Springtime Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE: FLOWER POWER

  CHAPTER TWO: SCENT-ER STAGE

  CHAPTER THREE: GLOOM IN BLOOM

  CHAPTER FOUR: NOSE FOR A ROSE

  CHAPTER FIVE: WILT AND SPILT

  CHAPTER SIX: EYE ON THE PIE

  CHAPTER SEVEN: RAIN FOREST ROMP

  CHAPTER EIGHT: OODLES OF POODLES

  CHAPTER NINE: SPOILED ROTTEN

  CHAPTER TEN: PEONY HARMONY

  Nancy Drew Clue Book #10: ‘Boo Crew’ Excerpt

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  FLOWER POWER

  “Today spring finally feels like spring!” eight-year-old Nancy Drew declared.

  It was Friday afternoon and the first mild day of the year. After months of woolly hats, warm scarves, and puffy parkas, Nancy and her two best friends were wearing spring jackets in ice-cream colors.

  “It’s starting to look like spring too!” Bess Marvin pointed out. “Look at all the pretty flowers.”

  “Not just flowers, Bess,” George said. “Flower sculptures!”

  Nancy took a whiff of the awesome-smelling statues and sculptures made from fresh flowers. The temperature-controlled greenhouse they stood inside was the perfect place for the first annual River Heights Flower Sculpture Show.

  “Why are all the flowers pink and white?” Bess wondered. “And round and puffy like ice-skate pom-poms?”

  “They’re peonies,” Nancy replied. “That’s the official flower of the show. All the sculptors were told to work with them this year.”

  “More like pee-yew-nees,” George said with a frown. “Our next-door neighbors, the Baxters, grow so many that they hang over the fence into our yard!”

  “Peonies are so pretty, George,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you like them?”

  “Because bees like them too!” George complained.

  Nancy, Bess, and George strolled through the greenhouse. The flower show was on Sunday but people were welcome to watch the sculptors put the finishing touches on their sculptures.

  “I like that one best!” Bess said, pointing to a peony sculpture of a high-heeled shoe.

  “No way.” George shook her head. “The peony robot is the best.”

  “High-heeled shoe? Robot?” Nancy teased. “Are you sure you’re related?”

  Bess and George traded smiles. Not only did the two cousins look different—Bess had blond hair and blue eyes, while George had dark hair and dark eyes—they liked different things too. Bess loved girly-girl clothes and accessories. George loved accessories too—as long as they went with her computer and electronic gadgets.

  “If you were making a flower sculpture, Nancy,” Bess asked, “what would it be of?”

  “My clue book!” Nancy replied right away.

  Bess and George nodded their approval. The three friends were the Clue Crew, the best kid detectives in River Heights. To help solve their mysteries, Nancy used a clue book to write down their thoughts, clues, and suspects.

  “These sculptures are totally neat,” George admitted, “but the best part of the show on Sunday will be seeing—”

  “Miss LaLa!” Bess cut in. “I still can’t believe our favorite singer will be the star of the flower sculpture show on Sunday!”

  “I already met Miss LaLa,” George said. “My mom catered her after-concert party here in River Heights a year ago. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “About a hundred times, George,” Bess groaned. “You told us she dressed up like a caterpillar inside a cocoon.”

  Nancy giggled. Miss LaLa was known for her beautiful violet eyes—and her wild costumes!

  “I heard that Miss LaLa will wear a huge hat to the flower show,” Nancy said excitedly, “totally covered in peonies!”

  “Peonies again?” George sighed. “I hope there are no bees in her bonnet.”

  “Or in that flower cupcake,” Bess declared.

  Nancy looked to see where Bess was pointing. She smiled when she saw a giant white cupcake made of peonies.

  Standing on a ladder while sticking a pink peony onto the top was a kid the girls recognized at once.

  “Hey, it’s Benjamin Bing,” Nancy said.

  “It’s him, all right,” George agreed. “Who else would sculpt a giant cupcake?”

  Ben’s parents owned a health food and flower store on Main Street called Bing’s Buds and Bran.

  “Is it true that no sweets are allowed in Ben’s house?” Bess whispered. “Only food from his parents’ healthy store?”

  Nancy nodded yes. “No wonder Ben likes to sculpt what he can’t eat,” she said. “Cookies, cakes, cupcakes—”

  “Don’t forget doughnuts,” Ben said, climbing down from the ladder. “I sculpt those, too.”

  Nancy was embarrassed that Ben had heard them talking about him. “We were also saying how awesome your flower cupcake is, Ben,” she said quickly.

  “Yeah,” George agreed. “It looks like the cupcakes my mom just put on the windowsill to cool.”

  Ben’s eyes grew wide. “Cupcakes?”

  “My mom’s a caterer,” George explained. “She has a special catering kitchen in a trailer behind our house.”

  “Buttercream frosting? Marshmallow?” Ben demanded to know. “Do the cupcakes have sprinkles?”

  Nancy tried to change the subject. “How will you keep your flowers fresh until Sunday, Ben?” she blurted.

  “Hair spray,” Ben said matter-of-factly.

  “Hair spray?” Bess asked, surprised. “For flowers?”

  “Watch and learn,” Ben said. He pulled out an aerosol can and held it a few inches from the fluffy white peonies. Then Ben turned to the girls, spraying as he explained. “Hair spray isn’t just for hairstyles anymore. One good spritz will keep your flowers from wilting and even keep the dust off!”

  Nancy, Bess, and George stared open-mouthed at Ben’s sculpture as he kept spraying and talking. Something . . . was not . . . right. . . .

  “Not only that,” Ben went on, “clear hair spray will keep flowers nice and firm—”

  “Um . . . Ben?” Nancy interrupted.

  George formed a T with her hands. “Time out for a second.”

  “Why?” Ben asked, still spraying away.

  “Since when is clear hair spray brown?” Bess asked.

  “Huh?” Ben said. He turned to look at his sculpture and gasped. A whole side of his snowy-white cupcake was now brown!

  Ben stopped spraying at once. He looked at the can and began to wail. “Arrrgh! This isn’t hair spray. It’s brown hair dye!”

  “It’s okay, Ben,” Nancy said gently. “Just pluck out the brown ones and replace them with white ones.”

  “I can’t!” Ben cried, pointing to his sculpture. “These are the last peonies from my parents’ greenhouse!”

  The girls left Ben pacing nervously by his sculpture. Nancy felt bad for him and wanted to help. But how?

  “Maybe he could spray-paint them white,” George suggested.

  “I don’t think that would look very good. What about . . .” Bess trailed off midthought.

  “I may have an idea!” Nancy squeaked.

  The three of them had stopped in front of a giant poodle sculpture made of snow-white peonies. In River Heights there was only one sculptor famous for his peony poodles. He was from France and his name was Monsieur Pierre.

  “If Pierre uses peonies for his sculptures,” Nancy said hopefully, “maybe he has some extras for Ben.”

  Bess nodded her approval. “Let’s ask him!”

  But where was Monsieur Pierre? Nancy was about to ask another sculptor, when they heard voices. Angry voices coming from behind the peony poodle.

  The girls peeked around the sculpture to see Monsieur Pierre arguing with Mayor Strong.

&n
bsp; “I was told I’d be the star of the flower show on Sunday,” Pierre said. “How dare you ask Miss LuLu instead?”

  “It’s ‘LaLa,’ and we’re lucky she’ll be singing at the flower show,” Mayor Strong said. “Her white peony hat came all the way from Paris, you know.”

  “Well, so did I!” Pierre scoffed. “And my two poodles, Céline and Celeste!”

  Nancy had heard the names Céline and Celeste before. They were Pierre’s standard poodles and the models for his sculptures.

  “This isn’t a good time, you guys,” Nancy whispered. “Let’s ask another sculptor for peonies.”

  But as the girls turned to leave . . .

  “Girls!” a hushed voice said. “May I speak with you?”

  Nancy’s eyes widened at the sight of the woman standing behind them. She wore a black trench coat with huge padded shoulders, dark cat-eye sunglasses, and fire-engine-red lipstick. Her blond hair was tied in a low bun, and she was holding a large brown paper shopping bag.

  “Um . . . do we know you?” Nancy asked.

  “I think you do,” the woman said. She lowered her sunglasses to reveal the deepest violet-blue eyes.

  Nancy, Bess, and George gasped. Only one person in the world had eyes like that. It was—

  “Miss LaLa!” Nancy cried. “Omigosh!”

  SCENT-ER STAGE

  “Omigosh is right!” Bess squeaked as the famous celebrity slipped her shades back on. “I can’t believe it’s you, Miss LaLa!”

  “We thought you were singing on Sunday,” George said. “That’s when the flower show is.”

  LaLa opened her mouth to answer, but instead sneezed so hard the girls jumped back.

  “Here, Miss LaLa,” Nancy said, handing her a tissue from her pocket. “It’s clean.”

  “Thanks,” LaLa said, lowering her voice. “Now, it’s a secret that I’m here today . . . because I need a big favor.”

  “A favor?” Nancy asked. “From us?”

  LaLa nodded, then looked at George. “Your mother is Louise Fayne, the caterer? And your name is Georgia, right?”

  George gritted her teeth. She hated her real name more than glitter nail polish and stuffed unicorns. But before she could tell Miss LaLa to call her George—

  “Right!” Nancy and Bess chorused.

  “I remember you from my after-concert party a year ago, Georgia,” LaLa said. “That was right before I became a superfamous star.”

  “Tell us about the favor, Miss LaLa!” Bess begged.

  Miss LaLa lifted the bag. “In this bag is the hat I’ll be wearing to the show on Sunday,” she whispered.

  The girls peeked inside. Through delicate white paper they could see a bed of white peonies. Miss LaLa’s hat!

  “I need to keep the flowers fresh inside a refrigerator until Sunday,” Miss LaLa explained. “The fridge in my hotel room is too small for such a big hat.”

  “So you want my mom to keep it in her superbig fridge, the one in her catering kitchen?” George asked.

  “I knew she’d have a giant fridge!” Miss LaLa said happily. “Do you think it would be okay with your mom?”

  Before George could answer, Bess grabbed the bag. “Louise Fayne is my aunt,” she said. “I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

  “Thank you!” Miss LaLa said. “Now, only you girls have seen my hat so far. I want it to be a big surprise on Sunday.”

  Miss LaLa then threw her head way back. Nancy, Bess, and George braced themselves for another ah-chooo!

  “Gesundheit!” a voice said.

  Nancy caught a whiff of roses as they turned to see who had spoken. Standing behind them was a woman the girls had met before.

  “Hey, aren’t you Madame Withers, the perfume lady?” George asked.

  “We went on a class trip to your perfume factory a few weeks ago,” Nancy added. “You showed us how you make perfumes out of wilted flowers.”

  “Like Droopy Daffodil, Wilting Wisteria, and Saggy Sunflower!” Bess said excitedly.

  “Correct!” Madame Withers said, wafting her scent through the air with one hand. “And today I’m wearing my latest scent, Rotting Roses.”

  With a grin, Madame Withers held up a fancy glass perfume bottle. “I’ve also created a new scent just for Miss LaLa,” she said. “It’s called LaLa’s Limpy Lavender.”

  “Limpy . . . Lavender?” Miss LaLa repeated, not smiling.

  “I was hoping you’d wear my perfume on Sunday to spread the word,” Madame Withers said. “Or in this case—the smell!”

  Madame Withers sprayed the air with Limpy Lavender while—ah-choo!—Miss LaLa sprayed the air with another sneeze.

  “I think your perfumes are making me sneeze,” Miss LaLa told Madame Withers. “And I don’t really like dead flowers.”

  “Dead?” Madame Withers gasped.

  “Miss LaLa likes fresh flowers like the ones on her peony hat,” Bess said, pointing inside the bag. “We’re going to keep them nice and fresh inside George’s fridge—”

  George’s hand clapped over Bess’s mouth, but it was already too late. Madame Withers was staring into the bag.

  “I seeeee,” Madame Withers said softly. “Well, that gives me an idea.”

  Nancy watched Madame Withers breeze away. What idea did she mean? A new perfume, maybe? Nancy’s thoughts were interrupted when Miss LaLa said, “Thanks again, girls. I’ll be at your house Sunday morning at eleven to pick up my hat.”

  George told LaLa her address. With another big sneeze, the singing star left the greenhouse.

  “Miss LaLa asked us to do her a favor!” Bess placed the bag on the floor to high-five Nancy and George with both hands. “How awesome is that?”

  “Totally,” Nancy agreed. She turned to George and asked, “Will your mom have enough room in her fridge for Miss LaLa’s big hat?”

  George nodded. “I stuck my project for the school science fair in the fridge this morning. There was lots of room.”

  “What is your science project, George?” Nancy asked.

  “I want to prove that one rotten apple spoils the whole bunch,” George explained.

  “Rotten apple?” Bess said as she wrinkled her nose. “Can’t wait.”

  “And I can’t wait to do Miss LaLa a favor,” Nancy said. She grabbed the handle of the shopping bag to lift it. “I’ll carry the bag to George’s house.”

  “No, me,” George said, also taking the handle. “It’s my mom’s refrigerator—”

  “Yes, but I took the bag first,” Bess said, also taking hold of the handle. “So let me carry it, please.”

  Now all three girls were tugging the same handle of Miss LaLa’s bag, until . . . RIIIIIIP! . . . the whole bag tore in half!

  Nancy, Bess, and George watched in horror as Miss LaLa’s snowy-white peony hat tumbled onto the floor.

  “Oh, no! Miss LaLa’s hat!” Nancy cried.

  Quickly picking it up, Nancy carefully turned it in her hands. “Luckily it’s not dirty,” she said. “The petals are still fluffy too.”

  After giving the petals a soft brush with her hand, Nancy looked up. Everyone—including Monsieur Pierre—was staring at her and Miss LaLa’s hat!

  “Uh-oh,” Nancy gulped.

  “LaLa didn’t want anybody but us to see her hat,” George whispered. “Now everyone here saw it.”

  “What are we going to do, Nancy?” Bess whispered.

  Nancy carefully rewrapped the hat. “Let’s be happy LaLa’s hat wasn’t ruined,” she said. “That’s what’s most important.”

  It was Nancy who carried the hat four blocks to the Fayne house. All three girls had the same rule: They could walk anywhere as long as it was less than five blocks and as long as they were together. Nancy, Bess, and George didn’t mind. They wanted to be together anyway.

  “I smell something yummy,” Bess said as they filed into Mrs. Fayne’s kitchen.

  The special catering kitchen was inside a trailer right behind the house. Mrs. Fayne was just pulling a pan of flower-sha
ped cookies out of the oven. Nancy could see a pan of yellow-and-green-frosted cupcakes cooling on a nearby windowsill.

  “The cookies are for the flower show on Sunday,” Mrs. Fayne said proudly. “So are the cupcakes.”

  Mrs. Fayne placed the cookie sheet on the butcher-block table. “Now I have to get to the supermarket,” she said. “I just ran out of rainbow sprinkles.”

  “Ask her about the favor, George,” Bess whispered loudly.

  “What favor?” Mrs. Fayne asked.

  “Miss LaLa asked us to keep her flowered hat in your refrigerator,” George said, nodding at the hat in Nancy’s arms. “She needs to keep it fresh for the flower show.”

  “Is it okay, Mrs. Fayne?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s fine with me,” Mrs. Fayne said with a smile. “Miss LaLa was very nice when we met. I’m happy to help.” She headed toward the door. “Be sure to lock up when you leave.”

  “I will, Mom, thanks,” George said, holding up the key she kept in her jeans pocket.

  Mrs. Fayne left the trailer. Nancy, Bess, and George walked together to the shiny industrial-size refrigerator.

  Opening the door George said, “All systems go!”

  Bess reached in, making room on one of the shelves. “All clear,” she reported.

  Feeling a cold blast from the fridge, Nancy leaned in and placed the hat on a clear shelf. “Done!” she declared.

  George shut the fridge door and the girls high-fived.

  “Hats off to us!” Bess cheered.

  “Miss LaLa won’t be here until Sunday,” George said. “What should we do tomorrow?”

  “Let’s go back to the botanical gardens,” Bess said. “They’re opening the tropical rain forest exhibit tomorrow. I heard they’ll have real birds and animals inside.”

  “And real tropical bugs!” George added.

  “Bugs?” Bess gulped. “Let’s do something else.”

  Nancy had an idea. “Let’s just listen to LaLa’s music on Saturday,” she said, “and get excited about seeing her again—on Sunday!”

  “What kind of flowers are those, Hannah?” Nancy asked. “They’re such a pretty pink.”

  It was Saturday morning. Hannah Gruen had placed a vase of flowers on the kitchen table after breakfast. Even Nancy’s Labrador puppy, Chocolate Chip, seemed to like them. She was wagging her tail.