The Case of the Artful Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  “But Joseph has promised this painting to me,” Spaziente protested. “I must have it now.”

  Nancy’s eyes narrowed slightly as she gazed at the man. Did he really want to put the painting in his gallery? Or was he trying to get his hands on the painting for the same reason the intruder in the restaurant had slashed Spaziente’s other paintings?

  “I’ll see Joseph in art class on Friday,” Felice said. “He can decide the fate of this painting. Is that fair enough?”

  A look of annoyance crossed Auguste’s face, but he seemed to hold back his irritation. “How can I refuse such a lovely lady? In the interest of fairness, I will wait two more days.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Spaziente,” Felice said.

  “You are quite welcome,” he replied, bowing slightly. “I will show myself to the door. It was a pleasure to meet you ladies.”

  Bowing again to them all, he turned and left.

  “What a character,” Bess said when he was gone.

  “Charming, though,” Felice said thoughtfully.

  Nancy couldn’t help but feel that Auguste Spaziente was not on the level. Was he working with Joseph Spaziente? Or perhaps the man was an imposter. Maybe Joseph Spaziente didn’t even know he existed. “Has Joseph ever mentioned his uncle to you before?” she asked.

  Felice shook her head. “No, but Joseph is not a talkative man.”

  “Shawn told me about your art program for prisoners,” Nancy said. “Would you say it’s been a success?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Felice replied without hesitation. “So many of these men have untapped talent. It gives them a way to harness their creative energies constructively.”

  “It’s a great idea,” Nancy said sincerely.

  Felice’s eyes brightened. “Would you like to come to Friday’s class? It would give you the opportunity to meet Joseph. Rather than buy an existing painting, perhaps you could commission a work from him.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Nancy said. It was a great opportunity. She had a feeling that Joseph Spaziente was the key to whatever was going on here. Meeting him might give her some idea of where he fit in.

  “Would you like to come, too, Bess?” Felice asked.

  “I would, but I have to work,” Bess said.

  Felice turned to Nancy. “The prisoners are taken by bus to the River Heights Community Center. They’re all nonviolent offenders, but still, the security is rather tight,” Felice told her. “I’ll have to call and get you a security pass. But since today is Wednesday, I’ll have two days to get the paperwork done. I don’t think it will be a problem.” Felice ripped a piece of paper from a notepad on a table. “Write your name, address, and social security number here.”

  “What time is the class?” Nancy asked as she wrote.

  “Meet me at the front door of the Center at eleven,” Felice instructed her. “Now, ladies, you must excuse me. I’m due to meet a friend for lunch.”

  Felice walked Bess and Nancy to the front door. “See you soon,” she said, shutting the door.

  “What a classy lady,” Bess commented. “What did you think of Uncle Auguste?”

  “There was definitely something odd about him,” Nancy replied. “I felt as if I’d seen him before.”

  “Nan, I think you’d remember if you’d met him before,” Bess said. “He wasn’t exactly your average guy on the street.”

  “That’s true,” Nancy agreed with a chuckle. “I wonder if I’ve seen him on the news.”

  “So how do you think all this fits together?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nancy admitted. “But somehow, I think the problems at the restaurant are related to Joseph Spaziente’s paintings. I hope meeting him will shed some light on that.”

  Bess looked at her watch. It was noon. “We’d better get back to work,” she said.

  Nancy nodded. “I want to see what’s going on back at the restaurant.”

  When Nancy and Bess arrived at the Arizona House, the parking lot was full. Nancy parked behind the building, and they entered the restaurant through the back entrance.

  “Look,” Bess said, grabbing Nancy’s arm as soon as they walked out of the kitchen. “Harold Brackett is back. He’s giving the restaurant another chance, just as he promised.”

  Nancy saw the food critic enter the dining room behind Lee, the maître d’. As she watched, Shawn came up beside her.

  “I’m glad you got back in time,” he said. “I want you to serve Harold Brackett. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  “I haven’t really waited on a table yet,” Nancy reminded him.

  “I know, but you’re the only one I can trust. If anything else goes wrong, I’m finished. I can’t afford to get a bad review. I’ll guide you through it, and I won’t give you any other customers.”

  “I’ll give it a shot,” Nancy said gamely.

  “What’s going on?” Loreen asked, stopping on her way to the lounge.

  “I’m letting Nancy try her hand at waiting on a table. She’ll wait on Harold Brackett,” Shawn responded firmly.

  “Isn’t she kind of inexperienced?” Loreen pointed out.

  “I have my reasons, Loreen,” Shawn said levelly.

  “You’re the boss,” Loreen said with a shrug as she continued on her way.

  Turning back to Nancy, Shawn placed one hand on her shoulder and walked her into the dining room. “Just give him a menu and ask if he’d like a drink to start.”

  “Got it,” Nancy said, picking a menu out of a wooden holder on the wall.

  Harold Brackett’s eyes flickered with recognition when Nancy approached his table. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

  “I was here the other day when you got the, uh, hot fish,” she said, regretting that she had to remind him of the incident.

  “Ah, yes . . . the fish,” Brackett said with an ironic smile. “What would you recommend I try this time?”

  Nancy suggested he try the seafood burrito that her father had liked. She asked if he wanted a drink, and the critic ordered a glass of white wine. “Your best Chardonnay, please,” he said.

  “Coming right up,” Nancy said.

  While Brackett studied the menu, Nancy went to the lounge for his drink. “We usually only sell this stuff by the bottle,” Roy said as he popped the cork of the wine bottle. “But for Mr. Harold Brackett, we’ll open our best Chardonnay and pour one glass.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said as he handed her the glass of wine. It wobbled on the small round cocktail tray. “Whoa!” she said. “Balancing a drink isn’t as easy as it looks.”

  “Hold the tray underneath and hold the glass stem with your other hand,” Roy told her. “After a while you’ll be able to do it with one hand. It just takes practice.”

  With her eyes trained on the glass, Nancy slowly made her way into the dining room. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Loreen efficiently balancing a large tray stacked high with lunches, glasses, and a water pitcher. Loreen was moving rapidly in her direction.

  As Nancy neared Brackett’s table, she sidestepped slightly to veer out of Loreen’s path. “Here you go, Mr. Brackett,” she began as she gingerly lifted the glass from the tray.

  Suddenly, as Loreen passed by, Nancy felt the waitress’s foot hook sharply around her ankle.

  Oooph! Nancy pitched forward. As if in slow motion, she watched the wine spray in every direction as she fell to the floor.

  A hush descended over the dining room as all eyes turned toward Nancy. I don’t believe this, she thought, mortified. Miraculously, when she looked at Brackett, she saw he was untouched by the wine. Most of it had splashed onto the wall.

  To Nancy’s surprise, Brackett jumped to his feet to help her up. Loreen had put her tray down on an empty table nearby. “Clumsy, clumsy,” she said.

  Nancy glared at her.

  “Give this young woman some water,” Brackett told Loreen. He picked a glass off Loreen’s tray and held it while Loreen filled it. Then he turned away f
rom Nancy and Loreen, still holding the glass.

  “What’s the matter?” Loreen asked the man.

  “I thought I detected a chip in this glass,” Brackett said, turning to the girls. “I wanted to see it better.”

  “Let me see,” Loreen said, taking the glass from him. She walked away a few paces and held it to a ray of sunlight coming in from the skylight. “I don’t see any chip,” she said with a shrug.

  “Perhaps it was just a reflection,” Brackett said as he handed Nancy the glass.

  A throbbing knot was beginning to form on Nancy’s forehead. “Thanks,” she said to Brackett as she sipped the water. “I’m so sorry.”

  Brackett sniffed. “This restaurant does seem to be the center of all calamities in the western hemisphere. But I’m sure it’s not your fault. Tell me, what should I expect next? An earthquake? A tidal wave?”

  Despite her embarrassment, Nancy laughed.

  “The only disaster around here is you,” Loreen snapped. She glared at Nancy, then picked up her tray and walked off.

  Brackett raised his eyebrows. “A fan?”

  “Not exactly,” Nancy said. “In fact, she tripped me.”

  “I suspected that was the case,” Brackett sympathized. “Tell me, Nancy Drew, what disasters befell the paintings on the wall?”

  Nancy decided not to tell Brackett the truth. He didn’t need to know that the restaurant was under siege. “Shawn thought the Southwestern scenes would be more in keeping with the rest of the decor,” she said truthfully.

  “I see. Shawn doesn’t plan to display any more original artwork?” Brackett asked.

  “He might,” Nancy replied, remembering Shawn telling her Felice would probably want him to buy more paintings. “Why do you ask?”

  “Atmosphere is part of a restaurant’s total picture,” the critic replied. “I consider food, service, and ambiance in my reviews.”

  “Well, let’s get the service part back on track,” Nancy said. “Do you know what you’d like to order?”

  “I’ll try the seafood burrito, as you suggested,” Brackett told her. “And I will begin with the fried oysters.”

  “I’ll place your order, then I’ll be back with another drink,” Nancy said, turning away from the table. She headed across the restaurant to the kitchen door.

  “How’s it going?” Shawn asked anxiously.

  “All right,” she said, reading him Brackett’s order. She decided not to tell him that Loreen had tripped her. He had enough to worry about.

  When Nancy went out to the lounge, she said to Roy, “Good thing you opened that bottle. I need another glass of wine.”

  “Yeah, one of the waitresses told me what happened,” Roy said kindly as he poured the glass. “That Loreen has really got it out for you.”

  “I guess,” Nancy said, taking the glass from him. She looked at the wine sloshing in the glass and realized her hand was shaking.

  “Hey, kid, relax,” Roy said, taking back the glass. “Don’t let what happened get to you.”

  “It’s not that. I feel a little strange all of a sudden,” Nancy said. She felt weak, and her mouth was dry.

  “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” Roy asked.

  The shakiness passed slightly, and Nancy felt better. “I’ll be okay,” she said, heading back into the dining room with the glass of wine.

  After delivering his drink, Nancy served Brackett the fried oysters, which he seemed to like. When his lunch was ready to serve, she carefully loaded it onto her tray.

  But as she crossed the dining room, concentrating on balancing her tray, her legs felt like lead. Everything around her suddenly seemed elongated and wavy. The noises of the restaurant had become garbled, as though she was listening to them from underwater.

  Suddenly the room spun madly. Nancy was aware of her tray clattering to the floor. Then the wavering shapes before her eyes melted into total blackness.

  9

  Newsworthy Clues

  Tick . . . tick . . . tick . . . Nancy was vaguely aware of the steady, gentle sound. She opened her eyes into a hazy cloud. Slowly, the cloud cleared, and Nancy sat up, propping herself on her elbows.

  She was in a hospital room. The sound was coming from a monitor hooked to the sleeping woman in the next bed. Rays of a golden sunset fell through the blinds, forming lines on Nancy’s blanket.

  Carson Drew appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a doctor in a white lab coat. “How are you feeling, Nan?” her father asked.

  “I don’t know.” Nancy blinked. Her head ached, and she felt weak. “What happened?” she asked.

  “You’ve been sleeping, probably because of the drug we found in your system,” the handsome, dark-haired doctor explained. “I’m Dr. Russo. Your father told me the kind of work you do, so on a hunch we ran a blood test. It came up positive for Seconal. That’s a water-soluble, short-term barbiturate. Do you remember the last thing you drank before you passed out?”

  “A glass of water,” Nancy said, gingerly pressing the bandage that covered her forearm, where they’d taken blood.

  “Anything before that?” Dr. Russo asked.

  Nancy shook her head. “Just a glass of orange juice at breakfast, around ten.”

  “Then it was the water,” Dr. Russo said. “Where did you get it from?”

  “It was in a pitcher at the restaurant,” Nancy replied.

  “Do you know who drugged you?” her father asked.

  Nancy thought for a minute. Both Brackett and Loreen had been nearby when she drank the water. But why would Brackett drug her? It had to have been Loreen. Unless the drugged water had been in the pitcher and was meant for a customer—another act of sabotage. Maybe it had even been meant for Brackett himself. After all, he’d been the target of an earlier mishap. “I’m not really sure who did it,” Nancy answered finally.

  “Whoever did it didn’t want you out of commission for long,” the doctor said. “Seconal is fast-acting, but short-term. It was probably done to scare you more than to hurt you. You’ll be fine. I’m going to sign you out of the hospital, but I want you to go straight home and get into bed.”

  “Thanks for everything, Doctor,” Carson said, shaking Dr. Russo’s hand.

  When the doctor was gone, Nancy’s father sat on the edge of her bed. “Is there anything I can say to convince you to drop this case?” he asked.

  Nancy leaned forward, letting her red-blond hair fall over her shoulders. “I don’t think so, Dad.”

  “I was afraid of that,” he said, putting his arm around her and helping her up from the hospital bed. “Let’s go home.”

  That night, Nancy fell into a dark, dreamless sleep. She awoke Thursday morning feeling rubber-limbed but generally restored. The thought of spending the entire day in bed made her instantly restless. Besides, she had only two days left before Shawn’s important dinner on Saturday. She had to have this case solved by then!

  After showering and dressing, Nancy went downstairs. Her father had already left for work. She was just finishing breakfast when the doorbell rang. It was Bess.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, coming into the hallway.

  “Better, thanks,” Nancy said, closing the door. “Someone drugged me.”

  “I know,” Bess said. “Your father told me when I called last night.” She frowned. “I bet it was Loreen. Oh, Nancy, this case is getting too dangerous.”

  “What happened after I passed out?” Nancy asked.

  Bess rolled her eyes. “It was crazy. I called an ambulance and then your father right away. In the middle of all that, Shawn and Loreen had this huge fight. One of the other waitresses, I think it was Anne Marie, had seen Loreen trip you, and she told Shawn. He was furious. He actually fired Loreen!”

  “Wow,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “Did Jack ever show up for work?”

  “Nope. Never showed.”

  Nancy curled up on the living room couch, and Bess settled in beside her.

  “What about Brackett
?” Nancy asked.

  “He stormed out, muttering something about unbelievable incompetence,” Bess said. “No one knows if he’ll be back or not.”

  “Shawn must be tearing his hair out,” Nancy said.

  Bess fished in her purse and pulled out a small card with an address written on it. “I did a little detective work of my own,” she said, handing the card to Nancy. “I filched this from Shawn’s file.”

  It was Loreen’s address. Nancy recognized the location. It was an apartment building in downtown River Heights. “I figured you might need it,” Bess added.

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, bending the card gently between her fingers. “I need to check her out a little more—especially since she might be the person who slipped that knockout drug in my water.”

  Nancy got to her feet and stretched. “But first, I need to brush up on the recent history of River Heights.”

  “Sure, but why?” Bess replied.

  “Because, frankly, I’m stumped,” Nancy admitted. “I have a lot of pieces here, but they just don’t fit together. Jack hasn’t been back to the restaurant, yet someone drugged me. So I know he’s not working alone. He might be in cahoots with Loreen. But then, who was the other man I saw slicing the paintings? And how do Felice, the paintings, and Joe Spaziente fit in? I can’t make the connections. I’d like to look through back issues of the newspaper and see what I can learn about Felice Wainwright and her charity events.”

  When the girls arrived at the River Heights public library, they went straight to the periodical room. Nancy asked the librarian for back issues and microfilm of several River Heights papers. Then she settled in on a comfortable chair to sort through them.

  Over at the magazine rack, Bess selected two on food and three on fashion. “This is my kind of investigating,” she said, cracking a piece of bubble gum.

  Nancy found several articles that interested her. One was a report on Felice’s purchase of the Dragon’s Eye Ruby. It said that Felice, a personal friend of actor Gary Powell, had quietly purchased the giant stone from Powell. It went on to tell how the Dragon’s Eye Ruby was the largest of its kind in the world. The gem had an interesting history, having been the property of several Chinese emperors before being smuggled out of the country during a period of political turmoil.