Chapter
One
COME ON, Nancy,” Bess Marvin urged, leaning forward from the back seat of Nancy Drew’s blue Mustang. “I know you can drive faster than this.”
Nancy caught her friend’s pleading blue eyes in the rearview mirror. “Sure I can, Bess,” she said. “But there’s this thing called a speed limit, remember?”
“But I can’t wait to get there,” Bess insisted. “It isn’t every day we go to the hometown of the greatest country singer who ever lived.”
Bess’s cousin George Fayne turned in the passenger seat to grin at Bess. “Think how much more you’ll enjoy the experience if you get there alive,” George teased. Reaching for the cassette case next to her, she added, “Maybe music would help you pass the time until we get to Maywood. How about some Curtis Taylor?”
“Good idea,” Bess said. “I mean, we are going to the five-year memorial gala commemorating his death. Put on ‘Losing My Heart.’ ”
George gave her cousin a dubious look. “Are you sure, Bess? We’ve heard it about a hundred times already.”
“You can’t hear a great song too many times, George,” Bess answered. “It’s impossible.”
Laughing, George popped a cassette into Nancy’s deck. Soon the rough, masculine voice of Curtis Taylor filled the car.
“I didn’t mean to lose my heart,” he sang. “It just happened that way. . . .”
Bess joined in: “But now I’m lost in the feeling, and it won’t go away. . . .”
“Oh, darlin’, oh, darlin’,” George broke out singing with Curtis and Bess, “let’s make this moment stay . . .”
“ ‘Cause I’m losing my heart to you,” Nancy chimed in.
“He sure could sing,” George said when the song was over. She picked up one of the cassettes and admired Curtis Taylor’s smiling photo on the cover. “Gorgeous, too. All that black hair . . .”
“And those devastating ice-blue eyes,” Bess added with a sigh.
Nancy glanced at her two friends. Dark-haired, athletic George and petite, blond Bess had completely different looks and interests. But one thing they both shared was an appreciation of cute guys.
“What a loss,” Nancy murmured. “Think of all the music Curtis Taylor could have created in the past five years if he were still around.”
“Well, maybe he is, Nancy,” George said with a wry smile. “I mean, Aunt Louisa swears she saw Curtis alive and well just yesterday outside the Maywood Civic Center, where the concert is being held.”
Aunt Louisa, Nancy knew, was not really Bess and George’s aunt, but a close friend of their parents. For years Bess and George had been telling Nancy what a big Curtis Taylor fan Louisa Hunt was. Louisa had driven all over the country to see Curtis Taylor concerts when he was still alive. She’d even moved to the star’s home base in Maywood, which was a two-hour drive from the girls’ hometown, River Heights, in Illinois.
“Have you seen the headlines recently in the Weekly Scoop?” George continued “ ‘Curtis Taylor Seen Alive.’ ‘Curtis Taylor to Return for Big Concert.’ ”
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and see him ourselves!” Bess bubbled.
Nancy had to laugh. “Yeah, right,” she said. “Maybe we’ll see the Martians land, while we’re at it. Didn’t the Scoop say something about that, too?”
Bess didn’t seem at all daunted by Nancy’s comment. “Well, if there’s anyone who can find out for sure whether Curtis Taylor is still alive, it’s you, Nan. That’s why we told Aunt Louisa we’d come four days before Saturday’s concert. After all, not everyone is friends with a great detective.”
“I’m flattered,” Nancy said with a grin. “But I generally hunt criminals, not ghosts.”
“Who said anything about ghosts?” Bess said. “We’re talking about Curtis’s disappearing and then coming back. Maybe he just needed a break from the pressures of stardom or something.”
“A five-year break?” Nancy asked, rolling her blue eyes and pushing a lock of reddish blond hair back from her face. “It’s more likely that Louisa has an overactive imagination when it comes to her idol. Don’t get me wrong,” Nancy added. “I mean, we were planning to go to the gala anyway, and it was really nice of Louisa to get us the tickets. I’m happy to check this out for you.
“They say Curtis’s widow is a really hot singer,” Nancy said, changing the subject.
“Melanie Taylor? Yeah, she’s okay, I guess,” Bess said indifferently. “But Curtis’s nephew Tyrone Taylor is the one I want to see. What a hunk!”
“Tyrone?” Nancy echoed. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him.”
“You and practically everyone else,” George said wryly. “He’s not very well known.”
Shooting her cousin an indignant look, Bess said, “Well, he ought to be. George, pull out the purple cassette that says Heartthrob. That’s him on the cover.”
When George showed her the cassette, Nancy saw that Tyrone Taylor had the same glossy black hair as his uncle, but had more delicate features, with piercing green eyes and a cocky grin.
“He’s cute, all right,” Nancy said, bobbing her head to the music as Curtis Taylor broke into “Loose as a Goose.”
“Ohhh, I’m loose as a goose, as a goose on the loose. I was caught in a noose, but youuuu . . . you set me freeeeee . . .” sang the masculine voice.
“I love this one,” Nancy confessed with a giggle. “Some of Curtis’s old band members are performing in the concert Saturday, too, right?”
George nodded, running a hand through her short brown curls. “Yeah, most of them have gone solo,” she informed Nancy. “All except for Spike Wilson, the drummer. He doesn’t play anymore. He was in an accident or something. Oh, and the Blue Mountain Boys are going to be there, too, doing a special tribute to Curtis.”
“Oooo, I’m excited,” Bess added with a little shiver. “This concert is going to be great.”
Seeing the exit for Maywood, Nancy turned her car off the highway. A big sign at the front of the exit ramp read Welcome to Maywood—Home of the One and Only Curtis Taylor. Another sign tacked up beneath it read Fifth Anniversary Memorial Gala Saturday, November 10, 8:00 P.M. Stenciled over that sign in red letters were the words Sold Out.
Following her friends’ directions, Nancy drove along the town’s main street. They passed billboard after billboard offering tributes to the late, great star. Then they turned onto a tree-lined street and soon pulled into the driveway of a split-level house.
“This is it,” Bess said, getting out of the car with her overnight bag slung over her shoulder. Nancy and George got their things from the trunk, then joined Bess, who was ringing the doorbell. While they waited, Nancy enjoyed the crisp fall air and stretched out her long, slender legs.
A woman with graying blond hair, large eyeglasses, and hazel eyes opened the door, and Bess cried enthusiastically, “Aunt Louisa!”
Nancy knew that Louisa had to be in her late forties, but she looked much younger. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore snug-fitting blue jeans and running shoes.
“Bess and George—you both look fabulous,” Louisa said, hugging both girls and beaming as she ushered them into the house. “And you must be Nancy. Thanks so much for coming.
“Make yourselves at home,” Louisa said, gesturing toward the living room just beyond the front hall. Nancy saw that it was a very comfortable, if disorganized, room with a variety of couches, chairs, lamps, and throw pillows that looked as if they had been acquired at random over the years. “I’ll show you up to your rooms later. Let’s just relax for a while.”
Nancy dropped her bag next to her friends’ things in the front hall and walked over to a group of pictures hanging above a dark blue sofa in the living room. They were mostly Curtis Taylo
r concert posters and album covers, including an autographed photo of the musician, inscribed “Best Wishes to Louisa Hunt.” Next to it was an eight-by-ten glossy photo of several women standing in a line with the star himself.
“That’s you,” Nancy said, pointing to a younger-looking Louisa in the picture.
“Yes, it is,” Louisa said proudly. Walking over to Nancy, she pushed her glasses back up to get a better look. “It was taken many years ago at a fan club convention. That’s the only time I ever met Curtis in person. Of course, it was only for a minute.”
Louisa let out a big sigh and continued. “He was just the greatest. Very warm and very sweet. And to think that we may have him back again. It’s just so thrilling.” She sighed again, then said, “Can I get you girls some lemonade?”
Obviously, Louisa isn’t going to give up on her belief that Curtis Taylor is alive, Nancy thought, until I prove her wrong. And this is as good a time as any to start on my case. Nancy followed Louisa and her friends into the country-style kitchen.
A few minutes later, when they were all settled around the table sipping their lemonade, Nancy turned to Louisa and asked, “Did anyone else see Curtis Taylor yesterday when you did?”
Louisa’s face grew serious. “Not that I know of,” she answered. “I managed to get this week off from my teaching job, so I was in the parking lot of the Civic Center—you know, just keeping an eye out for anyone famous. With all the crowds coming to town, I wanted to be there extra early. So I bought a copy of the Scoop and a cup of coffee, and I was reading in the car. Then, all of a sudden, I looked up, and there he was. I’ll show you the place tomorrow, if you want.”
“How close was he to your car?” Nancy probed.
“Oh, a couple of hundred feet, I guess. He was coming out of the building’s rear entrance. But I saw him as plain as day. Unfortunately, it was only for a second. By the time I got my other glasses on, he was gone.”
Shooting a quizzical look at Louisa, George asked, “Your other glasses?”
Louisa nodded. “The ones I wear for distance. I had my reading glasses on at first,” she explained.
“Then how do you know it was him, Aunt Louisa?” Bess asked, biting her lip. “Maybe you just saw someone who looked like Curtis Taylor.”
For a second Louisa looked hurt, then a soft smile spread across her face, and she said dreamily, “Oh, it was him all right, Bess. I’d know that face anywhere. He looked as handsome as the time he was first on television, on The Red Reilly Show.’ Did I ever tell you about that, how Curtis got his big break? You know, he was just a country boy from Harlow County back then, and . . .”
Nancy glanced over at Bess and George. They were both completely wrapped up in Louisa’s tale, which began at the start of Curtis’s career and continued all the way to the day Louisa heard about his death. By that time the older woman’s eyes were filled with tears.
“I was just devastated when I got the news about the car crash. And I never dreamed I’d see him again. Oh, aren’t we lucky, all of us, to have such a great artist back again!”
The look on Louisa’s face was sheer rapture. She was a very sweet person, Nancy thought. Still, Nancy couldn’t help wondering exactly what she had gotten herself into this time.
• • •
“Wow. Traffic’s pretty heavy,” Nancy commented the next morning as she, Louisa, Bess, and George rode in Nancy’s car toward the Civic Center. Nancy wanted to see for herself the spot where Louisa had supposedly seen Curtis Taylor.
“There are fifty thousand people expected in town this weekend,” Louisa told the girls. “I don’t know where they’re going to put them all.” She pointed up ahead to an oval-shaped modern building made of concrete and tinted glass. “There’s the Civic Center. Go in the first entrance and park to the right.”
Although the concert wasn’t for another three days, the parking lot was crowded, and there were swarms of people outside the enormous concrete area that marked the Civic Center entrance. Still, Nancy managed to find a spot where Louisa directed her, around the side of the building.
“I was parked right near here,” Louisa said. She leaned forward excitedly in the passenger seat and pointed. “And I saw him over there, by the stage door.”
Spotting the inconspicuous set of double doors near the Civic Center’s rear, Nancy suggested, “Let’s get out and take a look.”
“Brrr, it’s cold,” Bess said, climbing out of the backseat after George and zipping up her leather jacket. George and Louisa stepped out, too, shading their eyes against the morning sun.
They were about halfway to the double doors when Louisa stopped suddenly and murmured, “Oh, my. Oh, I don’t believe this. Look over there!”
Nancy’s eyes followed Louisa’s pointing finger, and she froze in shocked amazement. There, by a doorway, was a man with black hair and blue eyes, wearing a white suit with sequins on the lapels.
“He looks exactly like his picture on Bess’s cassette cover,” George murmured. “It’s Curtis Taylor himself!”
Chapter
Two
IT IS HIM,” Bess said shakily. “I don’t believe it.”
Nancy was still staring at the man when George touched her lightly on the arm. “Look behind him, Nan,” George said with a gulp. Nancy’s mouth fell open as another Curtis Taylor stepped out of the doorway, wearing an identical white suit.
“What in the world—?” she murmured.
“There’s another one!” Bess exclaimed as a third Curtis came out and joined the other two.
That does it, Nancy thought. There’s no way three Curtis Taylors have come back from the dead. “Come on,” she said, stepping forward purposefully. “Let’s find out what this is all about.”
Half walking, half running, the four women hurried across the lot.
“Is one of you Curtis Taylor?” Bess blurted out as soon as they came up to the three.
The men looked at Bess, then at each other, then burst out laughing.
The stage doors opened once more, and another man stepped out. He had black hair and green eyes and was informally dressed in jeans, with a black T-shirt and a denim jacket. “Here’s the guy who can give you some answers,” one of the Curtis Taylors said.
“Tyrone Taylor!” Bess exclaimed, awestruck. “I think Heartthrob is a brilliant album. You’re totally fantastic.”
The young singer looked surprised and pleased. “Well, well, thank you,” he said. “Isn’t this a nice way to start off the day?”
One of the white-suited men flicked a thumb at Nancy and her friends, saying, “We threw these ladies for a loop, Ty. They thought we were Curtis.”
“These men are professional impersonators,” Tyrone explained to the girls, chuckling. “We’re thinking of using them at the gala. And if you think they look like my uncle, you should hear them sing. It’s spooky.”
“I guess I saw one of you a couple days ago,” Louisa said, looking slightly stunned. “I could have sworn it was Curtis, too.”
George put a comforting arm around Louisa while Tyrone turned to the three impersonators and said, “Fellas, give me some time to think it over, okay? I’ll be in touch this afternoon.”
“Sorry if we gave you girls a scare,” one of the men said.
“Well,” Nancy said, watching them go, “that certainly clears up the mystery. By the way,” she added, holding out her hand to Tyrone Taylor, “I’m Nancy Drew. And these are my friends Bess Marvin, George Fayne, and Louisa Hunt.”
Bess started rummaging through her handbag. “I know everyone must ask you this all the time,” she said to Tyrone, “but could you please sign an autograph?” Giving him her most appealing smile, she held out a pen and a crumpled store receipt. “This is the only paper I have on me.”
Tyrone returned Bess’s smile, and Nancy noted again that he seemed pleased at the recognition. “I think I can do better than that,” he said. “How would you ladies like to come with me to Greenwood? I have a few photos there tha
t I can sign, and while we’re at it, we can have a quick lunch.”
“At Curtis Taylor’s estate? You’ve got to be kidding!” George exclaimed, exchanging an excited look with Louisa.
“That sounds great,” Bess added, turning to her friends. Her face was lit up with a gigantic grin.
Wow, thought Nancy, George must have been right when she said that Tyrone was an unknown. Most famous musicians would never have been so friendly.
“Well, actually, the estate belongs to Melanie and me, now that Uncle Curtis is gone. Seeing as you’re the first person who ever asked me for my autograph,” Tyrone said with a laugh, “I’d say it’s the least I can do. Come on. My car’s over here.”
As the others started to follow the handsome singer to the stretch limousine parked at the curb, Nancy said, “I’ll follow in my car. Wait for me to catch up, okay?”
“I’ll go with Nancy to keep her company,” George said, turning and jogging back to Nancy.
The two girls hurried to Nancy’s car. “Is this unbelievable or what?” George said, climbing in.
“It’s fantastic,” Nancy agreed with a laugh. “At this rate I could really learn to be a fan.”
The ride out to the Taylor mansion didn’t take long. Within twenty minutes Nancy and George had reached the main entrance to Greenwood, which was lined with tour buses. Following the limousine, Nancy bypassed the crowded stone gateway and pulled up to a set of tall, old-fashioned iron gates, several hundred yards farther down the drive.
Nancy saw Tyrone exchange a few words with the security guard at the gate and point back to her car. A moment later the guard waved Nancy through with a friendly smile.
“Hey, V.I.P. treatment,” Nancy said, grinning at George. “I could get used to this.”
The mansion was some distance off, peeking from behind oak and evergreen trees at the top of a knoll. There was a stone wall running along the knoll, slightly downhill from the house, and as Nancy drove closer, she could see over the barrier. There were hordes of tourists on the other side of the wall, but apparently the part of the estate Nancy was in, including the mansion, was private.
Final Notes Page 1