The Clue on the Crystal Dove Read online

  Contents

  ____________________________________________________________

  1 Total Darkness

  2 A Secret Compartment

  3 Mystery Lady

  4 Disaster before Dinner

  5 A Wild Accusation

  6 Sneak Thief

  7 Skeleton with a Message

  8 A Terrifying Call

  9 Danger on the Bridge

  10 Surprise at the Door

  11 Crazy Horse

  12 Clued In

  13 A Ghostly Welcome

  14 Terror on the Lake

  15 Birds of a Feather

  1. Total Darkness

  “All aboard!” the train conductor shouted. “Chicago to

  New York City—and all stops in between!”

  Nancy Drew and her father, Carson, stepped up

  their pace as Carson pushed a trolley laden with lug-

  gage along the crowded platform of the cavernous

  station. Nancy's best friends, George Fayne and Bess

  Marvin, hurried to keep up.

  “Will we make it?” Bess asked Nancy as the train

  whistle shrilled through the humid air.

  “I think so, Bess,” Nancy said, “though I can't pre-

  dict whether all four of your suitcases will get on before

  the doors close.”

  “Don't say that!” Bess moaned. “I need them. We'll

  be in New York a whole week, and the party that

  Delphinia's planning sounds awesome.”

  “This is all I brought,” George declared as she

  stepped up to her friends. She patted the straps of a

  large backpack slung over her shoulders.

  “Don't tell me your dress for Delphinia's big dinner

  event is crumpled up in there,” Bess said, looking

  horrified.

  “Not crumpled—rolled,” George countered. “It's

  made out of some nonwrinkling material—ideal for

  travel-by-backpack,” she quipped, in the tone of a

  commercial. “Though I probably should have packed

  an extra pair of sneakers for sightseeing.”

  “Sightseeing? As in checking out cool shops and

  restaurants?” Bess asked mischievously.

  “No way. Sightseeing, as in visiting the Museum of

  Natural History and hiking across the Brooklyn

  Bridge,” George retorted with a toss of her short dark

  hair.

  Bess made a face. “Sounds like torture. All the sights

  I'm interested in seeing can be found in

  Bloomingdale's. And you don't need sneakers for that.”

  Eighteen-year-old Nancy grinned at her friends'

  remarks. Bess and George were first cousins and

  devoted friends, but they were also total opposites.

  Blond-haired Bess loved clothes, high-calorie desserts,

  and boy watching, while George's interests ran more to

  athletics. Nancy knew that planning activities in the Big

  Apple to interest both girls would be complicated.

  “Is this a sleeping car?” Nancy's father asked a con-

  ductor standing next to a car with high, wide windows.

  “Indeed it is,” the conductor declared. “May I see

  your tickets, please?”

  “I've got them, Dad,” Nancy said, reaching into her

  purse. She handed three tickets to the conductor.

  “Miss Drew, Miss Fayne, and Miss Marvin,” the

  conductor said as he examined the tickets. “You've

  come to the right car, ladies. Compartment Twenty-

  three B. Step lively, please. The train leaves in exactly

  three minutes.”

  “Why don't I help you girls load this stuff into your

  compartment?” Carson offered, sweeping suitcases

  from the trolley onto the metal platform inside the car

  door. “I can do that in less than three minutes.”

  “Just keep an ear out for the conductor's last call,

  Dad,” Nancy warned, “unless you want a surprise trip

  to New York.”

  Carson chuckled. “If I didn't have to be in court

  tomorrow in River Heights, a trip to New York would

  be great,” he said, hefting three suitcases. “I could tour

  the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, the

  Metropolitan Museum of Art—the list is endless. New

  York is like one gigantic grab bag full of things to do.”

  “Not

  to

  mention

  visiting

  Delphinia

  Van

  Hoogstraten's mansion with its famous collection of

  glass birds,” Nancy reminded him. “Here, Dad, let me

  give you a hand with the bags.” She hoisted two suit-

  cases, followed her father down the narrow aisle of the

  sleeping car, and stopped outside the door marked

  23B.

  Sliding it open, she found two blue velour sofas

  facing each other with a window in the wall beside

  them. Large cabinets ran the length of the walls over

  the sofas.

  “The conductor will convert one of these sofas into a

  bed later on,” Carson explained as he entered the

  compartment behind Nancy. “Those overhead cabinets

  will open to make two more beds.”

  “There's room for the luggage under the sofas,”

  Nancy commented, pushing her suitcase under the sofa

  on her right.

  “Last call!” the conductor shouted into the car. “All

  those without tickets please exit immediately.”

  “Goodbye, girls, and take good care of Eloise,” Car-

  son said, referring to his sister, who lived in New York.

  “I'm glad you'll be staying with her instead of at some

  hotel. And, Nancy—try not to get involved in a mys-

  tery,” he added with a wink. “Every good professional

  needs time off, and detectives are no exception.”

  “I'll try my best, Dad,” Nancy promised, smiling.

  After giving her father a hug, she watched him hurry

  down the aisle and off the train. The instant he stepped

  on to the platform, the conductor slammed the car

  door shut, and the train inched forward.

  “I agree with your dad—no mysteries!” Bess ex-

  claimed. “I have this feeling that just bringing up the

  subject will jinx us. With your track record, Nan,

  there's sure to be a mystery lurking somewhere on this

  train.”

  George propped her backpack in a niche by the door

  and said, “I hope not. Your dad's right, Nancy Even ace

  detectives need time off.”

  “And I plan to take it,” Nancy said firmly, settling

  herself on a sofa and peering out the window as the

  train slid into a tunnel. “Our week in New York will be

  total vacation, I promise. We'll explore the city, see

  Aunt Eloise, and meet her friend Delphinia Van

  Hoogstraten—Dell for short.”

  “Tell me more about Dell,” Bess said as she and

  George sat down on the sofa across from Nancy. “Why

  is she turning her mansion into a museum?”

  As the train rattled out of the tunnel and into the

  sunshine, Nancy thought back to her conversation with


  her aunt Eloise about the eccentric Van Hoogstraten

  family. She'd told Bess and George only a few details

  about them.

  “According to Aunt Eloise,” Nancy explained,

  “Dell's getting married and moving to Boston, where

  her fiancé lives. The mansion is owned by a Van

  Hoogstraten family partnership, and they've decided to

  turn it into a museum.”

  George's dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “But if a

  bunch of Van Hoogstratens own the mansion, how

  come Dell ended up living in it by herself?”

  “Dell's an only child, and she grew up in the house,

  so the place means a lot to her,” Nancy replied as she

  looked out the window. Green fields and leafy trees

  flashed by like a movie on fast-forward. Turning her

  eyes from the afternoon sunlight that flooded into the

  compartment, she added, “I think Dell pays rent to the

  partnership. For some reason, none of Julius's other

  descendants is interested in living there.”

  “Julius?” Bess cut in. “Who's he?”

  “Dell's great-grandfather Julius Van Hoogstraten,

  who built the house,” Nancy replied. “He died in

  1915.”

  “The Van Hoogstratens must be mega rich in order

  to afford the taxes and upkeep on a huge place like that

  in New York City,” George commented.

  “You said it, George,” Nancy declared. “Julius Van

  Hoogstraten was one of the richest men in New York

  during the Gilded Age. He made this unbelievable

  fortune in railroads.”

  “The Gilded Age?” Bess echoed, puzzled.

  Pulling her reddish blond hair into a quick pony-tail,

  Nancy explained, “That's a nickname for the late 1800s

  when all these people became millionaires. They lived

  incredibly

  fancy

  lives—people

  like

  Cornelius

  Vanderbilt, J. P. Morgan, and John D. Rockefeller, who

  made money from shipping and banking and oil. They

  built these huge mansions and had tons of servants.”

  “Those guys must have really raked in the dough,”

  George commented, “especially because they didn't

  have income taxes in those days.”

  “The amount of money they had was mind-

  boggling,” Nancy went on, “and they loved to flaunt it.

  Balls and dinner parties for hundreds of guests,

  humongous summer homes, and honeymoons around

  the world were typical.”

  “But what's so special about Julius's mansion? Why

  would it rate as a museum?” George asked. “Did he

  have a big art collection or something?”

  “Julius had this awesome collection of blown-glass

  birds,” Nancy told her. “He'd made them himself in

  Holland before moving to America, when he was

  twenty-five. They were so beautiful that he couldn't

  stand the thought of leaving them behind. Now his

  collection is priceless.”

  “Who would have thought that a talent for making

  glass birds would have led him to a fortune in rail-

  roads?” Bess remarked.

  “Aunt Eloise said that he came to America with his

  glass bird collection and a few pennies in his pocket,”

  Nancy went on, kicking off her shoes and folding her

  legs under herself. “He started working as a train

  mechanic, saved money, and when an opportunity

  came to buy a struggling railroad, he seized it. But

  apparently his newfound money went to his head. He

  threw fancy parties—even for his pets' birthdays—

  smoked cigars and drank expensive brandy, and was

  known for being bossy and rude. He fired servants

  right and left, except for his pastry chef, who could do

  no wrong.”

  Bess perked up. “Hmm. I wonder if the chef left any

  of his recipes somewhere in the house—maybe in old

  letters or cookbooks? That's the kind of mystery I'd be

  up for solving, Nan. Nothing dangerous—but with a

  definite payoff.”

  “Speaking of food,” George said, checking her

  watch, “it's five o'clock. Why don't we explore the train

  before dinner?”

  Nancy's blue eyes sparkled excitedly. “I forgot to tell

  you guys—Julius's private railroad car has been totally

  restored. It's attached to this train, and we can tour it.”

  “What a coincidence!” Bess exclaimed.

  “Not exactly,” Nancy admitted. “The Van

  Hoogstratens arranged to have it attached to certain

  routes in the Northeast to promote the opening of their

  museum. So when I called to make our reservations, I

  learned that the car would be on this particular train.

  That's why we're traveling today.”

  The girls stepped out of their compartment and

  headed down the corridor toward the rear of the train.

  The next car they entered was the dining car. Nancy

  was surprised to see how crowded it was already. Peo-

  ple were sitting at tables covered with white cloths and

  set with gleaming cutlery. Most of the diners were

  studying menus while white-coated waiters looked on

  attentively, ready with pads to take orders.

  The maître d' approached the girls. “Would you like

  to have a table, ladies?” he asked in a friendly manner.

  “A couple of tables are still available.”

  “Not yet, thanks,” Nancy said with a polite smile.

  “We thought we'd explore the Julius Van Hoogstraten

  car first.”

  “Well, you're in luck,” the maître d' said. “A gen-

  tleman from the Van Hoogstraten mansion is giving

  tours of the car starting at eight o'clock. He's suggest-

  ing to people that they wait for his tour so they can

  learn interesting details about Van Hoogstraten's life

  and times.”

  “We don't need a formal tour,” Nancy began when

  the train gave a sudden lurch. Nancy, George, and Bess

  fell backward a step, colliding with an empty booth.

  Before Nancy could say another word, the lights in

  the car flickered and then suddenly went out. Nothing,

  not even a shadow, was visible.

  Bess screamed as diners let out exclamations of

  surprise. The sound of dishes breaking clattered from

  the kitchen.

  “Huh?” Nancy heard a woman say.

  A screeching sound filled the air as the train slowed.

  Nancy heard Bess gasp as it stopped.

  “We just entered a tunnel, that's why it's so dark,”

  the maître d' said.

  “I can't see a thing,” George said. “But I can feel a

  booth here. Let's sit down, guys. Are you near me?”

  “Yes,” Nancy and Bess said together. After feeling

  for the seats, they sat down with George.

  “All the power is off,” the maître d' remarked. “No

  air conditioner, no stove, no nothing.”

  “It's getting so hot,” Bess said. “I can hardly breathe.

  And this car is kind of crowded.”

  “Don't worry, Bess,” George said. “I hear a con-

  ductor coming. I'm sure he'll take care of the prob-

  lem.”

  “If only we hadn't
stopped inside a tunnel,” Bess

  said weakly. “I'm getting claustrophobic.”

  Nancy saw a flashlight bob down the aisle. A set of

  keys rattled behind the light in the darkness.

  “Hey, Fred!” the conductor shouted. “Are you get-

  ting a connection?”

  “Not yet.” Fred's frustrated voice sounded from the

  front of the car. “I'm going to the engine.”

  The conductor with his light bustled out as the

  temperature in the car rose.

  Perspiration formed on Nancy's face. The car was

  hot, she thought.

  “What's that smell?” Bess asked, sounding panicked.

  “What smell?” George said.

  “Smoke!” Bess replied.

  “Bess, relax,” Nancy said soothingly.

  Even Nancy couldn't ignore the smell of smoke that

  suddenly gusted into the already hot and stuffy air.

  What is going on? she wondered.

  A woman's cry broke through the silence from a

  table behind them. “Fire!”

  2. A Secret Compartment

  “Hush!” Nancy heard the maître d' say in a low voice.

  “I assure you, ma'am, you're wrong.”

  “Let's get out of here, guys!” Bess urged, ignoring

  the maître d's calming words. “The smoke is getting

  thicker.”

  “Wait, Bess,” Nancy said. “Don't bolt. People will

  hear you and panic. We'll have a stampede.”

  Nancy sniffed the air. The smoke had an oddly

  familiar spicy scent—not like a fire at all, she thought.

  “What's that over there—glowing in the dark?”

  George asked, gripping Nancy's arm.

  Now two feet away from Nancy, a gleam of light

  looked like tiny coals bobbing across a pitch-black

  screen.

  The light zoomed a foot to the right as a man's

  cough rumbled through the silence.

  “It's only a pipe!” Nancy exclaimed.

  “What? I'm such an idiot,” Bess said, with a giggle of

  relief.

  “The man who's smoking it must be walking down

  the aisle,” George remarked.

  “Sir, sir!” said the woman who'd cried “fire.” Her

  voice resonated from the booth behind them as she

  tried to get the smoker's attention. “Sir, this train is

  strictly no-smoking. Please have the courtesy to put out