Nancy and her friends walked to the back of the Grand Ballroom. Bess pointed to the table where the roses were taken. It wasn’t even ten feet away from where the couple stood. “See?” Bess said. “If they were here when it happened, they had the perfect view.”
George put her finger over her lips, telling the girls to be quiet. She nodded in the direction of the woman. She was arguing with her husband about something. George, Bess, and Nancy inched closer until they could hear.
“But he wasn’t young,” the man said. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “He was losing his hair.”
The woman shook her thick gray curls. “Gregory, I know what I saw. The man definitely wasn’t bald. I know that for a fact.”
Nancy cleared her throat—something her father did whenever he wanted to get someone’s attention. The couple stopped arguing and turned to look at the girls. “Excuse me,” Nancy said. “Are you Tessa Fitzgerald? We heard you saw who took the missing roses.”
The man rolled his eyes. “She’s Tessa and I’m her husband, Gregory Fitzgerald. For the record, we both saw who took them.”
“We need your help, then. What did he look like?” Bess asked.
Mrs. Fitzgerald let out a sigh. “He was wearing a blue shirt. He had a mustache maybe, or a goatee . . .”
“He didn’t have a goatee,” Mr. Fitzgerald said. “Not at all. He was wearing a black jacket.”
George took a turn with the notebook. Bess had flipped to a clean page, but she hadn’t written anything on it. Their only two witnesses couldn’t agree on what they saw. “Let’s start from the beginning,” George tried. “Can you tell us what happened? When did you notice the man who took the flowers?”
Mr. Fitzgerald nodded. “Well, we stood in the back during the speech. I just hate crowds. I need my own space, you know?”
“Yes, and while we were back here we noticed this man taking away a bouquet of roses. I thought they were his,” Mrs. Fitzgerald added.
Mr. Fitzgerald held one finger in the air. “He was older and practically bald. I think he might’ve had gray hair, even.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald tapped George’s notebook. “Don’t write that down. My husband has very bad eyesight, but he refuses to get glasses. The man was young. I know he was.”
As Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald argued, Nancy, Bess, and George huddled together. “What are we going to do?” Bess whispered. “They can’t agree on anything.”
Nancy knew this sometimes happened. Witnesses could have very different descriptions of what they saw. Mrs. Fitzgerald thought the man was wearing just a blue shirt, but her husband thought he was wearing a jacket. Mrs. Fitzgerald swore he had facial hair but her husband thought that was wrong. Nancy hoped they could agree on at least one fact.
“Do you remember what time this happened?” she asked.
“Well, it happened just ten minutes before the speech ended,” Mr. Fitzgerald said.
“Maybe fifteen minutes,” Mrs. Fitzgerald argued. George looked at the notebook and let out a sigh. She still hadn’t written anything down. Their witnesses weren’t helping much.
“I’m sure about one thing. It happened right after we took that photo,” Mr. Fitzgerald said.
“What photo?” Nancy asked.
“The photographer came by and took a photo of us,” Mrs. Fitzgerald agreed. “Then we saw the man. It happened no more than a minute later.”
“The photographer!” Nancy cried. “This is perfect.”
“What about the photographer?” Bess asked. She looked confused.
George tapped her pen against the top of the notebook. She knew exactly what Nancy meant. “If the photographer was here just before the roses were taken, she may have gotten a picture of the man who took them. We need to see her photos.”
Mrs. Fitzgerald leaned down so she was eye level with the girls. “I’m truly sorry we couldn’t be of more help.”
“You’ve been a huge help, really,” Nancy replied. She meant every word. Even if Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald couldn’t agree, they’d given the Clue Crew their first big lead. If they could find the photographer, they might be able to solve the case with time to spare.
Nancy scanned the Grand Ballroom. Jean-Claude and his assistant wheeled out another cart stacked with jelly cookies, tiny cupcakes, and fruit tarts. The judges strolled through the Lily Garden. Mimsy sat in the corner with another woman. She still looked like she might burst into tears at any moment.
“I don’t see the photographer,” Nancy said.
Bess shook her head. “Me neither. She was here all morning, why would she suddenly leave?”
The girls left Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald near the back exits. They weaved through waiters and guests. They looked by the Tulip Garden and the Lily Garden, but they didn’t see the photographer anywhere. They could still hear Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald arguing as they moved deeper into the crowd.