The Stolen Kiss (7 page)

“She's scared.” Rina picked up her knapsack and portfolio off the grass. Tossing her braid over her shoulder, she headed for her car.

“Thanks, Rina,” Brook called.

Rina waved her hand but didn't look back.

Nancy had watched the scene, fascinated. She hadn't considered Rina a suspect in the museum robbery. But why not? Rina needed money, she obviously was very agile, and if she was Bryan's old girlfriend, she probably knew all about climbing ropes—and the timing of his rounds at the museum. She had to be a suspect. Then Nancy remembered—Rosie said that she and Rina had been ushering the night before. But was ushering a foolproof alibi? Nancy needed to find out.

“Rina looked good up there,” Nancy said to Brook as the girls headed inside the house. “Is she into climbing like Bryan?”

“Not that I know of. Art is her thing.”

While Brook headed to the kitchen to get Kabuki some food, Nancy scanned the call board m the back hall, hoping there would be a message from Ned. A lump lodged in her throat as she ran her eyes down the board a second time. There were several folded message slips for Debbie, but nothing for her.

In the living room Nancy curled up on a couch, a hollow feeling in her chest. Maybe this time their fight was too serious to be made up.

Her eyes strayed to an overstuffed chair across the room. It was heaped with glittery antique flapper dresses. Nancy had forgotten about that night's Omega Chi dance.

Chris collapsed on the couch next to Nancy. “Aren't those dresses great?” she said. “My grandmother sent me a box of them. They belonged to her mother, my great-grandmother. She was a singer in a jazz club in Harlem in the twenties, and she had all these costumes stored in the attic. I know you've already got a dress,” she said to Nancy, “but if anybody else needs a dress for tonight, I've got a bunch.”

“They're fantastic,” Brook said, walking into the room. She held a silver-beaded chemise up to her shoulders and studied her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

“Looks great,” Nancy commented, wondering if she'd be needing her dress for that night's Omega Chi party after all.

Debbie came in the front door and walked right by them. “Deb,” Rosie called after her. “Bryan just called on the house phone. He said he got no answer on your phone and your answering machine was turned off. He wanted you to call right away.”

“Okay,” Debbie answered.

“Mrs. Shephard called, too. Twice,” Brook added. “She says it's really important.”

“Got it,” Debbie called back.

“Hey, I hear you modeled for Jared's class today,” Rosie said, eyeing Nancy.

“Are you kidding?” Brook gasped. “Tell all. You're an honorary sister for the weekend, and we should be the first to know what Michael ‘The Hunk' Jared is really like.”

Nancy felt a blush creep up her neck. “He's very nice and he's miserable about the theft of his painting.”

“Hmmm,” Rosie said, her dark eyes sparkling. “Why do I get the feeling you're not telling us everything you know about this guy?”

Talking about the painting class reminded Nancy to ask the girls if they knew anyone named Kate Robertson.

“Of course,” Chris said, stroking Kabuki. “Kate is a Theta Pi. She's Debbie's roommate.”

So that's why the blond girl looked so familiar, thought Nancy. She'd never met Kate, but she must have seen a photograph of her. “When did Kate get back from Paris?”

“She's not back,” Rosie said.

“But Kate Robertson was in art class this afternoon,” Nancy told the girls.

“I don't think so,” Brook said. “We'd have seen her. But ask Debbie. She'd know.”

When Nancy got to Debbie's room, the door was closed. Nancy couldn't tell if Debbie was talking to someone inside the room, or someone on the phone. All she heard was Debbie speaking hysterically.

“I don't care how hard it is to do. You've got to put it back.”

Nancy's heart stopped. Put what back?

First Kiss
? she wondered.

And who was Debbie talking to? Her mysterious roommate Kate Robertson suddenly back from Paris
—if
she'd ever been in Paris at all? Or someone else? Nancy's throat went dry. When Debbie came home a few minutes ago, Rosie had told her to call someone right away. Nancy just remembered who.

Bryan.

W
ITHOUT WARNING
, D
EBBIE'S DOOR
swung open.

“I was just about to knock,” Nancy blurted out as Debbie, who was dressed in a robe, practically bumped into her.

“Oh, it's you.” Debbie closed the door behind her. “More questions?” Debbie snapped. Then bit her lip. “Sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just exhausted. Any leads on Michael's painting?”

“No.” Nancy had to find out who Debbie had been talking to. “How's Bryan?” Nancy asked.

“Why?” Debbie sounded defensive.

“I thought I heard you talking to him on the telephone just now,” Nancy said.

“I haven't spoken to him all day,” she said curtly, starting for the staircase.

Then who had been on the phone—or in the room? Nancy followed Debbie up the stairs to the bathroom. “When did Kate come back?”

“Kate?” She looked at Nancy as if she'd sprouted a second head. “I told you she's in Paris.”

“No way. I saw Kate in art class today. Rina was there, too.”

Debbie gripped the banister and shook her head firmly. “Nancy, whoever you saw, it wasn't Kate.”

“Michael told me the student's name,” Nancy insisted. “Kate Robertson.”

“Then Michael's wrong.” Debbie had reached the second-floor landing. “Or else there's another Kate Robertson at Emerson.”

Intrigued, Nancy trailed Debbie into the large bathroom. Debbie grabbed a blue plastic box from one of the lockers. Nancy followed her to a shower stall. Debbie turned on the water and tested it with her hand. “Are you expecting to find Kate in the shower or something?”

Nancy ignored her sarcasm. “The girl in Michael's art class was a tall, gangling girl with short bleached-blond hair,” Nancy said. “Is that your Kate Robertson?”

Debbie blew out her breath impatiently. “No. ‘My' Kate is big—a little heavy—and her hair's brown.”

So it was a different Kate, Nancy decided. Then she asked, “At lunchtime you were talking to a girl with long brown hair, in a red shirt.”

The barest hint of surprise or panic—Nancy wasn't sure which—flickered across Debbie's face. Nancy sensed she was honing in on Debbie's secret. “It was in the quad,” she said, trying to provoke some reaction in Debbie.

Debbie's face stayed calm, but her knuckles whitened as she gripped her hands into fists. “I don't know who you're talking about. I talked to lots of people today.” She turned her back on Nancy and untied her robe.

Nancy didn't budge. “Who were you talking to just now? In your room?”

Debbie kept her back turned but gave a careless shrug. “Nancy, I don't know what you think you overheard. It was probably a TV.”

“Sure.” For the moment Nancy had to concede defeat. Getting a hold on Debbie was like trying to get a grip on a wet fish. She kept slithering out of reach.

Debbie poked her head out of the shower. “Maybe if you stopped wasting your time hounding me with dumb questions about Kate Robertson, you might actually solve this crime.” Debbie yanked the curtain shut.

Nancy slammed the bathroom door behind her. “Aaargh!” she groaned in frustration. Nancy prided herself on her talent to psych people out. But so far she'd scored a big fat zero with Debbie.

On her way back downstairs, she picked up a campus directory and flipped through it. She was more confused than ever. The only Kate Robertson listed was right here at Theta Pi.

Then Nancy remembered something. Debbie's roommate was an impressive copyist. Could her skills have something to do with the stolen painting? Nancy headed straight back down to Debbie's room.

Nancy knocked on her door. No one answered. She tried to turn the doorknob. Locked. Why would Debbie lock her door just to take a shower? Unless there was someone inside—someone who had slipped out while Nancy was upstairs questioning Debbie. Nancy raced into the kitchen.

“Has anyone passed through here in the last couple of minutes?” Nancy asked Trish Hard-castle, who was at the microwave nuking some popcorn.

“Nope,” the blond girl replied.

Hearing laughter outside, Nancy peeked out the back screen door. Mindy and Rosie had turned lawn hoses on each other, and both were drenched. No one else was around.

If Kate had been in Debbie's room, she was gone. In the living room Brook and Chris were on the couch, petting Kabuki. “Do either of you have a picture of Debbie's roommate, Kate?” Nancy asked.

The girls acted surprised. “Yeah, sure. I can find one,” Chris replied. She went to the bookcase under the windows and pulled out a photo album. Chris flipped through the pages. “Here.”

She pointed out pictures of Kate, a tall big-boned girl with prominent cheekbones. The blond girl in Michael's class was also tall but she was very thin. There was no resemblance between the two.

“Where is everyone?” George yelled from the front door. She poked her head in the living room and grinned. She was wearing purple jogging shorts and a blue tank top. Her brown curls were damp from the heat. “Hi, Nancy,” she said. “I'm beat. I'd better take a nap before the party. But come on up and I'll tell you some good news.”

Nancy followed George to the room she was sharing for the weekend with Mindy. George flopped facedown on Kirstin's pink-flowered bedspread.

“How was the climbing gym?” Nancy dropped into the rocking chair and propped her feet on the windowsill. She scrutinized George. “And why are you so sleepy? You're never tired.”

George smiled, her eyes still shut. “The gym was great. It's huge, with all these climbing routes. It was a tough workout, so we went in a hot tub later. I feel like Jell-O. Beyond relaxed.”

“You said you had good news.”

George opened her eyes. “I do. Bryan's not your thief. We didn't need his rope for the gym,” George continued, “because the gym provides ropes. Bryan's new rope is in his Jeep.”

“How new?”

“Brand-new. Bryan said he bought it for his trip next weekend to Indian Rock.”

“Do climbers usually have more than one rope?”

George groaned. “Yes, Nan, good climbers do. There are different strengths for different types of climbs. But ropes aren't cheap. I doubt a student like Bryan would have a bunch of ropes. He's not your bad guy here.”

Nancy decided to keep her suspicions about Bryan to herself for the moment. “But I am a little worried”—she paused—“about
you.
Aren't Bryan and Debbie still an item?”

George fingered one of her curls. “I don't think so. He's called her a couple of times today to have it out with her. He's miffed she stood him up at lunch, and he said things haven't been great between them—even before the robbery.” George hesitated before continuing. “Don't worry, I'm going to the dance with you and Ned, not Bryan. He's got to sort things out with Debbie first, though I think they're about to break up.”

“Debbie told us that, too.” Nancy got up. “But I'm not sure I trust anything that Debbie says these days.”

George sat up and suddenly seemed wide-awake. “You dug up something on Debbie?”

Before Nancy could respond, Rosie Lopez's voice came on the house intercom, giggling. “Nancy Drew, someone's here to see you.”

“Sounds like a male someone.” George laughed. “Why doesn't she just say Ned?”

“Because it's probably not Ned,” Nancy said ruefully, and stood up. “We had a real fight.”

“He didn't seem that upset at lunch—”

“It got worse later,” Nancy said, her heart in her throat. “I'm not sure I'm going to the dance at all.” George's mouth fell open. “I can't explain now. Maybe it's Sergeant Weinberg about the case,” Nancy said. But as she left the room, someone else came to mind. Michael. Maybe Michael had come to see her.

“Nancy?”

“Ned?” Nancy practically shouted for joy. She bounced down the last few steps and stopped a few feet away from Ned. He was dressed in running shorts and had one hand behind his back. He looked embarrassed and a little surprised.

“Were you expecting someone else?”

Nancy blushed. “No, I mean—I thought it was Sergeant Weinberg. About the case . . .”

“I'm sorry,” they both said in unison, then burst out laughing. Ned handed Nancy a white rose. “Peace?”

“Peace.” Nancy accepted the rose and smiled up at Ned.

“Is there someplace we can talk?” he asked.