The Clue in the Camera Read online

  Nancy opened the door to the darkroom—and screamed.

  Peter Stine stepped out, a small smile on his lips. “Were you expecting Emily, girls?” he asked them.

  “We weren’t expecting you,” Nancy said. She took a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “Yeah,” George spoke up from behind Nancy, trying to sound tough. “What are you doing here?”

  Stine didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to unhook his jacket from the back of the darkroom door.

  “Look around, ladies,” he said pleasantly. “You won’t find anything missing or damaged.”

  “You know, you have a lot of nerve, breaking into Emily’s apartment,” Nancy said.

  Stine shouldered his jacket and picked up his camera case, which was on the floor of the darkroom. “Let’s just say I know Emily is on to the same story I am.”

  “That’s no reason to break into her apartment,” said George, unable to hide her anger.

  “Listen,” Stine said, turning suddenly on the girls and pointing his finger at them. “I won’t let that woman steal my thunder on this story.” He closed the door of the darkroom and strode into the living room.

  Nancy watched him for a moment, gambling with what to say next. “Mr. Stine,” she finally began, “how can Emily Foxworth get in your way if she’s missing?”

  Stine ignored her. He had reached the front door.

  “Or is Emily missing so that she can’t get in your way?” Nancy pressed.

  Peter Stine yanked the door open, then spun around to face Nancy. His craggy face was flushed. “I had no part in kidnapping Emily Foxworth, and you’re crazy if you think I did! She was probably taken because she knew something she shouldn’t have known.” He yanked the door open and walked out without closing it behind him.

  Nancy followed him as far as the doorway. “I’m going to find Emily, Mr. Stine. No matter what!”

  But Peter Stine didn’t answer. He ran down the stairs. Nancy heard the front door slam.

  “He doesn’t seem too worried about Emily,” George commented when Nancy reentered the living room.

  “No. That’s what bugs me, George. Why isn’t he at least pretending to care about her?” Nancy stared into space, bewildered by Stine, wondering what he was up to.

  “Do you think we ought to call the police?” George asked.

  “Later. Right now, let’s see if we can figure out what that man was doing here. Then we’ve got to develop Emily’s film.”

  A thorough search of the darkroom revealed nothing out of order. It looked just the way it had looked the day before when Nancy and Emily had tidied it after the break-in. Whether he had searched or stolen or replaced something, Stine had certainly been careful to leave no sign that he’d been there.

  Nancy went briskly about the business of setting up the chemicals necessary to develop the roll of film. Then, using a light-proof work bag, she loaded the exposed film into the canister. After checking the temperature on the chemicals, Nancy poured a solution into the canister.

  While they waited for the film to dry, the girls made a quick lunch for themselves in Emily’s kitchen and fed Tripod some bird seed. When they returned to the darkroom, Nancy turned out the light and made a proof sheet from the black-and-white negatives. Then she and George pored over the tiny images, looking for clues.

  “They’re just what Emily said they were,” George observed. “Pictures of city children. Nothing suspicious here.”

  Nancy bent over the proof sheet. “I don’t know. Take a close look at that one. The background looks interesting. I want to enlarge it.”

  Nancy set up the enlarger for the new print and turned out the light again. Yes, there was plenty of detail in the background of the shot. She exposed a sheet of photographic paper and ran it through the chemicals to develop, impatient now with the time it would take for the image to emerge and then set.

  Finally, the print was ready to rinse. Nancy shook the extra water from the photo and picked it up for a closer look.

  George looked, too. “It’s just some kids on fishing boats, Nancy. It looks like the older ones are working and the little ones are playing around.”

  Nancy searched for a magnifying glass and found one in a drawer. She held the glass over a corner of the print.

  “Wait, Nancy! Isn’t that Blane?” cried George. “You know, the bald guy?”

  “You mean the one getting off the boat, next to that bearded man?”

  “Yes. Isn’t that him?”

  “Could be, I guess.” Nancy stared for a moment at Blane, then focused more closely on the bearded man. “This one,” she said, “the one with the chain around his neck—” Nancy paused, then caught her breath. “George, that’s an ivory Buddha on the chain! Just like the one Harold Kesack used to wear. Remember Emily’s award-winning photo?”

  “But I thought he was dead,” George said.

  “So did I. Emily told us he died in a plane crash five years ago, right? She ought to know.” Nancy set the print on the counter and turned to empty the processing trays and put away the chemicals. George helped her straighten up the darkroom. Then they returned to the print, studying it as if it held the key to Emily’s kidnapping.

  Nancy continued to stare at the photo of the bearded man. “Let’s compare it to the shot Emily already has.”

  “But this picture was taken just a few days ago, Nancy. Kesack’s been dead for five years.”

  “I know, but it’s so strange to see that Buddha on two different people. Let’s check.”

  The girls took the print into the living room, only to be confronted by the blank space on the wall. Nancy shook her head. “I forgot about the burglary.” She sighed as she remembered the missing photos. “The first burglary, that is,” she added. “Well, maybe we can find the negative. Come on.” They headed back to the darkroom.

  It took the girls several minutes to figure out Emily’s files. Although they were neatly organized, it was clear that Emily’s filing system was hers alone and that she didn’t expect anyone else to need to find things for her. It took fifteen minutes for Nancy to locate the section that held the negatives from five years before.

  She leafed through the folders, looking for one that might contain images of Kesack. At last, she came to a space where three or four file folders had been removed.

  “George, I think those negatives must be out of order or filed somewhere else. There’s a big gap here. Entire months are missing, then the next year begins, and so far no shots of Kesack.”

  “This is like looking for a needle in a haystack, Nancy,” said George. “Plus, it’s depressing.”

  “Depressing is right.” Nancy shook her head, then abruptly closed the negative files. “Well, anyway, we’ve got this shot from a few days ago, and it sure looks like the same Buddha I remember. Maybe Emily does know Blane, if he worked with Kesack. She said she remembered seeing a man like Blane somewhere before. That would explain it. But I just don’t see how these pieces of the mystery fit together.”

  “Yeah, Kesack is dead,” said George wearily.

  “And his picture has been stolen from the wall.”

  “And Emily isn’t here to help us find the negatives.”

  “But—” Nancy paused. She walked out of the darkroom, taking the photo with her. George followed her into the kitchen, almost bumping into Nancy when she turned suddenly to face her. “But,” Nancy said again in a low voice, “maybe that’s just what we’re supposed to think.”

  “What?”

  “That Kesack is dead. Maybe he’s not.”

  The girls stared at each other for a moment. Then they grabbed their jackets. Tripod squawked.

  “See you later, bird!” called George. “We’ll come back to feed you again.”

  The girls closed and locked the apartment door, then clattered down the stairs.

  “So, what’s next?” George asked, glad to be outdoors again. She quickened her pace to match Nancy’s long stride.

 
“We’d better get this photo to Lieutenant Chin,” Nancy replied.

  “What good do you think it will do?”

  “I don’t know, but Chin’s the only one we might be able to trust. Besides, I want to tell him about Peter Stine.”

  As the girls stood at the corner watching for a cruising cab, Nancy wondered what it might mean if Kesack were still alive. The thought chilled her.

  “George,” she said, “if Kesack, who’s one of the most dangerous crime bosses ever, is still alive and in San Francisco—” She stopped talking long enough to climb into the taxi that pulled over for them. “Police headquarters,” she told the cabbie.

  “What, Nancy?” George prodded her.

  Nancy looked soberly at George. “If he’s really here,” she continued, “then I don’t think a single one of us is truly safe!”

  11

  Little Shop of Danger

  It was early evening by the time Nancy and George left the police station. They sat on the steps outside the building and talked. The breeze that had been blowing so briskly earlier in the day had calmed, and now a light fog was moving in across the bay.

  “Finally, we had something concrete to give Lieutenant Chin,” Nancy said with satisfaction. “Let’s see what he can do with the photo. Maybe now something important will break.”

  “He promised to investigate Kesack’s plane crash and death. That’s important,” George pointed out.

  “That’s also five years ago. Coming up with information soon is going to be pretty difficult. I guess right now there’s not much we can do but wait and see what’s uncovered,” Nancy said. “In the meantime, I was thinking that a visit to Faith Arnold might not be a bad idea. I want to talk to her about this art scam business. Maybe she knows something about Emily’s abduction, something she’s not telling anyone.”

  The girls made their way across town to the art gallery. The hushed museumlike atmosphere once again struck Nancy as they stepped onto the plush carpeting that muffled their footsteps.

  They found Faith Arnold seated at her desk in an attractively furnished office at the rear of the building. Nancy noted that a great deal of money had been spent decorating the room. The desk Faith Arnold sat behind was obviously an antique. Chinese, Nancy guessed, looking at the legs, carved to look like fierce dragons.

  “Ms. Arnold?” Nancy said, pausing in the doorway.

  The gallery owner glanced up, and recognition flashed in her eyes. Nancy moved forward, giving her no chance to retreat. George remained in the doorway.

  “We’d like to talk to you about Emily Foxworth and her missing photographs,” Nancy said.

  “You have no business barging in here like this. I’ve already told the police everything I know.” Faith Arnold glared at the two girls.

  “Are you sure, Ms. Arnold?” Nancy thought the woman looked awfully worried.

  “Of course I’m sure. I’m as troubled by Emily Foxworth’s abduction as you are.”

  “Perhaps there’s something you left out or forgot,” Nancy said coaxingly. “Why don’t you tell us how you’re involved in this situation.”

  “I have no intention of telling you anything. And I’m not involved. Now please leave.”

  “Are you aware that the police already suspect you?” Nancy went on.

  Faith Arnold stood up. “Why would they suspect me?” she snapped.

  “Because you’ve had problems with them before,” George answered.

  “How do you know about that?”

  “We’ve been doing some investigating ourselves,” Nancy replied. “Now, won’t you tell us exactly what you know? Your only chance is to help us.”

  Faith Arnold sank back down in her chair.

  “Who kidnapped Emily?” asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know. Honest.”

  Nancy took a gamble. “What relationship does a man named Blane have to Harold Kesack?”

  “Harold Kesack? The mob ringleader? But he’s dead!”

  Nancy leaned forward. “So you do know Harold Kesack.”

  “Oh, everyone knows about that,” she replied. “It was in all the papers. Anyway, Kesack’s dead. I’ve only had dealings with Arnie Blane.”

  “How does he fit into the picture?”

  Faith Arnold sighed. “Blane used to work for Kesack. He told me he wanted Emily’s photos. He threatened to expose my police record if I didn’t give them to him.”

  “Did he say why he wanted the pictures?” George asked.

  “No.”

  “The pictures Emily went looking for just before she disappeared—did Blane already have them?” Nancy wanted to know.

  “Yes. I’d taken them out of her portfolio. But you have to understand. I’ve been trying to go straight. I have a nice business here. Good clientele. I wanted nothing to do with Blane.”

  “We saw this Arnie Blane leaving Croft’s Curio Shop. Do you know anything about that store?”

  Faith Arnold sighed again, then answered wearily, “I’ve heard Croft’s a smuggler. That’s all I know.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Well, I’ve also heard that Croft can get anything in or out of the country.”

  Nancy paused, thinking. “Do the numbers 37-4-11-12 mean anything to you?”

  “No. Listen, whatever happens, I want you to know I feel terrible about Emily. She’s one of my favorite artists, And people like her work.”

  “If Blane contacts you again, I suggest you call the police immediately,” Nancy told her. “It would be in your best interest.”

  Several moments later, Nancy and George left the art gallery. “We’ll unravel this mess. I know we will,” George said as they walked Outside.

  “Let’s go to the curio shop. Maybe our unraveling will start there,” suggested Nancy.

  “We don’t have much to go on.”

  “No, but now at least we found out that Blane worked for Kesack. For all we know, Kesack’s still alive, maybe even somewhere in the city—with Emily. But what does he want with her?”

  “Beats me. And what about those two men we saw following Blane? How do the crane operator and his buddy fit into all of this?”

  Nancy and George mused over the confusing details of the case as they made their way to Croft’s. On the corner near the shop, they stopped at a phone booth to call Hannah.

  “No word yet, Nancy,” Hannah reported, “and I’m very worried. But what’s worse is that I feel so useless. I want to do something to help find Emily.”

  “The most useful thing you can do right now is to sit tight, Hannah,” Nancy said gently. “Have you eaten anything?”

  “Yes. I called room service. And I’m watching TV when I’m not staring at the phone, willing it to ring.”

  Hannah sounded so lost. Nancy wanted to comfort her. But she knew the only way to do that was to find Emily. “George and I are going to check out a few more leads,” she said, “and then we’ll be back in touch.”

  “Just be careful, Nancy. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. They might be very dangerous. In fact, we know they are.” Fear sounded in Hannah’s voice.

  “Try not to worry, Hannah. You know George and I will be careful,” Nancy said. “Just stay by the phone, okay?”

  Hannah promised to do so, and Nancy hung up.

  “Well?” asked George hopefully.

  “Nothing yet,” replied Nancy. She and George continued down the street. As they approached the curio shop, Nancy had an idea. “Let’s try taking a look around back.”

  The girls made sure no one was watching them, then ducked into a side alley. It was more like a narrow street that continued beyond the end of the curio shop building to the next street. Cautiously, they sneaked behind the building. The front had been remodeled as part of a street renovation project, but the rear of the building was old, dilapidated, and ready to crumble. As the girls rounded a corner, the back door of Croft’s opened. Nancy yanked George into the shadows of the alley. Peering around the corner, the girls watched two
men leave the store. They were the same two men Nancy and George had followed earlier, the men who had been trailing Blane! The girls moved a little way back down the alley, ready to run if the men came that way. They didn’t. Nancy and George watched, relieved, as the pair headed up the alley in the opposite direction. “George,” Nancy whispered, “you follow them, and be careful. I’m going into the shop.”

  “All right.” George ran after the two men, while Nancy crept to the back door of the curio shop. Discovering that it was ajar, she tiptoed in.

  Croft’s was a small store that seemed to sell mostly souvenirs—ashtrays shaped like San Francisco Bay, sweatshirts, postcards, and mugs. T-shirts were stacked floor to ceiling. Dusty children’s toys and animals made out of seashells were displayed on dirty counters.

  Nancy found a room marked “Office” and paused to listen. When she heard nothing, she pushed on the door. It swung open. The room was vacant. She wondered where the owner of the shop was. It was late, and most of the stores in the neighborhood were closed by then, but why had the back door been open?

  When Nancy’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw that the office had been trashed, as if the two previous visitors had been looking for something—something important. Papers littered the floor. The desk drawers had been pulled out and their contents scattered. What had the two men been looking for? Nancy wondered.

  She noticed a ledger on the desk and discovered that several of its pages had been torn out. The writing in the ledger looked familiar. She’d seen it before. But where? Thoughtfully, she pulled from her pocket the scrap of paper with the numbers written on it that she’d found on Emily’s floor. She compared the awkward scrawl to the pages in the ledger. The writing appeared to match! Nancy removed a ledger page for herself and stuffed it in her pocket.

  With the new evidence in hand, Nancy was about to depart when she heard someone enter the shop. She ducked behind a pile of T-shirts. When she peeked out cautiously, a man she’d never seen before was entering the office. When he saw the mess, he muttered something angrily. Then Nancy heard him pick up the phone and dial a number. “It’s Croft,” he said in a harsh whisper a few moments later. “Someone’s been in here . . . Yeah, the whole office. The place is a mess . . . Okay . . . Okay. I’ll be right there.”