The Case of the Lost Song Read online

  screen. “Look. Nancy, this is unbelievable! Quick,

  check your list.”

  Nancy looked at the screen and cried out, “Every

  single person that's been burgled is listed!”

  “So Thriftytreasures is the—what?—the fence, the

  actual ring of thieves?” Ned wondered.

  “I don't know. But we have to find out who's behind

  Thriftytreasures.com.”

  George drummed her fingers against the monitor,

  then spoke up. “Don't Web-based companies usually

  give their e-mail addresses?”

  “Of course.” Lisa scrolled to the bottom of the home

  page and read the e-mail address aloud.

  “[email protected].”

  Lisa kept staring at the screen as if trying to puzzle

  something out. Suddenly she let out a soft moan. “Oh,

  Nancy, I know who this is!”

  “Who?” Nancy demanded to know.

  “I helped her pick it out when I first came to Old

  Can Be Gold. The whole crowd was at lunch one day

  trying to come up with cool screen names for one

  another. Mine was Songbird, and—”

  “And,” Nancy deduced, “Eyeriver is Inez Rivera!”

  13. Double Exposure

  Lisa dropped her hands to her lap and cried in dismay.

  “I refuse to believe Inez is involved in this scheme.

  And, anyway, how'd she pull off the burglaries? She's

  never been on the road with the show.

  “Oh, Inez didn't personally commit the burglaries,

  Lisa. Believe me, the woman isn't working alone, I'm

  sure of that,” Nancy declared, feeling vindicated. Her

  gut instincts had proved right once again. Inez had

  been acting vaguely suspicious and awfully nervous

  right from the get-go. “But the problem is proving all

  this. We've got part of the picture, but I can't connect

  the dots. Inez uses this Web site, but how? To notify

  the actual burglars where to hit next?”

  For a moment everyone was silent. “Why don't we

  set her up?” Ned suggested.

  “How?” George inquired.

  Nancy shared a glance with Ned, then said, “We'll

  bait her with one of the objects appraised here at the

  show. One of us can pose as an interested buyer. I bet

  that within a couple of days that object is burgled,

  fenced, and offered to us.”

  “Not to us. To me,” Ned volunteered. “Inez doesn't

  know me—at least not by name. I'll e-mail her now and

  check her reply tomorrow when I'm back at school. My

  ride's heading back to Emerson really early in the

  morning,” he told Nancy.

  Lisa pushed her chair over to make room for Ned in

  front of the keyboard.

  “What is it I'd like to buy?” he asked.

  “I know!” Bess cried gleefully “That wooden Indian.

  That's a real guy sort of thing.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “But don't say you've seen

  it at Old Can Be Gold. Just that you collect cigar store

  Indian statues.”

  Once Ned had sent his e-mail, they left the café and

  dropped Ned off at his buddy's house. After he got out

  of the car, he poked his head back in the window.

  “Nancy, be careful,” he urged. “If Inez knows you're

  onto her, she might warn the thieves.” Ned hesitated.

  “Do you want me to hang out here tomorrow? I can

  grab a bus back to school tomorrow night.”

  “No, Ned. I'll be okay,” Nancy promised, blowing

  him a kiss good night. “And don't forget to call me

  when Inez responds to your e-mail,” she reminded

  him.

  * * *

  Back at Lisa's, Nancy was too psyched to sleep. In

  the wee hours she lay in bed, thinking about the case.

  Finding the Thriftytreasures.com site had really broken

  things open.

  Inez wasn't working alone—and maybe, just maybe,

  she was somehow in league with Ethan. Like Jason, he

  had been on the road with the show. He really did

  seem amazed that the tape had been stolen, but Nancy

  was beginning to suspect that whoever stole the tape

  might not be behind the rest of the burglaries. Inez

  and Ethan were connected to each other, and possibly

  to the crimes.

  Then there was Wes Clarke. Nancy wanted to scout

  out his premises before the show reopened its doors

  later in the day. Maybe she should snoop around

  Westfield's for any scrap of evidence to connect Ethan

  and Inez.

  As for Jason, his pictures were either proof he was

  part of the crime ring, or they were simply copies of

  photos he had sent to clients.

  Nancy dozed on and off until a faint early dawn light

  filtered through the guest room windows. In the next

  bed George was in a deep sleep, her breathing quiet

  and even. Moving very quietly, Nancy got up, grabbed

  her clothes, and carried them to the living room. There

  she dressed hurriedly in jeans, a sweatshirt, and

  sneakers, and tied her hair up in a ponytail. She started

  for the front door, then detoured to the kitchen, where

  she scrawled a hasty note: “I'm off early to the show to

  check something out. See you there later.”

  A few minutes later she was pulling out of the

  garage. Across the lake the gray sky was retreating

  before the first glimmer of sunrise. Traffic was almost

  nonexistent that early on a Sunday morning, and Nancy

  reached the sports complex in less than twenty

  minutes. She parked her Mustang at the far end of the

  lot.

  To her surprise several cars were already parked in

  the employee parking area. Then two men approached

  the loading dock. One wore a security guard uniform,

  the other a windbreaker with the words Max's Hauling

  on the back. Nancy slipped behind the trailer of a truck

  and overheard them talking.

  “Look, Will, I'm doing you a big favor here. I'm

  supposed to be at my post. The guys up top are ner-

  vous about a possible break-in.”

  What luck! Nancy realized. The entrance to the

  complex was temporarily unguarded as the men

  ducked into the trailer of a moving van. Nancy leaped

  onto the loading dock and in through the freight

  entrance.

  She stopped at the open door to the gym to catch

  her breath and to make sure she hadn't been followed.

  The gym was quiet. Probably only the one guard was

  on duty. Only a few security lights were lit, casting long

  mysterious shadows over the various appraisal booths,

  pieces of antique furniture, and statuary. The place felt

  positively haunted. Nancy decided to explore

  CrimeShoppers first.

  When Nancy approached Wes's table, her heart

  sank. He had cleared off his display shelves and the

  surface of his table. He had probably stowed all his

  wares somewhere safe and secure—including the

  square box she had come to check out. Not really

  expecting to find anything, Nancy lifted the tablecloth.

  Beneath the table a stack of storage cartons formed a

  kind of shelf. And right on top of one of
the cartons,

  was that familiar square box.

  Nancy picked it up. It definitely was not the same

  box that George's tape had come in, but it was a reel-

  to-reel tape box. Carefully Nancy opened it and stared

  at its contents: Four neat stacks of mint-condition

  cards—the kind that came in bubble gum packs—were

  inside. Except these cards depicted famous criminals

  instead of sports stars. Nancy sat back on her heels and

  started to laugh.

  Well, what did she expect? Wes was a crime

  memorabilia dealer. Nancy had heard of cards like

  these: gangster collector cards put out in the 1920s and

  '30s, when big-time crooks like Al Capone and Baby

  Face Nelson were pop icons.

  Nancy's smile faded as she closed the box and

  carefully placed it exactly as she had found it, on top of

  the storage cartons. She got up, smoothed the wrinkles

  on the tablecloth, and shook her head. If Wes had

  taken the Lou Knight tape, he didn't have it here. And

  then there was still the matter of how that

  fingerprinting kit got into her bag. Nancy wasn't ready

  to dismiss Wes as a suspect either in the tape burglary

  or the bigger crime.

  Nancy looked up: the windows high on the gym

  walls framed squares of pale blue sky. Nancy checked

  her watch. The sun was up, and she had no idea how

  early the Old Can Be Gold staff came to work.

  Still hugging the shadows, she hurried across the

  room to Westfield's. The Westfield's site was larger and

  more elaborate than CrimeShoppers, with three glass-

  front display cases arranged as three sides of a square

  and serving as appraisal counters. Nancy stepped

  behind the makeshift counter, where there were a

  couple of tall chairs for the appraisers, some storage

  cartons, and plastic milk crates filled with files,

  catalogs, and some reference books. Pushing a chair

  out of her way, Nancy stooped down and riffled

  through the folders.

  Most of the material was related to sales, bills of

  lading, and storage records. Suddenly her eye caught

  the name on one thick folder. It was printed in bold

  black felt-tip marker: “Ethan's Stash.”

  Nancy slipped the file out of the crate and opened it.

  There were notes about ceramic collectibles, the Arts

  and Crafts movement, Depression-era glass, and one

  legal-size yellow sheet of paper with an annotated list

  of music collectibles. Among the items most in demand

  by collectors were a Beatles autograph book worth

  several thousand dollars, posters from Grateful Dead

  concerts in the late 1960s or early '70s, and a guitar

  owned by Jimi Hendrix. Following the list of items was

  a list of names: possible collectors and/or possible

  sources of rare rock memorabilia.

  There was nothing about the missing tape, but here

  was evidence enough that Ethan had connections to

  the music world beyond his friendship with Bobby

  Morgan. If Inez was involved in setting up robberies,

  then Ethan could easily provide a list of customers

  ready to pay big bucks for it.

  And, of course, Ethan had access to records for all of

  Westfield's clientele. Between his connections and

  Inez's they barely needed professional fences, only

  goons to effect the actual break-ins.

  Nancy wondered if she should take the list with her

  to check the names against the Thriftytreasures site or

  if she should just copy the names down in her

  notebook. Before she could decide, she heard the

  clicking of a woman's high heels. The footsteps were

  heading directly toward her.

  Frantic, Nancy looked for a place to hide. Her eyes

  alighted on a big wardrobe. Staying low behind the

  counter, Nancy scurried toward the wardrobe and

  opened the door, praying it wouldn't creak.

  Fortunately its owner had been good about oiling the

  hinges. Nancy crept inside and closed the door, leaving

  it open just a crack for air. It was a tight fit, but she

  managed to scrunch herself in.

  “Ethan Woodard, I owe you one!”

  At the sound of Inez's voice, Nancy was barely able

  to stifle a gasp.

  “You probably do,” Ethan said. He sounded grumpy

  and sour. What's going on that couldn't wait until

  later? I didn't get home until four this morning.”

  “That's not my fault. This is the only time we could

  hook up without anyone around,” Inez snapped. “I told

  you at the party last night we needed to talk, but you

  wouldn't give me the time of day. You were too busy

  obsessing over that George—or is it her tape?”

  Nancy heard Ethan emit a loud sigh. “Look, Inez, I

  know things ended badly between us last year, but get

  over it. And, yeah, that girl is nice, but she doesn't even

  live around here, and she's a little young for me. As for

  the tape,” he added glumly, “someone stole it from

  Lisa's condo.”

  Inez gasped. “I didn't know that!” There was a

  moment's silence. “That explains everything—why that

  friend of Lisa's is snooping around trying to find out

  about those burglaries.”

  “The burglaries?” Ethan suddenly sounded wary.

  “Inez, don't tell me you're involved—”

  “No way!” Inez declared hotly, and Nancy smiled to

  herself. The girl sounded convincing. “But, Ethan, it's

  going to look like I'm chin deep in the whole mess.”

  She paused, and when she continued, Nancy could

  hear she was on the verge of tears. “Everything that's

  been stolen has been listed on my Web site. Then,

  when I got home last night, there was a posting from a

  collector who wanted a particular land of wooden

  Indian.”

  Ned's e-mail! Nancy realized, and pressed her ear

  against the crack in the door as Inez went on. “I know

  this sounds crazy, but there was something suspicious

  about it. There's an item like what he wants at the

  show, but the appraisal data and owner's address

  haven't even reached my desk yet. It's too much of a

  coincidence. Someone's going to tie me in with those

  burglaries, Ethan. Now, after that e-mail, I'm sure

  someone's onto my site—but for the wrong reasons!

  I'm no thief, and Thriftytreasures is just a smart

  business idea.”

  Nancy wished she could see Inez's face. Could she

  really be telling the truth?

  “Inez.” Ethan sounded grim. “I warned you about

  starting Thriftytreasures. That was a crazy, greedy

  scheme, linking up collectors with potential sellers by

  using the Old Can Be Gold database.”

  “Maybe it is,” Inez retorted. “But it's not illegal

  unless . . .” Nancy heard a note of suspicion enter

  Inez's voice. “You're the only person who knows about

  my connection to that site. How do I know you haven't

  used the base yourself for a whole scuzzy operation?

  And speaking of greed—you have no right to criticize
r />   me for being greedy. What about your brother? The

  guy's a money-hungry operator—where does his

  money come from?”

  Ethan laughed tightly. “Look, I don't love seeing

  him rich, either, but he does earn those bucks. He

  works hard in a high-paying field. Take that fashion

  shoot he did last week. He's bragging that he bribed

  the doorman of a luxury condo on Lake Shore Drive to

  use an apartment for a shoot—just to impress Yvonne

  Bly. As you say, the guy's an operator—and greedy—”

  Ethan broke off. “Hey, you're not accusing Jason . . .”

  “Maybe I am,” Inez said. “Just think, he could have

  learned about my site from you.”

  “You think I'd tell him? I promised I wouldn't tell

  anyone about the site or your being behind it, Inez. I

  don't break promises,” he added in an accusing tone.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  Ethan let out a bitter laugh. “You of all people know

  I don't share very much with my brother. He is not my

  favorite person.”

  “Right,” Inez scoffed. “I've heard that line before.

  You guys put on a big show of not liking each other,

  but I've always felt it's just an act.”

  “I can't believe I'm hearing this,” Ethan fumed.

  “Especially from you. Jason is money hungry but no

  crook, and neither am I.” Ethan suddenly cut himself

  off. “Someone's coming.”

  “Probably Security,” Inez said with a calmness that

  amazed Nancy. “Don't worry. We're covered. I'm

  supposed to be here to accept an early-morning

  delivery of a museum-quality rolltop desk that Old Can

  Be Gold is moving to the show for the client.”

  “And my excuse?”

  “You're with me.”

  Nancy listened as a security guard approached. He

  chatted briefly with Ethan and Inez, then left. A

  moment later Ethan and Inez headed off. Nancy

  waited a minute longer, then slipped out of the

  wardrobe, her head reeling.

  What was it Ethan had said about Jason's renting a

  condo overlooking Lake Shore Drive for a fashion

  shoot? Nancy called to mind the photo on the wall at

  Jason's show. Of course it looked familiar. The view out

  the window in the photo was the same as the one from

  Lisa's terrace.

  Nancy managed to slip past the security desk, and a

  few moments later she was in her car, heading toward

  Jason's loft. When she arrived, Jason's street was