The Case of the Artful Crime

  “Good thinking, little lady,” said the policeman. “You should be a detective.”

  Nancy smiled politely.

  “We can have the car dusted for prints,” the other officer suggested.

  “It won’t help,” Nancy told them. “He was wearing surgical gloves.”

  “So we’re at a dead end,” Shawn said.

  “We’ll be leaving now,” said the blond officer. “Call us if anything new develops. We’ll be looking for this guy, but we don’t have much of a description to go on.”

  “Thanks for your time, officers,” Shawn said, escorting the two men to the door.

  Nancy stayed behind to examine the seventh painting. It, too, had taken a worse beating than the other five. It was a summer scene, showing swimmers wading in a lake. As Nancy had noted, it showed the same landscape as the other painting, rendered from exactly the same perspective, but in a different season. The first lake scene was set in spring, with blossoming trees.

  Nancy knelt on the floor and replaced the scattered pieces, smoothing them with her hand. Then she studied her work and gasped.

  A perfect triangle had also been cut from the summer scene—in exactly the same spot as in the spring painting. And that triangle, too, was gone!

  7

  A Startling Appearance

  Throughout the night, Nancy wrestled with the question of the missing triangles. She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fall asleep despite the late hour.

  The triangles had to mean something. It was just too coincidental. Nancy’s every instinct as a detective told her there was more to this case than there seemed. But what?

  The slashed paintings had all been done by one artist, who was a prisoner. Why would someone want two triangles cut from those paintings? Nancy didn’t like the prison connection. It spelled trouble to her.

  By ten o’clock Wednesday morning, Nancy had showered, eaten breakfast, and dressed for work at the Arizona House. Part of her wanted to sleep in till the afternoon, but another part was eager to pursue the case.

  The night before, Shawn had walked Nancy to her car. On the way out he’d told her he was determined to clean the place up in time for lunch, even if it meant staying up all night.

  The Arizona House lunch staff wasn’t expected at work until eleven, but Nancy arrived there by ten-thirty. She parked in the back lot, beside Shawn’s white compact station wagon.

  The back door was locked, so Nancy walked around to the front. The door stood ajar. Nancy entered and found Shawn in the lounge, counting money at the register behind the bar.

  When he saw her, he smiled. “I just put two hundred dollars into the register so Roy will have money for change. As long as I have two hundred to put in each day, I’m not going out of business.”

  “Good attitude,” Nancy said with a grin. She couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “You didn’t go home at all last night, did you?” she observed.

  Shawn shook his head. “I caught a few Zs in my office, though. I wanted to be here early to let in the exterminator. He’s already laid traps for the mice and gone. Come to the dining room. I want to show you something.”

  Shawn came out from behind the bar, and Nancy followed him into the empty dining room. Large, bold, framed posters depicting the Grand Canyon and other desert scenes adorned the wall. “I ran down to Poster Corner in the mall and picked these up when they opened at nine this morning,” Shawn said proudly.

  “They look great,” Nancy said. “What have you done with the slashed paintings?”

  “I put them into the storage closet,” he replied.

  “What will you tell Felice Wainwright?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t know.” Shawn sighed. “Maybe I’ll tell her my customers loved them so much that I sold all seven of them. She’ll probably insist I buy more.”

  Nancy laughed softly. “It’s not easy being a business person, is it?”

  Shawn shook his head. “And you think Jack has something to do with all this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know what to think right now,” Nancy said honestly. “But I’d like to check him out. Could you give me Jack’s phone number and address?”

  “They’re upstairs in my file,” Shawn told her, heading toward his office. “But Jack’s not home. I’ve been calling him all morning. No one picks up the phone.”

  “Is he scheduled to work today?” Nancy asked.

  “Tonight,” Shawn said. “We’ll have the chance to confront him then.”

  “If he shows up,” Nancy added.

  As they reached the hallway, Loreen appeared in the front doorway. “You’re here early.” Shawn greeted her with a tense smile.

  “A little,” Loreen said, casting a frosty glance at Nancy. “Why was the back door locked?”

  “I want to see who’s coming in and out,” Shawn told her. “I don’t want any more fires or secret additions to the food.” Then he excused himself and disappeared up the stairs.

  Realizing that this was her chance to talk to Loreen, Nancy stayed behind. Maybe Loreen would reveal something new about the case. Since both intruders had been men, Nancy knew that Loreen hadn’t been at the restaurant last night. Still, it wasn’t unheard of for a woman to hire someone to work for her. And after Loreen’s fit of anger last night, Nancy still considered her a suspect.

  Nancy followed the head waitress into the coat-room, where she was hanging up her denim jacket. “Loreen,” Nancy said, “we seem to have gotten off to a bad start. I’m not sure why, but I just want to say that—”

  “Don’t play Little Miss Innocent with me,” Loreen snapped. “I know what you’re up to.”

  Nancy took a step back. She had to think fast. What did Loreen know?

  “Let me fill you in on one thing,” Loreen continued. “Despite what you may have heard, Shawn is taken. He and I are simply having an extended lovers’ quarrel, that’s all.”

  Deciding to take a bold approach, Nancy lifted her chin defiantly. “That’s not how it looks to me,” she said, baiting Loreen. Nancy knew that angry people sometimes revealed things that they might not ordinarily say.

  Loreen’s pale skin turned a deep crimson. “You don’t stand a chance with him!”

  “I think Shawn is cute, and he appears to be available,” Nancy taunted.

  Loreen’s emotional temperature dropped from red-hot to an intimidating cool in a matter of seconds. “Listen,” she purred, stepping toward Nancy, “everything was fine between Shawn and me until we came here. Then all you flirty River Heights girls started throwing yourselves at Shawn. Between that and all the time this place takes to run, well, it was just too much for any relationship to take.”

  “Maybe you should go back to Arizona if you hate it here so much,” Nancy suggested calmly, hoping to anger Loreen further so she would reveal something.

  “Maybe I just will,” Loreen replied. “But you can be sure it will be with Shawn. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes that this isn’t the place for him.”

  “Oh, here you are, Nancy,” Shawn said, coming to the entrance to the coatroom. His blue eyes flashed between Nancy and Loreen. “Is everything okay here?” he asked.

  “No problem,” Loreen said quickly as she pushed past Nancy and left the coatroom.

  Shawn looked at Nancy. “What happened?”

  “Loreen wants you back,” Nancy answered directly. “She told me to stay away.”

  Shawn looked sad. “Loreen and I had a great thing going. Leaving Arizona just seems to have thrown her for a loop.”

  “It must be hard to make a big move like that,” Nancy told him. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so tough on Loreen.”

  “Maybe.” Shawn shrugged. “So what’s the next step here, Nancy?”

  “I think I should discuss those paintings with Felice Wainwright,” Nancy answered.

  “Good idea,” Shawn said. “I have her unlisted number in my offi
ce.”

  “Sorry to send you running up there again,” Nancy said. “I’ll go with you.”

  As they climbed the stairs Nancy considered what Loreen had said to her. The head waitress now had two possible motives for wanting to wreck Shawn’s business. One was revenge for being dumped. The more likely one, however, was that she wanted Shawn to give up and go back to Arizona with her.

  “Here’s Jack’s address and Felice Wainwright’s number,” Shawn said when they’d reached his office. “You can use the phone here but please don’t tell Mrs. Wainwright what’s been going on. I can’t risk her canceling the dinner.”

  “Okay,” Nancy agreed. Shawn left, and a moment later Bess appeared in the doorway.

  “Hi,” she said. “I came in just as you were headed upstairs. What’s new?”

  “Lots,” Nancy said. She filled Bess in on everything that had happened.

  “Wow!” Bess exclaimed. “You must be completely exhausted. This case is getting creepier by the minute.”

  “I know,” Nancy agreed as she punched in Felice Wainwright’s number. After speaking briefly with the butler, Nancy was connected directly to the heiress.

  “Hello,” Felice Wainwright answered.

  Nancy quickly concocted a story. She said she had seen Joseph Spaziente’s work at the Arizona House and was interested in buying a painting. She asked if Felice knew where she could learn more about the artist and his work.

  To Nancy’s relief, Felice warmed instantly to the subject. Her voice became animated with enthusiasm. “My dear, you have exquisite taste,” she said. “I believe Joseph will be a very important painter. He’s a genius, really. I happen to have an original Spaziente, which the artist himself has just finished. Would you care to come see it?”

  “Absolutely,” Nancy said, trying not to sound too eager. “When can I come?”

  “Let me see,” Felice mused. “I’m attending a dinner party tonight. Can you come now?”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,” Nancy said.

  “Do you need directions?” Felice asked.

  “Yes, please,” Nancy said, thinking it was unwise to admit that she knew exactly where the woman lived.

  “You’re going to the Wainwright mansion!” Bess squealed when Nancy hung up. “I don’t believe it. Oh, let me come with you, please? I have to see it!”

  “Don’t you have to work?” Nancy asked, laughing.

  Bess frowned. “Oh . . . right.”

  Just then, Shawn came into the office. “I’m heading over to the Wainwright estate,” Nancy told him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Can I go with her?” Bess asked. “It’s really warm out. No one is going to have a coat today.”

  “Okay,” Shawn said with a laugh. “Go ahead. But remember, not a word about what’s been going on. Especially not about the slashed paintings.”

  In minutes the two girls were heading up the road toward the Wainwright estate. Bess squeezed Nancy’s arm as she drove. “This morning, when I woke up, I never dreamed I would be going here. I wish I’d worn a nicer dress. Do I look all right?”

  “You look fine, better than I do,” Nancy said. She was still wearing the black pants and denim shirt of her waitress uniform.

  “Don’t worry. The truly rich always dress casually. They don’t have to impress anyone,” Bess said confidently. “You can say you were out playing polo. You just jumped off your Thoroughbred horse and dashed right over, dah-ling!”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said, laughing. She reached the estate and pulled into the long drive. The rolling lawn was immaculately groomed. Fruit trees in full pink bloom dotted the landscape, along with squared-off hedges and sculpted azalea bushes bursting with pink and white blossoms.

  At the door, the girls were greeted by a tall, stodgy butler. After she gave her name, Nancy and Bess were directed to a large room off the front foyer.

  “This place is amazing,” Bess whispered, taking in the exquisite antique furnishings and twelve-foot-high ceilings.

  “That’s by Spaziente, I think,” Nancy said, pointing to a painting on the wall. It stood by itself in a gilded frame, just above a long cherry-wood table. “I recognize the style from the paintings in the restaurant.”

  “The guy is kind of in a rut, don’t you think?” Bess said, frowning. “He keeps painting the same thing over and over.”

  Nancy saw what her friend meant. All of Spaziente’s paintings seemed to be landscapes of wooded areas. And this was the third time Nancy had come across this scene, showing the lake in the woods. He’d painted it in summer and in spring. And here it was again. The painting on the wall depicted the same lake and trees, but in autumn, with the woods full of gold and red leaves. Nancy’s eye went to the tree in the lower lefthand corner. That tree stood in exactly the spot where the other paintings had been cut. What was so special about that triangle? She reached out to touch it, then drew back her hand as she heard a voice behind her.

  “Hello. I’m Felice Wainwright.” The wealthy widow seemed to glide into the room. Looking her over, Nancy guessed that Felice was in her early fifties. Her blond hair, swept up in a French twist, crowned her perfect features and light blue eyes. A brocade vest topped a flowing blouse of gossamer silk. Tailored tan pants completed the outfit.

  Nancy introduced herself and Bess. “I see you’ve already spotted Joseph’s work,” Felice said, nodding toward the painting. “Like van Gogh, Joseph has the ability to imbue his landscapes with the teeming energy of nature.”

  Bess and Nancy exchanged sidelong glances. It was an attractive painting. But Nancy wasn’t sure she’d compare it with a van Gogh. Yet, for the sake of her cover, she had to pretend to be as impressed with the painting as Felice was.

  “It is extraordinary,” Nancy agreed.

  “It’s such a shame that Joseph is incarcerated in that awful place,” Felice said with a sigh. “I do hope he gets parole soon. Did you know he was once a brilliant electrical engineer? It seems that whatever he touches is marked with his particular genius.”

  “Why is he in jail?” Bess asked bluntly.

  “He shouldn’t be, if you ask me,” Felice said with a wave of her hand. “He was in debt and got involved with a bank robbery. He was the only one caught. And he didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Robbing a bank is still a crime,” Bess pointed out. Nancy frowned at her.

  “Of course, but Joseph’s such a gentle soul. He’s hardly a menace to society,” Felice insisted.

  “Would you be willing to sell me this painting?” Nancy asked.

  “This painting was a gift from Joseph,” Felice replied. “I would part with it, though, if you are really interested.”

  Just then, a voice boomed from behind them. “That, my good woman, is completely out of the question!” Nancy whirled around and saw a heavy-set, elderly man with wild white hair and wire-rimmed glasses standing imperiously in the doorway. “The painting is mine!”

  8

  Murky Water

  “Who are you, and how did you get in here?” Felice demanded of the man.

  “I am Auguste Spaziente,” replied the rotund gentleman, stepping into the room.

  “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Wainwright,” said the butler, rushing into the room. “This—this person pushed right past me.”

  “I will not be dictated to by hired help,” the stranger declared as he advanced toward the painting on the wall. “My nephew, Joseph, has informed me that his latest work is hanging in your home, Mrs. Wainwright. I lost not a moment in coming to see it since it does, in fact, belong to me.”

  Nancy studied the man. Something about him struck her as odd. For someone of his age, who was so heavy, he moved with a jaunty spring in his step. And his hair was so snowy white. Nancy wondered if it was a wig.

  He’s probably just a spry old bald man who wears a wig, Nancy decided finally.

  “Shall I call the police?” the butler asked.

  “No, Conrad. It’s all right,” Felice
replied as Auguste planted a kiss on her hand. “How did you know I was Felice Wainwright?” she asked.

  “Joseph has described your regal beauty to me many times,” he replied.

  “Why doesn’t he lay it on a little thicker?” Bess whispered to Nancy.

  Spaziente looked at Bess sharply. Then his face softened. “Ah,” he murmured, “I’m a lucky man to find three beauties clustered in one room.”

  “This is Bess Marvin and Nancy Drew,” Felice said. “Now, how may I help you?”

  “It seems I came here just in time,” Spaziente said. “You were about to sell something that rightfully belongs to me.”

  “To you?” Nancy questioned.

  “Indeed. My nephew told me that he left a painting for me with Mrs. Wainwright. He said I should come here to collect it. I own a gallery back in New York, you see. I am in the perfect position to give Joseph the showing his art so richly deserves.”

  “There must be some mistake,” Felice insisted. “Joseph gave this to me as a gift. I was only willing to part with it so that Joseph could have as wide an audience as possible.”

  “All the more reason to give me the painting,” Auguste said. “Though the rest of the Spaziente family has abandoned Joseph—they feel disgraced by his brush with the law—I am standing by him. I believe in his genius, and I am just the person to give him a new start.”

  Felice sighed. “I was about to tell Nancy, and now I’ll tell you both. I’m not parting with the painting until after this weekend. You may have heard about the auction I’m holding on Saturday. Collectors from all over the world will be here in this room. I want them to see Joseph’s work. Seven of his paintings are hanging at the Arizona House, where I’ll be holding a preauction dinner party. Then, when everyone comes back here, they’ll see this one, Joseph’s finest. It’s just the kind of exposure he needs. I can’t take this painting out of the collection now.”

  Inwardly, Nancy cringed. What would happen when Felice discovered the other paintings had been destroyed? She wouldn’t be too pleased, that was for sure.