The Case of the Creative Crime, page 1
Contents
* * *
1 Man of the Year
2 Arts and Threats
3 A Performance to Die For
4 Fire!
5 Sneaking Suspicions
6 A Chase Through the Woods
7 Caught!
8 Foul Play
9 A Close Call
10 Telltale Vines
11 A Scream of Terror
12 A Close Call
13 The Chase Is On!
14 Shane’s Story
15 Trapped!
16 A Race Against Time
1
Man of the Year
“So, how does it feel to be the daughter of the River Heights Man of the Year?” Bess Marvin turned in the passenger seat of Nancy Drew’s blue Mustang convertible and grinned at her friend. She held up a copy of the River Heights News, letting the edges flap in the warm summer breeze. “He’s right on the front page and everything!”
Nancy took her eyes away from the road long enough to glance at the grainy photograph of her dad, who smiled out from the newspaper page. Just above the photo, the headline read, “Carson Drew Honored for Civic Achievements.” Every time she read the words, Nancy thought she would burst with pride.
“Isn’t it great?” she said. “Dad says he’s been in shock since the mayor called to tell him about the award yesterday. I guess he never realized how much he’s done for the town over the years.”
“Are you kidding? The list of good stuff he helped make happen in River Heights is about a mile long!” Bess skimmed the article. “The drive to rebuild the waterfront, community workfare programs, saving the old railway station from being demolished, helping start a local arts colony . . . ” Her voice trailed off into a laugh. “Is there any good deed your dad hasn’t done?”
“There must be a few old ladies he hasn’t helped across the street yet,” Nancy said.
Bess propped her sunglasses on top of her head, anchoring her blond hair back from her face. “He’ll have to get to work on that—after he takes us out to lunch, that is,” she said.
The dinner honoring Nancy’s father wouldn’t take place until Saturday, four days away. But Carson had insisted on celebrating the good news right away by taking Nancy and Bess to lunch. He would have invited Bess’s cousin George, too, because Bess and George had been Nancy’s best friends since they were little kids, but George was away on a two-week bike trip.
“Lunch at Emilio’s.” Bess gave a dreamy sigh as Nancy pulled into the parking lot next to the building in which Carson’s law office was located. “Forget about the rest of your dad’s accomplishments. Treating us to lunch at the best Italian restaurant in River Heights is enough to make him Man of the Year in my book. My mouth is watering already.”
“Mine, too.” Nancy parked her car in an empty spot, then got out and smoothed the silky fabric of the sleeveless dress she wore. The deep blue dress matched the color of her eyes perfectly and made her reddish blond hair stand out.
“Ugh!” Nancy squinted as a blast of hot, dusty air blew across the parking lot from a construction site just down the street. A steady drone came from the hulking cranes and bulldozers that were visible through an opening in the wooden barrier surrounding the site. “Swallowing dust and diesel fumes wasn’t exactly the appetizer I had in mind.”
“That’s for sure,” Bess said. She tucked her newspaper into her shoulder bag, then brushed off some grit from the white wraparound blouse she wore with a flowered skirt. “Let’s get out of here before we turn into a couple of dust balls.”
They hurried out of the parking lot and into the office building. The heat and dust and noise disappeared the moment they stepped into the lobby. Nancy enjoyed the cool air-conditioning as she and Bess rode the elevator up to her father’s office.
“Hear that?” Bess stepped into the hallway and cupped a hand to her ear. Laughter rang out into the hallway from Carson’s office. “It sounds as if your dad’s already celebrating.”
Nancy pushed open the door to the office suite and stepped inside. The desk where Carson’s legal secretary, Ms. Hanson, usually sat was empty. She was probably out to lunch, Nancy thought. Through an open door beyond the secretary’s desk, Nancy saw her dad sitting at his desk in his suit and tie. Carson’s brown hair was laced with gray at the temples. His dark eyes gleamed as he laughed and talked with someone Nancy couldn’t see.
“Is it twelve-thirty already?” Carson asked when he saw Nancy. He got up to give her and Bess hugs, then ushered them into his office. “Come on in, girls. There’s someone here I’d like you to meet.”
The woman sitting across from Carson looked to be in her early thirties. She had dark brown skin, shoulder-length braids, intelligent amber eyes, and a rich laugh that made Nancy like her right away.
“I’m Rhoda Benton,” the woman said, introducing herself. As she stood up to shake hands with Nancy and Bess, Nancy saw that she was impressively tall. She wore a necklace of turquoise beads over a tunic that flowed loosely over her pants. A bright woven shoulder bag lay on the floor beside her chair.
“Carson tells me you’ve got lunch plans, but I couldn’t resist stopping by to congratulate the man who helped me turn my life around.” Rhoda shook her head slowly back and forth. “Let me tell you, before I entered the workfare program Carson helped set up, I was in pretty sorry shape.”
“What do you mean?” Bess asked.
“Rhoda has always been talented,” Carson said, “and smart. But it took her awhile to find direction in her life.”
“That’s a polite way of saying I was a troubled teenager who was constantly up to no good,” Rhoda said. “I hung out with a pretty rough crowd, cut school. . . . Eventually I was arrested for breaking into a warehouse.”
“Wow,” Nancy said. Rhoda seemed so happy and . . . decent. It was hard to imagine her breaking the law.
“Is that how you got into the workfare program?” Bess asked. She pointed to the folded-up newspaper that stuck out of her shoulder bag. “According to the article about Mr. Drew in the News, that was a program for rehabilitating first-time offenders.”
“That’s right,” Carson told her. “I worked with a few other lawyers and some politicians to find an alternative to jail for people convicted of minor crimes—if they didn’t have previous criminal records, that is.”
Rhoda nodded. “Instead of going to jail, I received counseling and did community service,” she said. “Luckily for me, my service was working in a woodworking shop. This might sound funny, but it was the first time I ever did something I cared about. I loved working with the tools and seeing how I could make a couple of pieces of wood turn into a beautiful shelf or cabinet or table. It changed my life.”
“After completing the workfare program, Rhoda was accepted to art school,” Carson said. “Twelve years later here she is, a successful sculptor who’s opening an arts colony in River Heights.”
“The place that’s opening up on the old Pennington estate north of town?” Bess asked. Pulling the folded newspaper from her shoulder bag, she said, “There’s something about it in today’s paper. What’s the arts colony called again?”
“River Arts,” Carson said. When Bess unfolded the paper, he pointed to a photograph of Rhoda and a group of teenagers standing around a cubelike sculpture in front of some rosebushes. The caption read: “At River Arts, students and teachers take time to smell the roses.”
“It looks like a beautiful place,” Nancy said.
“It is. We’re lucky Carson was able to convince the owner to let River Arts lease the estate and convert it to an arts colony,” Rhoda said. She shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know how you did it, Carson. Marianna Pennington is one stubborn old lady.”
Nancy’s father laughed. “Stubborn, yes. But not unreasonable. Marianna couldn’t afford to keep up that huge house anymore, not to mention all the old outbuildings and grounds,” Carson said. “But she didn’t want to move or sell the place, either. Once she learned that River Arts would maintain the buildings and she could go on living in a wing of the house, Mrs. Pennington was sold on the plan to lease the place to River Arts.”
“I guess Marianna realized that sharing her estate with a bunch of crazy artists wouldn’t be nearly as bad as losing it altogether,” Rhoda said.
She slung the straps of her bag over her shoulder and walked with Carson, Nancy, and Bess to the elevator. As they all got into the elevator car, Nancy tried to recall what her father had told her about the new arts colony. “River Arts is for college students, isn’t it, Ms. Benton?” she asked.
“Please, call me Rhoda. Everyone does,” Rhoda said. “And yes, River Arts is for college kids. Students sign up for classes and individual work sessions with established painters, sculptors, dancers, and performance artists. It’s a chance for kids to focus on their art and to work with some of the best professionals in their field.”
“That sounds great,” Bess said, her eyes sparkling.
“It is,” said Rhoda. “We’re starting with a summer program, but students can take a semester away from their college during the school year, too. Our first group of students arrived just a few days ago. We’ve been busy getting studios and work routines set up. Everyone is really excited.” Rhoda smiled to herself before going on. “Especially me. I guess River Arts is my way of giving kids the opportunities I didn’t have when I was younger.”
Nancy admired Rhoda’s dedication. It made her feel good to know th at her father had helped Rhoda make River Arts possible.
“Can you join us for lunch?” Carson asked Rhoda, when they stepped out into the June sunshine a few moments later.
Rhoda shook her head as they all headed for the parking lot. “I have to get back with supplies for the art studios,” she said, walking between two rows of parked cars. “Things are crazy busy these first few days. I really shouldn’t have taken the time to visit, but—”
She stopped in her tracks. The joyful spark in her eyes darkened to a look of total shock. “My car!” she exclaimed.
Nancy turned to stare at the green minivan right next to them, and her mouth fell open.
Someone had spray-painted a message across the side of the van in dripping, bloodred letters:
“R.A. WILL GO DOWN. AND SO WILL YOU.”
2
Arts and Threats
For a long moment no one spoke. Nancy felt a knot of dread twist inside her as she stared at the message. The steady drone of bulldozers and cranes from the construction site only made the feeling worse.
“Someone is threatening to ruin River Arts?” Carson said, breaking the silence. He turned to Rhoda with concern. “Has there been any trouble?”
Rhoda stood frowning at the message before she answered. “I got a note in the mail yesterday. I thought it was some kind of joke, but . . . ”
She reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out an envelope, and extracted a folded piece of paper. She shook it open with a flip of her wrist, revealing a note made from letters that had been cut from magazines.
“ ‘You’ll get what you deserve.’ ” Nancy read the message out loud.
“Whoa!” Bess let out a low whistle. “That doesn’t sound like a joke to me. Someone really has it in for you, Rhoda.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Carson asked.
“I didn’t think it was serious,” Rhoda replied. “I mean, why would anyone want to hurt me or River Arts?”
“It sounds as if whoever sent this wants to get back at you for something,” Nancy said, reading the note a second time. “Can you think of anyone with a grudge against you?”
Rhoda shrugged, fingering the turquoise beads of her necklace. “Starting River Arts has been a big job. I had to establish a board of directors, hire teachers, evaluate student records, renovate old buildings, and have new ones built,” she said. “I’m sure there are people who didn’t agree with some of the decisions I’ve made. But enemies?” She shook her head. “I can’t think of anyone who would—”
All of a sudden she stopped and stared at something behind Nancy. “Wait a minute,” Rhoda said, her eyes narrowing. “Bruce Pennington!”
“Who?” Nancy and Bess asked together.
Rhoda gave no sign that she’d heard them. “That weasel. He must have done this,” she said.
She strode angrily toward the construction site, which edged the far side of the parking lot. Through an opening in the wooden barrier Nancy spotted two men wearing suits and hard hats. They stood poring over a blueprint, near a sign that read, This Site Being Developed by BP Ventures.
“One of those guys must be Bruce Pennington,” Nancy said.
“Whoever he is,” Bess replied.
“Bruce Pennington is Marianna’s nephew. BP Ventures is his real estate development company,” Carson told them. “I remember hearing that he was unhappy about Marianna’s decision to turn the estate into an arts colony.”
“Unhappy enough to threaten Rhoda?” Nancy moved automatically across the parking lot, following Rhoda. “Come on. She might need our help.”
They reached the opening in the wooden barrier just as Rhoda stepped up to the two men. “How dare you threaten me, Bruce!” Rhoda said.
She jabbed her forefinger against the suit jacket of the taller of the two men. He was about her father’s age, Nancy guessed, with short brown hair that was barely visible beneath his hard hat. Above his loosened tie and shirt collar, his neck and face were red and sweaty from the heat of the machines. He stepped back from Rhoda, his eyes shifting quickly to take in Carson, Nancy, and Bess.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Rhoda,” Bruce said sarcastically. “What’s the problem? Taking my aunt’s estate out from under me wasn’t enough for you? You’ve got to come pester me here, too?”
He was angry all right, Nancy thought. There was a hard edge to his voice, and his eyes cut through Rhoda like steel blades. Stepping up beside Rhoda, Nancy said, “Someone’s been sending threats to Rhoda.”
“Including a spray-painted one on her car just now,” Bess said hotly.
“Oh, really?” Bruce let out a sharp laugh. “Now, that’s what I call good art,” he said.
Nancy couldn’t believe the arrogant satisfaction in his voice. What a jerk! To judge by the look on her father’s face, he agreed with her.
“Threats are no laughing matter,” Carson said.
“Everyone knows you were against River Arts from the beginning,” Rhoda told Bruce. “If I find out you’ve been threatening me . . . ”
Bruce drew himself up, looking indignant. “I’m shocked that you would suspect me, Rhoda. Truly shocked,” he said, in a voice that was anything but sincere. “Besides, there’s something you seem to be missing.”
“What’s that?” Bess wanted to know.
Bruce didn’t answer right away. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a candy, and twisted off the red-and-white wrapper. He tossed the wrapper to the ground before popping the candy into his mouth.
“Proof, Rhoda. That’s what you’re missing,” he said. “Without it, your accusations don’t mean a thing.”
With that, he turned and rejoined the other man, who was waiting with the blueprint a few yards away.
Nancy watched the candy wrapper, bright red with a white zigzag around it, flip end over end as the wind blew it across the dirt. Bruce had a point, she thought. They did need proof. She quickly scanned the building site for a can of spray paint, then let out a sigh.
“Well,” she said, “if Bruce spray-painted your van, he wasn’t stupid enough to leave the can lying out in the open.”
“Of course not. But it had to be him. Who else could have done it?” said Rhoda. She started back toward the parking lot, her feet kicking up clouds of dust.
As the others followed, Carson said, “The threats are worrisome, but I’m even more concerned about what might happen if the person who made those threats is serious.”
“You mean”—Bess glanced worriedly from Carson to Nancy to Rhoda—“you think someone might really try to hurt Rhoda or River Arts?”
“I wouldn’t have thought it was possible,” said Rhoda. “But now . . . ” She stopped next to the dripping red message that covered her car. “I’ll admit I’m a little worried.”
“Maybe I can help,” Nancy said.
“And me!” Bess piped up.
Rhoda looked doubtful. Before she could object, Nancy said quickly, “We could stay at River Arts for a few days, just to keep our eyes open for anything suspicious.”
“You won’t find anyone better at getting to the bottom of a mystery,” Carson said, with a proud glance at Nancy.
“Well, my intern did cancel at the last minute,” Rhoda said. “I guess I could use the extra help—and the extra eyes—if you don’t mind being put to work at River Arts, that is.”
“Not at all,” Bess said. She raised a hand to give Nancy a high five. “We’ll be under cover and on the alert for trouble.”
Nancy nodded, glancing back toward the construction site. “If Bruce Pennington, or anyone else, tries something, we’ll be there to make sure he doesn’t succeed.”
• • •
“Am I dreaming?” Bess said as Nancy drove through the entrance to River Arts the next morning. “This place is too beautiful to be real!”
“Wow!” was all Nancy could say.
They hadn’t been able to see much from the road outside, just the high stone wall surrounding the property and the leafy trees that rose above it. Now that they had passed beneath the arched stone entrance, Nancy was awestruck. She pulled the car off to the side and stopped so that she and Bess could take a long look.
The first thing that impressed Nancy was the house. It was one of the grandest places she had ever seen: three stories high, with graceful pillars, a slate patio, two wide wings that stretched left and right from the center, and a stone fountain out front. A wide lawn spread out from the house on three sides, while woods edged in close to the back. Paths seemed to wander off in all directions, and Nancy saw the corners of buildings and roofs nestled behind trees and shrubs. Flowering azaleas and rhododendrons were everywhere, along with modern sculptures of different colors and materials.
