Portrait in Crime (12 page)

Doug examined the painting, frowning as he
concentrated. Nancy and Bess waited anxiously.

Doug leaned forward, squinting at a small square of the painting. His frown deepened.

Suddenly he turned around and stared at Nancy. “You're right,” he said. “This is not the work of Christopher Scott!”

A
RE YOU SURE
?” Nancy asked.

Doug nodded vigorously. “Christopher never used a premixed color; he always added a tinge of something else. Look here,” he said, pointing to a corner of the canvas. “This is definitely a stock pink.”

Doug leaned closer to the painting. “Now this area,” he began, then hesitated, “
does
look like Christopher's work. In fact, look at the brush strokes. It has to be his!”

The two girls exchanged glances.

“So you're not sure?” Bess asked.

Doug crinkled his nose and stood back from the canvas. “I'm a little confused,” he admitted. “This section looks like his, and that one doesn't.
The painting as a whole is kind of mixed-up. But no one could forge those brush strokes. It may be that Christopher was experimenting with a new style.”

Nancy wasn't so sure. Doug's evaluation of the painting supported a theory growing in her mind.

“Would you say that it looks like Christopher Scott painted
parts
of this painting?” she asked Doug.

“Parts? I don't think Christopher would ever let anyone help him with a painting. He's too vain.”

After thanking the painter for his help, Nancy asked Cecilia if either Bob or Cynthia was around. She was told that Bob had the day off, but Cynthia was due back any minute.

“I'm going with Doug to his studio, Nancy,” Bess informed her friend. “We're going to work on that painting of me.”

“I'll see you later, then. Will you be back for our rendezvous with Diana this evening?”

“You bet!” Bess said. “I'll see you back at the house at about four-thirty or five.”

Nancy asked Cecilia for permission to use the phone in Bob Tercero's office. After slipping inside, she locked the door and went straight for the book of checks. This time she looked back to the payments issued a year ago.

It was just as she'd suspected, she noted with satisfaction. Christopher Scott's payments varied in size. Sometimes they were only ten thousand
dollars, but in one case, the artist had been paid forty thousand dollars! She looked for a pattern over the past several years. Even though they varied, the payments grew in size. Because, Nancy was sure, of the artist's growing reputation.

Then, six months ago, the payments changed form. Scott started getting a straight fifteen thousand dollars for every painting. Did Christopher request this? she wondered. Or was there another, more sinister reason? Her eyes narrowing thoughtfully, Nancy closed the book.

“Nancy?” Cynthia Gray inquired through the closed door. She tried the handle. “Why is the door locked? Are you okay in there?”

Nancy leapt up and opened the door.

“Cecilia said you needed to make a phone call,” Cynthia said suspiciously, entering the room. “She said you've been in here for a while.”

Nancy took a deep breath. “You'd better sit down,” she told the gallery owner. “I have something to say that might interest you.

“What do you know about ART Inc.?” Nancy asked, after Cynthia had taken a seat by Bob's desk.

From the expression on Cynthia's face, it was clear she had never even heard of the company. Using the account books, Nancy explained that she had discovered Bob was stealing from the gallery by selling paintings to himself at reduced rates.

“I can't believe it!” Cynthia said when Nancy had finished. “I trusted Bob with everything! It's
not even the fact that he was stealing from the gallery that bothers me as much as that he was cheating our artists.” Cynthia paused. “But why on earth were you looking at our accounts?”

“There's something fishy about Christopher Scott's work over the last six months or so,” Nancy replied. “I was hoping I could find something in your payments to explain it.”

“And did you?”

“Possibly,” Nancy said. “Since February all your payments to Christopher Scott have been exactly fifteen thousand dollars. Does that seem likely to you?”

“Usually the price of a painting depends on its size and other factors,” Cynthia said slowly. “And by now, I'd think Chris would be getting more than that for each painting. Does this have anything to do with ART?”

“It doesn't seem to,” Nancy admitted. “But it could have something to do with Christopher's disappearance. I'm wondering whether the change in payments means that Bob has some hold over him. Or maybe Bob just decided that Scott's work wasn't worth any more than that. In that case, maybe Christopher was unhappy with the drop in his payments and decided to go to a new gallery.”

“If Bob was blackmailing Chris, why pay him at all?” Cynthia asked. She still sounded furious. “Or why not sell
his
paintings to ART? Bob was obviously paying Christopher something, because all the checks are made out to him.”

“I don't know, but there's a trail of money here, and I'm going to follow it. Do you know where Bob keeps canceled checks?” Nancy asked.

Cynthia shook her head regretfully. “I really never paid any attention to the way Bob ran my business. I'm beginning to see what a mistake that was.”

Together Nancy and Cynthia flipped through Bob's files for old checks but with no success. After a few minutes Cynthia snapped her fingers.

“You know, there's an easier way to go about this. I know which bank Christopher uses,” Cynthia offered. “And one of the managers there is a friend of mine. Her name is Ann James. If I called her, I'm sure she'd help.”

“That'd be great,” Nancy said. “Thank you.”

“Thank
you,
” Cynthia returned. “When I see that rat Bob Tercero, I'm not only going to fire him, I'm going to press charges!”

With a decided nod, Cynthia picked up the phone and called the bank.

“Ann, how are you? I wonder if you could do me a huge favor?

“There's a young woman here I'd like you to talk to,” she continued, after getting a favorable response. “Her name is Nancy Drew, and she's conducting a sort of investigation into Christopher Scott's affairs. I'm all mixed up in it, I'm afraid; it has to do with Nisus's payments to him.”

Cynthia thanked Ann and turned the telephone over to Nancy.

Nancy checked with the bank manager to make sure that all the gallery's payments had indeed been deposited into Scott's bank account. They had, but she had expected that. It would be too easy for an investigator to discover any discrepancies if the payments had not been made to that account.

“Can you check withdrawals?” Nancy asked the bank manager. “I am especially interested in the month of February, and also any activity from two weeks ago. Are there any large withdrawals?”

Nancy could hear computer keys clicking as Ann looked up her information. “Nothing large or unusual since February, really,” Ann said at last. “And nothing at all in the last few weeks.”

Nothing? Nancy thought hard for a minute. “I'm sorry, but could we go back to the payments, then? Is there any way to check whether Christopher endorsed the checks himself?”

“Not from here,” Ann said, “but if Cynthia has the canceled checks, she could look for you.”

“Yes, we thought of that,” Nancy said with a frustrated sigh. “I guess we'll have to keep searching for them.”

“But remember,” Ann cautioned, “even if he didn't sign them, it probably doesn't mean anything. We don't require an endorsing signature if the check is made out to the person who holds the account. All we need is the account number on the back of the check.”

Nancy was frustrated. “Is there anything else?” she asked. “Anything that's unusual at all?”

“Well, there is one thing, but it's not
unusual,”
Ann began, “and I guess it doesn't really matter anymore.”

“What is it?” Nancy asked quickly. “At this point, anything would help.”

“As I said, it won't help you now because Nicholas is dead,” the bank manager said. “But while he was alive, Nicholas had power of attorney over his uncle's accounts.”

N
ANCY DREW IN
her breath. So Nicholas had unlimited access to his uncle's money! “Can you find out how often Nicholas withdrew money from the account?” she asked.

“Not with automated teller machines,” Ann said. “Anyone with a card can take money out at any time. There's no way of knowing which withdrawals were made by Nicholas and which by Christopher.”

Nancy thanked her for all her help and hung up. “That about wraps it up,” she told Cynthia. “I think I know what's going on. I don't have time to explain now, but I'll let you know how it turns out!”

Nancy raced home. As she hurried in the door, she heard the phone ringing.

“Nancy, is that you?” George poked her head out of the kitchen doorway, her eyes wide. “You have a telephone call.”

Nancy reached over the kitchen counter and picked up the phone. “Hello?” she said breathlessly. Whoever it was, Nancy would have to call back later. She had a lot to do this afternoon!

“Hello, yourself,” Ned Nickerson's voice greeted her warmly. “How's my favorite girl?”

“Ned!” Nancy's heart leapt. “How are you? I haven't heard from you in ages!”

“Well, that's about to change because I have a plane ticket in my hand that will get me to the Hamptons in two weeks.”

“A plane ticket?” Nancy repeated. Ned was coming in two weeks? She sat down abruptly as she realized what that meant. What on earth was she going to do about Sasha?

“Well, don't sound so excited. Is there a problem?” Ned asked. His voice was a little hesitant.

Now she'd hurt his feelings! “No, no problem,” Nancy said forcefully. “It'll be great to see you.”

“It doesn't sound that way,” Ned said. “What's wrong, Nan?”

The concern in his voice made Nancy realize how much she loved him. “Nothing's wrong,” she said. “I'm just in the middle of a mystery, that's all.”

“Oh, no.” Ned groaned playfully. “Then I'll never see you! Forget it, I won't come.”

“No, please come. I'll be done by then,” Nancy promised.

“You know I was only kidding. You couldn't keep me away if you tried,” Ned said cheerfully. “I really miss you, Nan.”

“I miss you, too,” Nancy replied, her eyes filling with tears.

“Nancy, are you okay?” The worry crept back into Ned's voice. “You sound like you're going to cry.”

“Of course I'm okay,” she insisted. “I just love you, that's all.”

“That's all?” Ned asked. “That's a lot. I love you, too, Nan. I'm sorry I haven't been able to come see you sooner.”

“It's all right. I know you'd be here if I needed you.”

“I won't let anything stop me this time,” he vowed.

When Nancy hung up the phone, she was shaking. “You guys can come in now,” she called to Bess and George, who were hovering in the hall.

“We weren't eavesdropping,” Bess said defensively as the cousins settled themselves around the kitchen table.

“Really, we weren't,” George put in. “We were just, um, nearby.”

“Well, you heard it anyway,” Nancy said. “What do I do now?”

“What do you want to do?” Bess asked.

“I don't know!” Nancy sank into a chair. “Sasha is so romantic, and when I'm with him, well, I guess I can forget everything, including Ned. Does that sound horrible?”

“Not at all,” Bess said. “This has been a summer full of romance.”