The Hidden Inheritance, page 1
Contents
* * *
Chapter 1: Payback Time?
Chapter 2: Out of Control
Chapter 3: Haunting Relics
Chapter 4: Stop the Music!
Chapter 5: Without a Trace
Chapter 6: The Ghost in the Ashes
Chapter 7: Seek and You Shall Find
Chapter 8: Bridge to Danger
Chapter 9: The Chase Is On
Chapter 10: An Invisible Message
Chapter 11: An Intruder Strikes
Chapter 12: The Fiddle Riddle
Chapter 13: Trapped
Chapter 14: A Lethal Weapon
Chapter 15: The Tale Is Told
Chapter 16: And the Beat Goes On
1
Payback Time?
“This must be the place,” Bess Marvin said gleefully as Nancy Drew parked her blue Mustang. “I hear banjos!”
Eighteen-year-old Nancy stepped out of the car with her two friends. Her reddish blond hair shone in the summer sun.
Ahead of them a bright blue-and-white sign read Bear Hollow 25th Annual Bluegrass Festival. Thousands of people strolled across the gravel parking lot on this Sunday afternoon, headed toward the gate under the sign.
Nancy, Bess, and George Fayne joined the crowd. Although George was Bess’s cousin, they didn’t resemble each other. While Bess was short, with long blond hair and blue eyes, George was tall and athletic, with short dark curls and brown eyes.
As the girls entered the festival grounds, they saw acres of meadow and woods spread out before them. A six-piece bluegrass band was playing “Shady Grove” on a large stage at the far end of the meadow. Several smaller stages were sprinkled along the two sides.
Children clapped their hands, old people tapped their feet, and teens rocked and danced in the aisles to the irresistible rhythms.
There were dozens of booths lined up along the opposite end, selling food, drinks, T-shirts, CDs, and other souvenirs of the largest bluegrass festival in the world. As the girls wandered up and down, they heard different strains of music drifting out of the woods around the meadow, where campers had pitched tents and parked RVs.
“Come on,” Nancy said. “The Bluegrass Belles are about to play. Let’s get a seat.” She led George and Bess past people sitting on quilts and camp stools to the rows of folding chairs closer to the stage. They found three seats along the side.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” an announcer boomed into the microphone, “I’m proud to introduce our own Bear Hollow beauty, Sassy Lane Brandon, and her Bluegrass Belles. They’re just starting out, but they’re already making quite a splash.”
Nancy leaned forward to see the five young performers trot onto the stage. Sassy Brandon was built like Bess but had short, curly red hair. She stepped to the microphone, flashed the audience a huge smile, and led the band into their first song. Sassy’s red curls bounced as she played a lively melody on her fiddle.
Nancy figured that the Belles were about her age. They were dressed in flowered skirts, denim vests, and sandals that showed their toes tapping to the music.
When the song was over, the audience went wild. Cheers, whistles, and stomping feet encouraged the group to perform three more numbers. At last Sassy thanked the crowd with a sunny smile and the Belles left the stage.
“That was great. Let’s go back and tell her how much we enjoyed the music,” Nancy said, standing up. George and Bess agreed eagerly, and the three of them soon found their way around to the back of the stage.
They spotted Sassy and her four-girl backup band carrying their instruments from the stage to a large van parked close by. “Miss Brandon,” Nancy called.
The young fiddler turned. “Yes?” she said.
“My name is Nancy Drew,” Nancy said, hurrying over to her. “We just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed your set.”
“Why, thank you!” Sassy said with a pleased grin. There was a trace of a drawl in her voice. “But please call me Sassy, okay? Where are you all from?” The rest of the band members put their instruments and music in the van and returned to where Nancy and Sassy were talking.
“We’re from River Heights,” Nancy said. “It’s a few hours from Chicago. These are my good friends George Fayne and Bess Marvin. We’re newcomers to bluegrass—this is our first time here.”
“And these are the Belles,” Sassy said. “Dee plays the keyboard, Christy the guitar, Melissa percussion and banjo, and Jane plays bass.” The Belles smiled as they were each introduced to Nancy and her friends.
“Say, we’re just getting ready for a lunch break,” the guitarist, Christy, said. “You girls want to join us? We can tell you more about bluegrass music.”
“Sure,” Nancy said, looking at Bess and George, who nodded their agreement.
Dee and Christy saved a picnic table by the food booths while the rest of the girls went to get their lunch. Over burgers, pizza, ribs, salads, and soda, they got better acquainted.
“So you all came down for the festival, hmmm?” Dee asked. She was tall, with short, dark brown hair and high cheekbones.
“Well, not entirely,” Nancy said. “But the festival was certainly one reason. My father is a lawyer. One of his clients died a month ago, and she owned a one-hundred-fifty-year-old log cabin down here—on Hummingbird Hill.”
“Not Mary Cook!” Sassy said.
“That’s right,” Nancy nodded. “How did you know?”
“She was my neighbor,” Sassy said, chomping on a piece of pizza.
“Your neighbor—really?” Bess asked.
“That’s right,” Sassy said. “There are only two houses on the top of Hummingbird Hill—my family’s and Mary Cook’s.”
“Well, we’re staying in her cabin while we’re here,” Nancy said. “Her nephews live on the West Coast, and they want to sell it. Dad asked us to clean it up and list all the contents for the estate.”
“Why, that’s just great,” Sassy said. “If you have some free time, we’ll be glad to show you around. You know, Bear Hollow is a very historic area and also an artists’ colony.”
“That would be wonderful,” Nancy said. “We want to make this a vacation, too.”
“My grandmother and Mary Cook were very close friends,” Sassy said. Her voice was soft, and Nancy thought she saw the glisten of tears in the young fiddler’s eyes. Sassy stood suddenly and offered to get the others refills on their drinks before walking away.
“Sassy was very close to her grandmother,” Dee pointed out. “In fact, she was named after her—Susannah Lane Brandon. Her grandmother died almost a year ago, just before school started last fall. Sassy and her folks live in her house now on Hummingbird Hill. It’s an old home, too—but not as historic as Mary Cook’s.”
Sassy returned with a tray of refills. She looked a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry I got upset a few minutes ago,” she said.
“That’s okay,” Nancy said. “We understand.”
“I told them about your grandmother,” Dee said.
“She left me my fiddle,” Sassy said. She took the instrument out of the case and showed it to the girls. It was satiny golden brown with a dark grain showing through the finish. She ran her fingers over the strings and rested them lovingly on the black chin rest clamped onto the end. Then she sighed and put the instrument back in its case.
“As I said, Gram and Mary Cook were very close,” Sassy said. “They and another friend, Caroline Hatter, had a sort of club—they called themselves the Hummingbird Ladies of Lincoln.”
“Lincoln?” George repeated.
“Yes,” Sassy said, “as in Abraham Lincoln. He grew up about two hours south of here. He lived there from age seven to age twenty-one. The Ladies loved him and spent a lot of time researching his life. In fact, I’m writing a song about him now, based on some of the stories my grandmother and her friends told me.”
Just then a tall, slim, dark-haired woman with glasses came up behind Sassy. She held two large pies brimming over with glossy juice. “How about some dessert?” she asked.
“Mom!” Sassy said, turning around to see the woman behind her. Nancy could see a faint likeness between the two.
“Perfect timing, Mrs. Brandon,” Christy said. She jumped up and helped Sassy’s mom cut and serve the luscious pies.
“Mom runs the homemade pie booth here at the festival,” Sassy explained after she introduced Nancy, George, and Bess to her mother. “Everyone always said Mom makes the best pies in the county, so I talked her into getting a booth last year. She sold out in the first two days! This year, she’ll have plenty—she’s been making and freezing pies for six months and—” She broke off suddenly, staring at something behind her mother. “Uh-oh. Look who’s coming.”
Nancy turned to follow Sassy’s gaze. She saw a skinny man in a straw cowboy hat charging up to their table. He had a bright red bandanna tied around his neck, and his eyes blazed with danger. Nancy noticed the Brandons and the girls in the band cringing when they saw him.
“Where is he?” the man yelled at Mrs. Brandon. “Where’s that husband of yours?”
“Jim Rogers, you get away before I call the police,” Mrs. Brandon said. “Stop bothering us.”
Rogers leaned menacingly over them. “I want to talk to him,” Rogers said. “Is he here or not?”
“That’s it,” Mrs. Brandon said. “I’m getting the security officer. He’ll throw you right out of this place.”
“You think you’re pretty smart,” Rogers said. “Well, I go t a flash for you, lady. You and your old man will get your payback. Just wait—your time is coming. You’ll regret you ever messed with me. You’ll regret it for the rest of your lives!”
Scowling and muttering, the unattractive man left the table and disappeared into the crowd.
“Who was that awful man?” Bess asked, shuddering.
“Oh, no one important,” Sassy said, waving her hand in the air. But Nancy could tell she was rattled by the incident.
“Are you all right?” Nancy asked Mrs. Brandon. “Would you like us to try to find a security guard?”
“No,” Mrs. Brandon said. “I’m okay. How about you, honey? Are you all right?”
“Yes,” Sassy said with a sigh.
“Well, I’ve got to get back to the booth,” Mrs. Brandon said. “I’ll see you back home about eleven tonight.”
“Okay,” Sassy said, sighing again as her mom left.
“Will you be performing any more today?” Nancy asked, looking at her watch. She could tell Sassy wanted to change the subject. “It’s about three o’clock now.”
“No,” Christy said. “We’re not on again until tomorrow evening. In fact, I need to get home to change. I have a date later. He’s bringing me here, of course,” she added, laughing.
Each of the other Belles had plans for the evening, too. “Well, looks like I’m stranded,” Sassy said.
“Great!” Bess announced. “You can give us a tour of the festival.”
The next several hours flew by. First, Sassy took Nancy, Bess, and George on a tour of the woods around the meadow. Lots of jam sessions had broken out, with small groups of bluegrass musicians playing together. Though most of them had just met one another for the first time, they were really sizzling.
Then the girls walked over to the big stage for the main concert. By the time the concert was finished, it was ten P.M. “I hate to say this,” Sassy said, “but I’d better call it a night. I have to perform tomorrow evening.”
“I was going to say the same thing,” Nancy said. “When we arrived this afternoon, we just dropped our bags off at the cabin and came straight here. We really should go back and settle in.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Sassy said, “because I could use a ride—Jane took the band’s van. Can I hitch a ride with you, neighbor?”
“You sure can,” Nancy said with a grin.
Within minutes they had left the festival grounds and were driving up the road that led to the top of Hummingbird Hill.
There were no other cars on the winding road as they climbed the hill. To the left was a dark, dense forest. To the right was a low valley barely visible in the moonlight.
“We should be able to see my family’s house and Mary Cook’s cabin when we get around this bend,” Sassy told the girls.
Nancy turned her Mustang around the sharp curve, but she couldn’t see any sign of a house ahead. It was as if a dark fog had cloaked the top of Hummingbird Hill.
“What’s that strange cloud?” Nancy wondered aloud.
“It looks like smoke,” George said. She rolled down her window. “Smells like it, too.”
“Oh, no!” Sassy cried. “That’s my house! My house is on fire!”
2
Out of Control
Nancy swung her Mustang into the Brandons’ driveway, curving around the fire trucks parked there. Getting out of the car, the girls were shocked at the sight before them. Where a house had once stood, wisps of smoke twisted toward the sky. Nancy squinted her eyelids, but the sharp smell still made her eyes sting.
The walls of the home were completely gone. A thick carpet of ashes was littered with pieces of furniture and other Brandon possessions, all glistening with drops of water from the fire hoses. In the middle of the rubble a chimney still stood, its stones black with soot.
“Cleo!” Sassy suddenly yelped. “Cleo, where are you? Here kitty, kitty.”
Nancy, Bess, and George looked around for Sassy’s cat. Finally, Nancy heard a faint “Meow” above her, in the branches of a huge white oak tree. “Sassy! I think I found her,” she called.
Sassy, George, and Bess joined Nancy. “The treehouse,” Sassy said. “Of course!” She scampered up the boards nailed to the trunk of the tree and went into a small shack set in the fork of three big branches. She soon emerged, cuddling a Siamese cat.
“I’m so glad she wasn’t hurt in the fire,” Bess said when Sassy hopped down to the ground.
Sassy nodded, stroking the cat. Her eyes swam with tears. “Gram’s beautiful home,” she murmured. “First we lose her, now we lose her house.”
“At least you have Cleo,” Bess said.
“And my fiddle,” Sassy added, hugging her kitty. “They’re so important to me.”
Then Sassy ran over to her parents, who were standing in the driveway with the volunteer fire chief and the sheriff. Nancy and her friends tagged along. Sassy’s mother had taken off her glasses and was wiping her eyes with a tissue. She threw her arms around Sassy in a huge, silent hug.
“We’re so sorry, Mrs. Brandon,” Nancy said. “What happened?”
“They’re not sure,” Mrs. Brandon answered, shaking her head slowly from side to side.
The fire chief checked his notebook, then turned to Sassy’s father. Mr. Brandon was a big man, with dark hair cut very short and crinkly lines at the corner of each eye.
“Our initial investigation shows that the fire started in an upstairs closet,” said the fire chief, a rugged-looking man with dark blond hair and a blond mustache. Flipping to a clean page in his notebook, he drew a rough floor plan and marked an X with the pencil in a small square in one room.
“That’s Sassy’s room,” Mrs. Brandon said. “Was it some kind of electrical short?”
“No,” the fire chief said, closing his notebook. “There is no wiring in that wall.”
“Then what started the fire?” Mr. Brandon asked. Nancy could tell by his tone that he was becoming impatient. He seemed to be the kind of person who didn’t like to be kept waiting.
“I’ve called for a full investigation, Mr. Brandon,” the fire chief said. “We hope we’ll have more answers soon.” He turned to join the other firemen searching through the ashes.
“What do you mean?” Mr. Brandon called after the chief. “Are you saying that this fire wasn’t an accident?”
“Calm down, Ralph,” Mrs. Brandon said. “They don’t know anything yet.”
“Well, I don’t like his attitude,” Mr. Brandon replied gruffly. “If he suspects something, he should say so.”
“What are we going to do now?” Sassy asked. She seemed on the verge of tears. “Where will we live?”
Mr. Brandon rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “I guess we can stay at Helga’s till we get this mess cleaned up.”
“Do we have to?” Sassy asked, her shoulders sagging.
“Really, Ralph,” Mrs. Brandon added. “I’d rather not stay with your sister. Couldn’t we just get a motel room in town?”
“How do you suggest I pay for it?” Mr. Brandon retorted. “We have plenty of lumber at the mill to use in rebuilding, but it’ll still cost a fortune to get this house back in shape, even with insurance. We need to save every cent we can.”
“But, Dad—” Sassy began.
“No more argument,” Mr. Brandon said. “We’re staying at your aunt Helga’s and that’s that.”
He stalked over to the ruined house and began combing through the remains. Two firefighters stopped him. Angrily, Mr. Brandon stormed back to his wife. “Now they won’t let me go through my own property!” he yelled. “They’ve ordered us to stay out of the ashes until they complete their investigation.
“You go to Helga’s,” Mr. Brandon told Sassy and her mother. He plunked himself down on a tree stump. “I’m sticking around. I’m not leaving my home wide open like this. Someone has to guard what little we have left.” He crossed his arms over his chest. Nancy saw his jaws clench tightly.
Mrs. Brandon sighed and firmly steered Sassy, Nancy, and the other girls away from her husband. “We might as well do as he says,” she said. “We are never going to change his mind.”
“But I don’t want to stay with Aunt Helga,” Sassy protested.
“I’m not too fond of the idea, either,” Mrs. Brandon admitted. “But it won’t be for long. As soon as the insurance money comes in, your dad won’t be so worried about expenses. Then we can talk him into moving someplace else until the house is rebuilt.”
