with colorful

  graphics. Reaching for the mouse, Nancy highlighted

  the first topic, “All About Us.”

  When the page downloaded, Nancy skimmed it

  quickly. “This is a sort of barter and bargain site,” she

  said, vaguely disappointed. For a fee the site would

  connect potential sellers and buyers. Interesting, but it

  didn't seem to be a link to the robberies.

  Lisa took the mouse back and went to the site's

  home page, where she clicked on something called

  “New and Of Note.”

  “Well, I'll be . . .” Lisa tapped a finger against the