Portrait in Crime Page 10

  Houses began appearing along the road. In front of them, Nancy could see the edge of the next town.

  “Watch out, George,” she warned.

  Suddenly Diana’s car slowed. George slammed on her brakes to avoid ramming the Volvo. Both cars pulled off to the side of the road in front of a house.

  Diana leapt out of the Volvo and ran for the house. Sasha and George jumped out after her.

  “Wait!” Sasha called.

  Diana looked behind her and ran faster, but Sasha and George were closing in. Nancy, her head throbbing, tried to keep up.

  Sasha reached Diana and grabbed her arm. She stumbled, and the two of them rolled together on the lawn. Nancy followed, wincing in pain.

  Diana sat up and looked at Sasha, a terrified expression on her face.

  “I’m leaving,” she said in a small voice. “I promise I’ll never tell. Please don’t kill me, too!”

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  WHEN SHE HEARD Diana’s desperate words, Nancy’s suspicions were confirmed. Feeling satisfied, she knelt by the redheaded model. “Don’t worry, we aren’t going to hurt you,” she assured Diana.

  At that moment Tommy and Bess pulled up.

  “Everything’s fine,” Nancy called across the lawn, waving to them to stay where they were. She turned back to Diana. “I think we’d better move. We can go sit in Tommy’s car and talk if that’s all right with you?”

  “Are you the one who called me?” Diana gasped, not moving.

  Nancy nodded.

  “Then you’re a friend of Bob’s!”

  “A friend!” Sasha snorted angrily. “Some friend. Look what he gave her!” Sasha tilted Nancy’s head so Diana could see the bruise on her temple.

  Diana’s eyes widened. She stood up and started to move toward Tommy’s car.

  “What did you mean, ‘don’t kill me, too’?” George asked Diana, “Nicholas Scott was murdered, then?”

  Diana didn’t answer, but Nancy shook her head. “Not Nicholas, I’m afraid. It was Christopher Scott who was murdered.”

  George and Sasha looked stunned. “What are you saying?” Sasha asked as they climbed into Tommy’s jeep.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense. It was the comments I heard about Christopher’s work deteriorating and about there being no unfinished paintings of his lying around that clinched it for me,” Nancy explained. “But maybe we should let Diana tell it.” She smiled encouragingly at the red-haired girl.

  Diana glanced around uneasily. “Who are you?” she asked, bewildered. “And how do you know so much?”

  “Nancy’s a detective,” George said, nodding at her. “She was asked by Cynthia Gray to find Christopher Scott. But from what you seem to be saying, she came onto the scene a little too late.”

  Diana nodded. “I met Nicholas at a nightclub last fall,” she began. “We started dating casually, and he introduced me to Christopher. Christopher wanted to paint my portrait.

  “Christopher was wonderful to me. He was very fatherly. We liked each other immediately. He paints very slowly, so the portrait was taking a long time. We spent most of our days together.

  “Nicholas was jealous. There wasn’t anything romantic between me and Chris, but Nick couldn’t see that. After a while he decided he didn’t want me to sit for Chris anymore. He was very unhappy about it. He ordered me to stop, and the two of them fought about it.

  “I don’t know if you ever met Nick, but he was pretty wild,” Diana continued, twisting her hands.

  Nancy nodded. “We’ve heard something like that,” she murmured. “Apparently he wasn’t too popular.”

  “He was awful,” Diana said simply. “He could be incredibly charming, but all he really cared about was himself. He and Chris quarreled constantly about money, but Chris always gave in and Nicholas got what he wanted.

  “On the night the painting was finished, Chris and I planned to celebrate.” Diana stopped, her eyes filling with tears. “Chris was about to open a bottle of champagne when Nicholas walked in.

  “He brought Bob Tercero with him, to see the painting, I guess. He picked up the hairpin from the table—you’ve seen it in the portrait, haven’t you?”

  “I haven’t,” Sasha said.

  Diana shuddered. “It’s about twelve inches long, and pointed. It looks like a silver chopstick with a sharp end. Nicholas sat and toyed with it, rolling it over and over in his hands as he ordered me to get dressed so we could go out dancing. He was furious that I had been celebrating without him.”

  Diana looked at Nancy pleadingly. “Well, Chris didn’t like it, and they fought—again. But this time it was terrible. I didn’t want to go out with Nicholas after the way he’d treated Chris, and I said so. Nicholas flew into a rage and blamed Chris because I wouldn’t go with him. He launched himself at Chris and they began to struggle. My hairpin was still in Nick’s hand. And somehow he stabbed Chris. I don’t think Nicholas meant to kill him.” Diana shuddered.

  “Wow,” George murmured. Nancy patted Diana’s shoulder, encouraging her to go on with her story.

  “When Nicholas saw what he had done, he panicked,” Diana said. “That was when Bob took over. He told Nick to take the body out in one of the boats and sink it. Then, when Nick was gone, Bob made me promise never to tell. He said if I did he and Nick would swear I had done it. He said the painting and my hairpin would be all the ‘evidence’ he needed.”

  Nancy thought she could guess the rest. “With Christopher dead,” she put in, “Nicholas had no money. But there were a lot of unfinished paintings around.

  “Nicholas could paint a little, something that not many people knew. Of course, he wasn’t the genius Christopher was, but he could do a fair imitation of his uncle’s style if he had something to start with. So he began finishing the stuff Christopher had left undone, and Bob sold the forgeries. They must have split the money they made on the paintings. There was no reason for anyone to be suspicious—no one ever saw Christopher around anyway. If he was still turning out paintings, no one would ever suspect he was dead.

  “But I guess Nicholas felt guilty. I think he must have really cared about Christopher, or else Christopher wouldn’t have been so devoted to him. Anyway, Megan Archer said Nicholas had mood swings. He often escaped to his boat. He was running out of paintings to finish, and he was worried about that.

  “That’s why Megan’s description of him is so different from everyone else’s,” Nancy continued. “I kept thinking it was love that made her see him differently, but then I realized that couldn’t be the only reason. Even love isn’t that blind—Nicholas must have really changed. He must have been feeling guilty and getting scared about what would happen when there were no paintings left to finish.”

  Diana picked up the story. “I wanted to buy the Vanity and destroy it, but it was never exhibited. When I heard Nicholas was dead, I thought I’d come back and look for it. That way, there would be no proof that I was there that night with the murder weapon in my hand.” She grimaced. “But I guess Bob Tercero has the painting hidden somewhere—and he’ll hold it over me as a threat for the rest of my life.”

  “Don’t worry about Bob,” Nancy reassured her. “He’s got a lot to answer for—the police should be picking him up any minute on charges of assaulting me. And the painting is safe with Nicholas’s girlfriend, Megan.”

  “I guess I should go to the police, too,” Diana said in a dull voice. “I really am responsible. I helped cover up a murder.”

  “That’s true,” Nancy admitted, “but I don’t think they’ll be too hard on you. After all, you’re the only witness.”

  Diana shook her head. “It’ll be my word against Bob’s.”

  “Well, let’s stop by Megan’s house and pick up the Vanity, then,” Nancy suggested. “And I’ll go with you to the police station.”

  Nancy joined Diana in the white Volvo, so that she could go over all the details of the case with the girl.

  Tommy and Bess le
d the way back through town, past the Scotts’ estate, to Megan’s house. When the three cars pulled into the driveway, Megan’s house was a blaze of light in the deepening dusk. Nancy looked over toward the Scotts’ boat house, silhouetted against the setting sun.

  They trooped up the front steps, Nancy in the lead.

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy told Diana, seeing her uneasy expression. “I’m sure Megan will lend us the painting when she hears why we need it.”

  The door opened partway very slowly. Megan’s face appeared strained.

  “Nancy,” she began.

  The door flew all the way open, and a man leapt at Nancy. He spun her around and grabbed her by the throat.

  It was Bob Tercero, and he was holding something against Nancy’s back.

  “Stop right there,” he warned the startled crowd. “I have a gun, and I promise you I’ll use it!”

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  EVERYBODY INSIDE,” Bob ordered, dragging Nancy with him. “I want all of you on the couch where I can see you.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw the Vanity painting propped against the wall next to the sliding glass doors. Bob shoved her just then, so she lost her balance and fell forward onto the couch. Sasha caught her arm and steadied her, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “What a pleasure!” Bob crowed, waving his gun at the huddled group. “Two redheaded meddlers in one room. I see you didn’t heed my warning about lying,” he said to Nancy.

  “What are you talking about?” Nancy asked, trying to sound calm.

  “You lied about the painting. That was dumb,” he growled. “There was never any way Diana could have taken it. Nicholas did die in an accident, you see. It wasn’t planned, so Diana couldn’t have known about it and gotten to the painting before me.”

  “How did you know to come here?” Nancy asked.

  “I always thought Nicholas had hidden it,” Bob admitted, “but then you told me someone had taken it before I could. Megan was the only answer.”

  So that’s what he had meant! Nancy had slipped and put everyone in danger. She could have kicked herself.

  “Why come to get it?” she asked. “You had a head start to safety. Why not just get away?”

  “The Vanity is Christopher Scott’s only portrait and his last real painting,” Bob replied. “When the word gets out that Nick forged the others, this one will be priceless.”

  “Well, the priceless painting won’t do you any good in jail,” Nancy said. “Look around you, Bob. There are seven of us here. How do you think you’re going to get away?”

  Bob laughed. “You’re an awfully cocky girl,” he said. “I’m the one with the gun.”

  Sasha looked at Tommy, and both guys stood up.

  “Watch yourselves,” Bob said, waving the gun back and forth. “I’ll shoot.”

  But Nancy could tell Bob was scared. “I will shoot!” he repeated. He backed toward the glass doors, the gun pointed at Nancy. She stood up and took a step toward him.

  “Get away from me,” he shouted. Then he fired the gun at the ceiling.

  Diana screamed.

  “Watch out!” Nancy cried, ducking. “Everybody, hit the floor!”

  George grabbed Megan, who had started to cry. “Is everyone okay?” she asked. “Megan, were you hit?”

  Megan shook her head. “Just shaken.”

  “Where’s Bob?” Tommy asked, one arm around a shaking Bess.

  The glass doors were open and the painting was gone. Bob had escaped!

  The young people poured out the doorway and onto the lawn. Nancy heard the roar of a powerboat engine being started. “The dock!” she cried. “He’s taking one of Nicholas’s boats!”

  Nancy, George, and the guys took off for the Scotts’ studio, the other girls right behind them. Nancy was right—Nicholas’s boat was headed in the direction of town.

  “Jump in the other one!” Tommy called, his feet pounding the wooden dock. He leapt into the boat and pulled the cord on the engine. It sputtered to life.

  “Let’s go,” Nancy directed as George and Sasha climbed in, too. She waved to Diana and Bess. “Stay here,” she yelled. “Call the police.”

  Tommy steered toward Tercero’s boat. “Everyone to the stern,” Tommy shouted over the engine. “We’ll go faster that way.”

  “Can we catch him?” George asked anxiously.

  “I don’t know,” Tommy admitted. “But he’s pretty far out, and he’ll have to come back in to dock—if he’s going to town. If we stay close to shore, we ought to make up some time.”

  The wind whipped Nancy’s hair around her face, and she had to squint to see Bob’s boat in the deepening dusk. “Is he turning in toward land yet?” she shouted to Tommy.

  “Looks like it. There’s a dock nearby. He must be heading for it.”

  Nancy and her friends were slowly gaining on Bob. “I think we’re going to make it,” she said, pointing toward the shore. “There’s the dock.”

  Bob was trying to maneuver the boat beside the long wooden dock sticking out in front of the town’s main marina. There were sailboats and luxury boats of all sizes tied up in rows in neighboring slips.

  “We’re in luck,” Tommy said happily. “He doesn’t know how to steer it in. At this rate he’s going to crash right into the pier.”

  Tommy cut the engine. “Sasha, take this rope and get on the bow. Hold on to the cleat so you don’t fall off. When I get close, jump onto the dock and tie us up.”

  Bob had made it to the dock without mishap and was trying to climb out of the boat. “He’s getting away!” George warned.

  “Jump now!” Tommy yelled.

  Sasha jumped, throwing the looped end of the rope around the cleat on the dock. The dancer landed on the dock five feet from Bob Tercero. Bob spun around—and pointed the gun at Sasha!

  “Look out!” Nancy cried.

  Sasha rolled and did a handspring. His right leg shot out, karate-style, and kicked Bob’s gun neatly out of the way. It clattered along the dock. Bob roared in fury and threw a punch. Nancy watched anxiously as the two fought. Sasha threw his shoulder into Bob’s chest, knocking the man off balance. Then, to Nancy’s horror, Sasha grabbed at his left arm and stumbled backward.

  “His shoulder!” she gasped, remembering Sasha’s spill when they had gone waterskiing. He must have reinjured it. Bob, seeing his advantage, ran for the gun.

  “Sasha, be careful!” Nancy screamed. She scrambled onto the dock and launched herself at Tercero. Her body hit his, and then they were airborne, flying off the dock. Nancy stubbornly held on to Bob’s waist as they hit the water.

  Keep him off balance, Nancy told herself. She grabbed his head, trying to force him underwater. His hands reached up for her, pulling her under with him. She gulped air quickly, struggling to get free.

  Nancy held her breath. Tercero was stronger, but she had caught him off guard, and he hadn’t taken a deep breath before going under. Now she had to keep that advantage. She grabbed his arm firmly and dove for the bottom. She had to keep him under until his air ran out.

  Bob dropped his hold on Nancy, the air from his lungs bubbling toward the surface in a cloud. She had him! Nancy tightened her hold. She counted to ten and then let him go, kicking quickly up behind him. She dragged his choking body back to the dock and turned him over to Tommy, who hoisted him up.

  Nancy dropped down on the dock next to Sasha. “I didn’t know you knew karate,” she said weakly. She could hear police sirens in the distance.

  “I don’t—I just picked that move up from watching American TV,” Sasha confessed.

  Nancy stared at him. He had taken an awful risk. “Good thing it worked,” she said at last.

  “Good thing you can hold your breath for so long,” he countered, hugging her tightly.

  • • •

  Nancy spent the rest of the night with Diana at the police station, and they made their statements. The next day she slept late, and in the afternoon
Nancy accompanied Sergeant Jones to the site of Nicholas’s accident. If she was right, the other old wreck she’d seen down there held some crucial answers. But this time, she stayed in the boat when the divers went down.

  By the time Nancy got back to her aunt Eloise’s house, she was exhausted.

  “Thank goodness you’re home,” Eloise said as Nancy walked in the door. She was sitting in the living room with Bess and George. “Bess was worried. She kept saying, ‘But Nancy’s going to miss the bonfire.’ ”

  “A bonfire!” Nancy’s eyes lit up.

  “The guys are waiting,” George said with a smile.

  “And so’s the food!” Bess added.

  “What took you so long?” George asked as the girls headed down the beach.

  Nancy wrinkled her nose. “I’ll tell you after dinner,” she said. “You don’t want to hear it now, believe me.”

  “What a day,” Bess said, kicking the sand as she walked.

  “You mean today?” Nancy asked, surprised.

  George burst out laughing. “She sure does! Go ahead and ask her what happened to her today.”

  “I’m never going to model again!” Bess wailed.

  “Oh, no,” Nancy said. “You saw Doug’s painting?”

  “You bet I did!” Bess said grimly. “And I almost hit him over the head with it, too! When I think of all those hours I spent posing for that little twerp!”

  “I’m sorry, Bess,” Nancy said kindly, throwing her arm around her friend. But she couldn’t suppress a smile as she glanced over at George.

  “I wanted to have a beautiful portrait, like Diana’s,” Bess complained, pouting. “He could have used boxes for that painting instead of me.”

  “There they are,” George cried, pointing to three figures on the beach. Nancy felt a tingle of excitement as she saw that Sasha was there, too. She hadn’t been sure he would be, and she hadn’t felt comfortable asking Bess or George.