The Case of the Vanishing Veil

by Carolyn Keene

  “I thought you were just after a car license, Nancy,” the policeman said. “I wish I’d known you were going to get involved in something this dangerous. What’s it all about?”

  “I’ll tell you after I eliminate one more suspect,” Nancy said.

  Nancy hung up the phone. Bess was yawning and George had dark circles under her eyes from being so tired. “I hope the police get here soon,” Nancy said.

  Moments later two officers arrived and took a report from the girls. Then the policemen took them back to the Ritz in the squad car. Inside their room, they found that the hotel maid had turned down the bed sheets and left them each a wrapped chocolate mint on their pillows.

  She comes in and does all this and we never see her, Nancy thought to herself as she stretched her tired and bruised body out on the bed. There’s someone else out there we never see. And all he wants to do is hurt us.

  Nancy turned out her lamp, then lay awake thinking about the case. She couldn’t stop wondering about Cecelia Bancroft and her role in all that had happened that night. She was the one who’d steered them to the comedy club. Had she set them up to be drugged? And could Cecelia somehow be involved in the disappearance of the veil? If so, Nancy thought, was the veil linked to Jason Moss and the Thorndike heirs? One last question nagged at Nancy before she drifted off to sleep: How was Tony Fiske involved with Cecelia?

  * * *

  Nancy set out early the next morning to follow up an important hunch. Her hunch was that Tony Fiske could tell her whether Cecelia was as innocent as she seemed. Not wanting to wake her friends, Nancy ducked into the bathroom to use the phone. She dialed Tony’s number.

  “Hello,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m sorry, but the number you have reached has been disconnected. If you wish an operator to — “

  Nancy hung up. But the fact that Tony’s phone had been disconnected didn’t prove anything, she decided. Maybe he hadn’t paid his bill.

  Quickly she got dressed, scribbled a note to Bess and George, and drove to Tony’s apartment.

  It was a small apartment in an old building. His door was at the end of three flights of stairs. Nancy listened at the door before knocking. A radio blasted out a symphony.

  That’s strange music for Tony, Nancy thought as she knocked on the door and waited.

  At last the radio was snapped off and the door opened. To Nancy’s surprise, a pleasant-looking woman stood facing her. The woman’s face was paint-splattered, and she had white paint in her black curly hair, too.

  “Is Tony Fiske here?” Nancy asked.

  The woman laughed and opened the door wide. The apartment was empty except for a ladder, cans of paint, and brushes.

  “He’s gone,” the woman said. “Gone. And I love it. He paid me the back rent he owed — five full months. And he told me to get rid of all his stuff, because he’s leaving town for good. Hope he didn’t owe you any money.”

  “Did he have a lot?” Nancy asked.

  “For Tony, two coins to rub together is a lot,” the woman said. “But, yes, for once he had a lot.”

  “Did he say where he was going?” Nancy asked, but she didn’t really expect an answer.

  “As a matter of fact, he did. He said he’d never been to Bermuda, and it must be great this time of year.”

  Bermuda! That’s where Meredith and Mark were spending their honeymoon!

  “I’ve got to call Meredith and warn her,” Nancy said, thinking out loud.

  “Who’s Meredith?” the landlady asked.

  Nancy snapped back to the present.

  “Oh, a friend. Thank you — you’ve been a lot of help,” Nancy said and left quickly. She drove back to the hotel, but got a bit delayed in the tangle of Boston traffic.

  Dashing into the hotel room, Nancy called hello to Bess and George and went straight to the phone.

  “Do we have Meredith’s number in Bermuda?” she asked George, picking up the receiver.

  But Bess and George didn’t answer. They had exciting news of their own.

  “Nancy,” Bess said, “something arrived — “ Nancy put the phone back on the hook — and immediately it rang. She picked it up again. It was Police Lieutenant Flood.

  “Morning, Nancy,” he said in his raspy voice. “You want to hear what happened to you at the Laugh Riot last night?”

  “Yes,” said Nancy.

  Suddenly she noticed what George and Bess were so excited about. There was a large box wrapped in brown paper sitting on her bed.

  “The waiter remembers you and your friends real well,” Lieutenant Flood said. “He says he was getting your drinks ready when a guy at the bar stopped him. The guy said that he’d like to pay for your drinks. He told the waiter he was a friend. Later, when you three started feeling the knockout drugs, this guy told the waiter he’d take care of you. He helped you, one by one, through the kitchen, out the back door, and into his car. That’s all anyone at the club saw. You want to hear his description, kid?”

  Nancy answered for the lieutenant. “Six-feetfour, one-hundred-and-eighty-pound male with bleached blond hair, earring in the right ear, and wearing a Patriots cap.”

  “I don’t believe it. Who told you that?”

  “Harry Knox,” Nancy said.

  “Harry Knox? He’s a dinosaur,” Lieutenant Flood laughed. “He’d make a good cop except he hates to play by the rules. So how’d he know about this guy at the club?”

  “He didn’t,” Nancy said. “I just made a good guess. Harry saw that same guy push me off the Tea Party ship yesterday.”

  “Kid, how’d you like me to have a man cover you? This sounds too dangerous.”

  Nancy thought about the offer for a minute. It was tempting, but …

  “Please, don’t, Lieutenant Flood,” Nancy finally said. “I don’t think I’ll be able to catch this guy if you do. I’ve got to go now.”

  “You know there’s an old saying about giving someone enough rope and they’ll hang themselves, kid.”

  “I know, Lieutenant, but I’m hoping I can tightrope-walk on it instead,” Nancy said.

  “Give my regards to your father,” the policeman said before he hung up.

  As soon as Nancy was off the phone, she and Bess and George all started talking at once.

  “What’s in that box?” Nancy asked, pointing to the package on the bed.

  “It came for you while you were gone,” George said.

  “Special delivery by a messenger,” Bess said.

  “Let’s open it.”

  The label said: TO Nancy Drew, C/O The Ritz-Carlton Hotel.

  Nancy noticed that there was no return address on the package. She tore away the brown parcel paper. Inside was a large white cardboard box. Nancy lifted the box. It was light weight. Then she set it down and began to lift the lid. All three girls pressed their faces close to see what was inside.

  “I don’t believe it,” Bess said. “It’s Meredith’s veil!”

  11

  A Veil of Mystery

  Nancy took the long, lace veil out of the white box. For the moment, it didn’t matter where it had come from or who had sent it. She was just happy to hold it in her hands and let it billow to the carpeted floor. And George and Bess were so happy they jumped up and began dancing around the hotel room.

  Nancy spread the veil across the bed, running her fingers over it, tracing the intricate patterns in the beautiful handmade lace.

  “I can’t believe it. Someone sent you the veil,” Bess said.

  “Someone who thought you were getting too close to the truth,” George said. “I can’t wait to call Meredith and tell her!”

  But Nancy’s face had become more serious.

  “Yes — we do have to call Meredith. But I’m afraid we have only bad news.”

  That stopped George and Bess cold.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Bess.

  “George, do you still have Meredith’s engagement picture?” Nancy asked.

  George fished throu
gh her purse for a newspaper clipping Meredith had sent her. She found it in her address book and diary.

  The three girls looked carefully at the newspaper photo of Meredith. Beaming face, glowing smile — all set off by the white wedding dress and veil she wore. Only the front of the veil showed in the picture.

  “See — it’s just as I remembered,” Nancy said. “A feathered border.” She ran her finger up and down along the veil in the photo, touching the pattern of fine feathers along the border of Meredith’s veil. Then she picked up the edge of the veil on her bed and ran her finger along the edge.

  “Scalloped border,” Bess said. Her heart sank.

  “You mean, it’s not Meredith’s veil?” George said.

  “It’s not Meredith’s veil,” Nancy repeated, shaking her head. “I wanted it to be so badly that for a minute I thought it was.”

  Just to make Certain, they called Meredith and Mark in Bermuda. The newlyweds were having a great time, Meredith said, explaining why she hadn’t been in touch.

  “I know I said I’d call every day,” Meredith went on happily. “But now that we’re married and out of Boston, I feel so much better. It seems kind of silly to have worried about an astrologer’s prediction. What could go wrong? The world is such a wonderful place!”

  Nancy hated to burst the bubble for Meredith, but she had to warn her about Tony.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” Nancy began. “I think Tony Fiske may have gone to Bermuda looking for you.”

  Hearing that, Meredith’s voice became tense.

  “Why won’t he leave me alone?” Meredith said. It was more a plea than a question.

  Then Nancy told Meredith about the veil that had been delivered anonymously to the hotel. When she described it, Meredith confirmed that it was not hers.

  “Listen, I hope you’re not going to any trouble,” Meredith said. “I mean, I’d love to have my veil back, but it is only a veil, after all. You and Bess and George aren’t in any danger, are you?”

  Nancy hesitated before answering. “We’re always very careful,” she said diplomatically.

  Later that morning, the three girls lay on the grass in the Boston Common, letting the sun bake away their bruises and aches.

  “Well, what now?” George asked.

  “I never want to see another comedian. I know that,” Bess said, thinking of the Laugh Riot. “In fact, I’d appreciate it if you two wouldn’t make any jokes until we get home.”

  But Nancy wasn’t thinking about the Laugh Riot at all. She was sorting through her mental file of details from three days ago, when Meredith’s veil was stolen.

  “Tony Fiske is out of the country,” Nancy said.

  “And we may never find out how he fits into this. So we’re going to have to go in a different direction.”

  George and Bess waited until Nancy had made her decision.

  “I don’t know who the blond-haired man is. But I keep coming back to Cecelia Bancroft,” Nancy went on. “There still could be some connection between Cecelia and the veil.”

  “Because she was across the street when it was stolen?” George asked.

  Nancy nodded, then added, “And because she steered us to the Laugh Riot, where our drinks were tampered with.”

  Bess sat up and lifted her large round sunglasses onto her forehead. “Well, I’m more interested in Cecelia’s connection to Jason Moss.”

  Nancy smiled. “Me, too,” she said. “Cecelia and Jason might inherit the entire Thorndike fortune “very soon. I don’t know if that has anything to do with anything, but maybe our case is somehow connected to the Thorndikes.”

  Suddenly Nancy jumped up with a look of satisfaction on her face.

  “We’re going to Cape Cod!” she announced, pulling Bess and George up off the ground.

  Cape Cod, Nancy knew, was not only a beautiful seaside resort area. It was also the location of the Thorndike mansion. Perhaps there she could find a clue to help her connect the Thorndike case to the missing veil.

  After packing sweaters and picking up a small lunch from a nearby carry-out store, the girls piled into the rental car and drove out of town quickly.

  When they finally pulled up to the Thorndike house two hours later, a surge of excitement rippled through Nancy. The beautiful mansion, which sat on a steep bluff overlooking the ocean, drew her like a magnet.

  But there was also another quality to the house — a sinister quality — which didn’t escape Nancy’s notice. The massive dark stone walls of the three-story building seemed to boast of a strength that would stand up to anything, even the power of the sea.

  By the time Nancy and her friends parked the car it was 4 P.M. They were just in time to take the day’s final tour of the mansion. Already, more than twenty people were holding tickets.

  “Hi, everybody. My name is Robert, and welcome to Thorn Hill,” their tour guide said in a friendly voice. He smiled a lot when he talked and made eye contact with everyone. “Before we move into the mansion, there are a couple of rules we’d like you to know about,” he said. “You can’t take pictures. In fact, we don’t want you to take anything. And please watch children carefully. If anything gets broken, it’s my neck.”

  The group chuckled and the tour began in the entryway of the house. Robert obviously loved every inch and corner of the mansion. He talked for a long time about every architectural detail — the plaster, the arches, the molding, the leaded glass, the marble floors, and so on. Nancy soaked this information in, but she was looking for something — she wasn’t quite sure how to put it. A less public detail.

  On the second floor, the group entered a library. In addition to the hundreds Of leatherbound books, the library held dozens of photos of Brendan Thorndike posing with famous people.

  “Where are the Thorndike family portraits?” Nancy asked, gazing around the room.

  Robert smiled in reply, as if to say that he, too, would like to know Mr. Thorndike better. “Mr. Thorndike removed all of his personal possessions five years ago when he moved out of the mansion,“ Robert Said.

  Nancy’s heart sank, but still she combed each room for something — a clue, a tiny shred of information that could connect Cecelia to the missing veil. Everywhere she looked, however, her eyes found only one thing” the Thorndike family crest.

  Brendan Thorndike had marked all of his possessions with it. It was on the furniture, on wall hangings and quilts, even on the spines of every leather-bound book in the library.

  It was a fascinating, complex pattern of blooming tulips, arranged in a circle or wreath. The flowers” stems were twisted thickly, tightly together into an abstract configuration in the circle’s center. Nancy couldn’t decide whether the twisted stems looked more like a web or a net.

  “Nice place to visit,” George said to Nancy, “but I wouldn’t want to live here.”

  “It is pretty gloomy,” Nancy agreed.

  “Be careful. This place may be mine someday, when I’m declared the missing heir!” Bess said with a grin.

  Then Robert brought them to what he called the loneliest room of the house. It was Thorndike’s private study.

  “This is the room where Mr. Thorndike kept his records of his attempts to find his children and wife,” Robert explained. “He used to keep all their photos in this room as well. But when he moved out, he ordered that every photo of his wife, his son, and his daughter be removed from the house.”

  “It’s so sad. Why did his wife leave?” Bess asked the tour guide.

  “Mr. Thorndike never said,” Robert answered. “All I know is that after five years of marriage and two children, Mrs. Rebecca Thorndike just left. It broke his heart.”

  “Not at first,” Nancy interrupted. “Only when he was an old man.”

  For a moment, Robert and Nancy stared at each other. She could see that he didn’t like anyone making a negative comment about Thorndike.

  “Why do you say that?” Robert asked.

  “You can see it in the ph
otos of Thorndike,” Nancy said. “His eyes are as cold as steel, even after his wife took their children away. His work is what counted to him.” Nancy pointed to a photo of Thorndike as an old man sitting in his library. “In his later years, his eyes grew softer,” Nancy said. “Maybe he finally realized how much he missed them.”

  “You’re very observant,” said a woman in a flowered hat, looking over Nancy’s shoulder at the photo.

  “Well, there’s a lot more to see, folks,” Robert said, changing the subject quickly. “Let’s go into the master bedroom.”

  The bedroom was large, with closets full of clothes. The chests of drawers were of dark, hand-carved mahogany. On every drawer was a Thorndike crest painted in gold leaf.

  Then it was on to the dining room.

  “The table is set,” said Robert, “with the oldest china in the house. It belonged to Mr. Thorndike’s British ancestors and was given to the young Mrs. Thorndike as a wedding present.”

  Everyone on the tour, including Nancy, Bess, and George, leaned over the table to get a good look at the china. Its pattern was, as they expected, the Thorndike crest.

  “There’s something odd about this china,” Nancy said.

  “I don’t see it,” George said. “Give me a hint.”

  “The crest is different,” Nancy said. “But I don’t know how. I’m going to check it out.” She moved toward the dining-room door.

  “Excuse me,” said Robert. “Where are you going?”

  “Could I go back to the master bedroom?” Nancy asked.

  “If you lost something, one of the guards will find it,” Robert said.

  “I didn’t lose anything,” Nancy said pleasantly. “I’d like to look at something again.”

  Robert shook his head. “Sorry,” he said. “This is the last tour and you’re not allowed to return to any of the rooms unescorted.”

  “It’ll only take a minute,” Nancy said.

  “It’ll take less than that for me to get fired,” Robert said.

  “You can come again tomorrow, dear,” said the woman in the flowered hat. “Then you can see everything.”

  Exasperated, Nancy stepped back into her place among the other tour guests. But outside, when the tour was over, she saw a chance and took it. While everyone else was invited to wander through the tulip garden, Nancy quietly slipped back into the house.