The Case of the Artful Crime (14 page)

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Authors: Carolyn Keene

BOOK: The Case of the Artful Crime

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Moving inch by inch, Nancy slid along the shaftway. Every muscle in her body was tight with tension. By the time she reached the third floor, she was engulfed in darkness.

Nancy kept descending. After what seemed an eternity, she came to the second floor opening.

Stopping just above the door, she kicked it hard with the bottom of one foot. The kick threw her off balance, and she had to save herself by grabbing a slat of rickety wood. “One more time,” she told herself.
Bam!
She hit the door with all her might. There was a dull thud, and she knew the painting had fallen to the ground. With a creak, the dumbwaiter door fell slightly open.

Nancy clutched the wooden frame of the opening and swung her legs through into Felice's bedroom, listening for Templeton.

Inside the house, everything was quiet. The lights and sounds of the party filtered through Felice's lace curtains.

Soundlessly, Nancy dropped to the thick white carpet. She stole to the open bedroom door and cautiously peeked out, then ducked back. Templeton was just slipping out of the next room. And in his gloved hand was a purple velvet bag.

He had the ruby!

Nancy waited for a moment, then looked again. Templeton was heading down the stairs at the far end of the hall. It would be much too dangerous to confront him now. But she could follow him out and get help from the security force.

As she passed the room with the safe, Nancy noticed an unconscious guard on the floor beside the open safe. She would send help for him as soon as she could.

As Nancy ran for the main stairs, a smoky smell hit her nose. Then she saw smoke billowing from under a door. The door probably opened onto the narrow stairs they'd taken to the servants' quarters.

So that was Templeton's plan for them! He was going to burn the house down, starting with the upper quarters. Even if the fire department was able to save the bottom of the house, the servants' wing would be destroyedâalong with Felice.

Nancy pulled on the door. It was locked. Now she could no longer hold back. She had to get downstairs to alert someone. Felice's life depended on it.

Nancy looked down the stairs. Templeton was gone. Let him go, Nancy thought. Felice's life was more important than the ruby. She bounded down the stairs to call the fire department.

Suddenly a strong hand sheathed in rubber reached out and clapped her mouth shut.

“You don't give up, do you?” Templeton growled. Another gloved hand tightened around her throat.

At that instant Nancy remembered the can of Bess's hairspray she'd stuck in her pocket. Desperately, she grabbed it and squirted in the direction of Templeton's face.

“Aaah!” he cried, loosening his grip. He balled up his fists and rubbed his eyes.

Gasping, Nancy pulled away from him. In a flash she saw that he'd set the velvet bag down on the flat bottom part of the banister. Nancy darted her hand out, snapped up the bag, and ran like mad.

She was racing down the hall when Conrad stepped out of a doorway. “Call the fire department!” Nancy shouted. “Felice is trapped upstairs in the old servants' quarters. And the guard by the safe has been hurt.”

The butler paused, confuse. He was quickly shoved aside by Templeton, who tore down the hall in hot pursuit of the ruby.

Nancy ran out into the night air. A small orchestra played classical music as lavishly dressed guests chatted, champagne glasses in hand.

The guests seemed barely aware of her as Nancy ran out onto an open expanse of lawn. This is crazy, she thought. She was surrounded by people, yet no one would help her. Templeton was quickly overtaking her. “Help!” she cried.

Suddenly Templeton hit her with a flying tackle,
sending her crashing to the ground. Wrenching her wrist, he yanked the velvet bag from her hand.

Nancy rolled on the damp grass and grabbed his ankle. Templeton went down with a thud.

Then Nancy looked up and saw six security guards encircling them, revolvers drawn and aimed. In the distance, she heard the shrill scream of approaching fire trucks.

For a moment Nancy stared into the barrel of one of the guard's revolvers. She swallowed hard. Surely the security guards didn't think she had attempted to steal the ruby.

Nancy was relieved when she saw Felice hurry up to the guards. The woman was disheveled and soot-covered. Beside her was the head officer. “Let Nancy up,” she told them. “That man is the thief.”

One guard reached down and helped Nancy to her feet. Nancy brushed off her pants, then bent and picked up the velvet bag that lay on the grass. “Here,” she said, handing it to Felice. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Felice took the crimson stone from the bag. The size of a golf ball, the ruby shone in the twinkling white lights as though it contained some sort of magic. “Yes, it's mine,” Felice agreed. “And I can't wait until it belongs to someone else.”

â¢Â â¢Â â¢

The next afternoon, Nancy drove to the Arizona House. She arrived as the staff was serving Sunday brunch.

“Look at this,” Bess said, running to greet her.
She held up the front page of the morning newspaper. “ââInternational Jewel Thief Thwarted by Local Heroine!'â” Bess read the headline. “It says here that Alex Templeton is wanted in three countries for similar jewel thefts,” she added. “He's a master of disguise, too. He even posed as a policeman once to rob a jewelry store.”

Nancy took the paper from her and skimmed it. The article described how Conrad had saved Felice Wainwright by braving the smoke to unlock the doors that had her trapped upstairs. But mostly it featured an interview with Felice, in which she recounted how Nancy had caught Templeton.

The party had been disrupted, but the auction had been held, anyway. The ruby was sold for over a million dollars, all of which Felice was donating to build a new wing at the hospital in downtown River Heights.

“I didn't realize what I was getting you into, Nancy,” Shawn said, coming into the hallway from the dining room. “I hope you won't hold it against me.” He looked earnestly at her.

“Not at all,” Nancy answered. “It was very interesting. And Loreen turned out to be completely innocent, except for tripping me. All she's guilty of is being crazy about you.”

Just then, Loreen came rushing in the front door. “Shawn, I have to speak to you!”

“What is it?” Shawn asked.

“It's Harold Brackett,” she replied, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. “I was just over at Le St.
Tropez, talking to Edward, the manager, about a job. Brackett was eating lunch there. They'd convinced him to give them a second chance, I guess. Anyway, we had the wrong guy. The real Harold Brackett is an older man, notâ”

“We know,” Shawn broke in, smiling.

“You do?” Loreen asked.

“Yep, we do,” Bess told her sheepishly.

“Well, the real Harold Brackett is on his way here for dessert,” Loreen continued breathlessly. “I heard him talking on the phone to his editor in Chicago.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Shawn asked.

“Because I've been a real jerk. I'm sorry for the way I acted. I've been a green-eyed monster.” Loreen turned to Nancy. “And I'm really sorry about tripping you. I don't know what came over me.”

“I accept your apology,” Nancy said.

Shawn looked at Loreen. “Why don't we talk about this over supper tonight?” he asked. “We have a lot to discuss.”

“I'd like that,” Loreen said softly.

“Oh, I knew it! I knew you two lovebirds would get back together,” cheered Elliot, who was passing by at that moment.

“Elliot!” Shawn exclaimed. “You'd better get back in that kitchen. The real Harold Brackett is coming for dessert.”

Elliot jerked his thumb toward the lounge, where Jack was sitting at the bar. “There's a
real
dessert
chef in there,” he said. “He wants to talk to you, Shawn, but he's very nervous.”

“Excuse me just a moment,” Shawn said, going into the lounge.

Nancy returned her uniform to Loreen and said goodbye to everyone. She was on her way out when Shawn and Jack appeared in the hallway.

“Meet my new partner,” Shawn said. “Jack came here to apologize to me, but I figure I also owe something to him. I can't undo what my father did, but I can sell Jack a partnership at a very reasonable price.”

“That's great,” Nancy said.

“Now let me get into the kitchen and prepare for this critic,” Jack said. For once, he didn't look so grumpy.

“It looks like a new beginning for the Arizona House,” Nancy said, a broad smile on her face.

“It sure does,” Shawn agreed. “Thanks to you, Nancy Drew.”

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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