Hidden Pictures

by Carolyn Keene

  Beverly began shutting the door and I cried, “Wait!”

  Without thinking about it, I also stuck my foot in between the door and the doorframe. I knew this was a strange and rather rude thing to do, but I had to speak to Beverly for just a moment longer. I was now certain that the article I had read had been wrong about Beverly DeSantos. Who would keep a large portrait of someone they hated hanging in their home?

  “Someone is sabotaging your grandfather’s exhibit,” I said quickly. I couldn’t be sure how much time Beverly would give me to explain myself. “I’m not a reporter, I’m an amateur detective. I can figure out who is behind all this. But only if you help me.”

  My voice had lost all the fake cheeriness I had been using when I spoke earlier, and I knew this new approach was risky. But Beverly had seemed to see through all my attempts at covering up what I was really doing there, and telling her the truth seemed like the best option.

  Beverly didn’t say anything. Instead she just looked down at where my foot was blocking her door and then back up at my face. Her eyes were narrowed behind her thick curtain of bangs, and she looked as if she was deeply suspicious of me.

  “You don’t think I’m sabotaging the exhibit?” she asked me. She said it in a very neutral tone of voice, the way you might ask someone about the weather.

  I shook my head. I was almost certain Beverly had nothing to do with what was going on. But I hoped she could help me find the real culprit.

  Beverly leaned back from the doorway, and for a moment I thought she was going to try and shut the door again, whether my foot was in the way or not. But instead she swung the door wide open and gestured me inside.

  “Thank you,” I said, giving her a tentative smile as I stepped inside.

  From the outside, Beverly’s house had looked as though it would be a dark and cold space. I assumed that there would be curtains drawn over all the windows in the entire house, and that those tall hedges would block out most of the sunlight. But as I stepped inside, I could see that that wasn’t actually the case. The curtains were much more sheer than I would have guessed, and they let in a soft, hazy kind of light. I guessed they both illuminated and protected the photographs on Beverly’s walls. Everything was much more cozy and welcoming than I had anticipated.

  I had also been right about the photographs on the walls. They all appeared to be of Beverly, and Christopher DeSantos, and other people who I assumed were their various family members. Above Beverly’s fireplace was the largest photograph of them all, the image I had seen of Beverly and her grandfather laughing together.

  Looking around, I felt silly for how nervous I had been walking up to this house. I no longer felt nervous at all. If anything, I just felt bad for Beverly and the way everyone in this town treated her.

  Beverly led me over to the center of the room, where there was a long gray couch and a few chairs. All the furniture in her house was modern and a bit artistic, but arranged in a way that made everything feel comfortable and inviting.

  She gestured toward the couch and I sat down on the edge of it, not wanting to look too relaxed. Beverly took the chair opposite me and laced her fingers in her lap. She looked at me expectantly.

  I wasn’t really sure where to start. “Someone is trying to ruin your grandfather’s exhibit,” I began. “And I don’t think it’s you.”

  “So you’ve said,” said Beverly. She still seemed guarded, and she was looking at me like she was unsure of what to think. I thought that I could understand why. Everyone in Shady Oaks had assumed so many bad things about Beverly; why would she think that I was any different?

  I decided to start from the beginning. I told Beverly about being sent the newspaper article, about deciding to come to Shady Oaks and trying to figure out what had happened to Grace Rogers. I told her about Jacob going missing and his girlfriend Emily’s story about Terry Lawrence and his ability to curse people. I told her what I knew about Christopher DeSantos and Terry Lawrence, which admittedly wasn’t much.

  I decided to leave out the part about how many Shady Oak locals thought Beverly might be behind these kidnappings, or how many of them believed she might harm them if they helped me. It didn’t feel like information Beverly needed to know. Unfortunately, she seemed to figure this part out anyway.

  “Let me guess,” she said, when I had finished speaking. “Everyone thinks it’s me?”

  I nodded slowly. “Sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

  Beverly shrugged like this was just something she was used to. “You must have thought it was me at one point,” she said. “I overheard you and your friends discussing the case, at the diner. Your redheaded friend in particular seemed quite certain I had something to do with everything that’s been happening.”

  “That was Riley,” I said, cringing a bit. “I had to consider all the possibilities. I hope you understand. Though I no longer believe you had anything to do with the missing people.”

  Beverly looked down at her lap and sat in silence for a minute, as though she was deciding whether or not to say something. “I have a confession as well,” she said at last. I sat up a bit straighter. What could Beverly possibly have to confess? “I was the one who sent you that newspaper clipping.”

  “You were? Why?”

  Beverly looked up at me and then said, “I knew someone was sabotaging the exhibit, and I needed a detective to figure out who. I didn’t write you a letter or sign my name because I didn’t want anyone to know you were working with me. If they did, no one would have trusted you. I considered contacting you once you got into town….”

  “But then you overheard my conversation at the diner,” I finished for her. “And you thought you were my number one suspect.”

  “I was upset enough that I no longer wanted your help,” admitted Beverly. “I went to Susan later that day and tried to convince her to shut down the exhibit instead. But she won’t let me out of my contract. I signed on for at least ten weeks of this. We were arguing about it the day we ran into you in that back hallway.”

  I hunched my shoulders and did my best not to look too guilty. “Yeah,” I said. “I heard some of what you said. It sounded like you were maybe threatening Susan.”

  It was Beverly’s turn to look a little embarrassed. “I let my frustrations get the better of me,” she said. “I was trying to save my grandfather’s name and reputation. But instead, this exhibit was just making things worse. There isn’t a curse on my grandfather’s work. It’s all ridiculous.”

  “Can I ask what did happen with your grandfather and Terry Lawrence?” I said. I couldn’t help but feel that the relationship between the two former partners was still important in some way.

  But Beverly only shrugged. “It’s not such an interesting story,” she said. “Terry was always jealous of my grandfather. He tried to steal credit for a photograph in order to boost his career. Their friendship never recovered. That was all.”

  “Do you have any proof that your grandfather took that photo?” I asked.

  Beverly looked unhappy. “If I had any proof,” she said, “I would have showed people a long time ago.”

  “Everyone in town seems so suspicious of you,” I said. “Is there any reason besides the article that would make them think you’re behind all this?”

  Beverly shook her head. “Ever since that interview came out,” she said, “everyone thinks I didn’t love my family. People in this town were so proud that my grandfather lived here, so that was always difficult for them. But really, I just don’t like the attention. I’m not always very good at making friends with people. The things I say often get taken the wrong way, and I think I frighten people sometimes.”

  I nodded sympathetically. It looked as though my hunch about Beverly was correct, but I couldn’t feel very happy about that at the moment.

  “I meant what I said in the article,” said Beverly. “I do sometimes wish I was born into another family. But not because I didn’t love my grand
father.” She glanced up at the portrait of her and Christopher DeSantos as she said this. “I donated the new exhibit as a kind of peace offering to my grandfather’s fans. I also thought it might help ease some of the controversy surrounding what happened with him and Terry Lawrence. I thought it would give people something new to talk about. But now there are people missing and everyone is saying that the photographs are cursed. I don’t know what to do.”

  I sat quietly and thought about everything. Really, all I had to go on at this point was Beverly’s word. But I felt as though her story made sense, and I was beginning to trust her more than I trusted anyone else I had met so far in Shady Oaks.

  “So,” said Beverly. “Why is it that you came here? Earlier, you said you needed my help.”

  “Right,” I said. “There’s a door hidden behind a bookcase in the museum’s staff hallway. What if the culprit hid both Grace and Jacob behind there?”

  Beverly nodded. “It’s certainly possible,” she said.

  “I’ve tried to get past that door,” I continued. “But it’s locked by the same combination that opens the museum’s front door.”

  I paused here to see if Beverly could understand what I was asking. She knew almost immediately. “You want me to give you the combination,” she said.

  “I know of only three people who have it,” I said. “Susan, Grace Rogers, and you. I already asked Susan and she said no. So it has to be you.”

  Beverly stared at me and it appeared as though her guarded nature had returned. I felt a little uncomfortable under her gaze but did my best to return it. Eventually she stood and walked into another room.

  I sat up straighter on the couch and leaned forward, trying to see where she had gone. Had she decided she didn’t trust me after all? If that was true, I had no idea what I was going to do next.

  But then she returned with paper and a pen. She leaned forward over the coffee table in between us and scribbled down four numbers. 5796.

  “I chose the combination,” she said, as she gave me the piece of paper. “Susan changes it for each new exhibit. It’s the last four digits of my grandfather’s old phone number.”

  I knew the numbers probably weren’t random, but I had been assuming they would mean something to Susan, not Beverly.

  “Thank you,” I said to her, trying to sound as earnest as possible.

  Beverly still looked as though she wasn’t quite sure about trusting me. “I just hope you can find those missing people,” she said. “And figure out who’s behind all this.”

  “Me too.” I stood up to leave and took one last look around Beverly’s house. Just before I reached her front door, I turned back around and said, “You have a lot of lovely photographs in here.”

  Beverly had been walking behind me. She turned back as well and said, “I’ve kept everything. All his photographs and the souvenirs from his travels he gave me. It makes me feel closer to him.”

  I thought I understood what Beverly meant. I smiled at her and thanked her once more before heading out. Beverly shut the door carefully behind me.

  * * *

  I hadn’t realized how much time I had spent at Beverly DeSantos’s house, but upon leaving I realized that I must have been in there for a while. The sun was setting as I walked back to the Elder Root Inn. Luckily, it wasn’t raining anymore, and once I had been walking for a few minutes my blood was warm enough that I didn’t feel too cold. There were hardly any clouds blocking the evening sky, and after the sun had fully set, I could look up and see countless stars.

  By the time I reached the hotel, it was fully dark outside. Bess, George, and Riley were sitting in the hotel lobby on the comfortable couches near the front desk, and they appeared to be talking and laughing. Eventually Bess spotted me walking toward them.

  “Nancy!” she called. “How was the visit with your aunt?”

  I reached the couches and sat down, balancing on one of the armrests. At first I had no idea what Bess was talking about. But then I remembered she had said she was going to think of a cover story for me, something to tell Riley. That must have been what she came up with.

  “Oh,” I said. “Yeah, she’s great. It went really great.”

  Bess and George both grinned at me. They clearly understood that I meant my conversation with Beverly had gone well, even if we couldn’t discuss it in front of Riley.

  The four of us spent a few more minutes hanging out in the lobby. Eventually, though, Riley yawned loudly and said that she was going to head upstairs and go to bed. She was just about to leave when I asked her to wait a moment.

  “I wanted to ask you a favor,” I said.

  “Sure, Nancy,” she said. “What is it?”

  “I need to borrow your camera.”

  Riley’s hands flew up to the camera that was perpetually hanging around her neck. I knew this was a big ask; it was probably the most precious thing Riley owned. But I also really needed to borrow a film camera.

  “Why?” asked Riley.

  “I think I can figure out what’s going on at the DeSantos exhibit,” I said. “I can find the missing people and stop these recent events from tarnishing DeSantos’s name. But I need your camera to do that.”

  Riley still looked reluctant to hand the camera over. But finally she lifted the strap up over her head. “Just be really careful with it, all right?” she said.

  “I promise,” I said. “I can give it back to you tomorrow. Thank you, Riley. I really appreciate it.”

  She nodded and began heading to her room again. When she reached the stairs, she turned back for one last look at her camera before disappearing.

  “Nancy,” said George. “What was that about?”

  “Yeah,” said Bess. “Why do we need Riley’s camera?”

  “Because I got the combination from Beverly,” I said. “And we’re sneaking into the museum. Tonight.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Night at the Museum

  THE THREE OF US WAITED until it was nearly midnight to be certain no one would be at the museum. We spent the time hanging around our hotel room. Bess was reading and George was on her laptop, though I wasn’t sure what she could be doing without an Internet connection. I was studying Riley’s camera and making sure I knew how it worked.

  Once it was late enough, we set out on foot toward the museum. I had Riley’s camera hanging around my neck, and it was bumping up against me as I walked. I could feel a kind of nervous energy fluttering near my heart. There were so many things that could still go wrong, and I couldn’t help but consider each one of them. Someone could be at the museum, for some reason. Beverly could have just given me a fake code, so I would get out of her house and leave her alone. And I could be totally wrong about Grace and Jacob being trapped in the museum at all.

  At night the Carlisle Museum looked much darker and spookier than it had during the day. All the repairs the old building needed looked much more apparent in the moonlight. They made the Carlisle look somewhat haunted.

  I walked up to the front door of the museum and took a deep breath. My fingers were hovering just above the keypad, which was silver and looked as though it was nearly glowing. This was the moment of truth, and I could only hope that Beverly DeSantos actually trusted me enough to tell me the right code.

  “Nancy?” said George, from off to my right. “What are you waiting for?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. Pressing each button with my index finger, I typed in 5-7-9-6.

  Each of the four lights on the keypad flashed green, and I could hear the satisfying click of the door unlocking.

  “It worked!” said Bess.

  I glanced at her and smiled. I felt just as surprised as she looked.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get inside before somebody sees us.” I pushed open the door and we all slipped inside the museum’s dark entryway.

  It took a minute for my eyes to adjust. The museum had so many windows that there was no way we would be able to turn on any lights. Someon
e outside might see and my entire plan would be ruined. Instead we all just walked forward slowly. The light streaming in from the lampposts outside was just enough to see by.

  “So what do we do first?” asked George. She was whispering, even though I wasn’t sure it was entirely necessary. There wasn’t anyone here, and no one would be able to hear us talking from outside.

  Even so, I couldn’t help but whisper back. “I want one more look at the images of Grace, Jacob, and me,” I said, heading past the front desk in the direction of the exhibit room. “Beverly’s house was filled with photographs. Some were old and taken with film. Some were much newer and, I think, taken with a digital camera. I have a feeling that the photos of Grace and Jacob, and the one of me, had to have been taken with an old film camera, to match the quality of the rest of the photo so well.”

  Bess and George nodded, and we entered the exhibit space. “The image with Jacob is that one,” said George, pointing off to the left side of the room.

  “Great,” I said. I walked over to the photograph and turned my phone’s flashlight on. I hoped we were far enough from the windows that no one would spot it. I spent a minute looking at the photograph closely, then walked over to the one with Grace’s picture in it and studied that one too. Finally I looked at the photograph with me in the background. I still didn’t know much about photography, but I felt confident that the original DeSantos photos and the pictures of Jacob, Grace, and me must have been taken by a similar type of camera. The tone and the quality of the inserted images matched the rest of the photo so closely. Whoever had taken the pictures of the three of us would have to own an old film camera from around the same time period.

  When I was satisfied, I turned the flashlight off and looked over to see that Bess had wandered off and was standing in front of one of the photographs. I walked over to her.

  “What are you looking at?” I said in a low voice.

  I remembered the photograph from a previous visit. It was of an empty street somewhere near the edge of town, or at least where the edge of town had been. Perched on a thin and scraggly tree was a bird, just lifting its wings and about to take flight.