Portrait in Crime

“Good morning,” she greeted her aunt with a peck on the cheek.

  Eloise Drew always reminded Nancy of her father, Eloise’s brother Carson. She was tall and slender like her brother, but younger—her shining brown hair was still untouched by gray. Eloise was a teacher, and a very independent woman. She treated Nancy with warmth and affection but rarely fussed over her or tried to run her life. Nancy loved spending time with her.

  “Hi, guys.” Nancy turned to her friends. “You two must have come in late—I didn’t even hear you. Do I have a story for you!”

  “I have one first,” Bess declared, ready to burst. “Someone wants to paint my picture!

  “Did you see that guy I was talking to last night?” she continued. “Well, his name is Doug Coggins, and he’s a famous New York artist. I must have talked to him for an hour! He said I inspire him and he wants me to model for him.”

  “That’s the third time she’s told that story,” George said, smiling tolerantly at her cousin. “Once for me, once for Eloise, and now for you.”

  Bess was lost in her daydreams and barely noticed when George refocused her attention on Nancy. “What’s up? Is it the mystery or Sasha?”

  Nancy decided to ignore the teasing tone in George’s voice. “The mystery. I got another message last night. And this one wasn’t quite so helpful.”

  She filled them in. When she was finished, everyone was quiet.

  “Well?” Nancy asked. “Someone say something.”

  “What do you want us to say?” Eloise asked. “If Nicholas really was murdered, this case sounds quite dangerous, but you know that already. You’ll ignore us if we say it’s too dangerous. And you’re always careful, right?”

  Nancy laughed. “Do you guys want to do a little poking around with me?” she asked George and Bess. “I want to talk to everyone even remotely connected with this thing. One of them has got to be sending me these messages.”

  “How can you be sure?” her aunt Eloise asked.

  “Well, who knows I’m investigating?” she asked. “Cynthia, Bob, and Megan know. No one else does—not even the police. And one fact I keep running into is that very few people knew the Scotts. Some of the guests at the party last night said they hadn’t seen Christopher in months! If there is foul play involved, I’m sure one of those three knows about it.”

  “Tommy knows you’re investigating, too,” George commented.

  “George!” Bess protested. “Tommy’s not a suspect!”

  “I didn’t say he was,” she said mildly. “But you may recall, when we were investigating Jetstream we had to remember that Gary could be involved. I’d say this was pretty similar.”

  Bess sighed and turned to Nancy. “So you’re going to try to root out the person who’s been threatening you?” she asked. “What are you going to say to him or her?”

  “That someone wants me off the case,” Nancy replied. “And I want to know why. I won’t say what was in the messages, though.”

  “Good idea,” her aunt said approvingly. “That way maybe the person will slip and mention something he or she shouldn’t know. Nancy, I certainly hope you will be careful.”

  “I will be,” Nancy promised as she stood up.

  The three girls got into their rental car and drove to the Nisus Art Gallery. Cynthia Gray was there, checking the room for the official opening the next night. The receptionist, Cecilia, was working arranging flowers under Cynthia’s discriminating eye. While the girls waited for Cynthia, Nancy spotted Bob Tercero and pulled him aside.

  She launched into her story about the messages. To her surprise, Bob seemed very concerned.

  “You should watch yourself,” he said. “We want to find Christopher very badly but not at your expense. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said. “But I’ll let you know if there is.”

  “Listen,” he said, “Cynthia’s going to be at the gallery for the next two days preparing for the show, so I have the next two days off. I’ll be at the opening, but otherwise, you can reach me at home.” Bob scrawled his address and phone number on a scrap of paper.

  “If I can help in any way, please let me know,” he said, shoving the paper into Nancy’s hand.

  Finally Cynthia took a break and ushered the girls into her office.

  “I’m shocked!” she exclaimed when Nancy had finished her story. “A serious threat?”

  Nancy nodded. “Serious enough. You have no idea who it could be?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t, but I must say I don’t like the idea of your being threatened on my account. Maybe you should drop the case.”

  “I thought you were worried about Christopher!” Bess burst out. “Nancy can’t stop now.”

  “I am worried about Chris,” Cynthia said gently, “but I don’t want anyone hurt. I’m also hoping that he’ll come to the gallery tomorrow night. There’s been an enormous amount of publicity about the show. It would be just like him to appear in time for the opening. He’s very impulsive.”

  “I don’t want to get hurt, either,” Nancy replied. “Maybe I should wait until tomorrow to see if he does come back.”

  Nancy and her friends headed out of town.

  “You’re not really going to give up, are you?” George asked.

  “Of course not,” Nancy declared as she slowed her car to a stop at a red light. “But if Cynthia wants us to think Scott might show up tomorrow night, I’m not going to argue with her.”

  “Nancy, you don’t suspect her?” Bess asked defensively. “She’s the one who called you in the first place, and she is Tommy’s mother.”

  “Bess, I have to be objective. I honestly don’t think she ran out and killed the Scotts, if that’s what you’re asking,” Nancy replied lightly. “I just think it’s odd that she wants us to drop the case. Maybe she really is worried about me—I just want to make sure, that’s all.”

  Nancy put on her left blinker and turned into the driveway to Megan Archer’s house. “Last stop for the moment,” she said cheerfully. “Then we go look for our model.”

  No one answered Nancy’s continuous ringing at the door. “Well, I guess she’s at work,” she said, turning to the cousins. “What do you want to do now?”

  “What are we doing here?” George asked.

  “Megan insisted there was no Vanity painting,” Nancy explained. “Now we know for sure that there is one. If Bob Tercero is right, and the Vanity was hanging in the Scotts’ house, I’m sure Megan knew it, too.”

  “So it could be worthwhile to take a look around her house?” George asked.

  “Then let’s not give up so easily,” Bess said. She slid her hands along the top of the door frame. “Maybe there’s a key around here somewhere.”

  They found a key to the house inside a potted plant on the porch and went inside.

  “Anybody home?” Nancy called. Getting no answer, the girls fanned out. “Look carefully,” Nancy warned. “We don’t want to disturb anything. Just look for any clue to the painting.”

  Nancy went upstairs and started with Megan’s room. Quickly she sifted through the items lying around on the girl’s dresser and opened the drawers. Then she went to the closet.

  In the back of the closet was a pile of clothes. Sticking out from under all of them, Nancy could see the corner of a gray canvas drop cloth.

  “Bess, George!” she cried in excitement. “Come quick!” Nancy pointed to the pile. “Look,” she said. She pulled the clothes away to expose the drop cloth. It was wrapped around something rectangular and flat. “Help me get it out.”

  George and Nancy dragged the object out of the closet.

  Nancy pulled away the canvas and exposed a stunning portrait of a red-haired girl.

  It was the Vanity!

  Chapter

  Nine

  IT’S BEAUTIFUL!” Bess gasped.

  The painting certainly was magnificent, Nancy thought. The photograph Bob Tercero had shown her had been clear, but it had failed to cap
ture the luminous quality of the girl’s skin, the deep, fiery color of her hair, or the way the white nightgown she wore seemed to shimmer.

  The subject looked as though she had been frozen in the act of fixing her hair. One hand was raised over her head, and in it there was a long, thin silver object. Nancy wasn’t sure what it was, but she was sure of one thing: The man who had painted this picture was a great artist.

  “But what’s it doing here?” Bess asked after a moment.

  “Especially since Megan told me there was no Vanity painting,” Nancy added. “But I think we’re about to find out. I just heard the door.”

  “Hello?” Megan’s voice called nervously.

  “We’re here,” George answered, appearing in the bedroom doorway. “I think you’d better come up.”

  “Who are you?” Megan asked angrily, taking the stairs two at a time. “And just what do you think you’re doing in my . . .” Her voice died away as she saw Nancy and the painting. Crossing the room, she sank down onto her bed, facing the three girls.

  “You said there was no painting,” Nancy said quietly.

  Megan couldn’t meet Nancy’s eyes. “You broke into my house,” she accused Nancy weakly. “I thought we were friends.”

  “I thought you were being honest with me,” Nancy replied. “But you lied about the Vanity.”

  “I couldn’t bear to part with it,” Megan said. “It was Nicholas’s favorite. Toward the end, he spent a lot of time just staring at it. I think he was very proud.”

  “But the model is one of his old girlfriends,” Bess said, puzzled. “Why would you want a painting of her?”

  Megan’s brown eyes flashed. “She wasn’t a girlfriend. Just someone he knew slightly.”

  Nancy persisted. “It was his favorite? Why did he single the Vanity out as his favorite of all of Christopher’s paintings?”

  “What are you talking about?” Megan asked. “This isn’t Christopher’s painting. Nicholas painted this.”

  Nancy looked at the painting again, astonished. No one had ever mentioned Nicholas could paint. And certainly not like this!

  “Of course he could paint,” Megan said when Nancy voiced her surprise. “He was very messy, he got it all over his clothes and in his hair—”

  “Have you ever seen anything he painted?” Nancy interrupted.

  “I just told you—he painted this!”

  “Bob Tercero said Christopher sold the Vanity to the gallery,” George said.

  “That’s a lie,” Megan declared. “It was never his to sell. Nicholas asked me to take care of it in case anything happened to him, and that’s what I’m doing.”

  “If anything happened to him?” Nancy repeated. “Didn’t that seem odd to you?”

  “He always said things like that,” Megan said.

  Nancy was torn. She didn’t know whether to trust Megan, but she was sure she didn’t trust Bob Tercero. All she had was his word that the Vanity belonged to the gallery.

  “I’m going to leave the painting with you, Megan,” Nancy said finally. “I’ll go back to the gallery and see if there’s some proof to the claim that they own it. But I need a picture of it. Do you have a camera?”

  “A Polaroid,” Megan offered. “Will that do?”

  “That’s perfect,” Nancy said as Megan left to get the camera.

  Nancy took a picture of the painting and walked down to the front door. “Megan, will you promise to keep the painting safe until I find out what’s going on?” she asked.

  “That’s why I have it,” Megan replied softly. “Because Nicholas wanted me to take care of it.”

  On the drive back home, Bess and George tried to convince Nancy to put the mystery aside and go with them to the beach.

  “Just for an hour!” Bess pleaded. “I finally pried George away from Gary so we could all be together. We can discuss the case, I promise.”

  “Okay, okay.” Nancy gave in, laughing. “Can we stop at home and get our suits, or do you want to go like this?”

  “I’ll let you stop at home only if you promise not to read your mail or answer the telephone,” Bess threatened with a grin.

  The girls changed and gathered their beach gear. It was the first time in a while that they’d had time to relax and talk alone. The beach was crowded, but they found space to spread out their towels. The first thing they did was to slather sunscreen on their bodies.

  “I don’t know how these people stand it,” Bess said, looking at the magnificent modern houses that dotted the beach above the vegetation line. “Imagine having all these strangers lying around in your front yard.”

  George snorted. “Like us, you mean?” she asked as she lay back and closed her eyes.

  Bess laughed. Then she put on an elaborately casual tone of voice. “Did I tell you Tommy and I are going out alone tonight? Without anyone else?”

  “You mean, like on a date?” George asked.

  “Not like a date!” Bess corrected her. “It is a date. Our first official one. All the others involved casts of thousands.” Smiling smugly, she continued to rub sunscreen onto her arms.

  “That’s great, Bess!” Nancy said.

  “Anyway, I need advice on what to wear,” Bess told them. “Something devastatingly gorgeous.” She began to look a little worried. “Actually, now that I think about it, I should be shopping right now!”

  “Hold on,” Nancy said. “Where are you going?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure. Pizza and a movie, I think.” Bess closed her eyes in rapture. “I have butterflies in my stomach! I haven’t been this nervous about a date in ages.”

  “Pizza and a movie isn’t that big a deal,” George said dryly. “You can leave the evening gown in the closet, I think. Relax, Bess!”

  Nothing could put a damper on Bess’s mood. She babbled and commented on everything she saw. Nancy tried to concentrate on Bess’s bright chatter, but the mystery kept intruding. She was itching to find out if the gallery owned the painting, but she wasn’t anxious to run into Cynthia or Bob.

  “Nancy, did you hear me?” Bess asked, exasperated.

  Nancy looked up guiltily.

  “I said, look at the sailboats. They’re really racing in this wind.” Bess sighed. “Honestly, when you’re on a case, you’re hopeless!”

  • • •

  Nancy waited until just before closing time to go back to the gallery. She was in luck. When she got there, Cynthia and Bob were nowhere in sight. Nancy went over to the reception desk and reintroduced herself to Cecilia.

  “Yes, I remember you,” the girl responded. “Cynthia told me to help you in any way I can. You just missed her, by the way.”

  Nancy pretended to be disappointed. “And I really needed to talk to her. Would you mind if I left her a note?”

  Cecilia handed Nancy a pad of note paper.

  “It’s a long note,” Nancy said hastily. “And I don’t want to hang over your desk while I write. Do you mind if I go into one of the offices in the back to write it?”

  “No problem,” the girl said agreeably. “I’ve got to hang around for another half hour anyway.”

  Nancy went down the hall and slipped into Bob’s office. She had seen the account books there the last time she came. If the Nisus Gallery really had bought the Vanity painting, she should be able to find proof of the payment in one of the books.

  Nancy pulled down the ledgers and paged through them, checking each payment to Christopher Scott carefully. They were recorded neatly, each one for fifteen thousand dollars. There was no entry for the Vanity. Nancy checked again, but she had been right the first time. The portrait wasn’t listed.

  So Megan had been telling the truth, she thought. Bob had lied. But why would he want that particular painting so badly? It hadn’t even been painted by Christopher, according to Megan.

  As Nancy flipped the pages, she noticed something else. Tommy had told Bess that nothing at Nisus sold for less than twenty thousand dollars. But according to the ledger, a number of
paintings had sold for much less, as little as five thousand dollars each. Nancy examined the entries carefully. None of them was Christopher Scott’s. But, she realized, all of the cheaper paintings were sold to the same place—ART Inc.

  Nancy went back to where the artists’ commissions were listed. Each of the payments to the artists whose work was sold to ART Inc. matched the sale price exactly. So the Nisus Gallery hadn’t made any money on those paintings at all!

  There were other payments to ART Inc., she saw, like consultants’ fees, frames, and supplies. ART Inc. must be another gallery. That could explain why the prices were so low. Was it usual for one gallery to sell paintings to another at cost?

  Nancy didn’t know. From what she understood, most of the paintings were handled on a commission basis, with no money going to the artist until the painting was actually sold. When there was an exclusive arrangement such as the one Cynthia Gray had with Christopher Scott, Nancy guessed, the gallery probably gave the artist an advance payment. That must explain the constant payments of fifteen thousand dollars to him.

  Nancy slipped the book back onto the shelf. She was curious about the accounts and the ART gallery. But that wasn’t her case. None of the Scott paintings was involved.

  Nancy looked through the Nisus Gallery’s checkbook, studying the stubs. ART Inc. was located in the Hamptons! The address was right there.

  Nancy copied down the address and slipped it into her purse. She had time to drive over there before it got dark, she thought.

  Leaving a note with Cecilia for Cynthia, Nancy left the gallery and got into her car.

  As she drove along, Nancy admired the old Hamptons homes with their gingerbread details on wraparound porches. Many of the houses looked Victorian. They were pretty, though not as elaborate as the sprawling modern ones in the Scotts’ neighborhood.

  It seemed strange that ART Inc. wasn’t with the other galleries, in the commercial part of town. Nancy’s destination turned out to be a house. Maybe she had remembered the address wrong, she thought, pulling over to the side of the road. She pulled out her wallet and took a slip of paper from it.

  Nancy glanced down at the paper in her hand. It had an address written on it, but not for ART Inc. What she had in her hand was Bob Tercero’s address and phone number, which he had written down for her that afternoon.