Portrait in Crime (8 page)

If Christopher Scott had been murdered, who would be leaving clues for Nancy? The killer? It didn't seem likely. But if it was just someone who knew too much and was scared to come forward, why would that person leave a threatening note?

Why would anyone kill Christopher Scott? And when would it have happened? He had been working the day Nicholas died, so he would have
to have been killed between then and Nicholas's funeral.

“But if Christopher was killed,” Nancy said out loud, “what happened to the body?” She stared into the darkness. She knew that murder was hard to cover up. Bodies didn't vanish without a trace.

And then there was the question of motive. The bad guy, as Sasha put it, seemed to be Bob Tercero. But why? He should want Christopher alive and working. He made money from Christopher's paintings, and he really seemed to want Nancy to find Christopher.

All right, so maybe it was ridiculous to think Christopher had been murdered. The whole case just didn't make sense! Nancy thought, tossing restlessly.

This last clue, the warning on the tape, definitely tied the missing
Vanity
painting to the mystery. Nancy would have to find the red-haired model and the painting, she vowed, and the sooner the better. She'd get to work on it first thing in the morning.

With that, she finally fell into a troubled sleep.

• • •

The next morning Nancy met Bess and George at breakfast with Aunt Eloise.

“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!

I
T'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 capture 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?”