The Case of the Lost Song

by Carolyn Keene

As soon as Jason had left, George turned on Bess.

  “How could you, Bess? No one's supposed to know

  Nancy's on this case, and we definitely were keeping

  last night's burglary under wraps.”

  “Come off it, George. It's no big deal,” Bess

  protested. “It's not like Jason's a suspect or anything.”

  “You can't rule him out,” George fumed.

  Bess giggled. “Of course you can. He was at the

  party with us last night during the break-in.”

  “So was Lisa,” Nancy said. “I haven't ruled her out,

  either.”

  Bess just gaped at Nancy. “You're kidding, right?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I'm not. At this point

  anyone with access to that apartment or to company

  records is a suspect.”

  Bess glared at Nancy. “Lisa is a friend of mine, and

  you have no right to accuse her.”

  Lowering her voice to just above a whisper, Nancy

  explained, “I'm not accusing her of anything, but she

  could have set up the thieves—though why, I'm not

  sure.”

  Bess blew out her breath. “Money,” she said re-

  luctantly. “Remember Lisa mentioned what a break it

  was that her aunt and uncle let her live in their condo

  this year? Last night she told me that she almost had to

  drop out of school this year. Her dad was laid off, and

  now her parents don't have to pay rent, at least for this

  semester.”

  “So the tape recorder could be tempting,” Nancy

  mused.

  George didn't look convinced. “I think she was

  genuinely surprised that it was stolen, Nancy.”

  “And she had no way of knowing George was

  bringing it to the show. Did she even have time to

  contact anyone and tell them it would be in her

  apartment last night?” Bess asked, sounding hopeful.

  “That's been bothering me, too,” Nancy admitted,

  though Lisa hadn't been with them between when

  George's tape recorder was appraised and when they

  all left together for the condo. Also, Nancy recalled,

  she had lost track of Lisa at the party. Obviously she

  couldn't have left the party, but she could have made a

  call, either yesterday afternoon or last night, to an

  accomplice or accomplices.

  “Nancy, there you are!” a man's voice called out.

  Nancy turned to see Eddie Landowski plunging

  through the crowd toward her. His thin face was

  creased with worry.

  When he reached her side, he said in an urgent soft

  voice, “We need to talk now! Alone!”

  While George steered Bess toward a display of

  porcelain figurines, Mr. Landowski took Nancy aside.

  “It's happened again, this time in Denver,” he bleated

  woefully. “A priceless Tiffany lamp is missing.”

  8. A Thief in the House

  “Someone is targeting our clients!” Mr. Landowski

  exclaimed, clearly distraught. “We can't keep this

  under wraps much longer. Once word gets out, Old

  Can Be Gold will be dead in the water.”

  “Did the police give you any details?” Nancy asked,

  trying to divert his attention away from publicity

  problems.

  Landowski nodded. “Yes, but they told me the re-

  port they just faxed to the office showed nothing un-

  usual, except that this time there was a good deal of

  vandalism to the owner's house.” He frowned. “Could

  that mean this is a different gang of thieves?”

  Nancy couldn't be sure, but she doubted it.

  Checking out the police report might help, so she

  asked if she could see it.

  Landowski agreed readily. “I have to make a couple

  of calls, though—quench the fires, so to speak,” he told

  her.

  “One more quick question,” Nancy said as he started

  back toward his small temporary office. “Do you know

  anyone who might want Old Can Be Gold to go out of

  business? We've assumed the thieves are only

  interested in stealing high-ticket items. Another motive

  might be to hurt your organization.”

  Mr. Landowski looked startled. “No one that I can

  think of, but I suppose it could be a motive.”

  Not the most likely one, Nancy mused as Mr.

  Landowski left, but something to keep in mind. What

  bothered Nancy was the timing of the theft of George's

  tape recorder. Why had it happened during the show

  and not after the show had left town, and after George

  had brought it back home? Was this burglary just a

  coincidence and not connected to the others?

  And without Lisa's help, how could anyone have

  gotten into that apartment? Then a thought struck

  Nancy. She hadn't talked either to the concierge or the

  superintendent of the building. Nancy checked her

  watch. It was too late to drive all the way back to the

  condo and return in time to meet Ned. There was

  enough time, though, to pay another visit to Wes

  Clarke.

  “What was that all about?” George asked, inter-

  cepting her en route.

  “Was there another burglary?” Bess piped up.

  “That's what I just heard,” Lisa added, joining them.

  “Word's out among the staff. It's a real bummer. That

  couple with the lamp back in Denver were nice folks,

  too.”

  “You go on the road with the company?” This was

  news to Nancy.

  Lisa nodded. “Yes. This semester, as I told you, is all

  work-study. I don't have any formal course work here,

  though I have to write a couple of papers on my

  experiences. I travel to most of the cities. Let's see . . .”

  She paused to think, then ticked off the cities on her

  fingers. “I was in Dubuque, Fargo, Boise, Seattle, and

  then in Denver.”

  “Doesn't give you much time to enjoy that condo,”

  George remarked.

  “Believe me, I'm here enough to have gotten used to

  the luxury. And life on the road is fun, but I don't have

  to do it long enough for it to get old. Now, take Jason—

  he says he gets tired of the travel.”

  “Jason travels with the show, too?” Bess asked.

  “Sure. Not everywhere, although we were in Denver

  and Seattle together—I guess it depends on his other

  freelance assignments. I suspect that for all his playboy

  image, Jason's a bit of a homebody. His hobby seems to

  be decorating his loft. It's appeared in City Home

  Design.”

  Bess's eyes widened. “Are you serious?” When Lisa

  nodded, Bess clasped her hands together and sighed. “I

  cannot wait to see the loft.”

  “Speaking of Jason's loft,” Lisa said, “it turns out I

  can't go back home with you guys before Jason's party.”

  She dug in her bag, pulled out an invitation, and

  handed it to Nancy. “I have to stay here until closing

  time. Ethan or someone will give me a ride. I'll meet

  you guys there. Fortunately I have a change of clothes

  here.”

  “But we need to change,” Nancy pointed out,

  wanting the opportunity to check out the condo, the
>
  staff, and the apartment next door. “Can we go back

  without you?”

  “Sure,” Lisa said. “I'll have to give you the code after

  I swore I'd never give it to anyone. For the record this

  is a first.” She jotted the numbers on a piece of paper

  and handed it to Nancy.

  “I'll tear it up once we're inside,” Nancy promised

  lightly, safely tucking the paper into her purse.

  “See ya later.” Lisa waved goodbye.

  “I'm starved,” Bess complained. “We missed lunch.

  Can we eat while we wait for Ned?”

  “I'm sort of famished, too,” George admitted.

  Nancy was hungry, but she wanted to talk to Wes

  Clarke before leaving the show. She also needed to

  find Ethan to learn about seventies pop-culture col-

  lectors. With luck she might also be able to psych out

  his relationship with Inez. The young woman's

  suspicious behavior at the office had sent up a red flag.

  Was Inez's little scene with Ethan the night before

  about something personal, or was it connected to the

  missing tape and the burglaries?

  “You guys head over to the food court,” Nancy told

  Bess and George. “If Ned turns up early, tell him I'll

  join you in ten or fifteen minutes.” Nancy checked her

  watch, then took off for CrimeShoppers.

  As Nancy approached CrimeShoppers, she saw

  Jason, camera in hand, meandering down the aisle

  behind Wes's table. Jason caught her eye, winked, and

  mouthed, “See you at the party!”

  Nancy grinned back and continued toward

  CrimeShoppers, where Wes was huddled next to

  another man—a collector or potential customer, Nancy

  figured. Gesturing animatedly as he talked, Wes had

  his customer spellbound.

  Nancy slowed her pace and quickly reconnoitered

  the area. At the table next to Wes's, a small crowd was

  bunched up close to an appraiser who was carefully

  examining the bottom of a blue-and-white Chinese

  vase. Positioning herself behind one of the onlookers

  and out of Wes's line of sight, Nancy strained to

  overhear his conversation.

  The general din in the room drowned out all but a

  few words. Nancy caught something about “could be

  highly collectible” and a “record producer.” But before

  she could hear more, the woman in front of her moved,

  and Nancy found herself directly in front of Wes.

  “Oh, hi!” he said, startled to see her. He quickly

  shoved something under his counter. Before he did,

  Nancy saw the object was a thin square cardboard

  box—the kind that could hold a reel-to-reel tape. He

  slapped his customer's shoulder. “Come back later,” he

  told the man. “I might know more then. Meanwhile . .

  .” Wes put his finger to his lips.

  The man nodded. “Right. I know the rules, Wes.”

  The man checked his watch and frowned. “I have to

  leave now How about I come back tomorrow?”

  “Fine, fine!” Wes said, giving a meaningful glance at

  the shelf beneath the table. “I'll be here.”

  As the man strolled away, Wes directed his attention

  back to Nancy. “So,” he said, rubbing his hands

  together, “you did come back.” He looked past Nancy

  into the crowd. “Where are your friends?”

  Nancy gave a casual shrug. “The food court, at the

  moment.”

  “What did your friend find out about her tape?” Wes

  asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Nancy said, dying to see what was in

  the box Wes had stashed under his table. “Actually, I

  was going to ask you what you came up with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nancy detected a defensive note in Wes's voice.

  With a sweet smile she lifted a finger and made a

  playfully scolding gesture. “You certainly have spread

  the word that such a tape exists. By now I figured you

  would have checked out its worth.”

  “What makes you say that I spread the word?” Wes's

  expression shifted. There was definitely a gleam of

  respect in his small hazel eyes now. Nancy felt as if she

  were his opponent in some kind of game, except Nancy

  wasn't sure what the game was about. Was Wes daring

  her to come right out and accuse him? Was Wes

  involved with the ring of thieves targeting Old Can Be

  Gold's clients? Or was he still just trying to ferret out

  information about the tape's value?

  Nancy continued to play dumb about the robbery.

  “Last night at Low Downs, Ethan said you told him all

  about the tape.”

  “All that I knew then,” Wes corrected her.

  “And that was?”

  Wes frowned. For a minute he appeared genuinely

  puzzled. He finally gave a small shrug. “Nothing more

  than we knew about it yesterday—how it could possibly

  be a recording of Lou Knight's last song.”

  Nancy regarded Wes carefully. “Come off it, Wes,”

  she said, adopting a playful tone. “You told us yesterday

  to keep quiet about the tape, not to publicize its

  existence until we were sure what it was. Then you go

  and tell Ethan—and who knows who else?”

  Wes shook his head. “Sure I mentioned it to a

  collector or two, and then to a couple of guys in the

  music biz, who frankly said they'd give their right arms

  for it, but there was no harm in that. Your friend will

  probably be talking to some of the same guys today, if

  she hasn't already. Wait...” Wes narrowed his eyes.

  “She's already gotten a firm appraisal and is looking for

  bidders, isn't she?”

  Before Nancy could respond, some kind of ruckus

  erupted behind her, the crowd pressed around her,

  and she was bumped from behind, nearly careening

  into Wes's arms.

  “Hey, watch it!” someone yelled at the table behind

  them. Nancy and Wes both turned in protest.

  “What's going on?” Wes shouted.

  “I don't know,” the appraiser at the next table

  replied. “I almost dropped this vase, and it's very

  valuable,” she added. “It's getting too crowded in

  here.” The woman carefully handed the vase back to its

  owner.

  “I don't believe this!” Wes's bellow made Nancy

  jump.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “I've just been robbed!” he roared, his hand closing

  on Nancy's wrist like a vise.

  9. Nancy Nabbed

  “Let go of me!” Nancy demanded, wriggling free of

  Wes Clarke's grasp.

  Wes ignored Nancy's protest. He pointed at the

  shelf behind Nancy. “Look, it's gone. Did you see

  anyone lurking around here?”

  “No, I didn't.” She peered at his display shelf. At

  first she didn't notice anything out of place. “What's

  missing?”

  “The fingerprinting kit you were looking at yes-

  terday,” he said, a funny expression crossing his face.

  He narrowed his eyes at Nancy, then shook his head. “I

  had my back turned,” Wes grumbled, “but you were

  fa
cing the shelf. Did you see anything?”

  “No, I didn't,” Nancy replied, “but are you sure you

  had the kit out today?”

  Wes rolled his eyes. “Of course I'm sure.” Then he

  muttered, “Whoever pilfered the kit purposely caused

  a disturbance in the crowd, then, when our backs were

  turned, stole it. Well, I'd better go get Security.”

  “Do you want me to watch the table until you get

  back?” Nancy volunteered. She wanted a chance to

  look under the table to check the box Wes had been so

  quick to hide.

  “No, no.” Wes brushed her off. “My friend Derek is

  used to covering for me.” He motioned toward a

  nearby table where a tall gray-haired man was sorting

  vintage comic books. “Could you mind the shop a

  minute? I've just been robbed and want to find

  Security.”

  “Sure,” Derek said. “That's a first at one of these

  shows,” he commented.

  “Guess there's a first time for everything,” Wes said

  sourly.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Nancy asked.

  “You said you didn't see anything, so there's no

  point. But where will you be in case Security wants to

  talk to you?”

  “I'm heading to the food court, to meet up with

  friends, but I might stop at Westfield's first,” Nancy

  told him.

  Now, Nancy thought, she would never get a chance

  to get a close-up look at that box . . . not unless she

  came back after hours or early tomorrow.

  “Nancy, right?”

  Nancy looked up into the chocolaty brown eyes of

  one of the Woodard twins—but which one?

  Then she noticed that he wasn't carrying a camera.

  “Ethan?”

  “You're good!” Ethan beamed. “Most people can't

  figure us out so fast. You seem to be a very figuring-out

  sort of person.”

  “You're kidding, right?” Hadn't Jason told his

  brother that Nancy was investigating the burglaries?

  “About what—about my being Ethan? No. I am

  Ethan. What was the giveaway?” he asked, seemingly

  oblivious to Nancy's mocking tone.

  Nancy decided to play along and take Ethan at face

  value. “No camera!” Then she realized that wasn't the

  only difference between the twins. Ethan's general

  demeanor was a bit more snobbish than his brother's.

  “So are we still on for tonight?”

  “Uh, sure, at Jason's party.”

  “That, too. But I meant about listening to your