Don't Look Twice

by Carolyn Keene

  “See how hungry I am? I hate maraschino cherries,” George said. “Can we please eat something before I die of starvation? Please? Please?” She grabbed her stomach dramatically.

  Nancy had to laugh. “I get the message, George. Nella, what was that you said about breakfast at the Museum Café?” she asked.

  Nella glanced at her watch. “Let’s call it brunch—and let’s go!”

  Over a hearty brunch of eggs Benedict and waffles, Nancy laid out the case as she understood it so far.

  “Now, let me see if I can recap,” Nella said, licking the last bit of maple syrup from her fork. “You were kidnapped and then let go because the kidnappers kidnapped the wrong girl. You figured out who they thought the right girl was, and then she apparently disappeared. Her mother now claims she’s simply gone to visit her grandmother for the weekend. I’m saying it, but I’m not sure I understand it.”

  “So far, so good,” Nancy complimented Nella.

  “Except we’re not really sure Denise is the right girl,” George said. She was contentedly sitting back in her chair, her plate wiped clean. “It just makes sense that she is, because she has the same color hair as Nancy and was sitting at the table with her. It would be logical that the kidnappers had mixed them up.”

  Nancy picked at a stray clump of spinach on her plate. “Then there’s this Tim Raphael. He’s got to be involved somehow,” she muttered. “Why else would he act like a scared rabbit every time he sees me? But I don’t know how to fit him in. None of the motives I can think of make sense for him.”

  “Okay, let’s talk about a motive here. Who are these kidnappers and what do they want?” asked Nella.

  “Well, the only thing I can come up with is something to do with the tournament,” Nancy said. “Maybe someone placed a big bet on the Eagles to win and it doesn’t look like they will now, so this person is hoping to make the Wildcats either lose their nerve or forfeit by kidnapping one of the cheerleaders.” Nancy answered Nella’s questioning stare. “I now think they wanted her because she’s a cheerleader,” she explained.

  “Maybe it’s just somebody who wants money,” George suggested. “Is Denise Mason rich?”

  “Mason? Did you say her last name is Mason? Are we talking about Jonathan’s kid?” Nella had suddenly turned pale.

  “I don’t know her parents,” replied Nancy.

  “Well, I do. Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection sooner,” Nella moaned.

  “What connection? What are you talking about?” Nancy asked.

  “Remember I suggested we go over to the Amster Gallery to see the new Dutch portraits show? Well, Jonathan Mason, the curator there, is an acquaintance of mine. He has a daughter named Denise. And I think he told me she’s a student at Emerson.”

  “So?” George asked. “If you know Denise’s parents, why are you so worried all of a sudden?”

  Nella shook her head. “There’s a gala opening party tonight, and Jonathan’s been talking for weeks about how his daughter is going to help him with it. I just can’t believe she’d leave town on this weekend of all weekends!”

  Nancy became alarmed. Maybe her instincts had been right all along! She leaned forward. “Suppose Denise has been kidnapped, but her parents are afraid to say anything because they’ve been threatened by the kidnappers,” she said. “Do you think Jonathan Mason would tell you, Nella?”

  “I don’t know.” Nella bit her lip. “Maybe.”

  Nancy threw her napkin down and rose from her chair. “Well, we’ll just have to find out.”

  When they arrived at the Amster Gallery, an officious receptionist informed them that the gallery was closed for the day. The shipment of paintings for the show had been delayed and had finally arrived from Holland that morning. The gallery was racing to get the paintings hung before the opening that night.

  “But we have to see Jonathan Mason,” Nella said anxiously.

  The receptionist looked down her nose. “I suggest you make an appointment, ma’am,” she replied. “Mr. Mason is not available today.”

  Nella drew herself up to her full height. “I’m on the board of trustees,” she said haughtily. “I must see Mr. Mason.”

  “Oh, excuse me, ma’am.” The receptionist was suddenly super helpful. “I didn’t realize it was so urgent. Please go right up.”

  “Thank you.” Nella gave the woman an icy stare and swept past her. The three walked up the sweeping mahogany staircase to the gallery rooms on the second floor.

  “This place looks like a palace,” George remarked.

  “Close,” said Nella. “It used to be a mansion. It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Mayhem reigned in the four rooms of the gallery when they arrived. Crates were stacked everywhere. Packing material was strewn all over one room. People were racing in and out. Nancy, George, and Nella stood off to one side, trying to keep out of the way.

  Clutching a clipboard, a thin, elegantly dressed man stood in the center of the main room. He looked as if he were directing a crazy play. He barked orders to people setting lights and hanging wires on the wall. Every few moments someone stopped to ask him a question.

  “Is that Jonathan Mason?” asked Nancy.

  “No, that’s Bernard Corbett, Jonathan’s right-hand man,” Nella whispered. “Bernard keeps this gallery going while Jonathan is off making deals in exotic places.

  “And that’s Martha, Bernard’s assistant,” she added, pointing to a young woman with ultrashort platinum blond hair. As if hearing her name, Martha strode over to them.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sampson,” she said. Her aquamarine eyes were mocking. “Don’t look so worried. We’ll have this show hung if we have to hire fifty more people to do it. Money’s no object, right?”

  Nella managed a smile. Nancy noticed that she had stiffened in her manner. She and Martha obviously didn’t get along.

  “We’re looking for Jonathan. Is he around?”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t bother him if I were you. He’s really on edge—I’ve never seen him like this. He’s up in his office waiting for an important phone call.”

  Just then a loud alarm went off. It sounded like a police siren.

  “Sorry, everyone. Just a test,” called out a cheerful, large, dark-haired man.

  “The new security system,” Martha explained with a loud sigh. “Of course, Jonathan didn’t bother to tell either Bernard or me that he was installing it until two days ago,” she added peevishly. “Nor did he get any duplicates of the system key. So now we can’t get in and out without him.”

  “Hey, Raphael,” a sweaty young man interrupted. “Where do we put the programs?”

  Martha turned to Nancy, Nella, and George. “Sorry, I have to get back to work.” She smiled tightly and walked away.

  “Is her last name Raphael?” Nancy asked Nella. Her ears had pricked at the name.

  “I think so. Yes, it is Martha Raphael,” Nella agreed. “She’s a bit of an ogre, isn’t she?”

  Nancy didn’t reply. She was too busy thinking. Tim’s last name was Raphael, too. Were he and Martha related?

  Nancy watched Martha for a minute. There was definitely a resemblance in the way she moved, and, Nancy realized, in the unusual color of her eyes. They must be brother and sister. Interesting. She filed the fact away for future reference.

  “Let’s find Mr. Mason,” said George.

  Nella led the way back to the mahogany staircase and up to the next level. There were several closed doors along the main hall, which was covered with Oriental runners. Each dark, burnished wooden door had its own brass knocker.

  Nella walked to the end of the hall and knocked at the last door on the left. “Jonathan?”

  Nancy heard a chair being pushed back, and then she heard footsteps. A man who Nancy guessed was Jonathan Mason opened the door. His glasses were pushed up on his head, and his eyes were red. His shirt was rumpled. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He can’t be that tired just from working on this exhibit,
can he? Nancy wondered.

  Nella jumped right in. “Jonathan, you know I wouldn’t bother you, especially now, unless it was important,” she said quickly. “This is Nancy Drew and George Fayne. Nancy’s a detective, and—well, she thinks that Denise may be in trouble.”

  Mr. Mason was obviously caught off guard. He turned white as a sheet.

  “In trouble? Wh-what do you mean?” he stammered.

  Nancy stepped forward. “Mr. Mason, I realize that you may have been warned not to talk about this. But I have reason to believe that your daughter has been kidnapped—and I think I may be able to help, if you’ll let me.”

  Jonathan Mason scowled. “Kidnapped? That’s ridiculous. Denise is at her grandmother’s for the weekend,” he said.

  It was impossible to tell whether he was acting or not. Nancy decided to try calling his bluff. “Could we reach her there?” she asked.

  “No—that is, I don’t have the number with me. Besides, they wouldn’t be home. They—they said they were going sketching today.”

  At that moment one of the workers burst in on them. “Mr. Mason, there’s a problem downstairs. One of the paintings is missing.”

  “How could that be?” Jonathan Mason demanded. “They were all there this morning.”

  The young man shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Mr. Mason pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. “This is all I need right now,” he muttered, then strode off toward the stairs.

  Nancy, George, and Nella trooped after him, Nancy’s mind working overtime. She remembered Mrs. Mason saying that Denise and her grandmother were going shopping. Now Mr. Mason claimed they were out sketching. Was that discrepancy important? Or was Nancy just getting carried away?

  Bernard met them at the door to the ballroom. He looked irritated. “I’m sorry, Jonathan. I didn’t want to disturb you, but Sam rushed off to get you before I could stop him. I’m sure the painting is around here somewhere. You don’t have to—”

  “Which one is missing?” Jonathan interrupted.

  Bernard pursed his lips. “Number seventeen.”

  “The Young Boy?” said Mr. Mason. He clapped a hand to his forehead. “Have you checked everywhere? Could it have been stolen?”

  “There have been so many people in and out, I suppose it’s possible,” Bernard said, looking around at the bustling workers. “But how would anyone get it out of the building?”

  “Maybe I can help,” Nancy offered.

  Bernard looked at her, startled. “You? How?”

  “Nancy’s a detective,” George piped up.

  “I don’t—” Bernard began, but Mr. Mason cut him off again.

  “I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look, Miss Drew,” he said over his shoulder.

  Bernard said nothing, but Nancy saw his lips tighten into a thin line. She couldn’t blame him. Mr. Mason was really stepping on Bernard’s toes.

  Mr. Mason headed for a storage room off the ballroom. Bernard, Nancy, and George followed close behind. Mr. Mason opened the door and flipped the light switch on. The room was flooded with harsh fluorescent light.

  Nancy’s eyes went right to the paintings, which were leaning against the walls waiting to be hung. They were mostly portraits in heavy gilded frames, with a few landscapes. The colors were dark and rich. Nancy moved to the center of the room. She felt as if the eyes in the portraits were following her.

  “Where was the painting last?” she asked.

  “Here in the corner, next to the two men with plumes in their hats,” Bernard said.

  They stood silently surveying the room. It was small, with iron bars on the windows to prevent break-ins. There was a closet in one wall.

  “What’s in the closet?” asked Nancy.

  “Just storage stuff, I think—restoration supplies,” Jonathan Mason told her. “It’s locked, but I think Bernard has a key.”

  “I gave mine to Martha,” Bernard said.

  “Get her,” Mr. Mason ordered.

  Looking harassed, Bernard went to the door and called Martha. She came in a minute later.

  “Do you have a key to this closet?” Mr. Mason asked her.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Martha reluctantly. Nancy caught her glancing at Bernard, whose back was to her. Her expression was—what? Guilty? Worried? “Here it is.”

  She slowly turned the key in the lock and swung the door open. The sharp smell of turpentine wafted out of the large closet. Underneath a brown blanket, something glinted.

  “Oh, this is embarrassing,” said Martha. She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I forgot. I had one of the workers put The Young Boy in there when we were first moving the paintings in. I was afraid to leave it unattended, because it looked fragile, and so many people were moving in and out. I’ve got so much on my mind I forgot all about it. I’m sorry—it’s a false alarm.”

  Nancy and George exchanged glances. Nancy didn’t believe Martha’s story for a second, and she could see that George didn’t, either. But why had the assistant hidden the painting in the closet? What was she up to?

  At that moment a real alarm went off in the next room. “Just testing,” a voice called.

  “Well, the new security system will certainly help prevent a real theft,” Bernard said with a short laugh.

  Muttering something under his breath, Mr. Mason turned and hurried back up the stairs to his office. Nancy went after him, determined to pin him down and get some answers from him.

  She was halfway down the hall to his office when she heard his phone ring. The next thing she heard made Nancy stop in her tracks.

  “Denise!” Mr. Mason cried. There was no hiding the wrenching worry in his voice. “Are you all right?”

  Chapter

  Nine

  DENISE?” Nella Sampson echoed in a loud, joyful voice. She and George had followed Nancy up the stairs. Nancy shut her eyes for a second, trying not to get aggravated. She hadn’t wanted Mr. Mason to know anyone was overhearing his conversation. It might make him wary.

  And indeed, Mr. Mason’s tone had changed. “How are you?” he was saying in a cordial voice. “Are you having a nice weekend?”

  Nancy decided to bring matters to a head. She went to Mr. Mason’s office door. “Is that Denise?” she asked. “May I speak to her?”

  Mr. Mason looked startled. “Er—let me see,” he said, hedging. Turning back to the phone, he said, “Denise, there’s a Nancy Drew here who would like to speak to you. Is that all right?”

  After what seemed to Nancy a long moment of listening, he handed her the phone.

  “Denise, it’s Nancy. Where are you? Are you all right?” Nancy asked quickly.

  “I’m fine,” came Denise’s voice. She sounded normal, Nancy thought. “I’m at my grandmother’s. I’ve got to run, though. Tell Ned I’ll see him at our big rally Monday.”

  Before Nancy could get a word in, Denise hung up. Nancy looked at Mr. Mason, but he was suddenly very busy with some papers on his desk.

  “Mr. Mason, did Denise sound okay to you?” Nancy asked doubtfully.

  “Certainly. I don’t know where you came up with the idea that she had been kidnapped,” he said.

  “So, will she be at the opening tonight?” Nancy asked casually.

  Mr. Mason’s face fell. “I—I don’t think so. She didn’t say. Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do.” With that he showed Nancy firmly to the door.

  Shaking her head, Nancy rejoined George and Nella.

  “Good news about Denise, huh?” said Nella. Nancy wanted to agree, but something was nagging at the back of her mind. They went down to the second floor again and paused for a moment to watch the preparations in the ballroom.

  With so many skilled people to help, a lot had been accomplished in a short time. The hooks were in place for the paintings, the lights had been moved to the appropriate places on the walls, the floors had been swept clean, and the crates were stacked, ready to be stored. All the room needed were the paintings themselves.


  “I was telling George that I can get my hands on four more tickets to the opening gala tonight,” Nella told Nancy. “Are you interested?”

  Nancy thought for a moment. There was a good chance Tim Raphael would come, since his sister had helped put the show together. She definitely wanted to talk to him.

  “Okay,” she said, “but I don’t have anything fancy to wear, and I’ll bet Ned doesn’t— Ned!” Suddenly Nancy remembered that she had agreed to call him at noon. It was well past that now.

  She found a pay phone and dug the piece of paper with the dorm’s phone number out of her pocket. Ned answered on the first ring.

  “Nancy! I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Did you find out anything?”

  Nancy was glad to hear his voice. “Lots,” she replied. “But it doesn’t seem to be adding up to much. I’ll tell you about it while we’re shopping.”

  “Shopping? And what is it we’re shopping for?” Ned asked, laughing.

  “Something great for you, me, George, and Dave to wear tonight.” Nancy smiled into the phone. “We’re going to an art opening.”

  • • •

  An hour later the foursome made a mad dash through the stores at Water Tower Place, an elegant mall on Chicago’s Magnificent Mile. Nancy found a teal jersey dress that brought out the blue of her eyes. George settled on a red bolero jacket and matching pants.

  Both boys had dress slacks and blazers with them for the weekend. Nancy convinced Ned to buy a wild tie, though. There would be a lot of artsy people at the opening, and a new tie would fit the mood better than the conservative ones he usually wore.

  Dave and George were in a music store, looking at the new CDs. Nancy and Ned sat down on a polished wood bench to rest.

  Nancy smiled at her boyfriend. This was the first time they had been alone since she had arrived. She thought of the heart-shaped stone, in her black jeans pocket back at the Sampsons’. Too bad she didn’t have it for him now!

  But on second thought, this didn’t appear to be the right time to give it to Ned, anyway. He seemed to be a million miles away.

  “What are you thinking?” Nancy asked him.

  Ned started. “Sorry. I was just wondering if Denise is really okay.” Nancy had brought him and Dave up to date in the car on the way over.