Don’t Look Twice (9 page)

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 cut 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.

Nancy shrugged. “If anyone sees me, I can say I lost my way.”

She walked to the doorway leading to the entrance hall. A guard stood by the door, and another was making his rounds past the base of the staircase. She was a little surprised at the heavy security, especially since Martha claimed Hans Pieters was such a trivial painter.

As soon as the second guard disappeared round the corner, Nancy ducked out of the doorway and nonchalantly began climbing the stairs. Stopping near the top, she bent down and pretended to fix her stocking. She peeked down the stairs. No one had seen her.

She tiptoed onto the Oriental rug covering the hall floor. Standing still, she listened for voices. She heard them at the end of the hall, inside Jonathan Mason's office.

At first the voices were muffled and indistinct, but Nancy could tell they were arguing. She moved closer to the door and soon began to make out the words.

“I promised to help you, but you have to listen to me,” Bernard was saying forcefully. “I know it's wrong, but think of what's at stake. We have no choice but to follow their instructions. Meet
me back here at twelve-thirty
A.M.
and we'll get the painting.”

“There's got to be another way,” Mr. Mason argued.

“There isn't,” Bernard replied. Then he added in a harsh voice, “Unless, of course, you don't ever want to see your daughter again!”

N
ANCY STOOD GLUED
to the floor. Mr. Mason was being blackmailed with his daughter's life!

Whoever had kidnapped Denise was apparently holding her for ransom, in exchange for one of the paintings at the gallery.

Nancy's thoughts immediately flew to
The
Young Boy.
Was that the one? she wondered. Martha had tried to take it. Was that because she knew it was valuable? She didn't seem to think highly of Hans Pieters's paintings as a whole.

Well, at least Nancy could rule out Bernard as a suspect. He was on Mr. Mason's side, so he couldn't be one of the kidnappers.

Suddenly Nancy heard footsteps approaching the door. Wildly she looked around for a place to hide. There was only the office next door.

It was unlocked. Nancy slipped in and eased the door closed behind her. It clicked shut just before she heard Mr. Mason and Bernard walk past on their way to the staircase.

She leaned against the door to catch her breath and glanced around the room. It contained row after row of file cabinets.

Perfect, Nancy said to herself. It was a great opportunity to check the Hans Pieters file. Maybe there was something in it to help her figure out who wanted one of his paintings badly enough to kidnap for it.

She opened the drawer marked Current and Upcoming Shows. The Pieters file was thick. There had been a lot of mail back and forth. The paintings had been due to arrive three weeks earlier, but a mix-up at the museum in Holland had held them up. Bernard had sent out several frantic telegrams, copies of which were in the files. Nancy had to smile at some of them. Bernard hadn't struck her as such a worrywart.

In the back of the file was an insurance form listing all the paintings and how much each was worth. Nancy scanned the list. The paintings weren't priced particularly high, and
The Young
Boy
wasn't the most valuable of the lot, either.

She thought about how Martha had hidden the painting in the storage room closet. Why? What was so special about it? Or was Nancy on the wrong track altogether?

The one thing Nancy knew was that a few
questions would be answered at twelve-thirty. And she would be there.

Glancing at her watch, she noticed that it was already ten forty-five. The gala was only supposed to go till eleven. She had to sneak back downstairs and find Ned and the others. If she was going to remain inside until twelve-thirty, she needed someone outside to make sure she could get out then.

Nancy made her way down the sweeping staircase and into the ballroom. Only a handful of people were still there. She walked through it and into the adjoining room. Ned, Martha, and Tim Raphael were sitting against one wall, deep in conversation. Dave and George were standing together in front of one of the paintings.

“Nancy!” Ned said, standing up. He looked relieved to see her.

“Hi!” said Nancy. “Ned, come here. I want to show you something.” She took his hand and practically dragged him into the ballroom.

“You have to cover for me,” she said as soon as they were out of earshot of anyone else. “I've got to stay here until twelve-thirty. I'm going to hide out upstairs until everyone is gone. When you go back into the ballroom, pretend I had to go home.”

“Why?” Ned asked. “What's going on?”

Nancy quickly explained what she had overheard upstairs and what she planned to do. “I want to see which painting they're after and try
to find out where they're taking it,” she concluded.

“I don't like to leave you here alone,” Ned told her.

“I'll be fine, as long as you're standing by to rescue me if anything goes wrong,” Nancy told him. She grinned. “My hero.”

Ned gave a half smile, then looked deeply into Nancy's eyes. “Be careful,” he said, and drew her into his arms. She felt so warm and secure that she didn't want him to ever let her go.