The Message in the Haunted Mansion Read online

  “The history books must have it wrong. The Golden Gardenia didn’t burn down,” Hannah said. “At least, it was still there this morning!” Everyone laughed.

  “Wait, I’m confused,” said Emily, looking over the rim of her teacup. “All the records show that the hotel on California Street—the Golden Gardenia, right?—was owned by an E. Valdez. So why do you think it’s Lizzie Applegate’s hotel?”

  “That’s part of what we’re trying to figure out,” Nancy explained. “The playbills we found said that Lizzie’s play, The Bandit’s Treasure, was being performed at the Golden Gardenia. And the pictures we found showed a woman who looked just like Lizzie, posing with her staff on the staircase of Rose and Abby’s house.”

  “I just know the Golden Gardenia was Lizzie’s hotel,” Bess insisted.

  “Did you ever find out El Diablo’s real name?” Emily asked.

  “No,” Bess admitted. “But Valdez is a Spanish name, isn’t it? And El Diablo is Spanish.”

  “I think we’re all thinking the same thing,” Nancy said. “Maybe E. Valdez was Lizzie’s married name—after she married the bandit.”

  “Why don’t you girls visit the California Express Company museum?” Emily said. “I did some research there when I was illustrating an article on treasure hunters. I’ll bet the bandit robbed some of their stagecoaches. Maybe the museum historians would know his real name. That might answer the Valdez question.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “Thanks, Emily.”

  Bess suddenly dug into her purse. “Speaking of questions,” she said to Emily, “I have one for you.” She showed Emily the photograph she’d taken of Rose, Abby, Hannah, Nancy, and George their first night in San Francisco. Pointing out the white mist overhead, she asked, “Could that be a ghost?”

  Emily laughed. “You have quite an imagination, Bess,” she said. “More likely, it’s a distortion from reflected light. Or even a blemish on the film.”

  Disappointed, Bess put the photograph away.

  After they finished their tea, Hannah and Emily left to do some window shopping before going to a play that night. The girls caught a bus back to the mansion.

  “I hope Rose and Abby found some good bargains at that estate sale this afternoon,” George said as they walked back to the mansion from the bus stop. “Rose said that all the furnishings of one big house Were being sold after the owner died. I guess Rose and Abby still need a lot of furniture for all the guest rooms.”

  “Yes, and they want all antiques to make the house look really authentic,” Bess added. “At least, Rose does. But I heard Abby this morning telling Rose they couldn’t afford so many antiques and they should just buy new stuff. I think that would be such a shame.”

  Nancy glanced ahead toward the house. As she looked, a figure came racing down the sidewalk toward them. Nancy realized it was the same blond teenager she had seen before, the one who had waved through the restaurant window at Mary Lee.

  As he came closer, Nancy saw that he was holding a large bundle under his ragged army coat. His face was pale, and his eyes were wild with panic.

  “Hey!” Nancy yelled as he charged at them. But the boy didn’t stop. He darted around the girls and ran on down the street.

  “What in the—” Bess began.

  But she didn’t get a chance to finish. Nancy grabbed Bess’s arm, pointing with her other hand toward Rose and Abby’s house.

  A trail of black smoke was pouring out of one of the windows in the front parlor!

  7

  Evidence in the Ashes

  “The mansion’s on fire!” Nancy shouted.

  The girls raced down the sidewalk. They heard sirens wailing in the distance, and just as they reached the burning building, two fire trucks roared up.

  Jumping off the truck, the firefighters grabbed their hoses and headed for the house. Just then the girls saw Louis Chandler come rushing out the front door with a fire extinguisher. “Anyone else inside?” a firefighter stopped to ask Louis.

  “No. No one’s home,” Louis panted, his face and clothes covered with soot. “I tried to put out the fire, but I couldn’t.”

  Suddenly Abby appeared at the front door in her bathrobe, clutching her cat Alfreida in her arms. She looked around helplessly, her face a mixture of fright and confusion. Nancy ran up the steps to help guide Abby down to the sidewalk. A firefighter yelled to the crew to check the house for other occupants.

  Louis stared at Abby in surprise. “Abby! I thought you and Rose went to the estate sale.”

  “I felt sick, so I stayed home,” Abby said, her voice quavering. “I just woke up, and I heard the sirens. What’s going on?”

  Louis mopped his brow. “A fire!”

  Abby looked stunned. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “But how …” Her voice trailed off as she looked up at the mansion in dismay.

  “Thank goodness you woke up,” Bess said. “Louis didn’t know you were here when he tried to put the fire out.”

  Abby turned to Louis. “You were here?”

  “I was walking past the house,” Louis said, “when I smelled smoke. The door was unlocked, so I ran in and tried to put out the fire.”

  “The front door was unlocked?” Abby repeated, dazed. Nancy frowned, wondering the same thing.

  “Where’s Charlie?” Louis asked.

  “He left at about four,” Abby said. “He went to the lumber yard to buy roofing supplies so he could repair the tower roof.”

  A crowd had begun to gather across the street. Nancy scanned the faces, but she didn’t see the blond boy. He had been coming from the direction of the fire when she saw him. Who is he? she wondered, frowning. And what does he know about the fire?

  The firefighters quickly extinguished the blaze. A firefighter in a white helmet came out the door and introduced himself to Louis, Abby, and the girls as Chief Martinez.

  “Any idea how the fire started?” Louis asked.

  Chief Martinez rubbed his jaw. “We’re investigating that right now. But that fire in the fireplace may be the source. You have no fire screen. People have no business starting a fire without a protective screen.”

  Abby grew pale and held Alfreida close. “Rose told me not to,” she said in a shaky voice, “but I was cold. And I was watching the fire, I really was! But then, about four-thirty, I felt sick to my stomach, so I put it out and went upstairs to read in bed. I was sure I put the fire out.”

  Nancy watched Abby closely. She certainly seemed to be telling the truth.

  Chief Martinez spoke sternly. “You need a screen, ma’am. A fire can look like it’s out, but one spark can make it flare up again. And these old houses can go up in minutes. Fortunately, this fire didn’t do much damage, thanks to your friend here. He got here just in time. It looks like you had a lot of paper spread out on the carpet, though—that went up like tinder.”

  Abby’s lower lip twitched. She looked close to tears. “The historical documents,” she groaned. Nancy, George, and Bess looked at each other in dismay.

  The fire chief turned to Louis. “And next time, sir, don’t try to put out the fire yourself,” he said. “You could have been injured. You were the one who called the fire department?”

  Louis shook his head. “No.”

  The chief shrugged. “Well, somebody did. Maybe one of your neighbors saw the smoke.”

  Abby was still staring dully at the house. “Another accident,” she murmured.

  Nancy’s eyes traveled from Abby’s stricken face to the mansion. She had the uneasy feeling that the fire was not just “another accident.”

  Chief Martinez left to confer with his squad. Then a police car pulled up and a plainclothes detective stepped out. Nancy’s eyes lit up. “Lieutenant Chin!” she called. Nancy and George had met Lieutenant Donald Chin while working on Emily Foxworth’s case. They ran over to him.

  “Nancy Drew! And George, too!” Lieutenant Chin looked surprised. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re out here helpin
g some friends renovate this house,” Nancy told him. “A fire broke out in the parlor while we were gone this afternoon.”

  Chin nodded. “I heard the sirens and decided to stop by.”

  Nancy glanced around to make sure no one else was listening. “Well, Lieutenant, maybe you should know that there have been a series of ‘accidents’ in this house lately,” she told him quietly.

  “You’re suggesting the fire was deliberate?” Lieutenant Chin asked with an attentive glance.

  Nancy hesitated. “I have no evidence. Yet.”

  He nodded. “I’ll take a look around inside,” he said. “And if you find something or if I can help in any way, call me.”

  Nancy accepted the card Lieutenant Chin pulled from his pocket and shook his hand. “As soon as I have evidence, I will call you.”

  “Do that. And please give my best to Emily when you see her.” He excused himself and went to talk with Chief Martinez.

  The firefighters cleaned up their equipment and piled back into the trucks. Abby, Louis, and the girls were given the all-clear to go back inside. As Lieutenant Chin came back outside, he threw Nancy a baffled look that told her he’d found no evidence.

  Abby headed straight for the parlor to survey the damage, with Louis and the girls close behind. The carpet in front of the fireplace was drenched with water from the fire hoses. The wallpaper on the fireplace wall was black with smoke, but the rest of the furnishings had not burned. The historical documents, though, were now a mass of wet black ashes.

  “At least I have the manuscript for The Bandit’s Treasure,” Abby said sadly. “I took that upstairs to read.”

  “And the photos didn’t burn,” Bess added, moving into the back parlor to examine the old photographs she had laid out on the table there.

  Abby looked at Louis gratefully. “I’d hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t gotten here,” she said.

  From the window, Nancy saw Charlie drive up, the bed of his truck loaded with building supplies. She went outside to meet him. As she told him about the fire, she watched his reaction carefully.

  “What?” Charlie croaked. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he scrutinized the house. “How much damage?” he asked wearily.

  “Mostly some historical papers we were looking at last night,” Nancy said. “And the wallpaper and carpeting by the fireplace.”

  Charlie shook his head. “I wasn’t gone very long,” he said in a dull, desperate tone of voice. “When will it end?” He limped slowly back to his truck to unload the supplies.

  Nancy bit her lip. Her instincts told her that he had known nothing about the fire. But how could she be sure? An idea hit her. “Can I help you unload that stuff?” she offered.

  Charlie looked surprised. “Uh, okay. Thanks.”

  Nancy hurried to his pickup truck and reached for a sack. When Charlie turned away, she peeked in the bag, saw a sales slip, and pulled it out.

  At the top of the sales slip was printed a store’s address, out in Oakland—an hour’s drive away. And the time of the sale was printed on the slip: 5:13 P.M. Abby had said she was still in the parlor at 4:30. Charlie would have had to leave the house well before then to be at the store and make his purchase at 5:13. He couldn’t have started the fire!

  Nancy helped him carry his supplies inside and then returned to the front parlor. Only George and Bess were there, scooping up the wet, charred paper and dumping it in a large trash can. “Be careful,” Nancy said as she knelt down to help them. “We need to save the paper. If this is a case of arson, the police will need evidence.”

  Nancy tugged gently at a sodden clump of black paper. Reaching for a loose piece, she stopped suddenly and stared at the paper’s top right corner. The corner had escaped the flames somehow, and some handwriting was still visible on it. It was a date—1982.

  Nancy stared in disbelief. All the papers they had been looking at the night before were dated from the 1800s!

  Louis entered the parlor and noticed Nancy staring at the paper. “What is it?” he asked.

  Nancy looked up quickly. “Oh, nothing,” she said, shrugging. But as she bent back to her cleanup work, she slipped the scrap of paper into her skirt pocket.

  Louis and George moved the furniture into the second parlor, and Nancy and Bess started to roll up the wet, burned carpet. They heard a car pull up outside, and a minute later Rose burst through the door of the parlor. She gasped, then stood frozen, staring at the blackened fireplace wall.

  Louis put his arm sympathetically around Rose’s tiny figure and led her out to the kitchen. “At least we have fire insurance,” Nancy heard Rose telling Louis in a brave but shaky voice. “Abby insisted on it.”

  “Poor Rose,” Bess murmured. “I don’t know how much more she can take.”

  Nancy nodded grimly, but she thought to herself, Why had Abby insisted on fire insurance?

  A half hour later the cleanup was more or less finished. Abby, saying she wasn’t feeling well, went to bed early. Louis took Rose out to dinner. The girls decided to go back to the Chinese restaurant.

  When they walked in, they saw Mary Lee sitting with a large family group around one of the big round tables. She waved and jumped up. “We saw the fire trucks,” she said anxiously. “Is everything all right?”

  “We had a scare,” Nancy admitted, “but fortunately the fire damage was minor.”

  “Thank goodness,” Mary said. “Come on and join our family. It’s a slow night, so we’re eating together.”

  Mary helped them pull up chairs and introduced them to her family: her father and mother, her grandmother and grandfather, her uncle Ray and aunt June, her brother Sam, and her cousins Winston and Lorraine. Mary explained to the Lees that the girls were helping to restore the Victorian mansion down the street.

  Mary’s grandfather looked excited. “My father worked there when it was a hotel,” he said. “He was the cook.”

  The girls exchanged glances. Maybe Mary’s grandfather could tell them more about Lizzie. “When was that?” Nancy asked.

  “Up until 1906, the year of the earthquake,” the grandfather answered. “When the owner died, the hotel closed. Then my father opened a restaurant in Chinatown. It’s still there. My son Ray is the manager.” He pointed to Mary’s uncle. “We opened our second restaurant, here, two years ago.”

  Nancy knit her eyebrows. “Mr. Lee,” she said, “we found a photograph of a Chinese man standing with a woman who we think was the owner of the hotel. Maybe that man is your father.”

  Bess perked up, eyes sparkling. “Hang on, I’ll go get it!” She dashed from the restaurant.

  When Bess returned minutes later, Mary’s grandfather examined the old photograph carefully. He broke into a smile. “Yes, this is my father,” he said. “And I recognize this woman from my father’s photographs. She was the hotel’s owner.” Mr. Lee passed the photo around the table.

  Nancy’s heart beat hard with excitement. “Do you know the name of the hotel’s owner?” she asked.

  “Lizzie,” Mr. Lee answered at once.

  “And her last name?” Nancy prodded.

  “I never knew her last name,” Mr. Lee said. “My father only called her Lizzie.”

  It was quite late when the party broke up. Nancy, George, and Bess thanked Mary and her parents, then Mary walked the girls to the door.

  At the door, Nancy turned to Mary. “There’s something I wanted to ask,” she said. “I saw a guy with blond hair running down the street today just before the fire trucks arrived. I’ve seen him before, outside your restaurant and in the neighborhood. Who is he? Do you know him?”

  Mary looked over her shoulder, avoiding Nancy’s eyes. “Uh, well …” Mary mumbled. Just then the door to the restaurant opened and a young couple entered. Looking relieved, Mary excused herself to show the couple to a table.

  Outside, Nancy wondered at Mary’s strange response. She was sure now that Mary knew the boy. But why didn’t she want to admit that to Nancy
?

  The girls hurried through the cold night air back to the mansion. Inside, the smell of smoke was still strong. They tiptoed upstairs.

  “It’s freezing!” Bess said. “I can’t wait to get into bed.”

  “Good luck trying to fall asleep,” George said. “That smoky smell is giving me a headache.”

  Nancy turned from the bureau and paused to smell the air. The smoky smell was certainly there, but there seemed to be something else.

  “What is it, Nan?” George said.

  Nancy shook her head. “I guess it’s nothing.” She reached to the headboard, pulling back the quilt. Then she gave a start.

  Bess and George ran over. “What?” Bess cried. Nancy pointed to the pillow.

  Lying on the white pillowcase was a small piece of notepaper. A single line was typed across it: “Leave the mansion at once!”

  8

  A Fragrant Message

  Bess gasped. “‘Leave the mansion!’ Why? Who can be threatening us?”

  Nancy picked up the note. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the notepaper. “That’s what I was smelling,” she said. “This paper.”

  George sniffed the paper. “Some kind of flowery perfume,” she said, making a disgusted face.

  Bess leaned over to take a whiff, and Nancy took another one. Then they looked up at each other. “Gardenia,” they said at the same time.

  “Gardenia?” George said.

  Nancy nodded. “They have a very distinctive fragrance,” she said.

  “And gardenias are the kind of flowers El Diablo brought Lizzie,” Bess said excitedly. “Maybe the note is from Lizzie—from Lizzie’s ghost!”

  “There are no ghosts, Bess,” George declared.

  Bess plopped on the bed. “Then who left the note?”

  “Whoever started the fire,” Nancy guessed.

  George eyed Nancy carefully. “Do you think the fire was just another fake accident?”

  “Yes,” Nancy answered. She pulled the half-burned scrap of paper from her pocket. “I found this in the mess in the parlor.”