The Case of the Lost Song Read online

  and decided that no one could drop down from the

  terrace above without a rope or some kind of climbing

  gear. Then she noticed that Lisa's terrace directly

  joined the one next door. A waist-high metal divider

  separated them. “Who lives next door?” Nancy called

  to Lisa.

  “No one. Though I think some people may have

  rented it for a photo shoot.”

  “Think it's okay if I peek in the window?” Nancy

  asked.

  “Why not? As I said, it's empty.”

  Nancy climbed over the low wrought-iron divider

  and peered through the door. She tried the handle.

  The door was locked. Inside, the apartment was dark,

  though light from Lake Shore Drive reflected off some

  metal-shaded lamps. Nancy was also able to make out

  the vague outlines of a sofa, but that was about all.

  Back inside Lisa's apartment Nancy said, “As you

  said, it's empty and locked. Whoever broke in here

  came via the terrace, or had the code.”

  “Is anything else missing?” Bess asked.

  “As far as I can tell, no,” Lisa said.

  “This is totally weird,” Nancy mused, looking at the

  case. “No one even knows if Georges tape is real.”

  “And not many people knew I had it here,” George

  reminded her.

  “You can't be sure. If Wes has already told Ethan,

  who knows how many other people he blabbed to,”

  Bess pointed out.

  “Let alone how many people at the show overheard

  both the appraiser's comments and the tape itself,”

  Nancy reminded them. “We have to call the police,”

  she said to Lisa. “Even if we never find the tape, we'll

  need a police report in order to file an insurance

  claim.”

  Lisa headed for the kitchen. “I'll phone them now.”

  As Lisa left the room, George said, “Amazing. This

  morning I thought that tape recorder was a throwaway.

  Now I'm all worried and upset about losing it.”

  “And you should be,” Bess commiserated. “Trash

  turns out to be treasure.”

  “Something doesn't make sense to me,” Nancy

  commented, half to herself. “A thief should have

  walked out with at least some of the artifacts in that

  case. I'd better remind Lisa to tell the police about this

  collection.”

  She hurried toward the kitchen but stopped at the

  door. Lisa had her back to Nancy and was speaking

  softly into the phone. “I'm telling you, they brought

  that tape recorder here, with the tape. Now they've

  discovered it's missing. What should I do?”

  Nancy backed out of the kitchen. Who was Lisa

  talking to? Certainly not the police. Whoever was on

  the other end of the line already knew something about

  the tape recorder. Then Lisa hung up the phone and

  made another call. “Hello,” she said. “I need the police.

  There's been a burglary.”

  Nancy walked into the kitchen when Lisa finished.

  “I called 911. They put me on hold and said to come

  to the precinct in the morning to file a report,” Lisa

  said. “I guess burgling an old tape recorder doesn't

  rank very high on their list of serious crimes.”

  “In a way they're right,” Nancy conceded as George

  and Bess wandered into the kitchen.

  “I'm too upset to sleep,” Lisa said. “Anyone else

  want some hot chocolate?”

  “Yes!” the three other girls chimed at once.

  After making the cocoa, Lisa sat down at the kitchen

  table and propped her chin in her hands. “This is

  beyond a bummer, and it isn't the first time this has

  happened.”

  Nancy was startled. “You've been burgled here

  before?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Believe me, Betty and

  Nick wouldn't keep the collection here if this building

  wasn't really secure—at least until now. I'd better e-

  mail them to let them know what happened, in case

  they want to move their stuff somewhere safe.”

  “So then what's happened before?” Bess asked.

  “This is really secret—I mean the police know about

  it—but we're trying to keep it out of the press. Objects

  that have been appraised at Old Can Be Gold sites

  around the country have been stolen. No one's been

  able to pinpoint any connection between the types of

  things taken, or any of the appraisers at the sites,

  except that every object stolen was very valuable, say,

  worth more than ten thousand dollars, or generally of

  museum quality, or once in a while just highly

  collectible—like George's tape. It's a real mystery.”

  Chuckling, Bess turned to Nancy. “I don't mean to

  laugh, but, Nancy, you've done it again. Headed off for

  a fun weekend and wound up with the chance to solve

  a crime.”

  “What do you mean?” Lisa asked Nancy.

  George answered for her friend, “Nancy's got this

  knack for solving mysteries. It's sort of a hobby with

  her, except she's extremely good at it.”

  “I didn't realize that.” Lisa looked at Nancy more

  closely.

  “So Nancy can help you and Old Can Be Gold,”

  Bess declared.

  “Not so fast,” Nancy demurred. “That's up to Lisa's

  boss. But I am curious about one thing, Lisa. If you

  knew about these crimes, why didn't you tell us to lock

  up the tape?”

  5. The Truth Will Out

  “Yeah, how come?” George chimed in. “Back at the

  show you told us there was nothing to worry about.”

  Lisa colored slightly. “Hey, how was I supposed to

  know this place would be burgled tonight? The security

  here is excellent, or else my aunt and uncle wouldn't

  keep their collection in the house.”

  Nancy felt annoyed. “You still should have warned

  us that there have been problems related to the

  appraisal show.”

  “I couldn't.” Lisa's dark eyes were troubled. “It's not

  like I had any idea that anyone would be after your

  tape specifically, George, honest. And those other

  burglaries—they happened after people had received

  formal appraisals from our experts.”

  “You should have clued us in,” Bess said.

  “I know. But I couldn't.” Lisa blew out her breath.

  “No point keeping quiet now. Mr. Landowski would

  have killed me if I mentioned those burglaries to

  anyone outside of the office. Let alone where someone

  might have overheard me at the show. It's top secret.

  Don't you see, if the press and general public finds out

  about these burglaries, it would wreck our reputation.”

  “Only if Old Can Be Gold were behind them,”

  George commented.

  “Wrong, even the whiff of suspicion that Old Can Be

  Gold could be hooked up with a ring of thieves would

  close us down,” Lisa said bitterly, looking at George.

  “I'm sorry, but I couldn't say anything.”

  “That makes sense,” Nancy conceded after a mo-

  ment. “Do you think someone in the company is in-
r />   volved in the thefts?”

  Lisa shrugged. She got up and cleared the table of

  the mugs. “It's a possibility, though whoever it is is

  certainly good at covering their tracks. And is a real pro

  . . .”

  “Or in league with real pros,” Nancy corrected,

  jumping up to help Lisa. As she sponged off the table,

  she thought a bit about tonight's burglary. Whoever

  had broken into the apartment had barely left a trace.

  The building was so secure, with a twenty-four-hour

  concierge and secret codes to unlock the doors, that it

  would take not just skill but some big-time planning to

  break in. But who would have had time to plan to steal

  the tape? Nancy tried to focus on possibilities, but she

  was just too tired.

  Bess seemed to read her mind. “I don't know about

  you guys, but it's past two A.M. and I'm wiped! I'm

  turning in.”

  “Me, too,” George said, getting up and pushing in

  her chair. “Let's face it—the tape and the recorder are

  gone. We probably won't find them again, and I just

  have to live with it. Besides, maybe they weren't worth

  much after all,” she concluded, forcing a smile.

  “That may be true,” Nancy said, fighting back a

  yawn. “But even if someone made off with a perfectly

  worthless old tape and recorder, they did break in

  here. That's a problem.”

  “And one you can deal with tomorrow, Nancy

  Drew,” Bess said, putting her hands on Nancy's

  shoulders and marching her through the foyer.

  “Everything will look different in the morning.”

  “Wait, Nancy,” Lisa hurried after them. “What Bess

  said about you being good at solving mysteries, I was

  thinking—if Mr. Landowski is willing—you might be

  the perfect solution to our problem. You could

  investigate the burglaries for Old Can Be Gold, and no

  one has to know you're doing it, except him, Bess and

  George, and me.”

  “That's true. I certainly could keep a low profile.”

  “So then it's okay if I ask him tomorrow?”

  “Your office is open Saturday?” Bess asked, sur-

  prised.

  Lisa made a face. “Usually, at least mornings. But

  with the show in town, the whole staff is working

  overtime, both in the office and at the Lakeview U.

  gym.”

  “Then we'll go over together after we file a report on

  the burglary at the police station,” Nancy said.

  Lisa brightened. “I'm sure once the boss meets you,

  he'll be glad to have your help. And, George,” she

  added, “you had better come to the police station with

  us, since it was your property.”

  “Right,” George agreed. “But I don't think we want

  to mob your boss at the office.”

  “No problem,” Bess spoke up. “After we finish with

  the police, George and I can go back to Old Can Be

  Gold to scope out the scene there. Maybe we'll

  overhear something about the tape. Word sure seems

  to travel fast with those appraisers. . . . Take Jason's

  brother knowing all about your even having a tape,

  George.”

  “Oh, Ethan knew about it?” Lisa frowned. Then

  shrugged. “Why am I surprised? The antiques and

  collectibles scene is a small world, and word spreads

  faster than fire. Bess has a point. We can all meet up

  for lunch when Nancy and I get back from the Old Can

  Be Gold office.”

  Though it was primarily a traveling antiques ap-

  praisal show, Old Can Be Gold was headquartered in

  downtown Chicago. The next morning, when Nancy

  walked into the office suite located on the fifteenth

  floor of a deco-era high-rise, she was impressed by the

  art on the walls, and the Giacometti statue on a

  pedestal in the reception area. Lisa led the way past

  the receptionist and, after dumping her bag and jacket

  in her cubicle, headed directly for her boss's office.

  The door was open. Lisa crossed her fingers and

  mouthed “Wish me luck” to Nancy, then knocked on

  the doorframe.

  “Mr. Landowski, may I come in?” Lisa asked from

  the doorway of the large corner office.

  “Of course. Did that tape recorder ever show up?”

  he asked, then spotted Nancy and frowned, casting a

  quizzical look at Lisa. Before proceeding farther into

  the room, Lisa waited for Nancy to come in, before

  closing the door.

  Nancy looked around. Windows lining two walls

  revealed a brilliant blue sky. Dark wooden bookcases

  held elegantly bound books, and a tall grandfather

  clock in a mahogany case stood in dignified grandeur to

  one side of the vintage desk. Mr. Landowski was seated

  in a leather chair behind the desk. Its wooden surface

  was uncluttered and gleamed with the patina of age.

  Lisa cleared her throat, then gave her boss a small

  nervous smile. “I'd like you to meet my friend Nancy

  Drew. She was at the house last night when I called

  you. It was her friend George's tape recorder that was

  stolen.” Mr. Landowski's frown deepened, but Lisa

  plunged ahead. “I told her all about the other

  burglaries.”

  “Lisa, you swore not to mention them to anybody

  outside of this office,” the man said in a shocked voice.

  “She explained all that,” Nancy said, hurrying to

  defend the other girl. “You see, Lisa knows I have a

  knack for solving mysteries. She thought I might be of

  help to you and Old Can Be Gold, if you want to use

  me.”

  Mr. Landowski eyed Nancy skeptically. He folded

  his arms across his chest and rocked back in his leather

  desk chair. “Why should you be able to find out more

  than the police, who have been looking into these

  burglaries? And why should I trust you?”

  Nancy stood taller. “Because I'm honest. My father's

  Carson Drew—he's a lawyer. Sometimes I help with

  investigations involving his cases. You can check with

  him. Often I can find out things that the police can't.”

  Mr. Landowski studied Nancy from behind his wire-

  rimmed glasses. “That's probably true,” he admitted

  after a moment. Steepling his fingers, he asked, “How

  much has Lisa told you?”

  Nancy turned to Lisa. “Only that the burglaries keep

  happening after objects have been appraised at your

  shows.”

  “And usually after we've left town,” he added.

  “Though of course we've brought the police in, as have

  the victims of the burglaries, but we have asked them

  to keep a very low profile. Some insurance investigators

  have also been snooping around, trying to ferret out

  the bad guys, but so far”—he lifted his shoulders in a

  shrug—“all trails seem to peter out.”

  “Have they been concentrating on your staff?”

  Nancy asked.

  “Of course, though I'm sure it's not someone on

  staff, or not on my permanent staff. We do very

  thorough background checks,” he
said.

  Nancy considered that and made a mental note to

  learn more about how Old Can Be Gold operated.

  “Maybe so, but being exposed to all these valuables and

  the kind of money collectors are willing to pay, even on

  the black market, can change people.”

  Mr. Landowski arched his eyebrows. “You're young

  but pretty smart. I can see that. Okay. Why don't you

  get on the case. But I'd prefer that no one outside of

  the office staff know that you're involved.”

  “Bess and George will have to know, too,” Lisa said.

  “They're here with Nancy, and it's George whose tape

  went missing.”

  “Then that can't be helped,” Mr. Landowski said,

  not looking too happy about Bess and George. “But it's

  important we don't panic the clientele at the show.” He

  promised to provide Nancy with anything she needed

  for her investigation, including access to records, data

  banks, and so forth. “Inez Rivera can help you there.

  Just let her know you're looking into the other

  burglaries, without mentioning last nights. . . . After all,

  we don't absolutely know that it's connected to the

  others. It could be random.”

  But probably not, Nancy thought.

  The grandfather clock chimed half past the hour.

  Mr. Landowski capped a fountain pen lying on his

  desk, then stood up. “I've got to get over to Lakeview

  now to see how the show is going. I'll see you there

  soon,” he told Lisa as he gathered his things and went

  to the closet. “And good luck, Nancy,” he said, putting

  on his overcoat. “You're going to need it.”

  When the girls left his office, Lisa stopped by her

  desk to check her e-mail. Nancy decided to take the

  opportunity to look around. The layout of Old Can Be

  Gold was like most offices Nancy had visited. Small

  cubicles like Lisa's defined a main work area, which

  was bordered by several private offices like Mr.

  Landowski's with window views. As Nancy strolled

  down the corridor, she saw that most of the private

  spaces were empty. Most but not all. A small corner

  office was lit, the door ajar.

  Nancy cautiously peered inside and smiled. “Inez?”

  she called out, recognizing the young woman in front

  of the computer screen. The screen was covered with

  data and some photos. Nancy couldn't make them out

  from her vantage point.

  Inez's head snapped up. “What are you doing here?”