Playing With Fire Read online

  Amanda smiled. “Diana’s parties always go on—and on and on.” Then she grew serious. “I suppose you want to look at the remains of the Flame. It’s upstairs, with the copy.”

  Nancy nodded and followed Amanda up to the display room. “There must be some clue to what started the fire,” Nancy said. “I expected to find some trace of an incendiary device when I looked at the dress earlier. But I didn’t see a thing.”

  As they reached the door of the room, Diana joined them. Nancy turned to her. “Do you have the key to this room, Diana?”

  “Oh, the room’s not locked,” Amanda said. She pushed on the door. It swung open.

  “Don’t you think it should be locked?” Nancy asked.

  Diana looked confused. “Well, I—”

  “We didn’t really think we needed to lock it,” Amanda interrupted. “After all, the arsonist has already done his work, hasn’t he? The Flame’s destroyed.”

  Nancy sighed. Don’t remind me, she thought. She knew it would be a long time before she could forgive herself for what had happened. “I suppose you’re right,” she said.

  The room was dark. Nancy switched on the lights—and what she saw stopped her in her tracks. The dress forms were there, but they were both empty.

  Behind Nancy, Amanda gasped and Diana gave a loud shriek. “The gowns have been stolen!” Diana cried. “The Flame is gone!”

  Chapter

  Six

  OUTSIDE, THE MUSICIANS had taken a break, and Diana’s voice was loud in the silence. “There’s a thief in my house! I’m going to call the police!”

  “But I—I don’t understand,” Amanda said, her forehead wrinkled. “Who would steal a damaged antique gown? And what would anyone want with a copy?”

  “Obviously,” Nancy said, “the thief didn’t want anybody to examine that dress. He might have taken the copy just to confuse the issue. Or he might not have been sure which one was real. And, of course, hiding the dresses also hides any clue to how the Flame caught on fire.”

  Suddenly the sound of a shuffling step in the hallway caught her attention. Nancy stepped swiftly and silently to the door and yanked it open.

  Outside, bent over slightly as though he’d been listening, stood the bearded, good-looking man she had seen coming out of Wellington’s shop—the same one who had pulled George out of the pool.

  “Oh, hello,” the young man said mildly, straightening up. He brushed his sun-streaked brown hair back with his fingers and smiled. “I thought I saw you come upstairs. I just wanted to ask about your friend George. Is she all right?”

  Nancy stared at him suspiciously. He returned her gaze, his blue-green eyes steady. She was positive that he’d been eavesdropping outside the door. Why? What was his connection to the case? “The doctor said she’d be okay with a little rest,” she said. “Uh, what did you say your name was?”

  “Oh, Chad!” Diana exclaimed, dashing into the hall. “I understand that you’re the one who jumped into the pool to save Nancy’s friend from drowning.” She fluttered her long eyelashes flirtatiously. “Chad Bannister is my new neighbor,” she said.

  Chad grinned at Nancy, and a dimple formed in his cheek. He was gorgeous, Nancy thought. “Could you tell your friend that I’ll give her a call this evening? Whenever I save a girl from drowning, I like to check up on her.”

  “Miss Normandy?” A maid was standing in the doorway. “The police are here.”

  “Oh! Send them up,” Diana said. “Nancy, we called the police. It’s not that I don’t think you’re—I just wanted to call in the police for the record.”

  “It’s a formality for the insurance company,” Amanda interrupted. “After discussing it, we definitely want you to stay on the case, Nancy—so don’t worry about that.”

  I’ll try not to, Nancy thought.

  • • •

  George put down the telephone beside the sofa in their hotel suite. Her cheeks were pink, her dark eyes sparkling. “Is Chad Bannister really that good-looking, Nancy?” she asked.

  “What’s the matter, George?” Bess teased. “Can’t you remember?”

  George touched the lump on her head, looking frustrated. “That’s the funny part,” she said. “I can’t remember anything from the time I put on the dress until I woke up on the sofa.”

  “I know your head still hurts,” Nancy said, sitting down beside George, “but I’m sure the police and the insurance company need to question you. It would be helpful if you could try to remember something.”

  “What did the police find when they came to investigate?” Bess asked, pulling the tab on a diet soda.

  Nancy shook her head. “Nothing. They took statements from us and poked around for a little while. Then they left. Maybe they don’t have to work as hard on cases like this when an insurance company has to do so much work.” She glanced at George. “What did Chad have to say?”

  George threw Nancy a sidelong look. “Oh, just that he’d like to take me out. I might be tempted. What would you think if I went out with him tomorrow night?”

  Nancy ran her fingers through her hair. “Actually, George, I think it’d be a good idea if you went out with him. Maybe you can find out what his connection is to all this.” She shook her head. “I mean, it’s got to be more than a coincidence that he showed up at Wellington’s asking questions just a couple of hours before Diana’s gown was torched.”

  “Oh, so you want me to spend my date playing detective again?” George said, raising her eyebrows.

  “You got it,” Nancy told her with a grin. They were both remembering Nancy’s last case, Rich and Dangerous, when George had gone out with a good-looking suspect to find out some vital information. “After all, we’re here to work, aren’t we?”

  She leaned back on the sofa. “I’ve been thinking about our suspect list. Brent seems to be off the list, since he doesn’t have any motive. Before I left the party, I asked him if it was possible that either Amanda or Diana might be involved in this somehow.”

  Bess took a sip of her soda. “What did he say?”

  “He just pointed out that both Diana and Amanda have plenty of money. I had to agree that Amanda doesn’t seem to have a motive. She could have sold the manuscript for more than she’ll get from the insurance company. And, of course, Diana has money to burn. You can’t give parties the way she does unless you’re—”

  Just then the telephone rang. On the other end, Preston Talbot greeted her, saying he was sorry to bother her on Sunday night. Then he got down to business.

  “I understand that you’ve met Elaine Ellsworth, who works for our insurance company,” Mr. Talbot said. “Well, she asked me if she could question you—something about a gown that her company has insured. She said you’d know what it was about. Would it be too inconvenient to meet with her tonight?”

  Nancy said, “No, it wouldn’t be.” They decided to meet in Mr. Talbot’s office since he was there working.

  Mr. Talbot paused, then asked Nancy about the progress she was making on the case.

  “Well, we’re getting somewhere,” Nancy told him. “We’ve learned that our suspect could be somebody with a fixation about Napoleon. He—or she—has made extortion attempts three times in the last two weeks, and each time he’s destroyed a valuable antique.”

  Mr. Talbot gave a short laugh. “Well,” he said, “whoever he is, I hope he’s met his Waterloo. Good luck, Nancy.”

  “Who was it, Nancy?” Bess asked as Nancy sat staring at the phone.

  “It was Preston Talbot,” Nancy said. “Elaine Ellsworth wants to talk to me about the Flame. Apparently, her company insured it.” She frowned. “But I can’t figure out how she found out about the arson so fast—and on a Sunday night!”

  Nancy’s question was answered ten minutes later when she met Elaine Ellsworth in Mr. Talbot’s office. Ms. Ellsworth was sitting behind Mr. Talbot’s large desk, reading the police report.

  “I apologize for calling you on a Sunday,” she said, “but when I’m w
orking on an arson case I like to move fast—before the trail gets cold.” She took Nancy in with her cool gray eyes. “I understand from the police report that you were at Diana Normandy’s house when the Empress’s Flame was destroyed and that you were with Ms. Normandy when she discovered that the remains of the gown were missing.” She handed the report to Nancy. “Do you have anything to add to the statement that you made to the police?”

  Nancy read it over and told Ms. Ellsworth what she had seen. “There is one other thing you should know, since you’re working on the arson case here at the hotel. I’m a private detective. Mr. Talbot asked me to—”

  Ms. Ellsworth cut her off. “I know. He’s explained why you’re here.” She leaned forward intently. “I must say, Ms. Drew, that I find it a little curious that you have become involved with a second arson case so soon after your arrival here.”

  Nancy met her gaze. “It’s not curious at all,” she said with a little shrug. “I was simply following up on a lead to an earlier arson—the burning of Amanda Hyde-Porter’s manuscript of Napoleon and Josephine. As I told the police, that’s how I met Diana Normandy.”

  Elaine Ellsworth put down the report. “I see,” she said. “Well, I have no wish to interfere, Ms. Drew. But I must remind you that the penalty for withholding evidence in an arson investigation is quite—”

  Nancy sat up straight. She was furious but determined not to show it. “I’m not withholding any evidence,” she said steadily.

  “Good.” Ms. Ellsworth smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Then I’m sure you’ll keep me posted on the progress of your investigation, won’t you?”

  • • •

  It was Monday morning, and the girls were on their way to Marina del Rey to question Professor Nicole Ronsarde. Nancy had just finished telling her friends about Elaine Ellsworth’s questioning.

  “It almost sounds as if Ms. Ellsworth suspects you, Nancy,” Bess said.

  “I think she does,” Nancy responded, pulling Mr. Talbot’s Lincoln into the oceanside parking lot at the marina. “At the very least, she thinks I’m withholding information.” She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a serious problem, but it could slow up my investigation.”

  “I’ve never been on a houseboat before,” George remarked as they walked along the pier past luxurious teak-and-chrome yachts and fancy houseboats. “I wonder what it would be like to live on one.”

  “Cramped,” Nancy said with a laugh. “And you’d probably have plenty of sea gulls for company.” She pointed to a large cedar-shingled houseboat at the end of the pier. A small forest of ferns was growing on the deck, and three gulls perched on the railing. “This must be it.”

  Their knock was answered by a small, gray-haired, bright-eyed woman dressed in green. Two white Persian cats with gold collars wound themselves around her ankles, and she was holding a third cat in her arms.

  “Hello,” the woman said. She had a heavy French accent. “What can I do for you?”

  “My name is Nancy Drew,” Nancy began, “and these are my associates, Bess Marvin and George Fayne. We’d like to talk to you about a manuscript that belonged to Amanda Hyde-Porter—a manuscript that was unfortunately burned a couple of weeks ago. The manuscript was called Napoleon and Josephine, and it was written by—”

  But Nancy didn’t get to finish her sentence. “Amanda! That lying wretch!” Professor Ronsarde shouted so loudly that the sea gulls flapped away. Frightened, the cat jumped out of her arms and scurried across the deck. “Amanda is the one who should be torched. She stole the Napoleon. It was mine!”

  Chapter

  Seven

  NANCY STARED AT Professor Ronsarde in shock. “Amanda stole it from you? You mean the manuscript was yours?”

  The professor opened the door. “Come in,” she said. “You must hear the whole story immediately—the truth this time.”

  As the girls trooped into the houseboat, they looked around in surprise. It wasn’t cramped at all. A window covered one wall of the living room, opening out to a view of the ocean. On another wall was a fireplace. And it was obvious that the professor was a book lover, for books were everywhere—lining the walls, stacked on the floor, spilling off tables. Cats were everywhere, too. Nancy counted at least four.

  “You see,” Professor Ronsarde said as the girls sat down, “I can never resist a good book. Books are my life. I live for books.” A gray Persian cat jumped off a shelf and onto her lap. “And for my cats, of course,” she added. “Hello, Voltaire.” She began to stroke the cat, crooning softly into its ear.

  “You had planned to add Napoleon and Josephine to your collection?” Nancy prompted her.

  “Yes.” The professor looked up, her eyes dark. “In fact, I had identified the manuscript as the original, written in the author’s own hand. This is what gave it such great value. Then, just as I was preparing to make the purchase, Amanda Hyde-Porter swooped in and bought it for double my offer. She did it to spite me!”

  “Oh, I see,” George said. “So that’s why you’re upset with her.”

  Professor Ronsarde straightened up in her chair, and her voice began to rise. “Yes, that is why! I tell you, Amanda is to blame for all that has happened. If she had not cheated me out of the Napoleon, it would still be safe. It would have been mine!”

  Nancy frowned. “But why did you want the manuscript in the first place? I understand that you aren’t exactly a fan of Napoleon’s.”

  Professor Ronsarde stared at her blankly. “Who gave you that idea?” she asked. “Napoleon was one of France’s greatest leaders.”

  The girls exchanged glances. “But Amanda said—” Bess began.

  “Amanda!” the professor exclaimed. “She is a liar as well as a thief!”

  Nancy stood up. “Do you have any information about how the manuscript burned?” she asked.

  The professor shook her head. “All I know is that it was a terrible deed,” she said mournfully. “Such a sad thing, to burn such a valuable piece of history.”

  For a moment the room was silent. Then Nancy took out a piece of paper and scribbled some numbers on it. “These are the telephone numbers,” she said, “for our hotel room and our car phone. You’ll call us, won’t you,” she added, “if you think of anything else we ought to know?”

  A Siamese cat jumped from the back of the sofa onto Professor Ronsarde’s shoulder. “I will,” the professor said, tucking the paper into her pocket. She glowered furiously. “And if you see Amanda, tell her for me that I will find a way to get even with her for what she has done!”

  “Whew!” George said as the girls climbed back into the Lincoln. “What a character! Book lover, cat lover—”

  “And Napoleon lover,” Bess broke in. “I wonder why Amanda lied about her.”

  Nancy started the car. “We don’t know which one is lying,” she pointed out. “Obviously there’s bad blood between the two of them. Amanda could be lying to make trouble for a former professor she doesn’t like. Or Professor Ronsarde could be lying to cover her tracks.” She frowned. “Still, it’s hard for me to believe that the professor is responsible. I think she’s too much of a book lover to burn a valuable manuscript.”

  “Unless Amanda’s right and the professor really hates Napoleon,” George said. “Maybe the arsonist’s real motive is to destroy anything connected to or about Napoleon.”

  “I don’t know, George,” Nancy said. She pulled out of the parking lot and down the palm-lined highway.

  “Where to now, Nancy?” Bess asked.

  “Kincaid Studios is only a few miles from here,” Nancy said. “I think we ought to pay Brent a visit and find out more about the sheik who lost the Napoleon miniature in that poker game.”

  “Terrific!” Bess crowed, clapping her hands. “Hollywood, here we come!”

  • • •

  “Nancy!” Brent Kincaid turned away from the filming crew he was watching and walked toward the three girls. “What a pleasant surprise! You’re ju
st in time to see—”

  “Fire in the hole!” came a shout from across the set.

  Behind Brent there was a giant explosion. As Nancy and her friends watched in open-mouthed horror, the wall of one of the buildings on the set behind him collapsed in a cloud of smoke. A giant fireball sent waves of scorching heat over them.

  “That building just blew up!” Bess exclaimed in horror.

  Brent turned for a look. “So it did,” he said calmly.

  “But why don’t they do something about it?” Bess asked.

  Brent laughed. “They are doing something about it, my dear. They’re filming it. The building isn’t a real one, of course, and the explosion was part of a scene. The whole thing is part of the illusion of making movies.” He smiled a little patronizingly at Bess. “I see that it was a successful illusion—at least as far as you’re concerned.”

  Bess blushed. “Well, it looks like a real fire to me,” she said defensively. “I don’t know that much about making movies.”

  “That’s something we ought to take care of right now,” Brent said. He waved, and a young man came hurrying over. “Tom, these girls have never visited a Hollywood studio. Would you see that they’re given the grand tour? And make sure that they get over to Soundstage B. I think they’ll be interested in the rock singer who’s filming this afternoon—Michael Seaton.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Kincaid,” Tom said.

  “Is it okay, Nan?” Bess asked, her eyes sparkling. “You know how much I love Michael Seaton.”

  “Sure,” Nancy said. “You and George go while I talk to Brent.” When Bess and George had left, she turned to him. “That was a spectacular explosion. Do you do stunts like that often?”

  Brent shrugged. “Often enough. Of course, I don’t have anything to do with that end of the business. Blowing things up isn’t exactly my department.” He grinned at her. “Walk with me—I’m on my way to my office. You did want to talk to me, didn’t you?” Brent asked.

  “Actually, I did come to ask you a couple of questions,” Nancy said as Brent led her into a large, elegant office with walnut paneling and a huge built-in TV screen on one wall.