The Stolen Kiss

by Carolyn Keene

  Chapter

  Eleven

  THE SILENCE THAT GREETED Michael’s outburst was complete. When the gallery finally exploded with sound, the noise was deafening. Everyone pushed forward to see the forgery up close.

  Michael seemed to be stunned as he stood stock still holding on to Debbie’s arm. Finally his eyes sought out Nancy, who dropped Ned’s hand and hurried to Michael’s side.

  “Nancy!” Michael grabbed both of Nancy’s hands. “Tell me this isn’t happening . . ..”

  Nancy felt terrible for him as her mind was madly trying to fit in this new piece of the puzzle. “Michael, this is awful, but you must think,” she urged. “Who would—no, who could do this?”

  Michael appeared to be confused. “Someone very good,” he said finally. He made Nancy face the painting. “The forgery is almost perfect. Hardly anyone would be able to tell but me.” He pointed to a spot where the blond girl’s hair blended into the shadowy background. Several thin gold brush strokes stood out. “I never use line like that.”

  “What do we do now?” Debbie’s voice jarred Nancy. The color had drained from Debbie’s face, and she looked as if she were going to faint.

  Michael noticed her for the first time. “Aren’t you Debbie Lakin?”

  “We’ve met before. At the art contest—I was the student judge. And I—I used to work here. I’m so upset. When we found the painting today in the chapel, I thought your troubles were over.”

  Nancy observed Debbie carefully. Used to work here. So Morrison hadn’t hired her back. “Michael,” Nancy assured him, “I’m going to find the original. I promise.”

  People stepped up to talk to Michael, and Debbie blended back into the crowd. Nancy searched for Ned. She spotted Dr. Morrison near Michael. He was livid. Who could blame him? The forgery was a terrible embarrassment for him. Despite his expertise, he’d been taken in by a forgery.

  Nancy noticed Rina breezing around the gallery, serving drinks from a tray. Her red ponytail swung behind her, and she had a giant smirk on her face. Did Rina hate them so much that she’d laugh at this disaster? Or did that smile mean even more?

  Rina wasn’t the only one enjoying the situation. Nancy noticed Ian Sanders actually grinning as he studied the forged painting.

  She finally found Ned in the museum garden sitting on a metal bench and nursing his soda.

  He raised his head as she approached. “Sometimes I think a guy’s got to be in trouble for you to notice him.”

  Nancy felt a pang of guilt. “Now, Nickerson, this case just got a lot more interesting.”

  “For once I understand.” He patted the seat next to him, but Nancy chose to sit on his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself a moment in the clean soapy smell of his hair. “You’re a very distracting person,” she murmured as they shared a kiss.

  A few moments later she shifted to the bench and leaned her head against his shoulder. The afternoon was hot and muggy, and Nancy guessed it would rain soon. “A forgery,” Nancy mused. “That explains why the painting was returned.”

  “What nerve—the forger actually believed he or she could fool the artist,” Ned said.

  “The thief may have been overly confident,” Nancy agreed, “and believed the forgery wouldn’t be discovered. With the heat off, they could sell the original. An unscrupulous collector wouldn’t hesitate to buy stolen work.”

  “What’s your next move, Nan?” Ned asked.

  Nancy smiled. “Actually, the forgery may help us. We know the thief’s an experienced climber and is probably in cahoots with a top-notch artist. That should narrow the field.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “Yes,” Nancy replied. “I told you about Kate Robertson’s copy of the Mona Lisa. It’s good. Kate is supposed to be in Paris, but maybe she’s back. I know Debbie’s hiding the blond girl, but maybe she’s got Kate stashed, too.”

  “You think the three of them are working together?” Ned asked.

  “Could be,” Nancy replied. “It’s possible that Debbie or Kate or the blond girl stole the painting and Kate copied it, but then one of them would have to know how to rappel down a rope into the museum. It’s even more likely that Debbie and Bryan worked together to steal the painting, still using Kate, with Bryan actually committing the robbery.”

  Ned grimaced at the mention of Bryan’s involvement. “What about the blond girl?” he asked.

  “She could be involved, too,” Nancy explained. “And there’s another possibility—Rina. Rina may be a good enough painter to produce that forgery. Her ushering assignment isn’t a foolproof alibi.”

  “But the EC ticket stub you found on the roof,” Ned countered. “If Rina ushered for the EC concert, why would she have had a ticket stub?”

  “She wouldn’t,” Nancy said.

  “If Rina is the thief, that at least would take Bryan out of the picture,” Ned declared.

  “Not necessarily,” Nancy said. “Rina got Bryan his job at the museum. He and Rina could have plotted to steal the painting, using Debbie as a pawn to gain access to the museum art.”

  “I can’t believe Bryan would do that.”

  “We have to consider all possibilities,” Nancy cautioned. “And don’t forget Morrison. He’s got an alibi for the time of the theft, but he could have an accomplice and be the mastermind. Like Rina, he seems to need money.”

  “Dr. Morrison knows Ian Sanders,” Ned said. “Maybe he’s planning to sell him the painting.”

  “Or maybe Bryan is planning to sell the painting to Sanders,” Nancy added.

  “Hey!” George called out as she and Bryan strolled into the courtyard. “We’ve been looking all over for you two. Everyone’s starting to leave.”

  Bryan shifted uneasily as he stood in front of Nancy. They hadn’t spoken since dinner the night before. “This morning I spoke with Sergeant Weinberg about my stolen gear.” Bryan seemed depressed. “I was pretty scared about losing my job until I heard the painting was returned. Now I guess I’m back in the hot seat again.”

  “I’m hungry,” Ned said, changing the subject.

  “Pizza?” George suggested.

  “Oh, yeah!” Ned exclaimed happily.

  Nancy wanted to freshen up before they went out to eat. “I’ll, meet you in front of the museum,” she told her friends.

  Five minutes later Nancy was leaving the women’s rest room when she heard voices at the end of the hall where the storage room was located. “Yes, the paintings are quite nice,” a resonant male voice said, “but as you know, I’m only interested in Jared’s work these days.”

  Nancy stepped back behind the rest room door, hoping to hear more. All she heard, though, were footsteps passing by. When she popped her head out again, she saw Dr. Morrison with Ian Sanders walking toward the museum lobby. Nancy followed them. Was Sanders fishing to buy the stolen painting? she wondered.

  Nancy paused as Dr. Morrison stopped to place a set of keys in the receptionist’s desk. He looked up. “Nancy! I thought everyone had gone. I was just showing Mr. Sanders some of the paintings the museum will be selling, hoping to persuade him to buy something.” Dr. Morrison introduced Nancy to Sanders. “Nancy is a detective investigating the theft of First Kiss.”

  Nancy winced. She would have preferred that Ian Sanders not know she was working on the case. Sanders smiled coolly. “A pleasure, Nancy.”

  • • •

  “That was a hilarious movie,” George announced as she and Nancy walked into the sorority house later that night. “I’m glad Bryan suggested it.”

  Nancy agreed. After pizza the four had stopped to see a new comedy that kept them in stitches.

  George had already started up the stairs when the house phone rang. No one seemed to be answering it. “I’ll get it” Nancy hurried to pick it up.

  The caller was a Mrs. Shephard calling for Debbie. “It’s urgent,” Mrs. Shephard’s gravelly voice declared.

  “Just a moment please,” Nancy said. She ran to
the house intercom to announce the call for Debbie. Halfway through her announcement Nancy saw the back door open. Debbie started to come in, but then she stepped back.

  Hadn’t Debbie heard her name on the intercom? “Debbie!” No one answered.

  With a groan Nancy took a message from Mrs. Shephard. “I’ve been trying to contact Debbie for two days,” the woman complained, “but she hasn’t returned my calls.” After hanging up, Nancy copied down Mrs. Shephard’s number in her notebook, then wrote out the message for Debbie.

  Nancy was puzzled. Who was Mrs. Shephard, and why was Debbie avoiding her?

  Chapter

  Twelve

  AS NANCY TACKED THE message on the call board, she heard giggling in the den. Maybe the girls could tell her something about Mrs. Shephard. Inside, Mindy, Chris, arid Brook were watching home videos and munching popcorn.

  Two girls dressed as clowns were on the TV screen. “The tall clown is me.” Chris smiled up at Nancy. “The other clown is Debbie. We put on some skits for the girls from a halfway house this summer when they came to see the museum.”

  In the next segment sorority sisters played tug-of-war with a line of younger girls.

  Nancy sat on the arm of the couch. “Sorry to interrupt, but who’s Mrs. Shephard? She phoned just now and seemed anxious to talk to Debbie.”

  Brook stopped the video. “Great timing, Nancy. Here’s Mrs. Shephard.” At the end of the girls’ tug-of-war line was a small middle-aged woman in shorts. “She runs the McKinleyville halfway house,” Brook explained, restarting the video.

  “Stop!” Nancy cried. Brook froze the screen. In the line of young girls Nancy saw the tall girl with long stringy brown hair. The shot wasn’t a closeup, but Nancy was sure she was Debbie’s friend—the girl who had stolen the art packet at the bookstore. “Who’s the tall girl?”

  Chris looked at Brook. “What’s her name?”

  “Jamie,” Mindy piped up. “I remember her because she painted those cool horses in Debbie’s room.”

  “Could you replay that clown sequence?” Nancy asked excitedly. She knew she was onto something. As the video images flashed by, Nancy caught several glimpses of Jamie, though none close up.

  Nancy’s mind clicked away. Why had Debbie denied knowing Jamie? Did Debbie know that Jamie stole the art supplies? Nancy remembered the drawing she found in Debbie’s room. Was Jamie the artist behind the forgery? Nancy’s mind raced. She decided she had to find Jamie and talk to Mrs. Shephard. She’d never get a straight answer from Debbie.

  • • •

  Early the next morning Nancy called Mrs. Shephard. Until she knew more about Jamie and the halfway house, she decided it would be best to keep Mrs. Shephard in the dark about her investigation. “I’m calling from Emerson College,” Nancy told her. “I’m writing an article for the college paper about your halfway house. Could a friend and I visit you today? It won’t take long,” Nancy promised.

  Mrs. Shephard hesitated, then said, “Sure. Come on out. I like people to learn about us.”

  Ten minutes later Nancy and George were heading for McKinleyville. “Looks like rain,” George commented, peering out the window. Nancy agreed. She couldn’t wait for the heat wave to break.

  The halfway house was a small brick building that resembled an old school. Mrs. Shephard met them at the door. Despite the woman’s firm handshake and warm smile, Nancy could see the tension and fatigue in her eyes.

  Nancy and George followed Mrs. Shephard into her office. After they were seated, Nancy began by saying she needed some general background on the halfway house for her article. Mrs. Shephard seemed eager to answer. Every so often George commented on the house. Then, feeling the moment was right, Nancy honed in on the special classes offered to the runaway girls, like Debbie’s art class over the summer.

  At the mention of Debbie’s name, Mrs. Shephard became wary.

  “We like to expose the girls to as many different experiences as possible,” Mrs. Shephard said, “like the museum art class.”

  George nodded enthusiastically. “Debbie never stops talking about how much she loved teaching that class,” George said. “Wasn’t there some really gifted kid in that class?

  Nancy pretended to think, then riffled through her notebook. “Yes—here it is. Jamie.” Nancy looked up. “Is she around? I’d love to interview her.”

  Mrs. Shephard stiffened. “You can’t.”

  “Why not?” Nancy asked.

  “Jamie’s not here.”

  “Where is she?” Nancy snapped her notebook shut. “I could interview her somewhere else.”

  Mrs. Shephard’s face sagged. “Jamie ran away. I’m terribly worried. I don’t want to bring in the police unless I have to. These kids trust me.” She motioned Nancy to sit back down. “Kids come here through a helpline—generally they just need time away from their own homes. But Jamie’s been gone since Thursday morning. Jamie’s roommate told me that Jamie talked of spending the weekend at Emerson. But it’s Monday, and she’s not back yet.”

  There was a knock on the door. A young woman entered, asking if she could speak to Mrs. Shephard privately for a moment. Mrs. Shephard rose and said, “Excuse me for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  “Watch the door, George,” Nancy directed the minute Mrs. Shephard was out of the room. With George on guard, Nancy scanned the papers on the desk for any clue that might explain Jamie’s connection to the case.

  Near the top of one pile of papers, Nancy found a folder labeled Jamie Peters. Inside was a photograph of a young girl. “George, it’s the girl in the bookstore.”

  As Nancy studied the photo more closely, something bothered her. Then she had it. Nancy realized she had seen this girl after the shoplifting incident. Why hadn’t she noticed before? All the time the evidence of who she was had been staring right at her. The hair was dramatically different, but the face was the same. Jamie was the girl with blond spiky hair who was masquerading as Kate.

  “Hurry, Nancy,” George whispered. “She’s coming.”

  Quickly Nancy closed the file and sat down primly in her seat.

  “Thank you for your patience, girls,” Mrs. Shephard said. “How else can I help you?” Nancy stood up and shook hands with Mrs. Shephard. “You’ve helped us a lot. When Jamie does come back here, I’d love to speak with her,” Nancy said.

  “Don’t worry,” George added. “I know Debbie. Jamie couldn’t be in better hands. . . .”

  “If she’s with Debbie. I only wish Debbie would return my calls.”

  “If we run into Jamie, we’ll give you a call right away,” Nancy promised.

  George had a lunch date with Bryan, so Nancy dropped her off near the student union. After returning to the sorority house, Nancy knocked on Debbie’s door. Debbie opened it cautiously, frowning when she saw Nancy. “We have to talk,” Nancy said. “I know about Jamie.”

  Debbie gave a little cry, covering her face with her hands. Nancy pushed by her and went into the room.

  “You’ve been hiding Jamie,” Nancy continued, standing with her hands on her hips.

  “No,” Debbie began. “You’ve got it all wrong.”

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said evenly. “I’ve been to McKinleyville. I’ve seen Jamie’s file. Jamie’s been masquerading as Kate.”

  A sigh escaped Debbie.

  “You’re in enough trouble as it is,” Nancy told her softly. “The only way I can help you is by hearing the truth.”

  Debbie looked up with tears in her eyes. She nodded. “I found Jamie hiding in the museum storage room the night of the robbery. I’d left the door unlocked because I’d been going in and out. She sneaked in, looking for a hiding place.”

  “That was about the time the theft occurred.”

  “Yes,” Debbie said. “Oh, Nancy, that’s why I didn’t know the robbery was happening. I was trying to convince Jamie to go back to the halfway house when we heard the police siren. Jamie got scared and climbed out the window.”

&n
bsp; “She came here that night,” Nancy said. “That’s who I saw throwing pebbles.”

  “Yes,” Debbie admitted.

  “Why did Jamie go to the museum in the first place?”

  “To see Michael Jared’s work,” Debbie explained. “That’s why I feel so responsible for her running away. I showed the girls slides of his paintings this past summer, and Jamie fell in love with them.”

  “I saw Jamie shoplifting,” Nancy said, sitting down on the bottom bunk.

  “I know.” Debbie paced the room as she talked. “It was wrong, and I told her she had to put the packet back. But she had opened it already. I took what was left and put it in Kate’s footlocker. I couldn’t figure out how to return it without getting Jamie into trouble.”

  “So that’s what you meant when you said ‘put it back.’ I overheard you on the phone that day. You were talking to Jamie.” Suddenly she had a thought. “Your slashed dress?” Nancy asked.

  Debbie stood up, wringing her hands. “I think Jamie did that. She was mad because I confronted her and told her to go back to the halfway house. I think she needs help. But she’s not a bad kid. Not really.”

  “And Kate’s registration packet?” Nancy thought rapidly. “Isn’t that how Jamie knew Kate was registered for Michael’s drawing class?”

  Debbie nodded.

  “Then after the bookstore theft, Jamie changed her appearance.”

  “A beauty school was offering makeovers,” Debbie said. Nancy remembered the flyer someone handed her Friday afternoon. “Maybe she thought someone besides you saw her. Maybe she was scared Mrs. Shephard would call the police and they’d recognize her from a picture. I don’t know.” Debbie sank down on the bunk next to Nancy, burying her head in her arms. “This has been the worst couple of days.”

  Nancy felt sorry for her and was sure now Debbie had nothing to do with the robbery. “You’ve got to call Mrs. Shephard and get Jamie to go back to the halfway house before Mrs. Shephard does call in the police.”