The Case of the Lost Song
Page 2
Nancy.
Nancy shook her head. “It sounds sort of weird. And
who's that woman?”
“Carey Black, I bet,” a gruff voice announced from
behind the girls. Nancy turned and saw Wes Clarke
standing there. “And I'd bet more than a pretty penny,
Dave Leinberger, that this tape is going to prove pretty
valuable—to someone,” he added, arching his bushy
eyebrows.
Dave eyed Wes cautiously. “You're thinking what
I'm thinking,” he stated, looking over the heads of the
four girls.
“And exactly what are you thinking about my tape?”
George asked. “It's Lou Knight, and it sounds like a
pretty bad version of that song.”
“Bad?” Wes snickered. “I wouldn't put it that way.
It's unproduced, as in a missing jam session, though
maybe you girls are too young to know about them.”
Nancy gritted her teeth. The man was so conde-
scending she wished she could tell him she knew all
about this mysterious jam session, but she had never
heard of it.
Fortunately Dave spoke up. “Apparently Knight had
jam sessions in his garage back when he was still
singing with the Mama's Bad Boys band. Lou briefly
owned an old farm south of here. He had a whole
recording studio set up in the garage.”
“This tape sounds like the one he made with Carey
Black, who split from the band right around then, then
later resurfaced as a punk rock star,” Wes added. “If
the tape is genuine, it's worth a fortune.”
“You're kidding,” George said, paling slightly.
“I'm pretty sure it's the real thing. You'll have to
check with a music expert, with better equipment than
this recorder,” Dave told them. “But if the tape is for
real, someone—either a rock music collector or maybe
even one of the record companies or the artists—would
get into the bidding for it. There might be copyright
problems, but you could claim some stake in it since
you found it.”
“And how much do you think it's worth?” George
asked weakly.
“Thousands of dollars!” Wes declared, eyeing the
tape greedily.
2. Oldies but Goodies
“Thousands of dollars?” Bess shrieked.
“Not so loud,” Lisa cautioned.
Nancy frowned. “Do you have a security problem?”
“I didn't say that!” Lisa corrected sharply.
“The crowd looks nice,” Wes said, “but you never
know who's casing the joint.”
“Oh, Wes, it's not that bad.” Dave laughed and
turned off the tape. “You make Old Can Be Gold
sound like a thieves' paradise.”
Wes shrugged. “Yeah, well, better safe than sorry
when you've got something that could be stolen easily.”
He eyeballed the tape longingly, then lifted his
shoulders and dropped them. “Well, let me know if it
comes on the market.” He pulled a card out of his
wallet and handed it to George. “Meanwhile I've got to
get back to my table. My relief guy will be champing at
the bit for his dinner.”
As Nancy watched Wes Clarke amble off, someone
else caught her eye and she asked, “Why is that guy
over there photographing the recorder?”
A tall twenty-something guy was stationed across the
aisle, peering directly at Dave's table through the
viewfinder of a 35mm camera. He was dressed in a
black turtleneck sweater and black jeans, and would
have been a standout in any crowd. At the sight of him,
Lisa's frown relaxed into a big smile. “Oh, it's just
Jason,” she told Nancy as she motioned the guy over.
Jason lowered his camera and returned her grin,
revealing a pair of adorable dimples. He tossed his
straight, longish dark blond hair off his forehead. “Who
are your friends?” he asked as he sauntered up. His
eyes were a surprisingly dark chocolate brown. As they
rested on Nancy, her heart did a little flip-flop. If
Nancy didn't already have a boyfriend, she'd definitely
be interested.
“This is Jason Woodard, and these are people from
home.” Lisa introduced him to each girl. “They're in
town for the show and crashing at my place for the
weekend.”
“Then let me get a better shot of all of you, as a
souvenir.”
Bess interrupted. “We'd love it. Will you send us a
copy?”
“Just leave me your address.” Jason lifted his
camera, and the flash went off.
“So what's the big fuss over here, anyway?” Jason
asked, glancing at the tape recorder. “That doesn't look
like much.”
“Ah, but listen to the tape,” Dave said, rewinding
the tape and turning the Play knob. “Sound familiar?”
he asked.
As the tune played, Jason listened, then shrugged.
“It's okay, I guess, but I've never heard it before. You
think it's worth something?”
“Could be,” Dave said. “Though we need a pop
music expert and maybe a soundman to really evaluate
it. Meanwhile, George, keep it dry and safe, and don't
play it too much. And maybe you should insure it.”
“Wouldn't it already be covered under the Faynes'
house insurance policy?” Nancy asked as Dave
carefully packed the tape back in its original box and
put it into the drawer of the carrying case.
Handing the tape recorder back to George, Dave
shook his head. “Probably not. Without an appraisal
value, the tape would be worth only the replacement
value of a reel of blank tape—not very much. You
should call your insurance agent—right away, actually.”
George made a face. “I guess I can try to reach my
parents, but they were going away for the weekend. I
don't know anything about their insurance.”
Jason cleared his throat. “Don't mean to interrupt,
but I've got work to do. I'm off.”
“Right,” Lisa said, tapping his camera. “Are you
going to Low Downs later?”
“What's Low Downs?” Nancy asked.
“A cool blues club. That's where the party I told you
about is happening.”
“Will you be at the party?” Bess asked Jason.
“Wouldn't miss it—especially if you girls are coming.
Do you like to dance?” He directed his smile at Bess.
“More than anything,” she flirted right back.
“So, see you then,” he said, then headed over to an
antique furniture appraiser who had a crowd around
his table.
“Where have you been keeping him?” Bess asked,
her eyes still glued to Jason's back. “I can't believe you
work with a hunk like that.”
“I don't. Not exactly. Jason's a freelance photog-
rapher,” Lisa pointed out. “He specializes in art and
antique collections and show catalogs. He's got an
impressive clientele and does pretty well. You should
see his loft. He owns it, and he's only twenty-two or
; so.”
“So what exactly does he do for Old Can Be Gold?”
Nancy asked.
“He works for our publicity department. Last month
he was in Denver, and before that, Seattle. He
photographs the shows for our publications. He's also
available when either an appraiser or one of our clients
wants a piece photographed.”
“Sounds like interesting work,” George commented.
Lisa checked her watch. “Yeah, it is. He loves it. But
speaking of work, I've got to get going. I need to be
available to troubleshoot any problems. We have
another hour or so before we close, so I can meet you
at the coat check and then we can head back to my
place.”
The girls agreed. George got a written appraisal
sheet from Dave, and then they set out to find the
refreshment area. As soon as they settled down at a
table with mugs of hot cider and a plate of chocolate-
chip cookies, George asked to borrow Nancy's cell
phone. “I'll call my parents now. Maybe they decided
to stay home for the weekend after all.”
George punched in her number but got the an-
swering machine. She left a message about the tape
and also gave her parents Lisa's phone number in case
they needed to reach her. “So I guess I can't insure the
tape recorder now.”
“No big deal,” Bess pointed out. “It'll be perfectly
safe in Lisa's apartment. If it's a Lake Shore Drive
condo, I bet it's got great security.”
“And we can deal with insurance on Monday back in
River Heights,” Nancy added. “Meanwhile we'll hunt
down one of those music experts tomorrow, so we can
get a more accurate appraisal.”
“Now, this is really high tech!” George exclaimed a
couple of hours later as the girls stood in the hallway on
the twentieth floor of Lisa's apartment building. Lisa
punched in a code on the keypad on one side of the
front door. “You don't even need a key to get in!”
“Supposedly it makes the place more secure, along
with the twenty-four-hour concierge,” Lisa said,
throwing open the door and flicking on the light switch
in the foyer.
“Lisa Perrone!” Bess gasped. “This place is to die
for.” She plunked down her bag and clasped her hands
together.
Nancy had to agree with Bess. The foyer alone was
as big as Nancy's bedroom back home. The entrance
hall opened into a spacious sunken living room. Most
of the far wall was taken up with glass doors, which
opened onto a terrace.
“Aunt Betty has a house rule. No shoes inside the
house. We change here,” Lisa said, pointing to a low
bench conveniently located near the door.
As Nancy slipped out of her damp sneakers, she
asked, “Does the terrace overlook Lake Michigan?”
“Yes,” Lisa answered. “Later, if it clears, we can
check out the view. It's beautiful even at night.”
Nancy padded into the living room. In spite of its
grand scale, the place felt homey and surprisingly cozy.
The lighting was mellow, the furniture a wonderful
hodgepodge of intriguing Asian chests and side tables,
comfortable overstuffed easy chairs, and floor-to-
ceiling bookshelves.
“This is really cool!” George exclaimed from across
the living room. Nancy joined her in front of a large
glass-front case. Inside the case were all sorts of
mysterious objects. “Isn't that gizmo some kind of blow
dart?” George asked Nancy, putting the tape recorder
down beside the curio cabinet.
Nancy nodded. “I've seen pictures of blow darts that
look like that.” In addition, the cabinet housed an
extraordinary collection of knives, carved wooden
statues, masks, and small totems. “Where are these
things from?” she asked Lisa.
“The dart blowers and knives come from the
Amazon, while most of the other pieces are from the
South Pacific.”
Bess peered over Nancy's shoulder and gave a
shudder. “Ugh. This stuff gives me the creeps.”
George laughed. “It's probably supposed to.
Particularly the masks. Bet they have something to do
with evil spirits.”
Nancy studied the masks. True, they were a little
spooky, but she found them haunting.
The girls picked up their overnight bags and fol-
lowed Lisa to the back hall, where she showed them to
the bedrooms. “Both my room and the guest room
each have twin beds.” She opened the door to the
guest room and showed George and Nancy in. “You
guys can share this room, and Bess can sleep in my
room, if that's okay with you. I sort of don't like using
the master bedroom. Each room has its own bath. Feel
free to shower. If you need anything, let me know.”
“How dressy is this party?” Bess asked. “We didn't
come planning to go to anything too formal.”
Lisa shrugged. “It's casual, but if you want to borrow
any clothes, I have a closetful, believe me.”
Nancy changed quickly into slim black pants, a blue
shell, and black jacket. While George pulled on a short
black skirt and a deep crimson shirt, Nancy phoned her
father, Carson Drew, who was a lawyer. She told him
all about George's find and asked him about the legal
issues surrounding the tape. He told her that any
surviving members of the original band might still have
a claim to it, and that since Lou Knight had died in an
accident after Mamas Bad Boys broke up, his estate
might also have some legal rights to the song, which he
wrote. After promising to look into the matter, Mr.
Drew told her that Ned Nickerson, Nancy's boyfriend,
had called and said she should phone him.
After hanging up on her dad, Nancy dialed Ned at
his frat house in Emerson College.
“Hey there, Nan!” Ned's cheerful voice greeted her.
“I'm really glad you checked in with your dad. I hope
we can hook up this weekend.”
“But how?”
“I'm driving up to Chicago tomorrow. One of my
buddies at Northwestern University is moving and
needs a hand.”
Nancy grinned. “Ned, that's great.” She then filled
him in on what had happened so far.
“I've got another friend in Chicago who's a blues
freak. Maybe he can check out the tape to see if it's for
real.”
“Maybe, Ned, but don't mention it to him yet,”
Nancy said. “I'm not sure it's smart to have too many
people know about it—at least until it's insured and
tucked away in a safe place.”
“You've got a point,” Ned agreed. “But if you change
your mind, I can always hook up with him tomorrow
night.” Then they arranged to meet at Old Can Be
Gold late the next afternoon.
A few minutes later the girls left the apartment.
“Oops!” Nancy gasped as she began to button her coat
in the hall. “I
forgot my scarf.” Lisa opened the door,
and Nancy flipped on the lights, raced back to her
bedroom, grabbed her scarf, then hurried to the front
door, turning off the lights as she went.
Low Downs, one of Chicago's premier blues clubs,
had been closed to the public for the evening so Old
Can Be Gold could host a private party for its most
important dealers, appraisers, and collectors. At the
buffet Nancy and Bess nibbled on a slice of Chicago
deep-dish pizza and took in the room. Nancy saw that
Lisa was right—this crowd was on the young side.
The atmosphere was lively, and a DJ cranked out
music while a live band set up on a small elevated
stage.
Lisa joined Nancy and Bess. “I hope you're okay,”
she said, smoothing her sleeveless cashmere sweater
over her short black skirt. “The dancing should be
good, and then the live music later will be really out of
sight. I'm going to have to mix and be nice to the VIPs
here.” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “That's the hard part of
this job.” She nodded toward a slim forty-something
man with thinning blond hair, small wire-rimmed
glasses, and a well-trimmed mustache. “That's Eddie
Landowski. He's my boss.”
“Is he the Old Can Be Gold manager?” Bess asked.
Lisa laughed. “More like Old Can Be Gold is his
brainchild.”
Nancy studied Eddie Landowski. His eyes darted
here and there nervously. Why did he seem so uptight
at a party? Before she could ask, Lisa was off.
“Look, there he is!” Bess gripped Nancy's arm and
made her turn around. “At the bar!”
Nancy obediently followed the direction of Bess's
gaze. Sure enough, Jason Woodard was pouring
himself a glass of wine. He was wearing the same black
turtleneck and black pants he had worn that afternoon.
Tonight, however, he didn't have his camera. Nancy
wondered why. A party seemed a perfect place to shoot
publicity photos.
“Let's go over and talk to him.”
“I doubt he'll remember us,” Nancy warned.
“I'm not the sort of person who's easy to forget,”
Bess said blithely.
“That's true!” Nancy conceded—especially the way
Bess looked in the black pleather pants and a pale gold
metallic top that she'd borrowed from Lisa.
Nancy followed Bess through the crowd as the DJ
began a set of Latin dance music.
As dancers took to the floor, Nancy's view of Jason