Don't Look Twice

  Nancy didn’t say anything. She knew what Ned had just said shouldn’t bother her. She was worried about Denise, too. But Ned’s concern for the cheerleader rekindled the little spark of jealousy inside her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw someone she knew. She turned around. A black-haired young man wearing an Eagles basketball jacket was scurrying down the pavilion. Tim!

  Nancy jumped up. “I’ll be right back,” she threw over her shoulder, taking off after Tim.

  She caught up with him in a candy store. He was standing behind a huge Valentine’s Day display of giant chocolate hearts. He was trying hard to look nonchalant, but the intent way he was studying the ingredients of a box full of assorted creams gave him away.

  “Tim,” Nancy said. “We meet again.”

  Tim focused on her and smiled sheepishly. Nancy fumbled for something to say. She didn’t think that confronting him directly would work. She had no hard evidence linking him to her kidnapping. He just always seemed to be around—in the wrong place at the right time.

  “How’s your hand?” Nancy finally asked.

  “Huh? Oh, you mean from when I cut it? It’s fine, thanks.”

  “Good. You know, I met someone named Martha Raphael down at the Amster Gallery.”

  “Yeah, that’s my sister,” Tim replied, sounding surprised.

  “Was she at Puccini’s last night?” Nancy asked casually.

  “No, she had to work late at the gallery. She was supposed to come and help out with that fake kidnapping of one of her friends.” Tim darted a quick look at Nancy from under his black lashes. “I guess they blew it and got you instead, huh?”

  “It was a fake kidnapping?” Nancy’s heart beat a little faster, but she tried to act casual.

  “Yeah, Martha hangs around with this weird crowd. She left a note for me at the game, saying someone was going to be kidnapped from Puccini’s to be taken to a surprise party and that I should tell Mario it wasn’t for real.”

  Nancy was stunned. So Martha Raphael was mixed up in this somehow. She had covered her tracks by telling her brother that it was all a joke. Obviously it wasn’t. Denise must have been snatched for real. All along, Nancy had thought it was Tim who had been involved, but obviously he wasn’t.

  “Who did they plan to kidnap?” she asked innocently.

  “I don’t know—one of Martha’s friends, I guess.” Tim didn’t sound very interested. Nancy studied him carefully. She was fairly sure he was telling the truth. Then why had he been acting so strangely toward her? And why had he run away from Puccini’s earlier?

  There was only one way she could think of to find out. Nancy asked him point-blank.

  To her surprise, Tim turned beet red. He scrutinized his toes. “I felt stupid,” he muttered. “I left Puccini’s because I didn’t want you to know I had anything to do with the kidnapping thing. I figured you’d think I was either a creep or an idiot for going along with it.”

  Suddenly Nancy realized why Tim was acting so weird. He had a crush on her!

  Nancy was oddly touched. She laid a hand on his arm. “I wouldn’t have thought that,” she told him sincerely. “I don’t think so now, either.”

  Tim’s face was transformed by a swift, dazzling smile. Then he blushed again.

  “Um, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to go out sometime. I mean, I know you have a boyfriend. I just mean, you know, as friends. We could just, you know . . .”

  Nancy couldn’t keep from smiling. It had been a while since she’d made a guy that nervous! She didn’t mind the attention, either.

  “Are you going to the opening tonight?” she asked, evading his invitation. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “We’ll be there.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’m going,” Tim said. “It’ll make my sister happy.”

  Nancy nodded, abruptly coming back to the case. She had a question or two for Martha, and the gallery opening would be a perfect place to get some answers. But first she wanted to talk over this new development with Ned. She quickly said goodbye to Tim and went back to where she had left him.

  George and Dave had joined Ned on the bench. They were talking about the game again, arguing good-naturedly about the players.

  “Where did you go?” asked Ned. “I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped again.”

  Nancy quickly told them about her conversation with Tim. The foursome decided to get a soda and talk over their plan of attack.

  Seated in one of the casual restaurants, they sipped sodas and nibbled on french fries. There were beach umbrellas poking through each little white table. Nancy felt as if they had just entered a time warp into summer. Wouldn’t that be great! Ned would be home, and everything would be perfect.

  Sighing, Nancy roused herself from her private thoughts. First she had a case to solve, she reminded herself.

  “Why would Martha Raphael want to kidnap Denise?” George asked incredulously. “I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t think we can get at the why yet, George,” Nancy said slowly. “We don’t know enough. I’m beginning to think this case has nothing to do with the basketball tournament, though.”

  “Do you think Mr. Mason knows what Martha’s up to?” Dave asked.

  “No,” Nancy said after a moment. “He didn’t behave oddly toward her at all, as far as I could tell.”

  “Do you think Denise knows? Tell me again what she said to you over the phone,” Ned suggested. “Maybe there’s some clue we missed.”

  Nancy concentrated. “Well, she said she was fine and that she was at her grandmother’s. And then she said, ‘Tell Ned I’ll see him at the big rally on Monday.’ ”

  “Nan,” Ned said slowly. “You didn’t tell me that part before. There is no rally on Monday.”

  Silence fell on the little group. “She must have been trying to tell us that she was in trouble,” George said at last. “I can’t believe you forgot about that, Nancy.”

  Nancy could hardly believe it herself. She swirled the dregs of her soda around in her cup, trying hard not to meet Ned’s gaze.

  How could she have forgotten that part of Denise’s message? Nancy asked herself. At the time she had dismissed it as unimportant. But looking back now, she remembered feeling a twinge of jealousy that Denise had wanted to send a special message to Ned. Did I deliberately not tell him about it? Nancy had to wonder.

  She took a deep breath. Denise was really in trouble, and it was up to Nancy to try to get her out of it. Even if she thought Denise was trying to steal her boyfriend from her, she just couldn’t sit by. Even if Ned was willing to be stolen, she told herself, pushing down the lump in her throat.

  Yes, Nancy had to find Denise—even if finding her meant losing Ned!

  Chapter

  Ten

  DO YOU HAVE ANY eyeliner?” George asked Nancy’s reflection in the mirror. It was an hour before the gala, and they were both wearing their new clothes.

  “Check in my makeup bag. It’s on the bed.”

  Nancy was putting on her lipstick when Nella popped in. “I need to make an early appearance, so I’ll meet you two over there, okay?”

  Nancy hadn’t told Nella about Martha. Nella was still under the impression that Denise wasn’t missing at all, and Nancy didn’t want to ruin her hostess’s evening by telling her the grim news. Besides, four snoops at one party was enough. She didn’t want Martha to get suspicious.

  “How do I look?” asked George. Nancy turned around.

  “George, you look amazing.” It was true. The short bolero jacket and tailored pants showed off George’s long, slim figure. She was wearing just a touch of makeup. But the clothes and the makeup really didn’t matter as much as the radiant glow of excitement in George’s eyes. George would have been great in jeans and a T-shirt right then.

  Nancy snapped her makeup case shut and looked at herself in the mirror. A less-than-happy detective stared back. She needed answers—fast.

  The two girls drove over to Harrigan
House, where Ned and Dave were waiting to be picked up. On the ride to the gallery Nancy coached them about what to look for at the party.

  “Because we believe there’s a connection between Martha Raphael and Denise’s kidnapping, we should all be aware of who Martha talks to at the party,” she advised the others. “Also, keep an eye on Mr. Mason,” she added. “The kidnappers might send him another message or phone call.”

  A few minutes later they pulled into the circular drive in front of the gallery. Car after car was lined up. Stylishly dressed men and women poured in through the front doors as a team of valets parked cars. Nancy turned her keys over to one of the valets, and then the four friends went into the mansion.

  The entry hall was packed with people chattering and checking their coats.

  “Can I help you?” asked a woman with thick, black-rimmed glasses and bright red lipstick. She was sitting at a small wooden table with a computer printout of names in front of her. She stared up expectantly at Nancy.

  “Nancy Drew, plus three,” Nancy said.

  The woman ticked Nancy’s name off the list and smiled. “Feel free to check your coats. There’s a buffet table set up in the dining room. Enjoy the show.”

  Ned took their coats, and Nancy, George, and Dave climbed the staircase to the second floor.

  The place was blazing with light. A woodwind quartet sat off in one corner of the ballroom, filling it with reedy sound. People were standing in small clusters around the rooms, admiring the paintings or chatting with one another. From the snatches of conversation that Nancy caught, most of the guests seemed more interested in gossip than in the art on the walls.

  There was a wide range of ages and types of dress at the party. Some women wore sequined evening gowns, while others wore more casual dresses or pants. Nancy spotted several gray-haired men in tuxedos, but most of the younger men were dressed less formally. George pointed out one guy in a white dinner jacket and bow tie—and a pair of red high-top sneakers.

  George and Dave went to hit the buffet. Left by herself, Nancy scanned the room quickly. Neither Martha nor Mr. Mason was in sight. Nancy’s eye was caught by one of the paintings, though, a portrait of a boy sitting in a velvet chair.

  If she wasn’t mistaken, that was the painting Martha had tried to hide that morning. Why? Nancy wondered again. What was so special about it?

  She moved closer to the painting, leaning forward to peer at it. Just then someone bumped against her and she lost her balance. She reached out to steady herself against the gilt frame.

  Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” a voice warned.

  Nancy turned and found herself face-to-face with the assistant curator, Bernard Corbett. He was wearing a well-cut charcoal suit with a neon orange tie.

  “Hello, Miss Drew. I didn’t mean to startle you, but you almost set off our brand-new alarm,” he said with a smile.

  Nancy’s eyes widened. “You mean it goes off that easily?” she asked.

  “All you have to do is jiggle the frame the tiniest bit,” Bernard confirmed. “And only Jonathan can turn it off. Quite secure, wouldn’t you say?”

  Nancy nodded. “It sure is. Thanks for stopping me,” she murmured. That had been a close call!

  “Of course.” Bernard changed the subject. “Well, we got all the work done. See how fast we can work when we have to?”

  “The gallery looks fantastic,” Nancy told him sincerely.

  “What do you think of the show?” he asked.

  “It’s, uh, really great,” Nancy said. She was trying not to stare at Bernard. She didn’t know why, but there was something about his voice that was beginning to grate on her.

  “Yes, Hans Pieters isn’t as well known as some of the other Dutch masters, but his work is really quite nice,” Bernard remarked.

  Just then Nancy felt a strong arm around her waist. It was Ned. Nancy introduced him to Bernard, and then the three of them stood gazing at one another for an awkward moment.

  “Well, I really should be mingling. Nice to see you both. Enjoy yourselves,” Bernard said. He smiled a quick, polite smile and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Nice tie he had on,” Ned remarked with a grin, fingering his own hot pink printed one. “So—seen any of our suspects yet?”

  “No.” Nancy frowned. “I guess we should start looking for them.”

  After an hour Nancy and Ned met up again. “No luck?” he said. Nancy shook her head.

  “That was thirsty work. I’ll go get us a couple of sodas,” offered Ned.

  Right after Ned left, George came hurrying to Nancy’s side. “I just saw Martha by the buffet table,” she announced, “talking to Mr. Mason.”

  Nancy was excited. How did I miss them? she wondered. “Come on, let’s see if we can listen in.”

  When she and George arrived at the buffet table, Martha was standing by herself, filling a plate with carrots and green peppers. Mr. Mason was no longer anywhere in sight.

  Martha glanced up and spotted Nancy. “Hi,” she called, coming toward the two girls with a friendly smile.

  Nancy was taken aback. She’d thought for sure that Martha would try to avoid her because of the bungled kidnapping attempt the night before. Maybe Martha hadn’t figured out that Nancy knew about her involvement, though.

  “So what do you think?” Martha asked, waving a hand around at the paintings. “A lot of hype, just for these moldy old paintings, huh?”

  “You don’t like Hans Pieters?” Nancy asked, even more surprised.

  Martha made a face. “His stuff is a waste of time. Bernard wanted to do an exhibit of modern paintings, but of course Jonathan wouldn’t hear of it. Jonathan has a one-track mind, as far as art goes.”

  “If you don’t like Mr. Mason’s choices, why do you work for him?” George asked bluntly. Nancy could tell by the narrowing of George’s eyes that her friend found Martha irritating.

  “I work with Bernard,” Martha replied with a brittle smile. “He’s the only reason I’m here. Bernard is a brilliant curator. If Jonathan would only step aside and let him run this place, we’d all be better off.”

  Nancy frowned. Martha sounded quite devoted to Bernard—and not at all fond of Jonathan Mason. Was that the key to this case? Could it be that Martha was trying to drive Jonathan out so that Bernard could take his place?

  Nancy thought of the scene earlier that day, when the painting of the little boy had disappeared. Was that an attempt by Martha to discredit Mr. Mason, perhaps by making it appear that the painting had been stolen? It seemed farfetched, but it was still a possibility.

  How did the kidnapping fit into all of this, though? Nancy couldn’t figure that part out. Maybe she should probe a little.

  “So, I hear you were behind my adventure on Friday night,” Nancy said casually.

  “Adventure?” Martha frowned. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, right, Tim told me there was a kidnapping at Puccini’s, and they grabbed the wrong person by mistake. Was that you?”

  Nancy raised an eyebrow. “That’s right,” she said, wondering why Martha was being so open. She got her answer in the next moment.

  “Sorry, I can’t take credit for it,” Martha said and bit into a carrot stick. She swallowed, then continued, “I wasn’t even at the game—we were working here until after midnight. There’s no way I could have passed Tim that note. I guess one of my friends was playing a joke on me, huh?”

  “Some joke,” George began, but Nancy made a sign behind her back for George to hold off.

  “Tim didn’t see the person who gave him the note?” she asked.

  “No, it was left on the bench during halftime, he said.” Martha shrugged.

  “I see—and you were here all night? Were there people here with you?” Nancy tried to make it sound casual, but Martha bristled.

  “What do you want from me, an alibi?” she asked. “Yes, as it happens, Bernard and Jonathan were both here. Bernard c
ut out a little after nine—he was moving some of his stuff to Jonathan’s for the week, while his place is being painted—and Jonathan left at ten. I’m sure they’ll vouch for me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Martha put down her plate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she added with a tight smile, “I have to go talk to all the rich people so they’ll give us money to keep the gallery going. See you.”

  “Strike another suspect,” Nancy said wearily to George. “Someone set this up pretty cleverly. I’ll ask Tim if he kept the note that he thought was from Martha, but I’ll bet he just tossed it into the wastebasket after he read it.”

  Ned came up with two plastic cups. “Hey, Nan, I’ve been carrying this soda for you all over the gallery,” he said.

  “Oh, sorry.” Nancy took the cup. “We were eliminating a suspect.” Briefly she recapped her conversation with Martha. “I don’t think she was lying,” Nancy concluded. “It would be easy to check that alibi.”

  “Back to square one.” George heaved a sigh.

  “Well, we do know a little more,” Nancy pointed out. “Our kidnapper knows Martha well enough to do a reasonable imitation of her handwriting—good enough to fool her brother. We also know this person was at the game. And we can assume it’s someone who talked to Denise during the game, since they knew she’d be at Puccini’s.”

  “What about Bernard?” Ned suggested. “He works with Martha. He probably could imitate her handwriting, and he knows Denise. I remember her mentioning his name.”

  It sounded as if Ned hung on Denise’s every word, Nancy thought. Aloud, she said, “He was here with Martha and Mr. Mason during the game.”

  “Yeah, good point. I almost forgot.” Ned snapped his fingers. “I ran into Nella while I was searching for you, and she pointed out Mr. Mason to me. He and Bernard were heading upstairs.”

  “Really! Could you hold on to this?” Nancy said, handing her soda back to Ned. “I’m going to see what they’re up to.”

  “Upstairs is off limits to guests,” Ned said.