The Case of the Artful Crime

by Carolyn Keene

  “Did you tell this to Shawn?” Nancy asked.

  Jack waved his hand in disgust. “Ahh! What good would it have done? Like father, like son. No. I only wanted my restaurant back.”

  “So you decided to drive Shawn out of business,” Nancy guessed. “Then what were you planning to do?”

  “Buy it back from him, of course,” Jack replied. “I recently came into a small inheritance. It’s not enough to open a new place of my own. But it’s enough to buy a failing restaurant and return it to its former glory. I’ll win over all the customers who now dine at Le St. Tropez.”

  Le St. Tropez. Nancy remembered the message on Loreen’s machine. From his words, Nancy deduced that Jack was not working for Shawn’s competition. “Are you working with anyone else?” she asked.

  Jack looked surprised. “No.”

  “You’re lying,” Nancy challenged. “Who slashed the paintings on the wall?”

  “The paintings?” Jack asked, confused. “I never touched any paintings.”

  “Loreen is helping you, isn’t she?” Nancy pressed. “She’s the one who drugged me.”

  “Loreen drugged you?” Jack asked incredulously.

  Nancy’s frustration rose. “Jack! Tell me who is working with you. I know for sure that Auguste Spaziente is your partner.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jack insisted. Something in his tone convinced Nancy that he was being truthful. “Young lady, I am responsible for a number of mishaps at the restaurant. The wasabi, the plumbing, the fire, the mice, the reservation book—yes. But I slashed no paintings, I know no Auguste, and I have nothing to do with drugs. I have not returned to the restaurant since the night you chased me from the kitchen.”

  “Why not?” Nancy asked.

  Jack shrugged. “What was the point? I figured you found me out. I thought I was done for. I have been expecting the police to arrive at any moment.”

  “Shawn didn’t turn you in,” Nancy told him.

  “Hmmm,” Jack said, folding his arms. “And why is that?”

  “Because he couldn’t believe you would really do such a thing. And because he likes you,” Nancy told him.

  “Perhaps I misjudged the kid,” Jack admitted.

  “It seems he misjudged you, too,” Nancy said. “Shawn thought you were on his side.”

  Jack’s expression told Nancy her words had stung. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said.

  “Thanks, but I can find it myself,” Nancy said, passing him as she went out the kitchen door.

  Nancy drove directly to the Arizona House. She wanted to talk to Shawn. Maybe, between the two of them, they could put the pieces of this mystery together.

  When Nancy arrived, the lunch hour was just winding down. “Hi,” Lee greeted her in the foyer. “How are you feeling?”

  “A lot better,” she said. “Is Shawn here?”

  “Upstairs,” Lee told her.

  Nancy found Shawn in his office, poring over his accounts. “Bad news?” she asked, reading his grim expression.

  “Pretty bad,” he confirmed. “Somehow I have to hang on until after the Wainwright dinner tomorrow night. Once Mrs. Wainwright pays me for that, I can pay off some of this debt that’s swamping me.”

  Nancy was about to speak when Shawn jumped to his feet. “Oh, hello,” he said to someone behind Nancy.

  Nancy turned and saw Felice Wainwright standing in the office doorway, looking deeply distressed. “Mr. Morgan,” she said. “Tomorrow night’s dinner is off!”

  11

  A Change of Plan

  Felice suddenly noticed Nancy. “Why, hello, Nancy. What are you doing here?”

  “Booking her engagement party,” Shawn said before Nancy could open her mouth. “No problem, Nancy. We can accommodate two hundred people.”

  Nancy didn’t contradict him. Shawn was obviously trying to appear confident in the face of this new crisis.

  “Now, Mrs. Wainwright, why the sudden cancellation?” Shawn asked.

  “I’ve been hearing most unsettling things about your restaurant, Mr. Morgan. My friend, Dr. Elizabeth Hordell, told me a man was given over-spiced fish last Tuesday. I also read in the paper that the fire department was called in recently. I’m truly sorry, but—”

  “We’re having a little trouble with our electrical work,” Shawn told Felice. “It caused a tiny little fire, but it’s all been fixed. And the fish . . . yes, that was unfortunate. The customer ordered it that way. He fancied himself able to eat the hottest foods. He learned the hard way, I’m afraid.” Shawn spoke rapidly.

  To Nancy he seemed very nervous, but Felice seemed to be satisfied with the explanations. She relaxed a bit. “And what has happened to my paintings?” Felice asked.

  “The paintings . . . ” Shawn stalled. “Oh, I’m having them framed. The posters you see in the dining room are just temporary until I get Mr. Spaziente’s paintings back.”

  Felice hesitated. “I suppose that would explain everything, but still—”

  “I’ve just had a great idea,” Shawn cut her off. “Why don’t we bring the dinner to your house? We can set up tents and tables on your lawn. I’ll take care of every detail.”

  “That would be convenient,” Felice agreed slowly. “And I suppose it would be difficult to find another location at this late date.”

  “I knew you’d like the idea,” Shawn said, flashing a dazzling smile at Felice. “We’ll be set up and ready to go by seven tomorrow.”

  “The auction starts at nine,” Felice reminded him. “There can be no delay. My private security police will close off the entrances and move the ruby downstairs at nine sharp.”

  “Everything will run like clockwork,” Shawn assured her.

  “I hope so.” Felice sighed. “I did want everyone to see Joseph’s paintings, though. Do you think I could borrow the ones you have? Just for the evening?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Wainwright, I am so sorry,” Shawn said. “I sent them to a special framer in Chicago. He’s closed through the weekend.”

  “You sent all seven?” When Shawn nodded, Felice frowned. “Well, I still have the two at my home,” she said. “Joseph gave me the winter scene, which he completed this morning.”

  “Has Auguste Spaziente asked for them yet?” Nancy asked.

  Felice squared her shoulders. “As a matter of fact, he was waiting at my home when I returned from the Community Center. I refused to give him the paintings.”

  “But I thought you agreed to give them to him,” Nancy said.

  Felice looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid I changed my mind. That man can wait twelve hours for the paintings. This could be a big breakthrough for Joseph. He’s let his uncle pressure him into parting with his paintings just when he’s on the verge of being discovered.”

  “Joseph Spaziente doesn’t seem like a man who’s easily pressured,” Nancy said skeptically.

  “That Auguste could pressure anyone,” Felice said. “He was much less charming today. I detest pushy people.”

  “Oh, I know what you mean,” Shawn agreed.

  Felice nodded. “Auguste wanted to come to the dinner to keep an eye on his paintings—can you imagine? I told him absolutely not. I’m afraid I told him I would be hanging Joseph’s newest painting here at the restaurant, so don’t be surprised if he shows up to guard it. Of course, now it won’t be here, since we’re moving the dinner to my house, but—”

  Nancy felt she should warn Felice. “Listen, Mrs. Wainwright,” she said, “I’d be wary of Auguste Spaziente if I were you. He seems desperate to get that painting. If you tell your security people about him, they can make sure he’s kept off the premises tomorrow night.”

  “What? Do you think he’d steal the painting?” Felice asked, wide-eyed.

  “Or maybe he’s after the ruby,” Nancy said.

  Felice smiled confidently. “No one is getting that ruby, my dear. My system is foolproof, and Auguste Spaziente is no one to worry about. He’s just a pushy, greedy old
man. But thank you for your concern.”

  Shawn walked Felice to her chauffeur-driven limo, parked in front of the restaurant. “That was a close one,” he said when he returned. “I can’t believe she almost canceled.”

  “You’re a pretty fast talker,” Nancy said.

  A guilty look stole over Shawn’s face. “You must think I’m a terrible liar. But I’m fighting for my life here, believe me.”

  “Won’t having the dinner at her estate be hard to manage?” Nancy asked.

  Shawn shrugged. “It’s the best way I can safeguard myself against anything going wrong. I’m going to hire all the waiting staff from a temporary service. That way, if someone here is out to get me, they won’t be there. Plus, if they’ve put a bomb in the dishwasher, or whatever, it won’t affect the dinner. And I would have had to close the restaurant to regular business on a Saturday night. Now I’ll be able to keep the Arizona House open and make some more money.”

  “Makes sense,” Nancy agreed. “By the way, have you talked to Loreen lately?”

  Shawn shook his head, and Nancy told him about the message from Le St. Tropez on Loreen’s tape.

  “I don’t think Loreen would sell me out like that,” Shawn said. “But I was wrong about Jack, so who knows?”

  “Shawn,” Nancy said quietly, “I talked to Jack. There are a few things you should know.” Gently, Nancy told Shawn the accusation Jack had made against Shawn’s father.

  Shawn sat down heavily in his chair. “Do you know what? I’m not all that surprised. Dad always seemed to have a lot more money than Jack. As I got older, I often wondered why. I figured Jack spent all of his.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nancy said.

  “It’s not exactly cheery news, but I’m not crushed. Dad and I were never close.” Shawn was quiet for a moment. “Did Jack tell you why he wanted the triangles from those pictures?”

  “It wasn’t Jack who slashed the paintings,” Nancy reminded him.

  “You’re saying there’s a wild card in this pack,” Shawn said grimly.

  “There’s the man who slashed the paintings and there’s Auguste Spaziente. Two wild cards,” Nancy said.

  “Could you do me a favor, Nancy?” Shawn asked. “I’d like you to work here tomorrow.”

  “No problem,” Nancy said.

  Shawn looked relieved. “Leaving this place on a Saturday makes me very nervous, but I have to be at the Wainwright dinner. I’d feel better if you were keeping an eye on things.”

  “I’ll be here, don’t worry,” Nancy said.

  That evening, Nancy went up to her room early. The last few days had exhausted her. When she turned off the light, however, sleep didn’t come easily. She couldn’t stop mulling over the case. There was a thread here—something that tied the two Spazientes, Felice Wainwright, and the paintings together. What was it?

  On Saturday morning, Nancy drove over to Le St. Tropez. She wanted to talk to Edward, the man who’d called Loreen. Perhaps she could find out how Loreen was connected to Le St. Tropez.

  The parking lot was full. As Nancy was about to walk into the restaurant, she nearly bumped into Loreen, who was coming out the front door. “What are you doing here?” Loreen snapped.

  “Meeting a friend for lunch,” Nancy replied. “What are you doing?”

  “None of your business,” Loreen said, pushing past. Nancy watched as she got into her car and peeled out of the parking lot.

  Inside the posh restaurant, Nancy asked for Edward, but was told he wasn’t in. Disappointed, she headed home.

  That wasn’t a total waste of time, Nancy told herself as she drove. Now she had proof that Loreen was still in touch with someone at Le St. Tropez. Unfortunately, she hadn’t found anything to connect Loreen with Spaziente’s paintings.

  As Nancy dressed for work late that afternoon, she thought about the paintings again. The landscapes were the common thread that linked all her clues together. Auguste wanted them. So did Felice, who had two of Spaziente’s paintings hanging in her house at the moment. And the paintings had been slashed at the Arizona House, the scene of many mishaps.

  Remembering her visit to the art class, Nancy thought about Joseph. He had dashed off the winter painting in a single morning. Nancy had a feeling that art was not his passion. After that bungled bank robbery, he’d probably be more likely to go for a prize like the Dragon’s Eye Ruby.

  Nancy frowned. Joseph had taken part in a bank robbery where an elaborate security system had been outsmarted. If he were out of prison, he might very well be at Felice’s mansion tonight.

  But Joseph was behind bars. Only his paintings made it out the prison doors. What did that mean?

  Nancy arrived at the Arizona House by six. “Hi, Elliot,” she greeted the nervous young cook as she punched her time card by the back door.

  “Oh, Nancy,” he wailed. “I’m losing my mind. Shawn has made me the new dessert chef. This is my first night, and you won’t believe who is out in the dining room.”

  “The president of the United States,” Nancy teased.

  “Harold Brackett,” Elliot said. “It’s very generous of him to give us all these chances, but three strikes and we’re out.”

  “Don’t worry, Elliot,” Nancy said absently. “Everything will be fine.”

  Out in the dining room, Nancy spotted Brackett sitting alone, writing on a pad. The critic waved and smiled when he saw her.

  “Hello, Mr. Brackett,” Nancy said, walking over to his table. “How are you?”

  “Just fine,” he replied. “Tell me, have you got a painting by Joseph Spaziente hanging here?”

  Nancy’s heart thumped. How was Brackett involved in all this? “No. Why do you ask?”

  “My friend Auguste Spaziente told me I must see his nephew’s work while I’m in town,” Brackett said.

  “Oh,” Nancy said, frowning. Something told her not to reveal any more information. “No. I haven’t seen the painting.”

  Anne Marie rushed over to take Brackett’s drink order, and Nancy excused herself.

  “Hi, Nan,” Bess greeted her as Nancy walked into the front of the restaurant. “I’m on my way down to the ladies’ room. Come along and tell me what’s been going on.”

  “Okay, but just for a second. I can’t be off the floor too long.” Nancy went downstairs with Bess and filled her in on the case. While Bess listened, she fussed with her French braid. “This stubborn piece of hair keeps popping up,” she said, spritzing it with a small plastic pump bottle of hair spray.

  A rap came on the bathroom door. “Bess, you’ve got coat customers,” Lee called.

  “Be right there,” Bess said, running out the door.

  Looking at the mirror ledge, Nancy saw that her friend had left her hair spray behind. Dropping it in the deep pocket of her apron, she left the bathroom.

  At the top of the stairs, Nancy was met by a flustered Anne Marie. “Have you seen Harold Brackett anywhere?” she asked. When Nancy shook her head, Anne Marie explained, “I sent Lee to look in the men’s room, and he’s not there. When I got to the table with his drink, he was gone.”

  “That’s strange,” Nancy said. “He didn’t say anything to you?”

  “Nope,” Anne Marie said.

  Just then, Lee came in the front door. “I saw Brackett dash out the front door as I was coming upstairs from the men’s room,” he said. “He was in such a hurry that this piece of paper fell from his notepad. I ran after him, but he was already in his car and zooming past me when I got to the parking lot.”

  “May I see the note?” Nancy asked.

  “Sure,” Lee said, handing it to her. “It looks like he was just doodling.”

  “Oh, no!” Nancy studied the paper. Her eyes widened in surprise. It was high-quality bond with a slight grain running through it.

  “What’s wrong?” Anne Marie asked.

  “Nothing,” Nancy said, not wanting to alarm them.

  “Well, I’d better get back to work,” Anne Marie said, turnin
g toward the dining room. “I’ve already lost one customer tonight.”

  “And I have a party of four waiting to be seated,” Lee said, following Anne Marie.

  Clutching the paper, Nancy leaned against the wall. The paper contained doodles, with the number four written over and over. Then a line of question marks followed. And the name “Wainwright” was scrawled across the bottom with exclamation points after it.

  Nancy could hardly believe her eyes. The i in “Wainwright” was bent back. The n was sharp. It was Auguste Spaziente’s handwriting.

  Harold Brackett must be Auguste Spaziente in disguise!

  Or was it the other way around? Or maybe both were simply disguises.

  What did the number four mean? Did it have something to do with the fourth painting? Felice had told Auguste that it would be at the restaurant. He had come looking for it, disguised as Brackett!

  And now he knew the painting wasn’t here. He was surely on his way to the Wainwright estate.

  Nancy wasn’t sure what Auguste had planned. But she suspected that the paintings were a way for Joseph to get information to his partner in crime. One Spaziente was a bank robber. The other was an imposter. These men were not collectors or creators of fine art.

  They were after a bigger prize—the Dragon’s Eye Ruby!

  12

  Danger in Disguise

  Nancy dropped a coin in the restaurant pay phone and punched in Felice Wainwright’s phone number. She had to warn Felice that she could be in danger.

  Click . . . click . . . bzzzt. A strange noise came over the line. Nancy dialed the operator and was told that Felice’s line was being checked for problems.

  “Bess,” Nancy said, stepping over to the coatroom and scribbling a number on an Arizona House business card. “Here is Felice’s number. Keep trying to call it. Tell her not to let Auguste or Brackett into her house. It’s really important.”