THE MESSAGE IN THE HAUNTED MANSION
In the Blue Room, the dress fitting began. Bess sat on the armchair in the side nook of the girls’ bedroom, taking in the side seams of George’s dress. “Please hold still, George,” Bess pleaded.
“You’re sticking me!” George said.
“If you’d stop wiggling, I wouldn’t have to,” Bess mumbled through a mouthful of pins.
“I can’t stand this much longer,” George muttered. She leaned against the paneled wall.
“Lean over a little more,” Bess directed her.
George bent further, pushing against the wall.
The oak panels creaked and trembled. Then, with a groan, a secret door slowly swung open.
THE MESSAGE IN THE HAUNTED MANSION
NANCY
DREW®
122
CAROLYN KEENE
Published by POCKET BOOKS
New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
A MINSTREL PAPERBACK ORIGINAL
A MINSTREL BOOK PUBLISHED BY POCKET BOOKS, A DIVISION OF SIMON & SCHUSTER, INC.
1230 AVENUE OF THE AMERICAS, NEW YORK, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 1994 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Produced by Mega-Books, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book of portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-7434-3427-7
ISBN-13: 978-0-7434-3427-0
eISBN-13: 978-0-7434-3427-0
NANCY DREW, NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES, A MINSTREL BOOK and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Contents
1 Jinxed!
2 Accident or Foul Play?
3 The Figure in the Fog
4 A Surprise Ending
5 The Golden Gardenia
6 The Ghost in the Mirror
7 Evidence in the Ashes
8 A Fragrant Message
9 Time Is Running Out
10 Secret Words Remembered
11 Disguise and Pursuit
12 The Spirits Speak
13 The Secret Tunnel
14 Too Close!
15 The Clue in the Photograph
16 Yerba Buena Gold
1
Jinxed!
“A Victorian mansion in San Francisco—what could be more romantic?” Bess Marvin sighed.
Her cousin, George Fayne, rolled her eyes. “Bess, you’re the only person I know who could find renovating an old house romantic.”
Nancy Drew laughed, crinkling her blue eyes and brushing back her reddish blond hair. She sat between her two friends in the backseat of a car on a freeway heading into San Francisco.
“I only wish it were romantic. Sometimes I think the mansion is jinxed!” exclaimed the car’s driver, Rose Green, a tiny woman with steel gray curls.
Nancy leaned forward. “Have there been accidents, Rose?”
“Now, Nancy,” Hannah Gruen gently warned. She was the longtime housekeeper for Nancy and her father, lawyer Carson Drew. “Don’t go looking for anything suspicious. We’re here to help Rose and Abby with their renovations, not solve another of your mysteries.”
Hannah sat beside Rose in the front seat. The two women had been friends for several years. Rose had recently retired from her teaching job in River Heights and moved to San Francisco. She and her niece, Abby, were restoring a dilapidated old Victorian mansion so they could open it as a bed-and-breakfast hotel.
“If there is anything mysterious about the accidents, Nancy will find out,” Bess promised, pulling her long straw blond hair into a ponytail.
“So what kind of accidents are we talking about?” Nancy asked again.
“Just bad luck,” Rose answered. “First we had a gas leak and an explosion. Then the scaffolding collapsed. A pipe burst after that. Supplies we ordered didn’t come in. There were other things, too—wallpaper paste that didn’t stick, paint that wouldn’t dry, furniture polish that turned into a mass of sticky goo …”
“How frustrating,” Hannah sympathized.
Nancy frowned. “When did the trouble start?”
“Our problems started even before we bought the house, Nancy.” Rose sighed. “You see, opening a bed-and-breakfast has been my dream. After I retired, I took my life savings, came out to San Francisco, and hunted for the right Victorian house to buy. But the prices were so high.”
“But you finally found the house you wanted,” Hannah said encouragingly.
“Yes. The mansion was old and in terrible shape, but the price was right,” Rose said. “I made an offer, and it was accepted. But then someone—the real estate agent never told me who—came in with a higher bid, and I almost lost the house. Luckily, my niece, Abby, volunteered to become my partner. With her money added to mine, we were able to match the other bid, and we got the house.”
Rose steered the car off the freeway and onto the city streets. Looking out the window, Nancy saw houses and apartment buildings sparkling with Christmas lights. “Any good places to jog around here?” George asked. Slender, dark-haired George loved anything to do with sports—the exact opposite of her cousin Bess.
Rose nodded. “A big park called the Presidio is just a few blocks from our house. And Golden Gate Park isn’t far away either.”
As Rose turned onto California Street, they passed a Chinese restaurant on the corner, with a large, brightly lit front window. Rose nodded ahead. “There’s the house now.”
Nancy craned her neck to see an old wooden building outlined by green-pipe scaffolding. The house’s faded brown paint was peeling in long strips, and the front porch leaned at a slight angle. Even the iron ornament on the building’s tower—some kind of bird—tilted sadly to one side.
“I can see we have a lot of work ahead of us,” George muttered to Nancy as Rose pulled up in the driveway.
Perched on the scaffolding, a man in white coveralls wearing a mask and goggles lifted one hand in a brief wave.
“Hi, Charlie!” Rose called out as she got out of the car.
Charlie pulled himself slowly to his feet and came to the end of the scaffolding, limping as he walked.
Hannah and the girls got out of the car. “Charlie, these are my friends from River Heights—Hannah, Nancy, George, and Bess,” Rose said, introducing them. Charlie nodded silently and lifted up his goggles. His eyes were wrinkled at the corners and looked tired.
Bess flinched as Charlie raised a large instrument that looked like a gun. “Oh, sorry,” Charlie apologized gruffy. “I use this heat gun to soften the old paint so I can scrape it off.”
“Once the house is restored, it will be beautiful,” Hannah said admiringly. “With those balconies and all the woodwork and that tower, it’s like a gingerbread house.”
“That’s just what all that fancy trim is called—gingerbread,” Rose said. “Builders in the Victorian era loved loads of fussy detail. Those balconies, for instance, aren’t functional. They’re just for decoration.”
Charlie turned back to his work, and Rose led her friends up the sagging steps to the front door. Shoving the warped door open with her shoulder, she flipped on a light switch.
Inside, they stood in a grand entry hall with gleaming wood paneling. On their lefthand side was a large carved door with a mirror set into it. Two more mirrors were built into the wall over carved wood benches. At the fa
r end of the entry hall, a grand staircase with a carved wood banister swept upstairs. In an arch beneath the stairs, a glass-paned door led to the back parts of the house.
Hannah wheeled around to stare at the front door. “This window is magnificent!” she exclaimed, admiring the flowers painted on a panel of stained glass above the front door.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” said Rose. “On a sunny day, the stained glass throws a rainbow pattern on the wall. It’s really lovely. Now, if we could just find the right chandelier.” She nodded toward the ceiling, where electrical wires sprouted from a small hole.
Nancy noticed the canvas covering the floor. “Are you refinishing the floors?” she asked.
Rose shook her head. “Not yet. That will come last, after all the painting and the wallpapering is finished. We’ve painted and papered several rooms, but we still have so much work to do.
“Originally, we planned to open for Christmas,” Rose added. “Now we’re six months behind schedule. We have to open for business by next summer, or we won’t be able to keep up the mortgage payments.” Rose smiled bravely, but Nancy thought she looked worried.
Suddenly a voice rang out. “Welcome, Hannah, Nancy, Bess, George!”
Nancy looked around, wondering where the voice had come from. Then the mirrored door opened, and a heavyset woman about thirty-five years old emerged, carrying a black cat. She wore a full skirt, a peasant shawl, and hoop earrings. A purple scarf was tied over her long red hair.
“This is my niece, Abby,” Rose said.
“How did you know it was us?” George asked. “You called our names.”
Abby just smiled mysteriously.
“Oh, Abby, don’t be so dramatic,” Rose scolded her lightly “It’s very simple, George—the mirror in the door is a two-way mirror. I’ll show you.” Rose turned off the lights in the entry, then went in and turned on the parlor’s lights. She pulled the door shut behind her. Through the mirrored door they could see her clearly.
“Wow!” Bess said. “Can I try it?” She slipped through the door into the parlor.
“Actually,” Rose said, “you can see through the mirror both ways, depending on which room is lit up. Hannah, turn on the entry light.”
As Hannah flipped the light switch, Rose turned off the parlor lights. The mirror showed Nancy, George, and Hannah’s reflection again. “Hey, it really works!” Bess’s excited voice came from the other side of the door. “I can see all of you. I can even see you making that face, George”
Rose threw open the door. “Come on in,” she invited Nancy, George, and Hannah. “This is what they called the first parlor. The second parlor is behind it, through those double sliding doors.”
Everyone moved into the parlor. It looked like a crowded antique store, filled with chairs, couches, and small polished tables. “It’s a bit cluttered,” Rose apologized. “But Louis says this busy look was the Victorian style.”
“Louis?” Nancy inquired.
A shy smile spread across Rose’s face. “Louis Chandler is an antique dealer and decorator,” she explained. “He specializes in the Victorian period. He’s been extremely helpful, advising us on decor.”
Nancy sensed that Louis was someone special to Rose. “How did you meet him?” she asked.
“He just arrived at our door one day,” Rose replied. “He welcomed us to the neighborhood and let us know about his shop and decorating services. We can’t afford them, but he has kindly given us his help anyway. He’s been wonderful!”
“And very attentive,” Abby added, giving Rose a teasing nudge with her elbow.
“Abby, please,” Rose protested.
Abby had a pot of tea ready, and she poured each of their guests a cup. Bess took hers and stretched out on a velvet chaise longue. “This is soooo comfortable. Is there much more work to do indoors? It seems all finished.”
“We made a lot of progress this fall,” Rose said, “despite the accidents. We got the wiring and plumbing done months ago and then did some carpentry work. Then we started wallpapering and painting. We did the kitchen, a bathroom, and our two bedrooms first, so that we could live comfortably while finishing the rest.”
“Now the first parlor is done, the entry, and four of the ten guest rooms,” Abby said. “The second parlor is nearly done—I just finished the wallpaper there. After that, there’s the dining room, the saloon, and the other six guest rooms.”
“The saloon?” George looked puzzled.
Rose nodded. “In the basement, there’s a big room that’s like an old-time saloon. It even has a built-in bar. You see, we think the house was once a hotel. It’s hard to tell, because the floor plan was apparently changed when it became a private home. Two sisters—the Armstrong sisters—owned the mansion for years. They died recently. We bought the house from their nephew, who had no interest in it.”
“I looked up the property in one of the old block books at the library, which show all the old lots,” Abby said. “I found out that the land was owned back in the late 1800s by an E. Valdez. But we haven’t had time to do more research.”
“We’ll have to go back to the library soon,” Rose said. “We need to learn the house’s history so we can print up brochures for the bed-and-breakfast. People who stay in B-and-Bs are usually interested in old houses and history. The library has several city documents from before the 1906 earthquake, although most records were destroyed in all the fires that broke out after the earthquake.”
“I’ve been using the library to research old San Francisco theaters, too,” Abby added, stroking her cat. “I’m planning an act for the saloon and a séance for Sunday afternoon teas.”
Bess’s blue eyes widened. Séance.
Abby smiled. “Séances were very popular in the last century, Bess. There’s a lot we can learn from people in other dimensions.”
“Uh, yeah,” Bess said vaguely. It was hard to tell whether Abby was serious or not, Nancy thought.
“Maybe we can help you with your research as well as with the renovation work,” George offered.
Rose smiled gratefully. “Thanks so much. We’re so far behind, especially with the outside work,” she said. “The heavy rains this fall really held us up. Charlie’s had a lot of work to do, repairing the wooden trim. Now he’s beginning to scrape the paint. We’ll actually start painting in a few months, when the weather improves.”
“We’ll do all we can to help,” Nancy stressed.
“Thank you, Nancy,” Rose said gratefully. “This hotel is my dream. I can’t lose it.”
Abby patted her aunt’s hand. “Why don’t we show the girls to their rooms?” she suggested.
“Oh, first can I take a photo?” Bess asked. Pulling her instant camera out of her shoulder bag, she quickly posed the group and snapped a photo. As the picture started to develop, Hannah frowned. “What’s that white cloud?” she asked.
Bess stared at the white mist at the top of the photo. “Why … it looks like a ghost!”
“Probably a reflection of light,” Nancy said.
“Why don’t we ask Emily about it when we see her?” Hannah suggested. Hannah’s friend Emily Foxworth was a photojournalist. Nancy and George had met her on a previous case in San Francisco.
Bess put the camera away, and Rose led her visitors up the grand staircase. “Eventually,” Rose explained, “each bedroom will have its own theme: the Chinese Room, the Spanish Room, the Peacock Room, and so on. That was the Victorian custom. Hannah, you’ll be sleeping in the Captain’s Room. You girls will share the Chinese Room.”
“Oohh,” Bess murmured as they entered their bedroom. The Chinese Room was exquisite, with red silk wallpaper and Chinese brush paintings. In the center stood a large ornate bed carved with dragons. A cot had been set up to one side.
“It looks like a movie set,” George said.
“The air seems a little stuffy,” Rose commented. “Why don’t you open a window?”
Bess went over to the room’s big arched windo
w. She slid the window up easily and leaned way out, looking up and down California Street.
“The bathroom’s down the hall, but there’s a sink here in the corner if you want to wash up,” Rose told Nancy and George.
Just then Nancy heard a snapping noise. Glancing toward the window, she saw it jerk sharply.
She leapt toward Bess, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. “Wha—” Bess began.
But her voice was cut off as the window came crashing down, shattering glass across the floor.
2
Accident or Foul Play?
Bess stared at Nancy, her eyes huge with fright. “That window could have cut me in two!” she cried.
Both girls were covered with splinters of glass. Large jagged pieces lay on the floor around them. Bess had dropped her teacup, and dark tea stains were spreading across her ivory-colored dress.
Rose ran over, her face ashen. “Are you girls all right?” she asked anxiously.
Nancy and Bess nodded.
“I don’t understand,” Rose said. “Charlie just repaired these windows. He even replaced the glass.” She looked at the damage in dismay. “I’ll ask him to clean up and board up the window,” she said, quickly leaving the room.
Nancy shook the splinters of glass from her pants, and Bess did the same from her dress. Kicking aside shards of glass, George crossed the room to take a look at the window. Nancy joined her.
“See anything, Nancy?” George asked.
Nancy didn’t answer right away. She examined the broken sash cords in the window frame, then crouched down for a better look at the sharp glass fragments. “I don’t think this was an accident,” she said at last.
Bess looked up in confusion. “You mean it was done on purpose? But how?”
“Even if the cords holding the window frame broke, the glass inside the frame should have held,” Nancy said. “There should be putty to hold the glass in. And there ought to be glazing points, too—little metal pieces set between the glass and the window frame. There aren’t any.” Nancy pointed at the evidence on the floor.
The Message in the Haunted Mansion Page 1
