Текст книги "Once Upon a Thriller"

Автор книги: Carolyn Keene

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CHAPTER TWELVE

The Final Clue

I DIDN’T WANT LACEY—OR RICK—TO know I suspected anyone on the list, so I handed it back to her and thanked her.

As they walked Ned and me out, Lacey told us about a last-minute fund-raiser that they were holding tonight at Mr. Tate’s art gallery. With the theft of the Bride of Avondale statue, his gallery was in jeopardy of closing because of the lapsed insurance policy, and the local art community had organized the event.

Rick glanced at me and said, “You and Ned should come. Lacey and I will get you tickets. And you can ask your friends who had the canoe mishap the other day to come as well. It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you,” I answered. “We’ll try to be there.”

Once we were in the car, I turned to Ned. “We’ve got to hurry,” I told him. “We have to get back to the Cheshire Cat Inn and then to that fund-raiser!”

“The Cheshire Cat?” Ned looked at me, incredulous. “But it can’t possibly be Alice Ann—you said so yourself!”

“Trust me on this one,” I said. “There’s something there that I need. Let’s go!”

I drove carefully but quickly, hoping Alice Ann hadn’t locked up the gift shop for the day. I figured she was attending the fund-raiser that evening too, and she probably needed some time to get ready. As I drove, Ned called Bess and George to see if they could make the trip to Avondale in time for the fund-raiser. I figured Ian would be there, so it wouldn’t be hard to sway Bess, but I wasn’t so sure about George.

“Neither of them answered their phones, but I left messages,” Ned said.

“Perfect,” I replied. “Hopefully they’ll be able to make it.”

We drove the rest of the way in silence as I puzzled over all the clues. I was pretty sure I had figured out who was behind the crimes, but there were still a few loose ends that needed tying up.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Ned said, breaking the silence.

“You’ll know soon enough,” I replied.

Before I knew it we were back in town. I parked in the lot behind the inn and hurried inside, Ned struggling to keep up with me.

I slipped into the dark lobby and headed straight for the gift shop, almost crashing into Alice Ann as she turned the key to lock the door to the tiny room.

“Wait!” I cried. “Don’t lock up just yet. Can you let me back into the shop?”

“Nancy?” Alice Ann asked. “Whatever for? I’m running late for a fund-raiser at the Clancy Tate Gallery.”

“I know,” I replied. “I am too. But first, there’s something in your shop that I need to borrow, just for the evening.”

“Borrow?” Alice Ann asked, raising her eyebrows. “This isn’t a library, you know. People tend to buy the things they like, especially if it’s something to wear to a fancy event.”

“It’s nothing like that,” I explained. “I need to look at your Avondale High School yearbook collection. I’m this close to solving the mystery of the bookstore fire, the art gallery theft—oh, everything!”

Alice Ann smiled brightly.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” she asked. “In that case, go right in.”

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, practically shoving me inside. Then she flicked the lights back on and hustled me over to the bookshelf where I had seen the yearbooks earlier that day.

“Which one do you need?” Alice Ann asked. “And I knew you weren’t just a reporter working on a story—you’re really a detective, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I replied. There was no sense keeping up my cover story when I was this close to solving the case and knew that Alice Ann wasn’t who I was after. “I am. And right now I’m really hoping you have the yearbook from the year you graduated. That’s the year that Paige, Rick, and Cecilia graduated too, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Alice Ann replied, a puzzled look on her face. She pulled a dusty book off the shelf. “Here it is. But our high school days were years ago. I really don’t see how that’s going to help you,” she said.

Suddenly I had a pang of doubt. What if I couldn’t find the proof I was looking for? What if the hunch I had was just that—a hunch?

Alice let me take the book back to my room, and she closed up the shop. Back in room Two-B, I sat down on the Dr. Seuss chair and began flipping through the yearbook.

“Who—or what—are you looking for?” Ned asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Pictures of Rick Brown,” I replied.

I turned a page, skimming captions of sports teams and school clubs. But finally I found him: an image of Rick in a tuxedo, standing arm in arm with a pretty girl with curly hair in a lovely, off-the-shoulder evening gown.

I had never been so happy to see an old prom picture in my life!

Luckily for Ned and me, the Clancy Tate Gallery fund-raiser wasn’t a black-tie affair. Since it had been planned at the last minute, everyone was dressed casually, so we didn’t stick out too much in our khakis and sneakers.

It was wall-to-wall Avondale when we walked in. In just a few days, I already recognized faces, from Alice Ann to Lacey to Paige and even Mr. Tate and Mandy. It seemed like there was a great deal of support for Mr. Tate and his gallery.

I knew that the fund-raiser was the perfect cover for me to finally get to the back writers’ room. I would try to convince Mr. Tate to give me the key so I could look around for myself.

“Ned, you stay here and mingle,” I told him. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Tate alone.”

But I couldn’t get close to him with the all the people who were listening to his story of the statue’s theft.

I walked to the rear of the gallery, to the locked door to the writers’ space. I wanted to will it open and wished there was a magical phrase like “open sesame” that would somehow make it so.

But something magical did happen: The door opened and out walked Mandy.

“Mandy! What are you doing here?” I started to shriek, but quickly lowered my voice. “I mean, what are you doing in there?” and motioned my head toward the door.

“Hi, Nancy.” Mandy smiled. “I had to escape this crowd. Really, how boring can it get? People just telling Uncle C how wonderful they think this boring gallery is, over and over again,” she said. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“But I thought only your uncle and one other person had the key to this door. Was it left unlocked?” I asked.

“Unlocked? No,” Mandy answered. “The writers’ room isn’t a secret to me. I know where the key’s hidden, so I take it anytime I want. Like I said the other day, my uncle is pretty clueless. Nice, but clueless.” She laughed a little bit.

And then she said, “I hang out here a lot. Sometimes with my friends, sometimes with the writers. Ms. Samuels is even there right now.”

“Paige? Paige is in the room?” I said.

Mandy nodded and then took off. So I slowly, quietly opened the door and couldn’t believe my eyes: Paige was there, just as Mandy had said. And in her hands was The Bride of Avondale!

“Sheriff Garrison,” I screamed. “HELP!!!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Facing the Facts

PAIGE TURNED AROUND AND GASPED.

There stood not only me, but Sheriff Garrison, Ian, Ned, Lacey, Rick, Mr. Tate—and what seemed like the entire population of Avondale.

“Ms. Samuels, just what do you think you’re doing?” asked the sheriff.

“I’m—I’m—,” she sputtered.

“Caught red-handed, I’d say,” Lacey said, and walked into the room.

I thought Paige was going to pass out, but instead she placed the statue on a shelf—right next to an old typewriter—and then she sat down at one of the writer’s desks.

“I’m sorry,” she began. “I didn’t mean for—”

Sheriff Garrison interrupted her. “Stop right there, Ms. Samuels. You have the right to remain silent.”

And then he and Ian walked calmly over to the owner of Paige’s Pages and escorted her to their police car.

One week later Bess, George, and I were sitting in my kitchen, having apple pie and chocolate butterscotch cookies—just the treats we were craving.

George took a sip of lemonade and said, “So Sheriff Garrison was ready to arrest Lacey O’Brien for the crimes? The ‘intruder’ at our cabin turned out to be a bear—that’s what he said, right? See, Bess. I told you he and Ian needed help. It’s a good thing Nancy was there.”

Bess rolled her eyes but smiled at her cousin. “And Paige was so jealous of Lacey’s success and her marriage to Rick. But still, to go to those lengths?”

I sighed. After Paige’s arrest, Alice Ann had actually visited her in jail. I don’t know if she went just to find out more gossip or to finally be a friend, but Alice found out that Paige had always felt she was competing with Lacey, as far back as high school. But she never came out ahead—even though she had attended the prom with Rick. That’s the photograph I saw in the old yearbook.

When the bookstore started doing poorly, Paige planned to close it. But then she devised a plan to make money from the insurance company—an idea taken straight from Lacey’s mysteries. The fire was meant to look like an accident. But once she realized that the fire and police departments suspected foul play, she started to cover it up.

I took my plate to the sink and let the water run over the leftover crumbs.

“I think there was a part of her that wanted to get caught,” Bess added. “Why else would she join the writers’ space and hide the statue in her own locker? She was bound to be found out, especially after getting the writer’s room key from Mandy.”

Bess had a good point. I wondered whether, when I’d picked up the paper with her locker combination on it at the grocery store, Paige had been deliberately dropping clues.

“Well,” I told my friends, “I’m glad no one got hurt. Broken hearts, maybe, but nothing else. And now I’ve got one more mystery for you to solve.”

George groaned. “Please, Nancy. Say you’re joking. How much more can we take?”

I started to laugh. “Where do you think I put the latest Lacey O’Brien mystery? I can’t find the book anywhere!”

Dear Diary,

A few months later, Ned and I took a day trip to Avondale. We had read that Lacey and Rick Brown bought the bookstore—now called Brown’s Books—and completely renovated it, expanding the mystery and children’s sections.

And inspired by the town’s new notoriety, Alice Ann began hosting Murder Mystery weekends at the Cheshire Cat Inn to continue to draw new tourists. I hear they’re a smashing success. But as far as I’m concerned, I think I’ve had my fill of mysteries at Moon Lake.

Read all the mysteries in the

NANCY DREW DIARIES

#1 Curse of the Arctic Star

#2 Strangers on a Train

#3 Mystery of the Midnight Rider

#4 Once Upon a Thriller

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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First Aladdin paperback edition September 2013

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Library of Congress Control Number 2013944613

ISBN 978-1-4169-9074-1 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-4424-6612-8 (hc)

ISBN 978-1-4424-6572-5 (eBook)