160 The Clue On The Crystal Dove

by Carolyn Keene

Nancy read down the list until her gaze fell upon the

  description of the crystal dove. “Listen to this, guys,”

  she said, getting ready to quote from the document. “

  One finely fashioned crystal dove with a faint

  aquamarine hue. This unique object has a distinctive

  olive branch pattern carved upon its belly, suggesting

  Noah's dove. This object is an extremely valuable piece

  of crystal work. It has been in Julius Van Hoogstraten's

  possession since 1900.' ”

  “That's got to be the missing dove,” George cut in.

  “Should we show this to Dell?”

  “Definitely,” Nancy said, “but first let's make sure

  there aren't more clues in any of these other

  documents.”

  After checking out the rest of the papers and finding

  nothing worthwhile, the girls put them away. Then

  they took the list of Julius's possessions downstairs to

  Dell, who was lying on the sofa in the sitting room

  reading a magazine.

  Nancy showed her the document, then said, “One

  thing I don't get—why would this list say that Julius

  owned the dove since 1900? I mean, didn't he make all

  of his birds before he immigrated to America?”

  “Nancy, you're right,” Dell said, peering carefully at

  the list. “By 1900, when he supposedly first had this

  dove, Julius would have been running his railroad

  empire. He would have been way too busy at that point

  to do glasswork.”

  “Maybe this was a different dove,” George reasoned.

  “Maybe Julius bought it in 1900, but the family no

  longer has it. It could have been sold off between 1915

  and now.”

  “Do you remember whether the stolen dove had an

  olive design on its belly?” Bess asked Dell.

  “I don't know,” Dell said, frowning. “For as long as I

  can remember, the stolen dove just sat on the pedestal

  in the Aviary. I never noticed whether it had an olive

  branch design.”

  “So there's no way to tell whether the dove on this

  list is the stolen one,” Nancy said.

  Before anyone could reply, a key turned in the lock

  of the front door. Seconds later Alden walked into the

  sitting room.

  “Bess!” he said happily as his gaze rested upon her.

  “You remembered our plans to take a carriage ride in

  the park?”

  “I wouldn't forget an invitation like that,” Bess told

  him, smiling.

  Alden glanced at George and Nancy. “Why don't

  you guys join us? There's no reason you two should

  miss the fun.” To Dell, he added, “And you're welcome

  to come, too, cousin.”

  “Thanks, Alden, but I think I'll stay here to try to

  chill out.” Dell filled Alden in about Walter's reap-

  pearance.

  “That is so weird, Dell,” Alden said, looking trou-

  bled. “Don't let Walter talk you into calling off the

  police. They should still try to figure out what hap-

  pened.”

  Dell glanced at the three girls. “When you girls were

  upstairs, I called Detective Phillips and told her that

  Walter had reappeared. They said that if Walter

  doesn't want to press charges, there's nothing they can

  do.”

  “We should tell them about the dove if we don't find

  it soon,” Alden suggested.

  “Let's give it another day,” Dell said. “I don't want

  any negative publicity about the museum.”

  Half an hour later Nancy, Bess, George, and Alden

  were standing on Fifty-ninth Street on the border of

  Central Park. Elegantly dressed women strolled down

  nearby Fifth Avenue, while shoppers filed through the

  doorways of famous stores such as Tiffany's, Bergdorf

  Goodman, and F.A.O. Schwarz. The trees in Central

  Park swayed festively in a light breeze, their green

  leaves fluttering.

  Alden approached a carriage driver standing by his

  huge dappled gray horse. “Can the four of us take a

  ride?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” the driver said. The man peered at the

  girls from under the brim of his cap. “Climb aboard,

  ladies. Jupiter and I will take you for a relaxing ride

  around the park.” With a frisky toss of his head, Jupiter

  seemed eager to start. He pawed the ground

  impatiently as Alden paid the fee.

  The man, whose gray hair matched that of his horse,

  climbed on to the driver's seat while Bess stepped into

  the open carriage. Grabbing a nearby handle, Nancy

  hoisted herself onto the outside step.

  Just as she was about to swing herself into the

  carriage, Jupiter bolted forward. Nancy struggled to

  keep her balance on the step, hanging onto the flimsy

  handle as the horse and carriage careened down the

  street.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw Jupiter toss

  his head violently, yanking the reins out of the driver's

  hands. Barreling down the street behind the frenzied

  horse, the carriage suddenly leaped the curb.

  Terrified pedestrians scattered as the carriage

  knocked down a street sign. The horse galloped across

  the sidewalk toward a stone wall.

  Nancy held her breath as she hung from the side of

  the carriage. If Jupiter jumped the wall, the carriage

  would crash!

  12. Clued In

  Jupiter slowed as the wall loomed in front of him. Out

  of the comer of her eye Nancy saw Alden racing

  alongside the carriage, gritting his teeth as he struggled

  to catch up.

  The horse skittered away from the wall, and Alden

  reacted. He leaped up to grab the reins and tugged on

  them hard until the horse finally stopped.

  “Whoa, boy,” Alden said soothingly, patting the

  trembling creature. The horse snorted, scattering

  flecks of foam in the air.

  Nancy jumped down, then helped Bess out of the

  coach. “What was that all about?” Bess asked, her body

  quivering with shock.

  Before Nancy could answer, the driver climbed from

  his box to join Alden. With a trembling hand, he took

  the reins and said, “Thank you so much. I don't know

  what caused Jupiter here to bolt like that.”

  “You almost ran over me!” an angry woman shouted

  from a group of horrified onlookers. “I'll sue you for

  trauma.”

  “I'm so sorry, ma'am,” the driver said. “Were you

  hurt?”

  “No,” she said, “but I could have been if this gen-

  tleman hadn't come along to stop your horse.”

  “What do you think happened?” Alden asked the

  driver.

  The man shrugged. “Jupiter's young and recently

  trained. Maybe the traffic startled him.”

  Alden joined Nancy, Bess, and George. “Let's hire

  another carriage,” he suggested.

  “I'm game,” Nancy said.

  “Me, too,” George said. “After all, the chances that

  there are two crazed horses in this park are pretty

  slim,” she added wryly.

  “Count me out,” Bess declared. “No way am I ge
t-

  ting into one of those things again.”

  “Oh, Bess, come on,” Alden coaxed. “George is

  right. That kind of freaky accident isn't going to happen

  again to us.” Squeezing her hand, he added, “I

  promise.”

  Bess sighed. “Well, okay,” she said warily.

  “Good,” Alden pronounced. “Let's hire this guy

  here.” He pointed to a sober-looking chestnut horse

  nodding sleepily in the sunlight. “Something tells me

  he's had years of experience.”

  Ten minutes later Nancy, George, and Bess were

  happily riding through the park with Alden behind a

  completely unflappable carriage horse named Norm.

  “I wonder what happened to make Jupiter so crazy?”

  Bess wondered as they plodded along. “Norm sure is

  different. His name kind of describes him.”

  “Must have been the traffic as the driver said,”

  George guessed.

  The carriage took a turn onto a leafy road where

  bicyclists and in-line skaters whizzed by. Nancy could

  no longer see any skyscrapers bordering the park.

  “It's hard to believe we're even in New York,” she

  said, leaning back comfortably in her seat.

  “New York is really a group of neighborhoods,”

  Alden said. “Each one has its own personality. When

  you live here, it doesn't seem like such a big, unfriendly

  place.” He scowled suddenly and added, “Unless

  you've just had a valuable crystal dove stolen.”

  “So do you still suspect Richard Schoonover?”

  Nancy asked him.

  “Yes!” Alden said passionately “I'm sure Richard's

  guilty. He's always been envious of Julius's reputation,

  thanks to a family grudge that's been handed down

  through generations in his family.”

  “His ancestor Gustav Kinderhook must have talked

  nonstop about how much he hated Julius,” George

  said.

  “No doubt about it,” Alden said darkly.

  “We know you suspect Mr. Schoonover,” Bess said,

  edging closer to Alden. “But is there anyone else you

  think might be guilty?”

  “Only Violet,” Alden replied, “because she'd like to

  keep Dell in New York.”

  Nancy shot a curious look at Alden. “Why don't you

  want to live in the house?” she asked. “Then it could

  stay a private family home.”

  Alden grimaced. “No, thanks. The thought of living

  in an heirloom gives me the creeps. I like my loft down

  in Tribeca. It's got a modern style to it that's not stuffy

  like the house. And the neighborhood is younger—

  much hipper. I don't feel as if I'm living in the past.”

  “I don't know about you guys,” Bess cut in, “but I'm

  ready for the Plaza. I mean, I trust Norm and all now,

  but I wouldn't mind a change of scene.”

  Alden gave her the thumbs-up sign, then shouted

  directions to the driver to take them back to Fifty-ninth

  Street. A few minutes later the foursome walked

  through the revolving doors of the Plaza Hotel.

  “This hotel is so beautiful!” Bess gushed, looking

  around at the high ceilings, plush carpets, sumptuous

  marble fixtures, and potted palms swaying at the edge

  of the Palm Court, where tea was being served. An

  orchestra at the back of the room struck up a tune.

  “I could never get tired of this place,” Bess added.

  “It kind of sums up glamorous modern New York

  City.”

  “New York has always been glittering and grand,”

  Alden said as the maître d' in the Palm Court showed

  them to a table. “No matter whether it's the Gilded

  Age, when my great-grandfather lived, or the 1920s,

  the 1980s, or now.”

  George elbowed Bess and pointed to a large trolley

  filled with colorfully decorated pastries. “Wow!” Bess

  exclaimed. “Those things are awesome. Look at that

  mocha cake with the layers and swirls on the frosting.

  It's like the pastry equivalent of the Plaza.”

  Nancy laughed—and then stopped short as her gaze

  traveled across the magnificent room. At the entrance

  of the Palm Court—next to a group of grandly dressed

  ladies—was a familiar face. “Richard Schoonover,” she

  said.

  Nancy gasped. Dell was rushing over to him!

  Dell touched Schoonover's shoulder. He whipped

  around, then smiled, shaking her hand vigorously.

  The maître d' beckoned Schoonover and Dell to

  follow him to a table. But as he stepped farther into the

  room, Schoonover locked gazes with Nancy and

  stopped abruptly.

  Schoonover grabbed Dell's arm, then did an about-

  face. Without a backward glance, he escorted Dell

  through the hotel lobby and disappeared from Nancy's

  sight.

  “Hey, guys,” Nancy said to everyone at her table.

  “Did you see that? Richard Schoonover and Dell were

  going to sit down here, but when they saw me, they cut

  out.”

  “Let's follow them,” George said, springing up from

  her chair.

  “And sacrifice those great pastries?” Bess asked,

  stricken. “No way!”

  “Then you stay here with Alden, Bess, while George

  and I go,” Nancy suggested.

  The two girls hurried through the room and out of

  the hotel. As they raced down the stairs to the

  sidewalk, they saw Dell slamming the door of a nearby

  cab.

  “Let's take the next one,” Nancy urged. She yanked

  open the door of a waiting cab and tumbled inside with

  George behind her. “Can you follow the taxi ahead of

  us waiting at the red light?” she asked the driver.

  “No problem, lady,” the driver said. His tires

  screeched as he pulled away from the curb just in time

  to catch up with Schoonover and Dell's cab before the

  light turned green.

  Schoonover and Dell's cab wove through the mid-

  town traffic in an effortless flash, missing vehicles by

  inches as the driver skillfully threaded his way down-

  town. No matter how fast the other cab went, Nancy

  and Georges cab was behind it, like a watchful mother

  hen.

  “Hey, this is kind of fun,” George declared as they

  zoomed by the Empire State Building.

  “I think so, too,” Nancy said, her blue eyes fixed on

  Schoonover's cab. Soon the massive buildings gave way

  to a leafy square bordered by elegant nineteenth

  century brownstones. “We're heading into Greenwich

  Village,” Nancy commented.

  Minutes later the stately cast iron buildings of SoHo

  flashed by them, and Schoonover's cab took a left on to

  Spring Street.

  “It's stopping at the Glass Slipper,” George cried,

  pointing. “Quick—let's pull over behind them.

  Schoonover and Dell are getting out.”

  Nancy handed the cabbie the fare and a generous

  tip the moment he stopped the cab. Then she and

  George hopped out and rushed to the door of

  Schoonover's shop.

  Nancy pushed on the door as Schoonover he
ld it

  shut from the inside. “Please let us in!” she cried.

  Shaking his head sternly, Schoonover tried to bolt

  the door. But before the lock slid across it, Nancy and

  George threw their weight against the door. It opened

  a crack.

  “What is the meaning of this break-in?” Schoonover

  sputtered as Nancy and George pushed their way

  inside. “If you two don't leave these premises

  immediately, I'll be forced to call the police.”

  Dell blinked in surprise at Schoonover's threat as

  she observed the activity. “Don't be silly, Richard,” she

  said. “You don't need to call the police on Nancy and

  George. They're trying to help me.”

  “How do I know that?” Schoonover snapped.

  “Just take my word for it,” Dell said. “You can trust

  Nancy and George with the information you were

  about to give me.”

  Schoonover peered haughtily at the girls from be-

  neath his bushy white brows. “All right. But you girls

  had better not tell another living soul what I'm about to

  reveal.”

  “We won't,” Nancy promised.

  With his ice blue eyes flashing, Schoonover pro-

  claimed, “Well, then, I saw it—the clue on the crystal

  bird!”

  13. A Ghostly Welcome

  Dell looked at Schoonover as if he'd lost his mind.

  “What are you talking about, Richard?” she asked

  sharply.

  “My memory has finally returned,” he announced.

  “You see, before I was hit on the head, I'd examined

  the crystal dove and noticed an olive branch design on

  its belly. The knock on my head drove away that

  memory until now.”

  “You mean the knock on your head gave you am-

  nesia?” George asked.

  “Sort of,” Schoonover replied. “I remembered most

  things, like my name and the job I was doing for

  Delphinia. I just forgot what had happened im-

  mediately before I was struck. But I remember

  everything now, and the olive pattern on the dove was

  unmistakable.”

  Nancy, George, and Dell exchanged glances.

  “Julius's list,” Nancy mouthed to them.

  “I suppose you're all wondering what's so special

  about that olive branch design,” Schoonover cut in.

  “Well, let me tell you.”

  Dell drew up a nearby chair and sat down, while

  Nancy and George leaned against the counter. Warm-

  ing to his story, Schoonover said, “You might be aware