Nancy’s pulse quickened. According to the paper in her hand, she had pulled up in front of Bob Tercero’s house.
Nancy pulled out the slip on which she had written the address for ART Inc. The addresses matched. Bob Tercero’s house and ART Inc. were one and the same!
Chapter
Ten
WELL, I MIGHT AS WELL see what he has to say about this,” Nancy muttered to herself. Getting out of her car, she strode up to Bob’s porch and knocked at his door. There was no answer.
Things were beginning to make sense, she thought as she drove home. Bob Tercero must be selling paintings to himself at prices far below market value. The low prices meant that not only did Nisus make no money on the sales, but since the artists’ fees were based on the sale prices, the artists didn’t get as much as they should either.
It was probably legal, Nancy thought, but it didn’t seem very ethical. How could Bob do it without Cynthia finding out? she wondered. Or was Cynthia involved? Nancy didn’t like to think she could be, but then she remembered the woman telling her to drop the case.
Nancy had to decide what this new development meant. Should she do anything about it? She was uncovering a lot in her search, but none of it had anything to do with Christopher Scott’s whereabouts, she thought in frustration. At least she was sure that the Nisus Gallery didn’t own the Vanity painting, so it was all right to leave it with Megan for the moment.
Nancy drove back to her aunt’s house. When she got there, she found George and Eloise sprawled out on couches in front of the television. An open box of pizza was sitting on the coffee table.
“Hi.” George waved her over, a slice of pizza in her hand. “Bess is out with Tommy, and Gary’s in New York City visiting his sister. Eloise and I decided to have a girls’ night at home. Come join us.”
“Unless you have a date,” Eloise put in, exchanging an amused glance with George.
“No,” Nancy said, sinking into a chair, “no date, believe it or not. Sorry to disappoint you two. Is the pizza still warm?”
“It just arrived,” George said, putting a slice on a plate for Nancy. “Where have you been?”
Nancy took a few bites of pizza before telling them about her investigation at the gallery and Bob Tercero’s scheme.
“Everything points everywhere except to Christopher Scott,” Nancy remarked tiredly when she finished her story. “I just have this feeling I’m missing the most important clue. There’s got to be something that ties it all together.”
“Let’s go over this again,” her aunt suggested. “Forget Bob’s company for a minute. Bob Tercero says the Nisus Gallery owns the Vanity, but from what you can see, it doesn’t. Megan says it’s impossible. Megan also says, oddly, that Nicholas painted the Vanity. Bob says he was there when Christopher was painting it, and that was before Megan had met the Scotts, anyway.”
“If I can positively decide who did the painting, I could understand much more. If Nicholas Scott actually painted something that’s been attributed to his uncle . . .” Nancy’s voice trailed off. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. What was she missing?
“You saw the painting,” her aunt Eloise’s voice broke in on Nancy’s thoughts. “Did it look like Christopher’s work to you?”
Nancy gave up. Whatever the thought was, it was lost for the moment. “Well, yes, but I’m no art expert,” she said. “Maybe I can get Tommy to look at it. He must be pretty familiar with Scott’s work.”
They decided to stop discussing the case and watch a movie George had rented.
“Hello!” Bess called merrily a couple of hours later. “I’m home.”
“How was it?” George said, pouncing on her.
“Heavenly!” Bess exclaimed. She sat down near the pizza. “Is that cold pizza? One of my passions.”
“I thought you and Tommy went out for pizza,” Nancy said, puzzled.
“We did, but I didn’t eat more than half a slice. I was too nervous,” Bess confessed. “So now I’m starving!”
“Forget the food,” George said impatiently. “Get to the good part.”
“Well . . .” Bess leaned back on the couch, a satisfied look on her face. “He kissed me!”
“During the movie?” George asked.
“Not at the movie,” Bess said in disgust. “We were watching the movie. Later.”
“When?” Nancy asked, leaning forward.
“Later,” Bess repeated. “Okay, let me start from the beginning. First we had dinner at the Pizza Stop, and I didn’t eat much, as I told you, but we talked about everything. He’s really smart, you know. Then we went to the movie.”
“And?” George urged.
“It was a great show. A romance. I almost cried in the end.”
Eloise grinned. “Bess, stop teasing George. Tell us what happened.”
“Then he drove me home. We talked about the movie on the way and kind of started talking about romance. And when we got here . . .” Bess paused, a secret smile playing about her lips.
“Go on, you know you’re dying to tell us,” Nancy teased.
“When we got here,” Bess continued, blushing, “he said he’d never had such a good time on a date before. And even though we’d known each other only a short time, he thought I was really special. And then he kissed me.”
“Of course he did!” George exclaimed, throwing a pillow at her cousin. “What was it like?”
“What do you mean, what was it like?” Bess asked indignantly. “It’s none of your business what it was like!”
“Oho!” George said. “Bess is getting touchy!”
“You just don’t have the true romantic spirit,” Bess said, shaking her head. “I’m going to go up to bed, and I’m not telling you anything else!” She marched up the stairs, and then paused at the top step. Turning around, she smiled down at Nancy, George, and Eloise. “But I will say this—I know I’m in love!”
• • •
The next morning Bess came down to breakfast in a turquoise blouse and swirly black skirt.
“Why so dressed up? What’s the occasion?” Nancy asked.
“I’m going to be painted today. And you promised to go with me,” Bess reminded her.
Nancy didn’t remember promising Bess. In fact, she didn’t remember discussing it, but she knew she’d been distracted lately. So Nancy drove Bess over to the painter’s apartment. He lived in a large, sunny room on the top floor of an old building in town.
“Nancy, this is Doug Coggins,” Bess said, introducing the two. Nancy’s eyes widened as she took in the painter’s light blond hair, which was cropped a half inch from his scalp. “Doug, Nancy Drew.”
Doug offered the girls some soda, then ushered Bess over to a window with north light.
“Sit on the stool,” he directed her. “Now, turn your chin so the light catches the side of your face. Nancy, why don’t you sit over there?”
Bess swung her legs, looking around her in delight.
Doug stood behind his canvas and studied Bess. Shaking his head, he went back to her. “I love your blouse, Bess. Would you hold your arm out so I can see more of it? And get this knee up, if you can,” he said, lifting one of her legs over the other.
“This isn’t very comfortable,” Bess complained.
Doug shot her a warning look. “It’s art, Bess. It’s not supposed to be comfortable. And stop squirming around.”
“I’m sorry,” Bess said, freezing immediately. “It’s just that no one has ever painted me before.”
As Doug worked, Nancy wandered around the studio restlessly. Trying not to disturb them, Nancy kept quiet. She leafed through the books and magazines. Every so often Doug would adjust Bess’s pose or tell her to hold still.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he commented, glancing over at Nancy.
“Oh,” she said, closing the magazine on her lap. “I was trying to stay out of the way.”
“Talk to me,” he invited. “It helps me concentrate.”
; “Okay. Tell me about painting,” Nancy said. “What makes a really great artist?”
“Technique, I guess,” Doug replied, frowning at his canvas. “Brushwork, use of color and light. But every artist would tell you something slightly different.”
“What do you think of Christopher Scott’s work?”
“Fabulous! The man is a genius,” he pronounced. “Bess, would you stop twitching!”
Bess grimaced. “I’ve been sitting here for over an hour!” she complained.
“Art takes time.” Turning back to Nancy, Doug continued. “But then, I guess I’m prejudiced when it comes to Chris.”
“How so?” Nancy asked.
“Well, I studied with him.”
“You’re kidding!” Nancy exclaimed. “I had no idea that Scott gave classes.”
“Oh, he doesn’t. Sometimes he takes on one student.”
“Would you be familiar with his work? Enough to recognize it, I mean?” Nancy asked.
“Sure. Chris has a very distinctive style. Very original brushwork. Why?”
Nancy didn’t reply immediately. “Just a theory I’m working on,” she finally said.
Doug looked surprised but didn’t pursue it.
Bess dropped her hand. “My arm hurts,” she complained. “Are we almost finished?”
Doug sighed and put his brush down on the easel. “Okay, why don’t we call it a day?”
“Great. Can I see the painting?” Bess asked, sliding off the stool.
“Not until it’s done.”
Bess and Doug took the empty soda glasses into the kitchenette. Nancy, left alone, sneaked around to peek at the painting.
When she saw it, it was all she could do to keep from laughing. The painting so far was an abstract arrangement of boxes and lines. It didn’t look like Bess at all!
Poor Bess, all that posing for nothing, Nancy thought. Well, she was going to make sure she wasn’t around when Bess saw the finished painting. She’d probably chase Doug around the room with it!
• • •
That night was the opening of the big Christopher Scott show at the Nisus Gallery. Nancy and Sasha went together, planning to meet the others there. By the time they arrived, the party was already in full swing.
The room was packed and fairly glittered with jewelry. As Nancy and Sasha pushed their way through the crowd, Nancy marveled at the obvious wealth of the guests. So this was Hamptons society! she thought. She spotted a man with a shock of white hair standing in the corner. “Isn’t that the famous writer?” she asked Sasha. “Oh, what’s his name?”
“I’m not even from this country. How would I know?” Sasha teased. “This place is full of famous writers. There’s Bess.” He pointed across the room. “Who are those people she’s with?”
Nancy looked over and saw Doug and Bess with a group of other artists. “They must be Doug Coggins’s friends,” she said wryly. “They’re all wearing black!”
As Nancy looked around, she noticed people were staring at her and Sasha.
“That’s him!” she heard one pretty girl shriek. “The dancer. I saw him perform at the Hamptons Cultural Society Gala. He’s gorgeous!”
“Is that his girlfriend?” the other one asked. “She’s not so special.”
Not so special! Nancy wasn’t sure if she should be angry or laugh.
“How are you?” a cordial voice asked. Nancy turned to see Bob Tercero dressed impeccably in a tuxedo. “Any luck finding Chris?”
Nancy shook her head.
“Too bad,” he said mildly. “Well, keep up the good work. Nice to see you.”
“There’s Tommy with his mother. She looks terrific,” Sasha said admiringly as Bob disappeared into the crowd. “She’s outshining everyone tonight. Except you, of course, Nancy.” His eyes caressed Nancy’s face.
Nancy blushed. He said the most outrageously flattering things—and he always made them sound so heartfelt! “I wonder if Christopher Scott is here, hiding in a corner?” she asked, changing the subject.
Tommy had just spotted them and was heading over. “Hi, guys!”
“Nancy, Tommy, how are you?” a rich voice broke in. Nancy turned to Emily Terner, who had joined their group.
“And Sasha Petrov, what a delight!” the petite girl said, batting her big green eyes. “Every girl in the room is watching you. I am honored just to be in your presence!” She turned to Nancy with a grin. “Have you guys been in hiding?”
Emily’s huge beachside house had been the scene of a couple of memorable parties that summer. Emily seemed to know everyone in the Hamptons, and she was everyone’s friend. Nancy didn’t know her all that well, but the two girls had taken an instant liking to each other.
“Not in hiding,” Nancy corrected with a smile. “Just busy.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be too busy to come to my house next Thursday for a pool party,” Emily said, tossing her honey-colored hair over her shoulders. “Bring the whole gang.”
After Nancy and Sasha had accepted the invitation, Emily turned to Tommy. “How’s your brother? Where is he again?”
“Jeff’s fine. He’s still working in Maine, but we expect him back soon.”
“Well, if he’s back in time for the party, bring him, too. Where’s Bess?” she asked.
Tommy blushed. “I was looking for her myself.”
“Well, then, let’s go find her together!”
Emily pulled Tommy away and Nancy and Sasha were left alone.
“Listen, Sasha,” Nancy said, “I’m going to try to get a moment alone with Cynthia. Why don’t you find George and Gary. And stay away from those silly girls!” she added as Sasha moved away.
He turned and gave her a mock salute.
Nancy made her way through the crowd to join the gallery owner. “This is a great party,” she said pleasantly. “Have you seen Christopher yet?”
Cynthia shook her head. “It’s still early. But the opening has been successful despite Chris’s absence. I’m quite pleased with the number of out-of-town people who have come by to inquire about the show. And look at the turnout tonight!
“You know,” she continued, “I had a customer today just as I was closing to get ready for the party. A stunning young woman. She insisted I let her in to see the paintings. I was sure she’d buy something, but she didn’t find what she was looking for, and I couldn’t interest her in anything else.”
“What was she looking for?”
“Actually, it was a painting I’d never heard of,” Cynthia replied. “She said it was of a girl in a white nightgown, seated at a vanity mirror with a long silver hairpin in her hand.”
Nancy’s heart leapt. “What did you say the girl looked like?” she pressed.
“Quite beautiful. Very delicate skin,” Cynthia said. “And very long, curly red hair.”
It had to be! Nancy thought excitedly. The model for the Vanity had been there, and she was looking for the painting!
Chapter
Eleven
SHE’D BEEN RIGHT after all, Nancy thought, congratulating herself. The painting was the key. Why else would the model show up now, six months after it was finished? Nancy had a chilling thought. Nicholas and Christopher Scott were both gone—could the model know it? Bob Tercero had insisted the painting had nothing to do with Christopher’s disappearance, but it was obvious to her now that Bob could have lied about that, too.
Cynthia Gray didn’t seem to know anything about the painting, Nancy realized. She looked around for her and saw the gallery owner had been swept back into playing hostess. Nancy decided to talk to Cynthia about the painting, and the gallery’s finances, at the earliest opportunity. There was a picture of the Vanity in the gallery’s books. If Cynthia really didn’t know about the painting, then it was safe to assume Bob was keeping other things from her, too.
Nancy craned her neck, scanning the room for George, Gary, or Sasha. After a moment she spotted Gary—he was the easiest to see since he was tall.
She w
ove her way through the crowd until she was at his side. “Hi, Gary. Where’s George?” she asked.
Gary frowned. “Emily Terner stole her away for a chat,” he complained. “Where’s Sasha?”
“I thought he’d be with you,” Nancy confessed. “He was on his way over last time I saw him.”
“Well, he never—ah! There he is,” Gary said, gesturing in the direction of the buffet table.
Nancy stood on tiptoe, but she still couldn’t get a clear view. “I can’t see anything. What’s he doing?” she asked Gary.
Gary’s eyes suddenly widened. “Uh, Nancy, I think he might need to be rescued. It looks like he’s been cornered by a gaggle of starstruck females.” He grinned admiringly. “You know, girls just stick to him like he’s magnetized. Life must be tough for that guy.”
Nancy felt annoyed, and then immediately regretted it. I have absolutely no right to be jealous of those girls, she reminded herself. Sasha’s not my boyfriend, and that’s by my own choice.
Even so, Nancy couldn’t shake the feeling of annoyance. Turning abruptly, she headed for the front door.
“Where are you going?” Gary called after her.
“Out for some air,” Nancy replied over her shoulder. “The crowd is beginning to get to me. I’m going to walk around awhile.”
But once she was outside, she sat down on the gallery’s porch steps and leaned her head against the wooden rail post. It’s time I stopped kidding myself, she thought. I do care about Sasha. There is something between us, whether I like it or not.
“Nan?” came a gentle voice behind her. Nancy swiveled her head. It was George.
“I saw you come out. Is anything wrong?” George asked, joining her friend on the steps.
Nancy shrugged. “Not really. Just the same old thing.” She sighed.
“Sasha?” George guessed. Nancy nodded wordlessly.
“What are you going to do?” George asked.