THE RECEIVER WAS SLAMMED Down. Nancy stepped back quickly. Was Dr. Morrison in debt? Was he being blackmailed?
The curator stormed out of his office, almost crashing into Nancy. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to ask you something,” Nancy replied.
Dr. Morrison took a deep breath. “Yes, Nancy, of course. Sorry I’m so jumpy—the theft and all. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Inside the office a group of photographs on one wall caught Nancy’s eye. They were all of Dr. Morrison in various exotic locales. There was also a photo of a new colonial-style mansion. Pretty pricey place for a curator on a college payroll, Nancy mused. She heard Dr. Morrison approaching and turned around.
She greeted him with a smile. “Yours?” Nancy pointed to the picture of the mansion.
“My wife and I just built it outside of town.”
“Lovely,” Nancy said quietly, but her thoughts were racing. “I’ll get the money. Soon.” Those were his exact words on the phone. Then Nancy remembered that unlike Debbie or Bryan, the curator had an airtight alibi. He’d been at dinner with the dean when the museum was burgled. Unless he had an accomplice, Dr. Morrison had to be in the clear.
“Was there something you wanted, Nancy?”
“Do you have a photograph of First Kiss?”
Dr. Morrison extracted a small color print from a bulging file on his cluttered desk.
Nancy caught her breath as she gazed at the photograph. The painting was of a young couple. The boy’s head was turned away from the viewer, but the girl’s face was clearly visible. She was blond and very young and was looking up at the boy. On her face was an expression of yearning, tinged with vulnerability. The artist had exactly captured the moment before a girl’s first kiss.
Nancy studied the photo a moment, then slipped it into her notebook. “Do you have any ideas who might have stolen the painting?”
He met her gaze straight on. “I don’t know anything. And I certainly don’t want to place any blame on anyone, but”—he hesitated a moment—“Debbie certainly had no reason to be here last night.” He held up a hand to ward off Nancy’s comment. “I know—the inventory—but that could have waited until today. And as for Bryan—well, do you buy that story about his being locked in a shed? And he’s a rock climber.”
Before she could respond, a rangy middle-aged man wearing green overalls stuck his head through the doorway. “I finished boarding up the skylight. The glass company will be out tomorrow,” he said.
“This is Ralph Jenkins, our maintenance man,” Dr. Morrison said. “Nancy is helping with the investigation,” he explained.
Nancy smiled. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Yeah?” Jenkins replied brusquely.
She ignored his rudeness. “On the roof last night,” she began, “I found a ticket to last Friday’s EC concert. I wondered if you might have dropped it.”
“I don’t go to rock concerts,” Jenkins snapped.
“Or if you knew of anyone else who’d been up to the roof recently,” Nancy continued pleasantly.
“Hasn’t been anyone up on the roof,” Jenkins growled, “until last night, that is.” Muttering under his breath, he left the room.
Why was Jenkins so hostile? “How long has Mr. Jenkins worked at the museum?” she asked.
“One year. I brought Ralph with me from the Cabbott Museum in Chicago.”
“Isn’t it unusual for a maintenance person to follow a curator?”
“Perhaps.” Dr. Morrison laughed lightly. “But Ralph is a good man. I trust him.”
“Why did you come to Emerson from the Cabbott?” Nancy asked. “The Cabbott is such a prestigious museum with a wonderful collection.”
“You are quite the detective, Nancy,” he said. “Am I a suspect now?”
Nancy returned the curator’s smile.
“I came to Emerson for a number of reasons,” he finally answered. “Mainly for the quiet smalltown lifestyle but also for the freedom to exhibit more experimental art.”
“Will the theft be very damaging?”
Removing his glasses, Dr. Morrison rubbed his eyes. “Yes, it’s going to hurt us. People won’t contribute money or paintings to a museum with poor security. Traveling exhibits will be canceled. The college and Emerson students will suffer in the end. That’s why it’s crucial to find the thief,” Dr. Morrison added fiercely.
“I’ll do my best,” Nancy promised.
George was waiting for her in the lobby. “I’d like to check out the sporting goods stores near campus,” Nancy said. “I want to find out if that climbing rope used in the robbery was bought recently. I have a hunch that our thief is here on campus and bought the rope nearby.”
• • •
After a morning of inquiries, Nancy and George rested by dangling their feet in the cool water of the quad fountain as they waited for Ned. The open space in front of the student union was crowded with students.
A girl in pink overalls skated up and handed George a flyer. “Hey, Nan, this must be my lucky day. This flyer entitles me to a free makeover at the beauty school at the corner of Emerson and Main.”
Nancy elbowed George in the ribs. “Bess always tells us blonds have more fun,” Nancy teased, refering to George’s cousin. “Go for it.”
George laughed, then pointed in the direction of the ivy-covered administration building across the quad. “Hey, there’s Debbie. With a tall, skinny girl in a red shirt.” Nancy looked over. Debbie’s friend had long brown hair and a small, pointy face. Neither of them looked too happy. A moment later Nancy lost sight of them in the crowd.
The clock struck twelve-thirty. Stepping up onto the fountain wall, Nancy looked around the plaza. She spied a familiar figure in jeans and a T-shirt loping through the crowd. “Ned!”
Ned’s arm shot up into the air as he quickened his pace, swerving around some girls on skates.
Nancy punched him playfully when he hugged her. “You’re late, Nickerson,” she told him.
Ned grinned. “Sorry, but my chemistry professor kept us after class.” Ned eased himself down onto the edge of the fountain. “How’s the investigation?”
“Hard to tell,” Nancy said. “We learned that three people bought climbing rope at a store near campus in the last month, all with credit cards.” “But the store won’t release the buyers’ names to Nancy,” George added.
“I can’t reach Sergeant Weinberg,” Nancy explained. “I’ll have to get the buyers’ names from him. I’ll try him later.”
“Sounds frustrating,” Ned said sympathetically.
“We also stopped at the box office,” Nancy continued. “There’s no way to find out who bought that particular concert ticket. Strictly general admission.”
“Maybe I’m your thief,” Ned said, pretending to rummage in his pocket. “I can’t find my stub.”
“Right, Nickerson,” Nancy quipped. “But I’m your alibi for yesterday.” She snuggled closer to him. Ned was just as much a hunk as Michael Jared. Even hunkier. “We also stopped at a gallery on Main Street and showed the owner a photo of First Kiss—in case the thief was an amateur who might try to sell the painting in town. No luck.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy noticed Bryan Barbour trudging down the student union steps. Ned saw him, too, and waved Bryan over. “What’s up?” Ned asked as he walked over.
Bryan shrugged. “Debbie was going to meet me at eleven-thirty, but she didn’t show up.”
“We just saw her,” Nancy said.
“Yeah?” Bryan sighed. “I guess I’ve been stood up. She probably blames me for the break-in and her losing her job.”
“Come on,” Ned said. “No one blames you.” But you’re still a suspect, Nancy said to herself. We’ve only got your word about being locked in the shed.
“Why don’t you have lunch with us?” George suggested.
Bryan lit up. “I could do that.”
“Let’s try the new Art Café in the union.” Bryan made a face at Ned’s suggestion.
“Is there a problem with the café?” Nancy asked.
“No.” Bryan shrugged. “The café’s fine.”
They walked down the ramp that cut through the center of the union and then took the stairs to the second floor. The Art Café was a dark cavelike room with walls covered with paintings.
Nancy spotted the reason for Bryan’s hesitation: Rina. She was working behind the counter.
As they filed past Rina with their trays, Bryan smiled tentatively at her. Rina didn’t smile back.
“Nice seeing you, too, Rina,” Bryan muttered as he took his sandwich. With cool efficiency, Rina served Nancy next.
“Does anyone mind if we eat outside?” Bryan asked after they’d paid for their food. “It’s a little tense in here.” The others agreed and made their way back down the stairs.
When they reached the lobby Nancy said, “I’ll meet you guys outside.” She wanted to try Sergeant Weinberg again. Several phones were free, but Nancy had no change. Frustrated, she ran into the bookstore.
The line at the cash register snaked ten deep down a narrow aisle, made narrower by bins full of art supplies lining the space. A supply list for Michael Jared’s painting class was posted over one bin. Nancy looked in, curious. She saw small shrink-wrapped packages labeled “Jared—Art Starter Kit” with the course number printed on the outside.
“Pardon me,” a soft voice said as the line inched forward. Nancy let a tall girl with a red shirt squeeze past. She looked familiar. Of course, Nancy thought—the girl was Debbie’s friend, the one George had spied across the quad earlier. Nancy craned her neck, looking for Debbie, but she didn’t see her.
The girl was in front of the art supply bins. After a quick check over her shoulder, she slipped a Jared class packet into her backpack and calmly walked out of the store.
Debbie’s friend a shoplifter? Nancy forgot about her change and rushed outside after the girl.