Eighty-three

On the highest floor, I pulled down the ladder, climbed into the attic, and quickly located the Lynn Bogue Hunt print, right beside the Childe Hassam art that Tony had wanted to photograph that day.

As Dante, Esther, Tuck, and Nancy caught up to me, I turned the framed duck print around, and we all saw the same kind of double-sided tape in the shape of a notebook that I’d found at Mr. Scrib’s place.

“He hid it here, too!” I cried. “No wonder he had a breakdown that morning in our shop. If the picture was gone, so was his notebook—”

“Worse than that,” Esther said, “you replaced it with the Writer’s Block Lounge plaque and all the artwork from his era. He must have thought a ghost from his past was terrorizing him.”

“The shock must have been what pushed him over the edge.” I felt terrible. “It was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Esther said. “How could you have known?”

“The least I can do now is recover the man’s notebook. But it isn’t here, either—”

“That’s what I tried to tell you when you ran off,” Dante said. “On the day that Tony and I moved the art, I saw a spiral-bound notebook on the floor of the attic. I thought it belonged to Tony because he picked it right up. I figured he must have dropped it.”

“You’re telling us Tony took the notebook?” Esther moaned in frustration.

“If he did, I’m sure it was out of innocent curiosity,” Dante said defensively. “Look at all the vintage stuff up here. I’ll bet Tony thought it was some odd piece of Village Blend memorabilia that nobody cared about.”

“Sure, maybe he was curious about checking it out,” Esther said. “But why did he keep it?”

“I think I know why,” Nancy said in a sheepish voice.

We all stared and waited.

“I told you that Tony dumped me for a ‘secret project,’ ” she said. “He swore me to secrecy, but I don’t think I should keep it secret anymore…”

Nancy went on to explain that on one of their hot dates, Tony got “real relaxed” and bragged to her that he was working on a vintage Greenwich Village murder mystery, which he claimed “fell into his lap.”

“He was super excited,” Nancy said, “because the story was completely formed.”

“What kind of story did he describe?” I pressed.

“He said it’s about bohemian writers embroiled in romantic triangles, drug and alcohol abuse, plagiarism, double crosses, and outright betrayals. One of the members ends up dead and a cover-up goes on for years. With all the intrigue, Tony thought the story could be turned into a streaming series, a manga, and a bunch of novels. That’s why he decided to collaborate to create a multimedia pitch.”

“With other graphic artists,” Dante assumed.

Nancy shook her head. “Tony wanted to collaborate with people who didn’t work in his medium so there wouldn’t be any jealousy. If they all contributed ideas from different media, they could work together as a team and still be individual stars. Smart, right?”

“Except the material isn’t his to exploit!” Esther cried.

“Who are these other creators?” I asked, my worries starting to mount.

“They all belong to the Writer’s Block Lounge,” she said. “Esther’s friend Lachelle LaLande is writing the first novel. Mason Dunn was writing the pilot script, and she was also working with that singing waitress Dina Nardini to turn it into a musical. Tony swore them all to secrecy. He wouldn’t let anyone copy the pages or even read the notebook openly in the shop. They took turns lending Tony’s notebook around.”

Esther smacked her forehead. “I’ll say it again. It isn’t Tony’s notebook!”

“How could I know that?” Nancy cried. “The whole lounge is filled with writers working on stuff!”

“Let’s get back to Tony’s so-called ‘secret project,’ ” I said. “Was Blair Woodbridge part of his writing group? Did Tony mention her?”

Nancy made a face. “She got awfully close to Tony. She may have tried to slink her way in. I wouldn’t have put it past that snooty preppie.”

I stared at Nancy. She soon realized we were all staring at her.

“Call Tony right now,” I told her. “Warn him he’s in danger. Tell him to bring that notebook back ASAP!”

“Okay, okay,” said Nancy, stepping away for privacy.

“And he’d better do it,” Esther shouted after her. “Or I’ll see him arrested for theft!”

I pulled Dante, Tuck, and Esther into a huddle. “If all of those writers read Mr. Scrib’s notebook, they could be in as much danger as Tony. We need to get that notebook tonight and deliver it to the police!”

“Don’t worry,” Dante said. “Once Nancy contacts Tony, I’m sure he’ll bring it straight to us.”

Just then, Nancy rushed back. “Tony’s not answering! I called his personal number and his work number, and he didn’t pick up.”

“Could we be too late?” Dante asked.

“Maybe not,” Nancy said. “Around this time of night, Tony takes a break. He likes to park his car at an out-of-the-way spot and grab a catnap. It’s a spooky area, but kind of romantic, too. You can see the lighted boats going up and down the Hudson.”

“Gee, I wonder how you know all that,” Esther said flatly.

“Never mind how!” I cried. “Can you take me there, Nancy?”

“Sure, it’s not far.”

“Wait,” Dante said. “Tony might be taking the night off. If he is, then he’s in his bedroom working at his drawing board with a silenced phone and earphones on. I’ll go to his place to warn him.”

“But everyone in his writing group is in danger,” Tuck insisted. “What about Lachelle and Dina?”

“We have to call them and warn them, too,” Esther said.

Tuck shook his head. “You won’t be able to reach Dina by phone. She’s singing her little heart out at the Broadway Spotlight Diner, and she won’t have her phone. Management locks them up until quitting time.”

Esther groaned. “Then we have to go up there and warn her, too?”

“If you go, Esther, you won’t get in for an hour. That place is an international tourist trap. There’s always a line around the block. But—” Tucker flashed a grin. “I can get right in.”

“You can’t be that famous,” Esther cracked.

“It’s not fame. Punch used to work there, so I know about the secret employee entrance.”

“Good,” I said. “Tucker, you go to the Spotlight and warn Dina. Esther, you call Lachelle and warn her.”

“Sorry, Boss,” Esther said. “Lachelle works at the First Class Club, and they don’t allow mobile phone use. Their whole gimmick is ‘airplane mode,’ so people will engage in conversation instead of doomscrolling. They don’t even have Wi-Fi—”

“That’s the stupidest idea I ever heard,” Nancy said.

“Lachelle says they’re always packed with VIPs networking. Anyway, there’s a bouncer at the door who enforces the rules. Phone use is verboten.”

“That’s it, then,” I said. “The only way we can warn everyone is to split up. Let’s go!”