The Stolen Kiss (13 page)

On the way to Lincoln Valley the rain picked up until sheets of water cascaded over the windshield. Nancy had to lean forward over the steering wheel to see the road.

“So Dr. Morrison thinks Rina is good enough to have forged
First Kiss,”
George commented, wiping the fog off the inside of the windshield with her sleeve.

“Right. But don't forget Dr. Morrison is a suspect, too. Still, he confirmed Bryan's story about Rina.” Nancy turned down a dirt road that was a muddy mess. “Are you sure Bryan said to turn here?” she asked doubtfully.

“That's what the directions say,” George assured her, reading from the piece of paper she held. “After the gas station, go right on the first dirt road.”

Nancy concentrated on her driving. The road grew muddier by the second, and the car jerked and swerved as Nancy expertly maneuvered around huge ruts. Then the road turned left, away from a bridge that would take them across a swollen river. It wound through fields beside the river. Nancy hoped they wouldn't get lost.

Finally a blue farmhouse came into sight. It was just as Bryan had described. About two miles past it, they glimpsed a cabin set back from the road. “That's it!” Nancy said, spotting Rina's green sedan out front.

Nancy was surprised to see smoke rising from the cabin's chimney—though rainy, the day was warm. “I'm going to park by the road,” Nancy told George. “It looks like we could get stuck in that driveway.”

The girls raced up a stone path toward the cabin. Nancy peeked in the front window. Rina stood in front of the fireplace, throwing scraps of paper into the flames.

“What's she doing?” George gasped. Nancy raced inside, George right behind her.

“Oh!” Rina cried, frightened. Then she looked down at the last paper in her hands and tossed it into the fireplace.

Before the flames touched it, Nancy bounded over to the fireplace and pulled it out. It was a drawing of
First Kiss.
Nancy looked straight at Rina. “Is this a preliminary sketch? Did you forge
First Kiss
?”

Rina froze.

“Did you steal the painting, Rina?”

Rina started to shake, and Nancy had her answer. “I was going to return it,” Rina said. Rina's voice, like her body, was quivering.

“Where's the original now?” Nancy grilled her.

“I don't know!” Rina cried. “It was in the trunk of my car. I was going to return it to the museum after they discovered the copy, I swear. But someone stole it from my car. That's why I got so scared and ran away. Somebody knows what I did and stole the painting. Now I can't return it!”

“But why did you do it?” George asked bewildered.

“I—I just wanted to prove a point,” Rina stammered.

“What point?” Nancy was incredulous.

Rina's face changed, her fear transformed to anger. “They thought I wasn't good enough to win the college art contest,” she said, her voice growing stronger. “I overheard Morrison describe my entry as primitive, awkward. Of course my work looks primitive!” Rina exclaimed. “It's deliberate. But the three judges—Debbie, Dr. Morrison, Michael Jared—thought I wasn't talented enough to win the contest. I should have won. I needed that prize. It was a full scholarship to Emerson. Without it I won't have enough to graduate.”

“So you were getting back at them?” George asked, trying hard to understand.

“I was going to show them,” Rina responded feverishly. “I can paint in any style I want, even Michael Jared's. I was going to show them, and I did.” Rina seemed crazed with spite.

“But I made sure Michael would recognize the painting as a forgery,” she went on, a nasty gleam in her eyes. “You see, I made little changes, changes that Debbie and Dr. Morrison wouldn't notice. But Michael would. Debbie and Dr. Morrison were embarrassed—just as I planned.”

Nancy gripped Rina's hands. “Do you know who took the painting?” she asked.

“No!” Rina cried, breaking away. “You've got to believe me.”

The door opened, and a tall red-haired woman of about fifty walked in. “Terrible rain.” The woman shook the water off her slicker. Her resemblance to Rina was striking. “You didn't tell me we were having guests.”

Glowering, Rina introduced her aunt Rae.

“Would you like coffee or tea?” Rae asked.

Nancy shook her head. “We've got to get back.” Nancy asked Rina to walk them to the car.

Outside Nancy took Rina by the arm, gripping her tightly. She stood under the dripping eaves of the house. “Was Bryan in on the theft?” Nancy asked. She heard George catch her breath beside her.

“No,” Rina admitted. “I stole his gear.”

“He could lose his job because of you.” George spoke sharply.

Rina's eyes were cold. “Fine by me. He deserved it.”

Nancy winced. “You were ushering that night. How did you pull off the robbery?”

“It wasn't hard,” Rina explained. “I skated most of the way to the museum after the second intermission. Then I took off my skates and ran up the hill. There was just enough time to get back to the theater before the play let out.”

In her mind Nancy saw the hooded skater racing across campus that first night. “So that was you,” Nancy said. “I saw you that night—you bumped into me. You had the painting then.”

Rina nodded. “I had it in my pack. I skated to my car and put my pack in the trunk. Then I ran back to the theater. No one knew I'd been gone.”

“You stuffed
First Kiss
into a backpack?” Nancy asked incredulously.

“I wrapped it up in a sweatshirt first.” Rina was defensive. “I didn't damage it.”

“What about the ticket stub?” George asked. “Nancy found an EC ticket stub on the roof.”

“I don't know anything about that,” Rina said.

“I have to report all this to Sergeant Weinberg,” Nancy told Rina. “But it would be better for you if you turned yourself in.”

Rina gazed down at her muddy boots and nodded her head. “I guess I have no choice. Nobody will understand,” she said bitterly. Nancy hoped Rina made her confession quickly. She was in big trouble, and she had to face up to it.

“At least Bryan's in the clear.” George gave a big sigh of relief. As they got into the Mustang, Nancy said nothing. Bryan might be in the clear about the museum theft, but they didn't know who had
First Kiss
now. Bryan could have it, or even Rina, if she had lied about it having been stolen from her car.

The drive back was terrible. The rain had turned the potholes to ponds, and Nancy could barely avoid running the Mustang into a ditch. Swerving, she barely avoided a bale of hay that had rolled onto the road.

Just ahead Nancy saw a bridge and wondered if she'd taken a wrong turn. Hadn't they turned before the bridge on the way out? “Is this the right way?” Nancy asked, moving onto the bridge.

“Nancy, look!” George screamed, and a bolt of terror shot up Nancy's spine. A few yards ahead the bridge abruptly ended. The drop off from it was about thirty feet down—straight into the raging river!

Nancy jammed on the brake, and the car swerved uncontrollably.

T
HE
M
USTANG FISHTAILED, SLAMMING
into the metal guardrails. Struggling to control the car, Nancy caught flashes of the river below and the drop-off ahead. She finally steered into the skid, and the Mustang hit the railing head on. It bounced across to the other guardrail, then back again. Finally the car came to a stop.

Nancy turned off the ignition, her hands trembling. “You okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” George said in a small voice. “I'd call that a little scary, even for us, Nan.”

“Very scary,” Nancy echoed. The two girls sat in silence a moment. Then, very cautiously, Nancy tried her door. Her stomach lurched when she saw that they had missed the end of the bridge by inches.

When the rain let up, Nancy climbed out and surveyed the damage to her car. The sides were scraped, and one headlight and Nancy's door were bashed in. George got out and checked for damage, too. “Bad luck,” she said.

“More than bad luck,” Nancy replied. “Where are the signs saying the bridge is out? And where are the barricades across the entrance? Let's look.” It wasn't long before Nancy and George found the warning signs and barricades stowed in nearby bushes. Someone had deliberately hidden them.

Just then a black-and-white highway patrol car pulled up. A state trooper leaped out. “You girls all right?” he asked.

After assuring the officer they were, Nancy briefed him on the incident. “I was afraid of that,” he said soberly. “When I drove by the first turnoff on the highway just now, I noticed there was no danger sign. I drove down here to check on the detour sign and barricades.” He shook his head in disgust. “Probably kids playing a joke.”

The officer took down their names and the details of the incident before giving the girls directions back to Emerson.

“I have the feeling someone who knew we were heading out to Lincoln Valley didn't want us to come back,” Nancy told George as she backed the car off the bridge. The officer waited to be sure they were okay. Nancy waved to him, and he took off. George stared straight ahead. Only Ned and Bryan knew they were going to Lincoln Valley. Ned was above suspicion. So that left Bryan. . . .

On the ride back Nancy kept returning to the same questions. If Bryan had figured out that Rina had been responsible for the theft and the forgery, could he have stolen the original from Rina? And were the missing signs and barricades at the bridge supposed to keep Nancy from revealing Bryan's secret?

At the sorority house Nancy immediately went up to the room she was sharing with Chris and called Ned. Hearing his voice, Nancy almost burst into tears. The stress of the accident had really gotten to her. Playing down the seriousness of the incident, she filled Ned in on what had happened.

Ned gave Bryan an alibi. “Bryan left a half hour ago to walk over to dinner with Ian Sanders,” Ned explained. “But Bryan's been at the house all afternoon working.”

“Was he carrying anything when he left?”

“Nothing,” Ned replied. “I have to be at the house for another half hour, but if you need me I'll come right now.” He paused. “I don't want anything to happen to you, Nancy.”

“Not necessary, Ned,” Nancy answered gently, “but I appreciate the offer. George will be with me. If we need reinforcements, I know where to find you.” After hanging up, Nancy lay back on the bed. If Bryan was in the clear, who had sabotaged the bridge?

Dr. Morrison. Nancy sat straight up. Dr. Morrison hadn't known where Nancy was headed that afternoon, but he had known she was looking for Rina. If Rina had copied a drawing for him once, then he might guess that Rina had forged
First Kiss.
Could he have stolen the original from Rina's car?

Why would he try to harm Nancy and George, though? That last part only made sense if Dr. Morrison felt threatened by Nancy. And he had no reason to feel threatened—yet. Besides, how could he have known about Rina's aunt's cabin or that the girls were driving there? Nancy shook her head to clear it. She was missing an important piece of the puzzle.

The phone rang. It was Mindy, forwarding a call from the house phone. Carson Drew's deep voice came on Nancy's line. “I've got information on Geoffrey Morrison,” he told her.

Nancy smiled. “Your timing's perfect, Dad.”

“I spoke with a member of the Cabbott board of directors,” he began. “What I'm about to tell you is very hush-hush. No accusations were ever made, but there was suspicion.”

“I'm dying of curiosity,” Nancy said.

“During an art sting operation in New York,” Carson Drew continued, “the police raided a well-known dealer. Behind some of the canvases in his back room, they found stolen canvases tacked underneath. Several came from the Cabbott.”

Nancy whistled. “Was Dr. Morrison involved?”

“There was no proof against Morrison. And the Cabbott had already sold some of its paintings to this dealer to raise funds to buy new work.”

“Was anyone charged?” Nancy asked.

“The New York dealer, yes,” her father replied. “But he wouldn't reveal his accomplices. No one at the Cabbott was charged, but as I said, there was a lot of suspicion. The curious thing was that Dr. Morrison resigned shortly afterward. Then he went to Emerson.”

Nancy's mind sifted through this information. The story was very familiar. Nancy remembered Debbie taking inventory the night of the robbery. A shipment of paintings was going out of the Emerson College Art Museum to a dealer sometime soon. If Dr. Morrison had been involved in the theft at the Cabbott, could he be using the same ploy here at Emerson? Did he plan to hide
First Kiss
in the next shipment of paintings? He might have used the same method of tacking the
First Kiss
behind another canvas.