Intruder
When George’s mom asks Bess, George, and me to help her cater a benefit for the library, we’re all on board. The event is a Jane Austen-themed tea party, and George even agrees to wear a dress for the occasion!
It seems like the party isn’t everyone’s cup of tea though. The bed-and-breakfast where the event is being held has been plagued by vandalism. Someone is breaking teapots, making a mess, booby-trapping the staircase, and generally terrorizing the old couple that owns the place. No one can figure out how the mysterious intruder Is getting in and out of the house—and that’s where I come in. I plan on solving this faster than I can get to the bottom of a cup of Darjeeling.
Catch my next case:
Mardi Gras Masquerade
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
Simon & Schuster, New York
Cover photograph copyright © 2007 by Les Kahl/Graphistock Image/Jupiter Images
Ages 8-12
KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com
1207
Close call
“Stop, Mr. Olsen!” I cried, nearly choking out the words. “Don’t take another step!”
Mr. Olsen immediately froze right where he was. “What is it, Nancy?” he asked hoarsely.
“Look there,” I said, “the fifth step down.” I wiggled the beam of my flashlight around his shoulder and down the staircase so he would see what I was looking at. “Do you see that?”
He peered carefully downward and then gasped as he saw the thin wire drawn taut across the stairs.
“If you’d come down this a few steps more, you’d have tripped down the stairs,” I said.
“I might have broken my neck!” Mr. Olsen declared angrily.
Stepping carefully past him down the stairs, I knelt down to examine the wire more closely.
“Look—it’s been fastened to the side of the staircase with thumbtacks,” I said. “A booby trap?” Mr. Olsen gasped.
girl detective®
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Available from Aladdin Paperbacks
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN PAPERBACKS
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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www.SimonandSchuster.com
Copyright © 2007 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
NANCY DREW, NANCY DREW: GIRL DETECTIVE, ALADDIN PAPERBACKS, and related logo are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
First Aladdin Paperbacks edition December 2007
Library of Congress Control Number 2007921470
ISBN-13: 978-1-4169-3526-1
ISBN-10: 1-4169-3526-6
ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-6546-6 (eBook)
1 Trouble Brewing
2 A Tempest and Some Teapots
3 Deadly Danger
4 Scones and Schemes
5 Tea for Two
6 Pride and Prejudice
7 Bullet Pudding, Anyone?
8 Conked Out!
9 Important Clues
10 Deep, Dark Secrets
11 Smuggler’s Hideaway
12 Nonsense and Sensibility
13 Old Wives’ Tales
14 Tense Moments
15 Tea Is Served
Intruder
1
Trouble Brewing
When Mrs. Fayne called and invited me for lunch, I knew something was up. Oh sure, she’d often asked me to stay and have a sandwich if I was already at the house visiting George, but she’d never called before. Besides, I’ve had years of experience with crime—detecting crime, that is—and my detective radar started humming as soon as I heard George’s mother’s voice. There was something in her tone. She sounded overly cheerful, but cautious and a little worried, too.
“Is George okay?” I asked anxiously. I put down the file folder I held in my hand. George is one of my best friends. Her cousin Bess is the other. I couldn’t stand it if anything bad happened to either one of them.
“George is fine,” Mrs. Fayne assured me. “We’ll talk when you get here, Nancy. Noon, okay? I don’t feel comfortable discussing the matter over the phone.”
I blinked with surprise. I’d been scanning my dad’s old correspondence files into the computer. Dad’s going digital. Saving paper and saving trees. It’s a good thing. Besides, I’m happy to help out when I can. I’m proud of my dad too. He’s the best lawyer in River Heights, and I’m not just saying that because I’m his daughter. But all thoughts of helping him slipped from my mind.
“Sure, Mrs. Fayne. I’ll come for lunch,” I said. “I’ll be there at noon.”
“Thanks, Nancy,” she said, sounding relieved.
How weird, I thought, hanging up the phone. I wonder what’s going on.
That’s when I glanced down at my jeans and turquoise T-shirt. Should I change into something else? Bess is always pointing out that I dress like a slob—only she says it in a really nice way so she doesn’t hurt my feelings. I guess I just don’t pay much attention to clothes, especially when I’ve got a mystery on my mind.
I couldn’t help wondering if the problem had something to do with the upcoming Jane Austen Tea Party. It seemed that every female in my hometown of River Heights was eagerly looking forward to the fund-raiser, and that included me, Bess, and George. Mrs. Fayne owns a catering business, and she’d been hired to cater the event, which was going to raise money for the local library to spend on some additional computers.
Mrs. Cornelius Mahoney was sponsoring the event. She’d donated the money to build the library in the first place, years ago. She’s pretty rich and very nice—which is more than folks say about her dead husband. He was a mean man and probably a crook and a securities manipulator. But that’s another story.
Evaline Waters, the retired librarian and a good friend of mine, was on the planning committee. When she asked me to help serve tea and scones for the event, I said, “Why not!” After all, she was the one who introduced me to Jane Austen’s novels when I was about fifteen. My favorite is Pride and Prejudice, but I like Emma, too, and Sense and Sensibility.
I’ve seen all the movies with Bess, who’s a real Jane Austen fan. She even made me watch an old black-and-white version of Pride and Prejudice starring Greer Garson and Sir Laurence Olivier. I liked it, even though the actresses wore all the wrong kind of dresses, as Bess was quick to point out—wrong for the time period. I believed her, of course. There isn’t anything Bess doesn’t know about clothes.
Ms. Waters convinced Bess and George to volunteer to help out too. But
ever since George learned that we’d be wearing old-fashioned long dresses with high waists and puffy sleeves, she’d been trying to back out. She and her mom even had an argument about it last week. Could that be what Mrs. Fayne wanted to talk to me about?
I slipped on a clean white oxford shirt and a blue corduroy skirt. Then I ran a brush through my hair. Finally I scribbled a note for our housekeeper, Hannah Gruen. She was still out running errands, and I didn’t want her to worry about me.
Snatching up my keys and purse from the kitchen counter, I made my way out to my car and drove to the Faynes’ house. I was surprised to see Mrs. Mahoney’s elegant new Cadillac parked out front. Had Mrs. Fayne invited the wealthy widow to lunch too, or had Mrs. Mahoney just dropped in to discuss plans for Saturday’s tea?
George opened the front door before I even made it halfway up the sidewalk. She was wearing baggy cargo pants and a bright red camp shirt. She slouched in the doorway, her hands shoved down into the deep pockets of her pants. She was not smiling. This is not good, I thought.
“Hey, George, what’s up?” I called out, hurrying toward her.
“Thanks for coming, Nancy,” George said, “especially on such short notice. My mom’s pretty upset,” she added.
“Can you tell me what’s going on? Is Mrs. Mahoney here? Did your mom invite her to lunch too?” I asked, shooting one question after another at her. I can’t help it. I always ask lots of questions.
When George only nodded, I blurted out, “Then I was right! It does have something to do with this weekend’s tea party.” I followed George into the house. “So tell me what’s happened,” I demanded.
“Some sneak shattered some expensive teapots, and that’s just the latest incident,” George told me with a slight frown. “My mom thinks someone is trying to sabotage the fund-raiser.”
“Who would do that?” I wanted to know.
“That’s what Mom wants you to find out,” George said, leading me into the house. “The tea is supposed to be held this Saturday, so you’re going to have to work fast on this one, Nancy.”
I nodded and followed George inside the house. As I’d guessed when I saw her car out front, Mrs. Mahoney was there—looking elegant, as usual, but very anxious. Ms. Waters was there too. She smiled when she saw me and gave a little sigh of relief. I could tell immediately that she was counting on me to solve the mystery of the shattered teapots. I hoped I wouldn’t let her down.
“Nancy, thanks for coming,” George’s mom said. She hurried forward to give me a hug. Mrs. Fayne’s worry showed on her face.
“Sure, Mrs. Fayne,” I said, trying to reassure her. “Anything I can do to help, I will.”
She nodded and then, turning to the other women, said, “I’m serving lunch in the kitchen. Help yourselves, and then we can discuss the … er … the problems we’re having with Saturday’s fund-raiser and fill Nancy in on what’s happened.”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: I’m firmly against canceling the tea,” Mrs. Mahoney declared. She followed George’s mother into the kitchen. George and I followed behind Ms. Waters.
“But perhaps we should postpone it, at least,” the librarian proposed.
I glanced at George and raised my eyebrows. I’ll admit, I was more than a little intrigued. After all, the advertisements were out. What could be so bad that they’d cancel the whole event?
Mrs. Fayne served a delicious lunch—a savory cheese quiche and a fresh spinach salad studded with candied pecans and sliced strawberries. There was also a platter heaped with lots of dainty little sandwiches cut into different shapes, like flowers and hearts and triangles. No one seemed to have much of an appetite, except George, and she’s always up for a meal. I was eager to start asking questions, but I waited until Mrs. Fayne had eaten something first.
“These are good, Mom,” George said, indicating the tiny smoked salmon sandwiches.
“Indeed they are,” Ms. Waters said. “I hope you’ll be serving them on Saturday.” Then, with an uncertain clearing of her throat, she added, “If there’s still going to be a tea on Saturday.”
There was an immediate protest from both Mrs. Fayne and Mrs. Mahoney, and I used this as my opening to jump in and start asking questions.
“So, tell me what’s going on,” I urged. “George mentioned something about sabotage. Are you really considering canceling the Jane Austen Tea Party?”
“We may have to,” Ms. Waters said quietly.
“We can’t,” Mrs. Fayne protested. “Not after all our hard work and publicity efforts,” she added, refilling our glasses with iced tea.
“I agree,” Mrs. Mahoney spoke up. “Ticket sales have been better than we’d expected, and I have no doubt we’ll sell many last-minute ones at the door. The tea must go on as scheduled.”
“Not if there’s the possibility that someone may get hurt,” Ms. Waters insisted.
“Mrs. Fayne, please start at the beginning,” I urged.
George’s mom looked at me with a worried frown. “Nancy, as you know, the fund-raiser is supposed to be held at Cardinal Corners, the new bed-and-breakfast owned by Mr. and Mrs. Olsen.”
I nodded. I’d driven past the big old house with its sprawling lawns more than a week ago. The locals referred to it as “the old Rappapport place.” It dated all the way back to Civil War days and was located not far from the river. It had been pretty run-down until Mr. and Mrs. Olsen arrived from Iowa and started fixing it up. The bed-and-breakfast was supposed to open for business right after the fund-raiser was over.
“Mrs. Olsen says she’s heard strange noises in the night,” George’s mom went on. “Furniture has been rearranged and even tipped over. Once, the beds were stripped of all the sheets and blankets and left in a heap in the middle of the upstairs hall.”
“And now, the unexplained teapot incident,” Ms. Waters said with a sigh.
“What teapot incident?” I asked. I needed to know all the specifics if I was going to successfully get to the bottom of the mystery.
“Most of the teapots we’ve borrowed for Saturday’s event,” Mrs. Mahoney said, “were from Evaline’s collection.” She shot a sympathetic glance at Ms. Waters. “They were broken to bits, and two of the valuable silver ones have been seriously damaged.”
“Did this take place at the Olsens’?” I asked. When all the women nodded, I went on. “Were there any signs of breaking and entering? Did they call the police?”
“Not at first,” Mrs. Fayne said. “Nothing was stolen or damaged until the teapots. But Carol Olsen did call Chief McGinnis first thing this morning. He said it was probably vandals, but without witnesses the chances of catching them are slim.”
I nodded. I could imagine how Mrs. Olsen’s worried phone call was received at headquarters. Chief McGinnis is not one of my favorite people. But I have to admit, he’s a good law enforcement officer and has helped me with several cases in the past. Of course, Bess and George are usually quick to point out that I’ve helped him more than he’s ever helped me.
“So, any ideas who could have done it?” I asked. “Were there any fingerprints?”
The women shook their heads.
“What about footprints outside the house, around the windows and doors?” I went on.
Again, the women shook their heads and shrugged.
“I’m afraid someone is deliberately trying to prevent the tea party from taking place,” Mrs. Fayne said.
“And something worse could happen between now and Saturday. Someone could be hurt. What if there’s a serious accident?” Ms. Waters asked. She looked so nervous that I wondered briefly if she knew something she wasn’t telling the rest of us.
Mrs. Mahoney gave an indignant snort. “Why would anyone want to sabotage the event?” she demanded. “After all, it’s a community benefit. The public library will get new computers that everyone can use.”
“Mom, tell Nancy what Mrs. Olsen told you,” George said. Mrs. Fayne looked sort of uncomfortable and became su
ddenly busy folding the corner of her napkin over and over again. I looked at George expectantly.
“I need to know everything,” I prompted. “There’s not much time. It’s already Tuesday and the Jane Austen Tea Party is planned for Saturday afternoon.”
Mrs. Fayne hesitated. She glanced uncomfortably at Mrs. Mahoney. Mrs. Mahoney in turn looked over at Evaline Waters. Finally George blurted, “Mrs. Olsen thinks her house is haunted by a mean ghost!”
2
A Tempest and Some Teapots
A ghost?” I declared. “She thinks the house is haunted?”
George nodded and gave an embarrassed little shrug. Mrs. Mahoney snorted with disapproval.
“But there’s never been any ghost stories associated with the old Rappapport place,” Ms. Waters added thoughtfully. “At least none that I can remember.”
“It’s all nonsense,” Mrs. Fayne put in. “We can’t cancel a much-anticipated fund-raiser because of a silly ghost story. Besides, I don’t think Carol really believes there’s a ghost. It’s the cleaning woman who’s convinced the house is haunted.”
“Emily Spradling is frightened of her own shadow,” Mrs. Mahoney put in.
“Who is Emily Spradling?” I asked, grinning. She sounded like a real goose. I wondered if the Olsens had mentioned this little angle to Chief McGinnis. I could just imagine his reaction to their suggestion of a ghostly vandal rather than a human one.
“Emily is the one who has seen the ghost that is supposedly shattering teapots and messing up the bed linens. She works for the Olsens,” Mrs. Mahoney explained. “Won’t you go out to the bed-and-breakfast and investigate, Nancy? We’d all feel so much better if you’d look into the matter for us.”
“Yes, Nancy, please,” Mrs. Fayne urged. “We must go on with the fund-raiser.”
“But we don’t want any more mishaps between now and then,” Ms. Waters said, leaning toward me. “You’ll solve the mystery, won’t you?”
“I’ll certainly try,” I said. “If you’ll let George come along, I’d like to go out there now, Mrs. Fayne. Will you call the Olsens and let them know we’re coming?”