The Case of the Artful Crime Page 5

  Moving soundlessly, she made her way to the entrance of the dining room and crouched low, near the reservations stand.

  The person inside the dark dining room was staring at one of the paintings on the wall. His eyes had obviously adjusted to the darkness, since he didn’t use a light. From the man’s height alone, Nancy could tell it was not Jack. This person was of medium build. Baggy clothing disguised the rest of the physical outline, though Nancy was fairly sure that it was a man.

  What was going on? Why was the intruder standing there like that?

  Then, with one startlingly swift gesture, the figure raised his arm. Nancy saw the glimmer of the knife in his hand as it swung over his head—then slashed through the painting’s canvas!

  Again and again the man pierced the painting with his knife. Then he began to slash the painting beside it.

  Alone in the dark, Nancy knew it would be foolish to confront an intruder with a knife. Instead, she would have to follow him—preferably from the safety of her car.

  Then a horrible thought hit her. What if Shawn showed up? He might run into the knife-wielding intruder. Nancy shuddered. She had no choice but to wait outside. That way she could intercept Shawn, or be ready to tail the intruder as soon as he got into his car.

  Stealthily, Nancy made her way back to the front door. She slipped through and ran out into the pouring rain. Splattering through puddles, she raced around to the windowless side of the building.

  There, parked by the building, was a compact black sedan. Obviously the intruder had expected to be alone at this hour. She noted the license plate: RV5-289. There was no time to investigate any further. She ran to the dumpster, glad she’d thought to hide her car away behind it.

  Thunder clapped overhead as Nancy stood behind the dumpster and peered around it. What a night! she thought, shaking her head wearily as the rain soaked her clothing. A few minutes later, the man emerged from the front of the building and got into his car. Nancy hoped a flash of lightning would shed some light on him, but it didn’t come quickly enough. The storm was beginning to move away.

  As soon as the man turned on his ignition, Nancy got into her Mustang. She pulled out from behind the dumpster in time to see him heading up the dirt road away from the Arizona House. She decided to risk leaving her headlights off as they traveled along the road. Accelerating slightly, she followed the red points of his taillights through the rain.

  After half a mile, the car turned into a more residential section. Nancy slowed and fell back. She’d have to turn on her lights now or risk being stopped by the police. It was late, and there were hardly any other cars on the road. Nancy knew she would need to stay well behind to avoid being spotted.

  The car’s driver didn’t seem to be in any hurry. That was a good sign. He didn’t realize she was following him. Nancy tailed him past the expensive homes in the area and was surprised when the car slowed down and stopped in front of the Wainwright estate.

  What was he looking for? What connection did the Wainwright estate have with this man? But just as the thoughts flashed through Nancy’s mind, she realized she had a more pressing problem. How was she going to avoid being noticed now?

  She had no other choice. She continued driving past the car and made a right into the first available cross street, several yards ahead. Nancy pulled to the curb and cut her lights. She would have to wait for the car to pass before she could tail it again.

  Nancy had to wait five minutes before the sedan passed. This time, its tires squealed as it raced down the street. Startled, Nancy could barely start her car fast enough. Though she was still within the speed limit, Nancy didn’t like to drive so fast in a storm. Her wipers slapped furiously, sending rivers of water streaming off the sides of her car. Her hands gripped the wheel as she concentrated on keeping control of the car.

  Was the intruder now trying to shake her tail? It seemed so. Nancy let up on the gas. If she fell back a little, maybe he would think she was gone. She’d risk losing him, but it was a risk worth taking.

  The sedan turned onto the highway that ran along the outskirts of River Heights. Nancy followed it. On the open road, the sedan sped even faster, but the conditions made it easier for Nancy to keep track of the car, even at a distance. She saw it turn off at the exit leading into the seediest section of River Heights.

  A traffic light at the end of the exit had slowed the sedan’s progress, and Nancy was in time to see it turn right at the light. She caught the green light and regained sight of the car, which was about a block ahead of her.

  The storm was slowing to a drizzle now. Nancy followed the sedan for two more dark, shabby blocks. Without warning, the sedan turned sharply into a brightly lit twenty-four-hour drive-through car wash.

  A car wash? Nancy thought, puzzled.

  Forgetting caution, Nancy pulled into the lot just as the sedan disappeared behind the cloth flaps that dangled over the car wash entrance. She had him now. When the car emerged under the bright spotlight, Nancy would be waiting, ready to get a clear view of the driver. She might even confront him. It would be safer out in the open.

  Without hesitating, Nancy drove past the confused attendant. She parked her car around front, blocking the exit of the car wash. She waited. Slowly, the front end of the black sedan emerged, riding on the washer conveyor belt.

  Newly washed and waxed, the hood gleamed. Finally, the windshield emerged. Nancy stared into the car through the glistening glass.

  The car was empty.

  6

  Missing Pieces

  Nancy waited. She was sure the driver was merely crouched in his seat. He wouldn’t stay there forever.

  Three minutes passed, and Nancy couldn’t stand to wait any longer. Keeping low, she left her car and crept alongside the sedan to a rear window. She carefully peeked into the car. The keys were still in the ignition, but the car was completely empty!

  Nancy moved to the trunk. It was locked. Just to be sure, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. Empty.

  He’s still in the car wash, Nancy decided, sprinting to the entrance.

  “Hey, lady!” cried the attendant as Nancy brushed aside the heavy cloth flaps covering the opening. “You can’t go in there.”

  Ignoring the attendant, Nancy ran into the center of the dark, dripping car wash.

  “Lady, are you nuts?” asked the short, thin attendant as he came into the car wash behind her.

  “The man who drove that car, where is he?” Nancy asked urgently.

  The attendant shrugged. “Isn’t he in his car?”

  “No,” Nancy replied. “Is there a light in here?”

  The attendant stepped to the side and flipped a switch. The garagelike room, filled with hoses, sprayers, and brushes, was suddenly bright. Nancy and the attendant were clearly the only ones inside.

  “You must have seen the man when he paid you,” Nancy said. “What did he look like?”

  The attendant’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You mean, you don’t even know this guy?”

  “I’m a detective. I was trailing him,” Nancy explained. “What does he look like?”

  The attendant folded his arms. “Hard to say. He had on dark glasses, which was weird, since it’s nighttime. But we get all kinds of crazies in this neighborhood.”

  “What color hair?” Nancy urged.

  “I don’t know. He had on a tweed cap, I think.”

  “Any scars, a mustache, anything?” Nancy asked.

  “Hey, I’m no FBI agent,” the attendant replied irritably. “I don’t inspect the customers. I just take their money and pass them through. He was a guy wearing sunglasses and a cap. That’s all I know.”

  “He must have slipped out the back,” Nancy told herself, walking to the rear entrance. Behind the car wash was a low fence, which surrounded a row of tall warehouse buildings with unlit alleys. Nancy guessed that the driver had hopped the fence and disappeared down one of the alleys.

  It was now obvious to Na
ncy that he’d realized she was following him. Her ploy of hanging back hadn’t worked.

  “What am I supposed to do with his car?” asked the attendant, coming up behind Nancy.

  She threw him the keys. “Pull it to the side. I’m going to contact the police. They’ll come pick it up. If the driver returns, please call me right away. My name is Nancy Drew, and I’m listed in the phone book. And try to get a good look at him if he comes back, okay?”

  “Will do,” the attendant said with a shrug.

  “Thanks,” Nancy said as she headed back to her car.

  “Hey, wait!” the attendant called. “I just remembered something. The guy had strange hands. They looked kind of like plastic.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy called back again as she climbed into her Mustang. Surgical gloves, she thought. They could be bought at any surgical supply store. That meant there wouldn’t be a single fingerprint anywhere.

  As Nancy drove back onto the highway, she looked at her watch. It was one in the morning. It was a good thing she had taken a nap. Besides, she was now super-charged from the excitement.

  Dark glasses and a tweed cap, she thought, mulling over the attendant’s description. She was fairly sure he hadn’t worn those at the restaurant. He must have had them in the car and put them on to avoid being recognized in any way by the attendant. It seemed she was dealing with a quick-thinking adversary.

  Nancy pulled into a highway gas station and used the pay phone to call Shawn. Once again, his machine answered, but this time he’d recorded a message for her: “Nancy. I got your message. I’m at the restaurant. Please come down or call me as soon as you hear this.”

  In about ten minutes Nancy was back at the Arizona House. The restaurant was completely lit up. This time she pulled into the front lot right next to Shawn’s car and a River Heights police car.

  As soon as she walked through the front door Shawn hurried to meet her. He was dressed in jeans and a sport shirt, and his hair was mussed, as if he’d run out the minute he got her message.

  “What happened here?” he asked.

  “I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Nancy admitted, moving into the dining room. All of the restaurant’s paintings had been slashed and thrown to the floor. One wall had been badly vandalized with swirling black lines of spray paint. Two uniformed officers were busy making note of the damage.

  “Here’s what I do know,” Nancy said, turning to Shawn. She recounted all the night’s events, from the mice in the kitchen to the empty black sedan at the car wash.

  “How did you get into the restaurant?” Shawn asked.

  Nancy admitted her ruse.

  “You could have suffocated in that walk-in refrigerator, you know,” Shawn scolded. “Not to mention that you were in here with some knife-wielding lunatic. I told you to go home, remember?”

  “I’m all right. I was only trying to solve this case,” Nancy defended herself. “At least now we have a few clues.”

  Shawn smiled wanly. “Okay. You win. I’m glad you’re all right. Now, what clues do we have?”

  “Well, I’m almost positive that the guy who let the mice loose is Jack,” she told him.

  Shawn raised his eyebrows. “I can’t believe that.”

  “Sorry. But it sure looked like him,” Nancy said gently. “Either you have two vandals working separately, or Jack is working with the other guy. But I don’t think he is. Jack would have told the other guy I was here. Besides, the second guy would have heard the commotion in the kitchen if he’d been here with Jack. He didn’t, though, which means he came in while I was upstairs in the office.”

  “But why would either one of them do this to me?” Shawn asked.

  “Shawn,” Nancy said, “were you honest with me when you said Jack had no reason to be angry?”

  “Yes,” Shawn insisted. “I made him an offer for the restaurant, and he accepted it. I even gave him a job. Why should he be angry?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy admitted. “Well, at least we have a good chance of finding the slasher. The police can run a registration check on the license plate number.”

  “Don’t tell the police about Jack yet, all right?” Shawn urged her. “I don’t want to say anything until we’re sure. He goes back so far with my family.”

  Nancy hesitated, then said, “Okay.”

  Nancy told the police about the vandal and how she’d tailed him to the car wash. Immediately, one of the officers, a tall, young, blond man, went to the phone to call his precinct for a check on the car.

  “This has been a long day,” Shawn said, stifling a yawn. “Want some coffee?”

  “Do you have hot chocolate?” Nancy asked.

  “Of course. This is a restaurant, remember?” Shawn said with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”

  While he was gone, Nancy studied the paintings that the police had laid out on the tables. Five of them had been slashed on a crisp diagonal. But the sixth one—a large oil landscape of a lake surrounded by woods—had been attacked with particular vengeance. Entire pieces of the painting had been gouged out.

  Curious, Nancy knelt down on the floor next to the wall that had held the paintings. One at a time, she retrieved the small pieces of canvas that had fluttered to the floor. She continued to collect them until she had a small handful of pieces.

  Slowly and precisely, Nancy fit the pieces into the tattered framework of the painting as though they were bits of a jigsaw puzzle.

  “What are you doing?” Shawn asked, placing a steaming mug on the table beside her.

  “This painting took a particular beating,” Nancy answered without looking up from her work. “I wanted to see if I recognized the location.” Finally, she looked up and took a sip of her hot chocolate. “Thanks,” she said to Shawn. “Did you check your refrigerator? The door has been open for a while, I’m afraid. Sorry. I was about to close it when I spotted the second intruder.”

  “The food hasn’t spoiled yet, but tomorrow I’m going to have to go through everything and see what the mice have gotten into,” Shawn said grimly. “According to health department regulations, I have to toss anything they’ve touched. I’ll have to get an exterminator in the morning.” Shawn sighed. “Let’s just say this is a complete disaster. If this keeps up, I don’t know what’s going to happen with the auction dinner. What a nightmare!”

  “I’m really sorry all this is happening to you,” Nancy said sympathetically.

  “You’re doing more than I could have expected,” Shawn said. He looked down at the painting. “So? Do you recognize the place?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I’m still missing a big triangular piece right here on the lower left.” She went back to the area near the wall and searched some more. “It doesn’t seem to be here at all,” she noted.

  “It has to be,” Shawn said. He helped her look, but after five minutes, they’d still turned up nothing. “That’s strange,” Shawn murmured.

  Nancy returned to the assembled pieces and studied them. “You know what else is strange? Look how precisely this missing piece was cut. All these other pieces are torn and ragged, but not this section.” She outlined the missing shape with her finger. “It looks as though it was cut out with a razor.” She gazed up at Shawn. “Do you remember what was in this section?”

  “Not exactly,” Shawn said. “I think it was just more trees. Does this mean anything to you?”

  Nancy drummed the table thoughtfully with her fingertips. “Something isn’t adding up here. Why can’t we find the piece of this painting?”

  “You really think it’s important?” Shawn asked skeptically.

  “Maybe not,” Nancy admitted. “Where did these paintings come from?”

  “I bought them from Felice Wainwright,” Shawn replied.

  “Felice Wainwright!” Nancy exclaimed, remembering the way the sedan had slowed outside the heiress’s estate. “Why did you say you bought them from a friend?”

  Embarrassed, Shawn stared down at the floor. “I didn’
t want to admit I was playing up to Mrs. Wainwright. As you might know, Mrs. Wainwright is involved in all sorts of charity work,” Shawn went on. “Her pet project is an art program for model prisoners, and she kind of pressured me into buying these for the restaurant.”

  “You didn’t really want them?” Nancy asked.

  Shawn shrugged. “They’re okay, I guess, but they don’t exactly go with the decor.”

  “Then why did you buy them?” Nancy asked.

  “Well, we were discussing the booking for her preauction dinner. She was telling me how, if things went well, she’d recommend the Arizona House to all her friends. And then, in the same breath, she asked if I was interested in buying a bunch of paintings by this prisoner named Joseph Spaziente. He’s in her art class, and I guess he’s her big discovery. She thinks he’s some kind of artistic genius. I couldn’t say no—and she knew it, too.”

  Just then, one of the officers joined them. He was a short, husky man with dark hair. “Here’s my report,” he said, placing a clipboard on the table in front of Shawn. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

  Shawn glanced over the report. “I don’t think so. The main damage is to the wall and the seven paintings.”

  “Seven?” Nancy asked. “I only see six.”

  Shawn looked at the paintings laid out on the table. “There’s the seventh, over there,” he said, pointing to a large, severely slashed oil landscape still leaning against the wall.

  “It looks like it’s the same scene as this one with the missing triangle,” Nancy observed.

  Shawn shrugged. “I think it is, but it shows a different season.”

  Before Nancy could examine the seventh painting, the tall, blond officer returned. “That sedan you followed was reported stolen this morning. It’s registered to an elderly woman named Sarah Glass. She says that her car disappeared while she was eating at a coffee shop. Her keys were gone from her purse, too.”

  “The thief probably watched her park, then followed her inside to pickpocket her keys,” Nancy said, frowning.