Nancy felt like a criminal as she sneaked upstairs into the master bedroom to look at the gold-leaf crest hand-painted on the drawers of the mahogany chest. Then she hurried into the dining room to look at the old china plates.
“There’s a difference, all right,” Nancy whispered, looking carefully.
The older version of the crest, on the china, was less complicated. The ring of tulips was the same, but at the center, where the stems met, it was much less thickly tangled.
Quickly Nancy took out a pencil and fished out the largest piece of scrap paper she could find in her purse. Then she leaned against the diningroom wall, sketching the china version of the crest. Was that a footstep in the hall? Was someone coming? With her heart pounding, she hurried back into the bedroom and sketched the crest on the mahogany drawers.
Back outside in the garden, Bess and George hadn’t missed her at all. Nancy waited until the other visitors had driven away. Then, standing in the parking lot, she showed her friends the two drawings.
“What do you think?” Nancy asked Bess.
Bess sat on the hood of their car and looked closely at the paper. “Maybe the crest changed because the artists changed over the years,” she said. “The china is very old, you know.”
Bess handed the paper to George who stared at it for a while. George shook her head.
“Sure, the crests are different,” George said. “But so what? I don’t see any hidden words or secret messages.”
Just then, George turned the paper over in her hands. On the other side, there was the address of the Laugh Riot. Suddenly she sat up very tall. “Guys, I don’t know about the crest. But I do know one thing. I’ve seen this handwriting before. It’s totally familiar.”
“Sure,” Nancy said. “It’s Cecelia’s. That’s the paper she used when she wrote down the address of the comedy club.”
George shook her head. “No. I mean I’ve seen it somewhere else.“
Nancy studied the paper for a minute. Then she started digging in her purse with a wild kind of excitement. “George, you’re right, you’re brilliant, and you’re wonderful!” she shouted.
“I know,” said George. “But what are you talking about?”
Nancy pulled her wallet from her purse and found in it the airline ticket made out to Markella Smith. She handed the ticket to Bess and George.
“The handwriting is exactly the same!” they cried out together.
The handwriting was exactly the same, Nancy knew now. Which meant that Cecelia had written Markella Smith’s airline ticket. Which meant that Markella Smith probably didn’t exist.
“Wait a minute…“ Bess said, trying to piece the story together. “You mean to tell me Markella was Cecelia Bancroft all along?”
Nancy nodded her head as she quickly got into the car.
12
Cecelia’s Party
“I knew I had seen that handwriting somewhere,” George said as they started the two-hour drive from the Cape back to Boston. “I must have looked at that airline ticket a hundred times — while I was calling every Smith in Denver.”
“Yes,” Nancy said. “Cecelia probably took this phony ticket to the church the day she met us there, and dropped it in the church stairway when George wasn’t looking.”
“But why?” George said.
“I think it was a trick to get us to go to Denver and get out of town,” Nancy said. “And now I’m sure that Cecelia had something to do with stealing Meredith’s veil. Cecelia might even be the red-haired woman who tricked Meredith!”
“Wouldn’t that be weird?” Bess said. “I mean, if Meredith were here, she could identify her in a minute! But she’s in Bermuda, and we never saw the red-haired woman. Meanwhile we’re running all over Boston with Cecelia as though she’s our best friend.”
“She’s a very cagey woman,” Nancy said. “But I knew she’d make a mistake sometime — and I hoped I’d be there to catch her.”
“What now? Call the police?” George asked.
“Not quite yet,” Nancy said. “We don’t really have enough proof. An airline ticket with her handwriting on it doesn’t prove she stole the veil. I think we should pay Cecelia a visit.”
By the time they reached Boston it was almost eight, and all three girls were starving. But a rushed dinner was all Nancy would allow her friends. She was eager to get to Cecelia’s.
After dinner the three of them jumped back into the rental car and Nancy outlined her plan.
“The two of you will keep Cecelia talking, while I try to slip away and search the house for the veil.”
But when George pulled the car up in front of 1523 Chestnut Street, the plan hit a snag.
Cecelia and Jason’s house was aglow with bright lights and music. Even from the street, Nancy could see people moving in every room. New guests arrived as quickly as their limos could pull up in front of the walk. There was a party going on — that was clear.
“Uh-oh,” said Bess to Nancy. “We’re going to need an invitation to talk to Cecelia tonight.”
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to try,” George added. “Cecelia will be too distracted to talk to us.”
“I know,” Nancy answered with a sly grin. “That means it’s a perfect time to search her house for Meredith’s veil.”
Nancy left George and Bess out front, and went around to the back of the house. There wasn’t really a yard, but candles and lanterns had made the courtyard festive with twinkling lights. There were tables of food and drink, and benches where the guests could sit and talk. And while a guitarist played classical music, people walked here and there, mingling and chatting to each other. With so many guests, it was going to be easy for Nancy to blend in. Getting into the house and keeping out of Cecelia’s way was a more difficult problem.
Well, if I’m supposed to look like a guest, Nancy thought, I’ve got to act like one.
So as she made her way across the courtyard, she stopped to put cheeses, crackers, fresh vegetables, a slice of lemon cake, and a cup of punch on a plate.
It was working and it was going to work — unless someone asked her who she was.
“Hello, who are you?” called a man with a kind face and a spicy chicken wing in his hand.
“I’m Nancy,” she said, suddenly taking a serious interest in her watch. “Who are you?”
“I’m Harold,” said the man. “Are you timing me?”
“No,” said Nancy.
“Are you with someone?” Harold asked.
“I came with two friends,” said Nancy.
She tried to walk away, after each answer, but Harold followed. As he spoke he plucked hors d’oeuvres off trays carried by the catering helpers.
“Tell me, Nancy, are you a lover of art, or are you like me? I’m here because when Jason Moss tells you to come see his newest acquisition, you come.
“Actually, I know Cecelia better than I know Jason,” Nancy said. “Would you excuse me? I promised to meet her right away.”
Nancy handed Harold her plate and moved quickly, zigzagging through the crowd. The best route was probably to sneak in through the back door of the house. But just as Nancy approached the back steps, Cecelia came out that door. Nancy held her breath and stood statue-still.
“Hello, hello, everybody,” Cecelia said. “Were going to unveil the painting now. So everyone come inside to look and don’t just feed your silly faces.”
Then she disappeared. Nancy let out her breath with relief. Had Cecelia noticed her? Nancy knew Cecelia well enough to be sure of one thing: Cecelia could have spotted Nancy and not even flinched.
Casually Nancy moved into the house with everyone else. But as the crowd flowed into the living room, Nancy took a detour and followed the first stairway up.
Pausing on the first landing, she noticed a hall lined with several doors. Quietly she looked in one bedroom and then the next, listening carefully for footsteps behind her. Which room was Cecelia’s?
When she found it, Cecelia’s bedroom
was unmistakable. It was painted bright pink.
“With the door closed behind her, Nancy started looking through closets and bureau drawers. Where would Cecelia hide the veil? It wasn’t in any of the more obvious places, so Nancy moved quickly to Cecelia’s dressing table and studied it carefully.
At first, the table looked messy, but Nancy soon realized that it was really very orderly, with straight rows of perfume bottles, hair clips, brushes, and puffs. Kind of like Cecelia’s mind, Nancy thought. Her conversations sounded chaotic — but underneath, she really knew exactly what she was doing.
Then suddenly Nancy sat very still, and her heart started to race with excitement. Right in front of her, leaning against the large round mirror, there were two photographs. One was of Cecelia’s dog Licorice wearing a graduate’s cap and tassel. The other was of a smiling young man. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair that was long and wavy. And his face was shadowed because of the Patriots cap he was wearing.
Nancy grabbed the photo off the table with both hands and stared at it. The hair was a different color. He wasn’t wearing an earring. But there was no mistaking it: The face was that of the blond man in the silver car!
Faster and faster her pulse pounded. This was what she was looking for! But then something, a sound, made Nancy turn her head toward the door. Something outside was making little scratching noises. The little scratching became loud scratching and then loud barking. Licorice had found her!
Nancy was frozen, paralyzed, with the photo in her hands as the doorknob turned and the door to Cecelia’s bedroom began to open.
13
Family Secrets
As soon as the door was open wide enough, Licorice leaped in like a miniature guard dog. He bounced and barked at Nancy. But Nancy was not watching the dog. Her eyes were fixed on the door, waiting to see who was standing in the hall. The pulse in Nancy’s throat pounded so hard she couldn’t swallow. The door kept opening slowly. When it opened wide enough for a person to fit through, a woman walked in.
She and Nancy stared at each other. It wasn’t Cecelia.
“Oh! There is someone in here,” the woman said. Her many bangles clinked, and her long silk dress rustled as she circled Nancy. “I thought Licorice was just being crazy. Of course, I really think a lot less of him than that. He never barks at me. He only bites. I keep hoping he’ll chase a ball in front of a steamroller someday.”
Nancy told herself to smile and try to look relaxed. On the inside she was waiting for the woman to ask why she was in Cecelia’s bedroom.
The woman crossed the room to Cecelia’s dressing table. She looked in the vanity mirror and brushed her short brown hair.
“My name’s Greta,” the woman said.
“Nancy.”
With Greta’s back turned and Licorice quiet for the moment, Nancy began moving slowly toward the door.
“So what are you doing up here?” Greta asked.
Nancy froze. “Well …“ she said hesitantly.
“Are you hiding out so you don’t have to look at the dreadful thing they call a painting? I know I am,” Greta said.
“Yes, sort of,” said Nancy.
Greta helped herself to a spray from one of Cecelia’s perfume bottles. She didn’t seem to be wondering why Nancy was there at all. In fact, she appeared happy for the company.
“Have you known the Mosses long?” Greta asked in a friendly voice.
“Just a few days, but I’m getting to know them better all the time,” Nancy said. Her eyes drifted to the doorway. She knew that at any moment someone else could walk into the room — and that someone else could be Cecelia.
“I’ve known Cecelia for years,” said Greta. “We’re best friends. I love her, faults and all.”
“What faults does she have?” Nancy asked.
Greta sat down on the bed, and Licorice, who had gotten there first, started growling. “When we were kids,” Greta said, “our motto was You can never be too thin or too rich. Well, in time, Cecelia decided to cut that motto in half. Money. That’s all she cares about now — and this disgusting dog.”
Greta took the photo of the guy with the Patriots cap from Nancy.
“Do you know who that is?” Nancy asked.
“It’s hard to believe that’s Frazier, isn’t it?” said Greta. “He’s changed a lot too. He’s got all that blond hair now, and he even wears a diamond earring sometimes. But I can remember when he was just Cecelia’s tagalong little brother.”
Cecelia’s brother! So that’s who the guy with the platinum hair was! Frazier Bancroft had done just about everything he could to frighten and hurt Nancy and her friends. Nancy had to sit down quickly, but she tried not to let Greta see that this information was a shock.
Nancy wanted to leave. She had to get out of there fast. But Greta wanted to talk.
“I remember once when we were freshmen in high school.…“ Greta said.
It sounded like the beginning of a long story. So while Greta was drifting into it, Nancy made a quick, furtive move toward Licorice with her hand. The dog did just what Nancy hoped he would do. He snapped at her hand with a bark, leaving two long red welts on her skin.
The bite was minor, but Nancy made a major production out of it. “Ouch,” she cried, holding her hand, cradling it with the other.
“Join the club, dear,” Greta said. “Is it very bad?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said. “I think I’d better wash it.”
Nancy took off for the bedroom door and didn’t look back as she went downstairs and steered herself straight for the front door and out.
Bess and George were sitting in the car parked across the street. When Nancy appeared, George started up the engine.
“Listen to this,” Nancy said, climbing into the car. “I didn’t find the veil, but I found out who the guy with the blond hair is. He’s Cecelia’s brother, Frazier Bancroft.”
It took a little while for that to sink in.
Bess and George had a million questions, and Nancy wanted to unwind. So when they drove past the blinking sign of a late-night coffee shop they decided to stop.
“Tell us everything,” Bess said as the three of them sat down at a booth.
After they had ordered onion rings and sodas, Nancy told her friends about sneaking upstairs and then meeting Greta.
“Greta is Cecelia’s best friend, so she must know what she’s talking about,” Nancy said.
George, who was sitting near the window, twirled an onion ring on her finger. “You know,” she said, “if Cecelia doesn’t have the veil, now we’ve got a pretty good idea who does. Her brother.”
“I’m sure he does,” Bess said.
“Okay,” George continued. “Then why don’t we just find out where he lives and get the veil?”
“Not tonight,” Nancy said firmly. “It’s too late and Frazier’s probably asleep. We’ve got to go when he’s not home.”
“But maybe he’s out at Cecelia’s party right now. We won’t know unless we call him. That’s my department. So let me out,” Bess said to Nancy.
“Wait a minute, Bess,” Nancy said. “If he answers and you just hang up, he might get suspicious. Calling him has to be done carefully.”
“Don’t worry. I’m good at this. Now let me out.”
Nancy let her out, but she and George followed Bess to the pay phone in the back of the quiet restaurant.
Bess got Frazier’s number from information and then everyone squeezed around the telephone earpiece to hear if he picked up.
“Hello,” a man’s voice said.
“Hi, Max. It’s Betsy. How’re you doing?” Bess said.
“Who’s this?”
“It’s me, Betsy. Remember me, Max?”
“This isn’t Max.” “Is Max there?”
“You’ve got the wrong number or something.” “No way,” Bess said. “Who’s this?”
“This is Frazier and I don’t know you from a hole in the ground. So will you let me get some sleep? I
’ve got work to do in the morning”.
“Sorry,” Bess said and hung up.
“You’re wonderful, Bess,” said Nancy. “Now we even know when to go there — tomorrow morning when he leaves for work.”
As they paid their bill, the guy at the cash register grumbled, “Don’t you girls, have anything better to do than make funny phone calls?”
“We lead very boring lives,” Bess said. “It’s the only excitement we get.”
Frazier Bancroft lived in a small blue house in a neighborhood of mostly red brick houses. Apparently, Nancy thought to herself, liking bright colors was one of the Bancroft family traits — along with stealing wedding veils and chasing and kidnapping teenage detectives.
Still, as Nancy, Bess, and George waited in their rental car outside Frazier’s house the next morning, she couldn’t help wondering what he was really like. With his earring and wild blond hair, he just didn’t look like the typical creep. In fact, if he didn’t have those two deep creases around his mouth, Nancy would have thought he was almost good-looking.
At six-thirty he finally came out of his house in blue jeans, a work shirt, and his Patriots cap. Nancy, Bess, and George waited until he drove away in his silver car. Then they crept around to the back of his house.
Thanks to Frazier, the house wasn’t too hard to get into. He hadn’t locked his windows and there was no security system. George climbed in through a kitchen window and soon all three girls were inside.
But right away Nancy realized that finding the veil wasn’t going to be so easy.
Frazier Bancroft’s apartment was perfectly neat, with everything put away in what seemed like a million closets and built-in cabinets and chests.
“The veil could be anywhere,” George said.
“Maybe he has a filing system — you know, like a library,” said Bess.
The telephone rang loudly. The gifts started, but the answering machine clicked on after the second ring.
“Hi, this is Frazier. I just stepped out. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.… BEEEP!”
The Case of the Vanishing Veil Page 8