I put my hand on Alice’s arm. “Of course. Thank you for the information,” I told her. “I’ll look into it.”
Alice smiled at me—a quick, anxious smile—before she put Pia over her shoulder and hurried away. As she retreated, the shih tzu regarded me with the kind of look a king gives a peasant begging in the street. Boy, I thought, Helen Bradley was right. The people at these dog shows are certainly unique.
I took a deep breath and sighed. I’d been in Quebec City for only a few hours, and already a tangled web of possible suspects was growing in this petty crime I was investigating. And something in my gut told me that this was only the beginning.
CHAPTER THREE
Belle of the Dog Ball
AFTER A COUPLE OF HOURS of handler training, Louise and I made our way back to the Château Frontenac to relax before the evening’s festivities. I climbed the magnificent golden spiral staircase up to the second floor to my room. We’d been in such a hurry earlier, when we dropped off our luggage, that I’d barely gotten a chance to check it out properly. But after an appreciative glance around the room—with its white paneled walls and big picture window overlooking the city—I collapsed onto the welcoming bed and fell asleep.
When I woke again later, the room was filled with the rosy light of dusk, and someone was hammering on my door. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I plodded over to the door and opened it to find George and Bess standing there, dressed from head to toe for the masquerade ball. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Bess said brightly. “It’s time to party!”
All the drowsiness left me as soon as the sunshine that is Bess Marvin entered the room. She was dressed in a floor-length, icy blue gown with silver and blue sequins covering the bodice. Over her face she wore a silvery mask with many points coming off it, like a sparkling snowflake. “Bess, it’s lovely!” I told her. “And so winter-appropriate!”
I turned to George, who was wearing a short violet dress with a skirt that flared out from the waist. Matching satin gloves covered her arms, and she wore a black-and-violet cat mask over her face, complete with pointed ears and wispy black whiskers. “You’re wearing a cat mask to the Dog Ball?” I chuckled.
“What?” George said. “I like to be edgy. Anyway, what can I say? I’m a cat person.”
“Maybe you’re just hoping one of the guys will chase you,” Bess teased.
George blushed and elbowed Bess in the ribs. “Hardly,” she said. “Anyway, Nance—you’re going to love what we picked out for you!” She stuffed a shopping bag into my arms and waved me into the bathroom to change.
Bess’s face lit up when I emerged a few minutes later. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh, it’s even more perfect than I expected!” George gave me two thumbs-up.
“You two really know me well,” I said, smiling shyly. The strapless burgundy dress was velvety soft and flowed in ripples to the floor—simple but elegant. My friends had picked out two gold cuffs for my wrists, and on my face I wore a brown-and-gold beaked mask, with striped feathers arching off the two corners like pyramid-shaped ears.
“An owl mask for our all-seeing bird of prey!” George quipped.
“Hunting down bad guys in America and beyond!” Bess added.
I laughed. I could always count on Bess and George to keep me from taking myself too seriously. “Well, ladies,” I said. “The ballroom awaits!”
When we made our way back downstairs, the lobby was buzzing with guests, virtually all of them dressed to the nines for the big party. I noticed with amusement the large number of dog masks on display—often worn by the owner to match their pet. Winding through the crowd, we followed the signs to the Château Frontenac’s majestic ballroom. Bess’s jaw dropped, and George instantly began rummaging in her purse for her phone as soon as we got through the door. The room was vast and breathtakingly beautiful. Gigantic windows reached all the way up to the cathedral ceilings, and eight massive crystal chandeliers cast warm yellow light down onto the scene below. On a raised stage at the back of the room, a ten-piece band was already playing a classic waltz for guests on the dance floor. Waiters and waitresses walked around the room with delicious-smelling trays of appetizers and drinks. “Bonsoir, mesdemoiselles,” a young hostess said as we walked in. “Bienvenue a la Soirée du Chien!”
“Merci beaucoup,” George said, bowing her head politely. She turned to Bess and me, her cat mask making her look even more mischievous than usual. “Well, I don’t know about you girls, but I’m ready to eat! That poutine feels a world away.”
“I want to explore a little bit first,” Bess replied, lacing her arm through mine. “C’mon, Nancy, let’s take in the sights!”
As we made our way around the room, I spied Valencia Vasquez, holding a champagne flute and chatting up a gentleman wearing a steel-gray wolf mask. She was wearing a silky black dress and an elegant canine mask that looked very much like Hollywood Garden. When she saw us coming, she waved the man away and turned to scrutinize our outfits. “Nancy, my dear,” she crooned. “You clean up nice. And who’s this pretty little thing?”
I gritted my teeth. “This is Bess Marvin. Bess, meet Valencia Vasquez. Her poodle is competing in the Non-Sporting Group.”
“Nice to meet you,” Bess said, nodding her head.
Considering Valencia’s blunt honesty, I took a chance and asked, “So, V, you’ve been in the dog show game a while. What do you think of the competition this year?”
Valencia took a sip of her champagne and scanned the room. “Eh,” she replied. “A lot of the same faces as usual—Helen is about as threatening as a can of peaches, but she’s got a pretty solid game. The judges like her down-home, suburban charm. She did well in last year’s shows in Chicago and Amsterdam—and actually took Best of Breed in Helsinki. Charles is hit-or-miss; he only shows on occasion. And as for Alice”—here Valencia scowled, as if she had tasted something bitter—“you never know what will happen with her around.”
“Oh?” I asked. “She seemed like kind of the quiet type.”
“A snake is quiet too,” Valencia scoffed.
Bess and I exchanged a glance. I had told her about the conversation I had that afternoon with Alice, when she told me Valencia should be my number one suspect. “And how about the others?” I asked, hoping to squeeze Valencia for as much gossip as possible while she had a belly full of champagne.
“That one”—she pointed to the large man who I’d seen in the crowd when we were trying to revive Marshmallow—“he’s new. His name is Joe something, Joe Cook, I think. Now there’s a quiet type if I’ve ever seen one. He’s barely said a word to anyone since he arrived. Got a basset hound competing—Shirley Heartbreaker. Nice dog, but it will be his heart broken when he finds out that she hasn’t a fighting chance.”
I glanced over to look at Joe, who was pressed up against a wall on the far side of the room. He wore a plain scarlet mask over his face and kept checking his watch. “Doesn’t look like he’s having much fun,” I commented.
Valencia tsked and picked up another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “Why do a dog show if you’re not going to enjoy it?” she asked.
Why indeed? I wondered.
“Louise is usually a pretty tough one to beat,” Valencia went on, “but now that she’s got you in as her handler, that makes Marge a little bit of a question mark.” She looked straight at me, a challenge in her eyes.
“We’ll see,” I said, meeting her gaze.
Valencia smiled, her red lips stretching wide like the Cheshire cat. “Yes,” she said. “We will.”
After a little more exploring, we made our way to the buffet table, where George was standing with a plate piled high with delicacies. “So,” she said through a mouthful of food. “Narrow down the list of suspects at all?”
I frowned. “I didn’t narrow it down as much as make it longer. Alice already basically accused Valencia of the stunt. But I’m not totally convinced Valencia is the one we want, and according to her, Alice herself isn’t quite wha
t she seems, and neither is the new guy over there—Joe. It almost seems like anyone could have done it. Every one of them has a motive. They all want to win.”
“How about Mr. Dubois over there?” George asked, glancing at something behind us. “What is he up to, do you think?”
I turned to see Charles Dubois, a Phantom of the Opera−style white mask covering half his face, lurking behind one of the tables where a few guests had left their bags and other belongings. He was covertly sifting through the pockets of a suit jacket that hung on the back of a chair; then he searched inside a purse on the table before moving on, glancing around to make sure no one had witnessed the act. Luckily, I turned back around quickly and he didn’t notice us watching.
Bess covered her mouth with her hand. “What could he be looking for?” she murmured.
I shook my head. “Not sure—maybe something to use for blackmail? That’s another good way to get people to drop out of the competition. All I know for sure is, Mr. Dubois just jumped to the top of my list of suspects.” I picked a mini quiche off George’s plate and popped it into my mouth. After chewing thoughtfully, I said to Bess and George, “I’d better keep an eye on him. You two keep your eyes peeled for anyone else doing something suspicious. Someone in this room is hiding something, and I’m going to find out who.”
As I walked past them, I almost ran into Helen Bradley, who was standing next to us, nibbling at a plate of baby carrots and celery. “Oops!” I said. “I’ve got to stop bumping into you like this!”
Helen laughed and waved away my apology. “Enjoying the party?” she asked, gesturing toward the crowd of masked guests. “I love a good masquerade. It’s always fun pretending to be something you’re not—it’s like Halloween for grown-ups!”
I nodded. “It’s fun,” I agreed. “But I could never really get into pretend games. Too easy for me to see through the lie, I guess.” I shrugged. “It’s a blessing and a curse!”
Helen took a long sip of her drink. “You must not like reading mystery stories, then,” she guessed.
I laughed. “Oh, I love mystery stories,” I replied. “The problem is, I always figure it out by the second chapter.”
Helen opened her mouth and looked like she was about to respond when she seemed to feel something in her purse. She put her drink and plate down on a table nearby, pulled out her phone, and glanced at the screen. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, pressing her phone to her chest, “I have to take this. It’s my husband—whenever he’s home alone with the kids, he calls me every hour!” She shook her head, chuckling and muttering, “Men!” before turning away and putting the phone up to her ear.
I began walking a slow circuit around the room, trying to watch the movements of all the competitors, searching for anything out of the ordinary. After a little while, I saw the same gentleman with the wolf mask walk up to Bess, bow, and take her hand in his. Bess smiled and blushed before allowing herself to be led out onto the dance floor. She laughed as he twirled and dipped her to the sound of the music, which had changed to be more upbeat now that the night had progressed. She caught my eye in the crowd as I watched and waved to me, beaming. I waved back, shaking my head. Bess was like a flame in a world full of moths—drawing everyone close with her radiance.
After about half an hour of watching with no more information to speak of, I finally headed back to the buffet for a dinner break. I had just taken my fifth bite of chicken marsala when George ran up to the table where I was sitting, her eyes wide with barely concealed panic. I set the plate down and got up to meet her. “George, what’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Bess,” George said, her voice choked with emotion. “I don’t know where she is! I’ve been looking for her everywhere for the past ten minutes—I even checked her room—but I can’t find her! She’s not answering her phone. . . . She wouldn’t have just left, Nancy!”
I gripped George’s shoulder. It was so unusual to see her frantic like this that it threatened to infect me with panic too. “Okay,” I said, as smoothly as I could. “Calm down, we’ll find her. Let’s ask around and see if anyone saw her leave.”
Ten minutes later, we were no further along with our search except for one other fact. The last person who we’d seen Bess with—the man with the wolf mask—was gone too. A heavy stone settled in my stomach. “The front desk,” I said. “Maybe they saw something. We have to try.”
George and I ran from the ballroom, still loud and crowded with partygoers, back into the empty lobby. The same concierge who’d been there when we arrived was standing behind the desk. “Excuse me,” I asked him in a rush. “My name is Nancy Drew. We can’t seem to find our friend. Her name is Bess Marvin—she’s the blond-haired girl we checked in with this morning.”
The concierge nodded. “I remember her. I don’t recall seeing her leave from the front here, however. . . .” He turned to the computer and typed something in. His eyebrows went up. “Ah yes, I thought so. There was a message left for you, Miss Drew. Just about twenty minutes ago.” He pulled an envelope from under the desk with my name printed on it in nondescript block letters. I tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper with the same block lettering written on it. George and I read it together.
Nancy Drew: We have taken your friend. If you want to see her again, drop your investigation immediately. Act normal, tell no one, and do not involve the police. If you do as we say, Bess will be returned to you as soon as the dog show is over. You don’t want to find out what will happen if you ignore our orders. You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Do the show and go home—or else.
I turned to George, all the blood draining from my face.
“What are we going to do?” George whispered.
My pulse was roaring in my ears as I tried to understand how a little prank at a dog show had come to this. “I don’t know,” I said, feeling helpless and confused. “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER FOUR
A Wolf in the Night
“HI! YOU HAVE REACHED THE voice mail of Bess Marvin. I can’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you as soon—”
I clicked my phone off and tried to breathe through the nausea rising into my throat. “Her phone is turned off—it’s going straight to voice mail,” I murmured to George. She blinked, dashing a tear from her face.
You’re no good to Bess if you panic, I thought. Focus. Think. Plan. What’s your next move?
“Can you interview the waitstaff?” I asked George, holding her shoulder to steady her. “Ask if any of them spoke to the man in the wolf mask—if they know anything about him at all.”
George nodded, looking relieved to be given instructions. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Look for clues to where he might have taken her,” I said. “If these people think we’re going to just follow their orders and wait for them to bring her back, they’re dead wrong.” I felt my pulse slow and my back straighten as my fear transformed into a single-minded purpose. This town was full of obedient creatures at the moment—but I wasn’t one of them.
George’s mouth was pressed into a hard line. “Right,” she said. But after a moment, her brow creased. “I just don’t get it, though, Nancy. Why would someone resort to kidnapping, just over some kind of petty sabotage at a dog show? It doesn’t make sense!”
“You’re right, it doesn’t,” I agreed. “Which makes me think this must be about something else.”
“Something else?” George asked. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “But maybe when we started sniffing around about the attack on Marshmallow Fluff, we stumbled into something bigger. Something these people don’t want to risk me exposing.” I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “But that’s my best guess until we get more information. I’m going to scour this place while Bess’s trail is still warm and see what I can find.”
“Okay,” George said. “Text me if you find anything, and we’ll meet up la
ter.” As I turned to go, she grabbed my arm and said, “Be careful, okay, Nance?”
I nodded, and we parted ways. I quickly ran up to my room to grab a coat, and then made my way outside. The hotel was shaped kind of like an empty square, with several enclosed parking lots in the middle, accessed through tunnels that ran through the belly of the building. Someone with a getaway car parked in one of these dark tunnels could have easily taken Bess out a side door and into the car quickly and without being seen. I tried the one closest to the ballroom first. A bellhop was standing near the door, bouncing up and down on his heels for warmth.
“Good evening, mademoiselle,” he said as I approached, his breath cascading out in rolling clouds. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Actually yes,” I said. “I’m looking for my friend—she’s blonde, and she was wearing a light-blue dress and a silver mask tonight. Last I saw her, she was with a man in a dark suit and a wolf mask. Did you happen to see them leave?”
The bellhop cocked his head and reached into the pocket of his coat. “A silver mask—like this?” His outstretched hand held Bess’s mask.
I reached out and grabbed it; just holding it in my hands made me feel like Bess was somehow within reach. “Yes, this is hers—where did you find it?”
“I went inside to get a coffee about forty-five minutes ago,” the bellhop said. “I was only gone for maybe ten minutes, but when I got back, I found this mask on the ground over there.” He pointed to a parking space just outside the nearest tunnel.
I ran over to where he’d pointed and noticed some tire tracks imprinted in the snow. There were some strange, grayish-white fibers stuck into the tracks—could they hold a clue to where Bess might have been taken? I pulled a handkerchief from my purse and gathered some of the fibers into it so I could look at them more closely later.
I stood, planning to return to the bellhop to ask him more questions, when a blur of movement from the opposite tunnel caught my eye. A tall figure in a black parka, the hood pulled low over his face, was watching me, and I wondered why. “Excuse me,” I called out to him.
The Stolen Show Page 3