looked up at Nancy and Dell with a terrified expression
in his watery blue eyes.
But it was another sight that really surprised Nancy.
On the floor by the older man's feet lay a bird
skeleton—a crow, she guessed, from its size—with a
piece of paper impaled upon a stiff, skinny claw.
Dell's voice trembled with shock as she said,
“Richard Schoonover, how awful! What happened to
you?”
8. A Terrifying Call
Bending forward, Nancy worked quickly to untie the
man's wrists. The moment she removed the rope the
man jumped to his feet and ripped off his gag, the
expression in his eyes changing from fearful to furious
in less than a second.
“What is the meaning of this, Delphinia!” he snarled
as spit flew from his lips. “Are all guests tied up and
flung into closets at the famous Van Hoogstraten
house? Well, you can take your ancestor's stupid bird
collection and stuff it! Expect to hear from my lawyer.”
With those words, he picked up the bird skeleton
and threw it at Dell, barely missing her. Then he
stomped out of the closet and marched down the hall
toward the stairway.
Nancy shot a glance at Dell, who was frozen with
shock at the man's outburst.
Approaching the stairway, Mr. Schoonover punched
the air with a fist as if daring the world to defy him.
Dell snapped to attention with the angry gesture.
“Richard!” she cried, rushing after him. “I'm terribly
sorry if you were hurt. But you can't go yet. I've got
some questions for you.”
Mr. Schoonover wheeled around. “You think I care
about your questions? Just get me out of here. Please!”
“First, tell me what happened,” Dell said, catching
up to him. “Who did this dreadful thing to you?”
He turned fierce eyes upon her. “For all I know, you
did it, Delphinia!”
“Me?” Dell said, aghast. She squared her shoulders,
as if trying to assert her authority. “I'm sorry for what
happened to you, Richard, but blaming me is
ridiculous. My great-grandfather's crystal dove is
missing, and you were the last person seen with it.
You've got to answer my questions.”
“I'm not staying here another second!” he declared.
“After the treatment I received, I don't have to do
anything.”
“Please cooperate, Richard,” Dell said, looking
frustrated, “or I'll have to call the police.”
Mr. Schoonover gaped at Dell, his face turning
crimson with fury. He drew himself up as far as his
squat frame would allow and said, “The police? I have
never been so insulted in all my life. Are you accusing
me of stealing the dove? Because if you are, I'll sue you
for libel.”
“I'm not accusing you of anything,” Dell said calmly.
“I'd just like to know what happened in the Aviary.
How did you end up in that closet?”
“Beats me,” Mr. Schoonover grumbled, calming
down slightly. He shot a sudden glance at Nancy.
“Who's she?” he asked sharply.
“This is my friend Nancy Drew,” Dell replied,
placing an arm around Nancy's shoulders. “She hap-
pened to be visiting me when I realized that both you
and the crystal dove were missing. She helped me look
for you.”
Mr. Schoonover glared at Nancy as Dell continued,
“Nancy, I'm sure you realize that this is Richard
Schoonover, the expert on glass artifacts who's writing
our brochure. Coincidentally he's also a descendant of
Gustav Kinderhook, the glass blower with whom my
great-grandfather apprenticed long ago in Holland.”
“That is a coincidence,” Nancy said pleasantly, ex-
tending her hand for Mr. Schoonover to shake. “It's
very nice to meet you.”
Mr. Schoonover seemed to soften. “Won't you tell us
what happened?” Nancy asked him, smiling. Mr.
Schoonover sighed. “I was taking notes on Julius's
collection—standing in front of his crystal dove. And
then—I don't remember anything more until I woke
up in that closet with a lump on the back of my head.”
Gingerly he rubbed his head and winced.
Nancy frowned. “So obviously someone hit you, took
the crystal dove, and then locked you in the closet. But
what about the bird skeleton? Where did that come
from?”
“I don't know,” Mr. Schoonover said in a puzzled
tone. “The closet was dark, and when I finally came to,
I didn't notice the skeleton—not until you two opened
the door and I threw it at you.”
Nancy studied the older man. Could he be lying
about being attacked? she wondered. After all, Mr.
Schoonover was the last person seen with the dove. But
then how could he have staged his imprisonment in the
closet after he'd stolen it?
Nancy held up her finger. “Wait a second,” she said,
then walked back down the hall to the skeleton.
Bending down, she removed the paper from the bird's
claw and scanned it.
“ Stay away from Julius's birds, Schoonover, or
you'll end up like this one,' ” she read.
Nancy showed the note to Dell and Mr. Schoonover.
After reading it, Schoonover crumpled the paper in a
violent gesture, as if he were squeezing someone's
neck. His eyes flashed fiercely as he snapped, “What is
the meaning of this drivel? I'm going to get the skunk
who wrote that rot if it's the last thing I do! Richard
Schoonover does not allow threats to go unpunished.”
“May I have the note, please?” Nancy asked, ex-
tending her hand. “It may turn out to be an important
clue.”
“No!” Mr. Schoonover growled, pocketing the note.
“I'll take no chances—such an insult must never
become public.” He turned and stormed down the
stairs, adding, “I will never set foot inside this house
again. Anyone who even thinks I may have stolen that
dove will face a lawsuit for libel!”
Dell and Nancy traded glances. Then they followed
Schoonover downstairs to make sure he was really
leaving. Just as he approached the front door, it swung
open, nearly knocking him over.
Alden stepped inside as Mr. Schoonover recovered
his balance and brushed by him. “Careful, young man,”
Mr. Schoonover snapped. “You almost hit me.” After
hurrying outside, he slammed the door shut.
Alden fixed his clear hazel eyes on his cousin. “Did
you allow Schoonover in here, Dell?” he asked. “I'm
surprised at your poor judgment.”
Dell looked at Alden coolly. “May I remind you,
Alden, that you're the one who complained that we had
no brochure to give our museum visitors? Since you
never got around to writing one, I hired Richard
Schoonover for the job. You can't argue with getting
the best.”
“But Schoonover's the worst possible person to wri
te
our brochure,” Alden said, regarding Dell as if she
were a total idiot. “You know that he's insanely jealous
of Julius.”
“Oh, that old rumor,” Dell said, waving her hand
dismissively. “Mr. Schoonover's a professional. He's
not going to let an old family grudge get in the way of
his judgment.”
At that moment Bess and George joined the group.
“Did you find him?” Bess asked.
“We found him and he's gone already,” Nancy an-
swered, then added to Alden, “What grudge?”
“Richard Schoonover is jealous of what Julius be-
came,” he explained. “He's annoyed because Julius got
to be rich and famous while his own ancestor— Julius's
teacher—stayed poor and unknown in Holland.”
“So did Schoonover have the crystal bird?” George
cut in, looking at Nancy and Dell.
“No,” Dell said with an anxious glance at Alden.
“What bird?” Alden asked, frowning.
Dell filled him in on the missing dove, and then
updated Bess and George on what had happened up-
stairs with Mr. Schoonover.
“Well, this is just great!” Alden snapped, his eyes
dark with fury. “The prize piece of our collection
disappears days before the museum is set to open. Nice
going, cousin.”
“Alden, calm down,” Dell ordered. “Your sarcasm
isn't going to help us find the dove.”
“Isn't it obvious that Schoonover swiped it, stashed it
in his car or something, and then faked his attack with
the aid of an accomplice?” Alden took out a
handkerchief and mopped his brow. Drawing in a deep
breath, he struggled to control his anger.
“I'm sorry, Dell,” he continued in a softer tone. “I
have no right to speak to you that way. But I care so
much about Julius's collection, and we've both worked
so hard to get it ready for the public. I'll feel crushed if
we don't get a good response from the critics and
public.”
“Relax, Alden. I'm sure we will,” Dell said sooth-
ingly.
“I hope so,” Alden said. “I feel as if Julius would be
disappointed with us if we fail. And with the crystal
dove missing, we're sunk.”
“Just pull yourself together, Alden, and we'll hope
for the best,” Dell said. “Anyway, one missing object
won't decide the museum's fate—even if it was the
crown jewel in our collection. And if we're going to
find the dove, we all need to stay calm.”
“I'm going after Schoonover,” Alden broke in. “He's
probably heading for his office with the dove right now.
See you later.” And he rushed out the front door.
Once he had left Dell turned to Nancy, Bess, and
George. “Don't mind Alden,” she said with a sigh. “He
works hard and means well, but he's also kind of
hotheaded at times. Won't you girls stay for lunch? It's
the least I can do, and I'd like to discuss the case with
you.”
After making a lunch of leftovers from the party,
Dell placed the cold meats and bread on a tray with a
pitcher of lemonade and some cookies. Then she led
the girls out to a back patio beautifully planted with
herbs and flowers and set the tray on a glass-topped
table.
Everyone had been eating in silence for a few
minutes when Nancy turned to Dell and asked, “So
what specifically did you want to discuss with us?”
Dell shrugged. “Schoonover's role in it, I guess. I
mean, I think I do agree with Alden that Schoonover
could be guilty. It's well-known that he's always been
jealous of Julius's reputation. But then I tell myself he's
a respected glass expert, and I could never imagine his
personal feelings getting the better of him.”
“And I'm sure it never occurred to you that he might
steal,” Bess chimed in. “If you'd thought that was a risk,
you never would have hired him.”
“But I probably should have been more cautious,”
Dell admitted. “I mean, we're only human, and maybe
his jealousy just got the better of him. I should have
realized that could happen.”
“When the Van Hoogstraten Collection opens to the
public, Julius will be even more famous,” George said.
“That could be making Schoonover crazy.”
“Yeah, and he could be desperate to keep the mu-
seum from opening,” Bess offered.
A cordless phone rang from a side table next to
Nancy. “Would you mind getting that, Nancy?” Dell
asked, munching on her salad. “My mouth is full.”
“Sure,” Nancy said, picking up the phone. “Hello?”
she said into the mouthpiece.
“Dell darling,” said a creepy, muffled voice.
“Remember your precious Walter? Well, you won't be
seeing him any time soon.”
“Who is this?” Nancy said, but the line went dead.
9. Danger on the Bridge
Nancy hung up the phone, her mind clicking away. She
hadn't recognized the caller's voice. She hadn't even
been able to tell whether the person was a man or a
woman. But from the sound of the message, Nancy
guessed that the caller had kidnapped Walter.
“Who was that, Nancy?” Dell asked.
Nancy braced herself to give Dell the bad news. “I
don't know,” she said gravely. “But whoever it was may
have kidnapped Walter. We've got to call the police.”
“Kidnapped Walter?” Dell said, shooting up from
her chair. She spilled her food over the patio stones as
Bess and George stared at Nancy in stunned silence.
“Why? Nancy—tell me exactly what the message was.”
Nancy repeated the brief conversation.
Dell slumped back down in her chair. Then she
turned a hopeful face on Nancy and added, “The words
any time soon' suggest that Walter is alive. It sounds as
if he's been kidnapped, but at least he's alive! Oh,
Nancy, we've got to find him,” Dell said plaintively.
“When did you last see him?” Nancy asked, sitting
down in her chair.
Dell leaned back, her hand on her forehead, eyes
shut. “My mind is whirling,” she moaned. “I don't know
if I can stand this. Poor Walter.”
“Dell,” Nancy said gently. “You've got to pull
yourself together so we can find him. Please answer
me.”
Dell sighed, her eyes still shut. “I'm sorry, Nancy. I'll
try my best. I last saw Walter this morning at about ten.
He told me he was going out for a walk downtown to
visit a colleague. Someone must have kidnapped him
along the way.”
Nancy picked up the cordless phone and punched in
911. “Before we do anything else, I'm calling the
police,” she declared.
Fifteen minutes later two police officers arrived at
the Van Hoogstraten house. They introduced them-
selves to Dell and the girls as Detective Martha Phillips
and Officer Juan Serrano.
The police officers li
stened attentively as Dell and
Nancy told them about the chandelier incident and the
strange phone message. Dell also explained that since
Walter was visiting her from Boston, he had no office
or hotel in New York where he might check in.
“He was planning to do some research at the Bronx
Zoo,” Dell told them, “but he hadn't started it yet.
There's no other place he could be except here or
sightseeing.”
The police explained that usually a person had to be
missing for forty-eight hours before they took the
disappearance seriously. However, since Dell had
received a mysterious and threatening phone call
suggesting that Walter had been kidnapped, they
agreed to start looking for him immediately.
“As long as you're sure that Mr. Lang isn't pulling a
practical joke,” Detective Phillips said, “we'll do our
best to find him.”
“Walter would never joke about something like this!”
Dell cried. “He's a responsible person, and I'm sure
he's in danger.”
“Then we'll do what we can to find him, Ms. Van
Hoogstraten,” Officer Serrano assured her.
As Dell was showing the police officers out the front
door, Nancy turned to Bess and George and
whispered, “Why don't we leave, too? I really want to
talk about this case with just you guys—away from
Dell.”
Before Bess and George could respond, the front
door burst open, and Dell stumbled back against the
girls.
“Oh, I'm so sorry, Dell,” said the thin, reedy voice.
Violet Van Hoogstraten peeped around the door frame
and added, “This door is like a weapon. I didn't realize
anyone was behind it. Is everyone quite all right?”
“We'll live, Aunt Violet,” Dell said, managing a weak
smile.
“Good,” Violet declared as she marched into the
foyer, carrying a bundle of mail. “Here's your mail,
Dell. I ran into the letter carrier on the sidewalk. He
knows I'm family.” As she dumped the mail into her
niece's hands, Violet's tiny brow crinkled under her
lavender fringe. “By the way, what were the police
doing on your front steps?”
Dell wasn't listening. With her face sheet white, she
held up a letter with no stamp. “Van Hoogstraten
Family” was printed on it in block letters.
She plunked the pile of mail down on a nearby table