Joanne thought for a moment, then said, “I’ll help you with your case, and you’ll help me with my cake. That sounds like a fair trade to me. Just let me know where you want me to meet you.”
• • •
Shortly after dawn on Wednesday Nancy and her friends helped Terry and Amy load the van with Terry’s work. Still half asleep, they all piled into the van and set off for the art show, which was in the northernmost part of the state, just below the Oregon border.
Hours later Terry pulled up in front of an octagonal redwood building. A large sign read A Gathering of Glassworkers—Fifty of Today’s Finest Artists—Open to Dealers Only.
“Sounds good, Dad,” Amy said from the back of the van. “They think you’re one of the fifty finest.”
“What they actually mean is that I’m one of fifty artists who were willing to drive all the way out here in the middle of the week,” her father replied. He pulled into the parking lot, and he and the girls began the slow and careful process of unloading. Nancy and George teamed up to carry a display table while Bess brought in a stack of printed sheets that listed all of Terry’s pieces and their prices. Amy took charge of the notebook for writing down orders. Terry carried in all of the glasswork.
The area that Terry had been assigned for his display was at the edge of the large open hall, near the back. Nancy was sure that setting up the various windows, lamps, and mobiles would take hours. But Terry had done it many times before, and within half an hour everything was in place.
Amy removed the wrappings from an iridescent glass box and handed it to her father. “Your table looks excellent,” she told him.
“My biggest fan,” Terry said fondly. “Let’s hope the dealers agree with you.”
“You’re being modest, Kirkland.” A gray-haired man in a dark blue suit approached the booth and shook hands with Terry. “You’re one of the main reasons that I and half the dealers here showed up today.”
Terry introduced the man as Leon Isaacs, owner of a New York gallery. Isaacs immediately pointed to one of the mobiles and asked for its price.
“Come on,” said Amy, who was a veteran of other art shows. “It’s going to be like this all day. We might as well walk around.”
While Terry had set up his display, the other artists had been setting up theirs. Now there were three aisles filled with booths. Sunlight poured in from the large rectangular windows above, illuminating the glasswork. Deep ruby reds and sapphire blues, soft lavenders and palest pinks, greens and ambers caught the light, shimmering.
“All these colors,” Bess gasped. “It looks like one of those rooms in a fairy tale. You know, the rooms that hold all the jewels in the kingdom.”
“It’s just glass,” Amy said.
“But it’s amazing,” George said. She stopped to peer at a statue of a woman made of glass. “She looks so real, I’d swear I saw her breathing a minute ago.”
“That’s because this show is for the best glass workers,” Amy said proudly.
The four girls wandered the hall until it was nearly lunchtime. Terry had told them that they could take the van any time they’d had enough of the art show. There were redwood forests nearby, and it was a good day for a hike.
“I think we ought to bring your dad some lunch and then take a ride,” Nancy told Amy. Bess, George, and Amy agreed to the plan, and they made their way through the crowded floor back to Terry’s exhibit.
Terry was standing outside his booth with his back to them. “What’s he doing over there?” Amy asked. “He should be on the other side of the table.”
Instinct told Nancy that something was wrong, and as she neared Terry, she saw she was right. The delicate box made of iridescent glass that had sat proudly on a black velvet platform at the very center of the table now lay shattered on the ground.
“Oh, no. It fell,” George said.
“No,” Terry said in a frighteningly calm voice. “It didn’t fall. It was smashed. And I know exactly who did it.”
In the center of the splintered glass lay a metal chain with two small rectangular metal plates attached. “They’re dog tags,” Nancy said in surprise. “The identification tags that soldiers wear.” She leaned closer, and a chill went through her as she read the name on them. She looked up at Terry, who had gone completely white.
Terry carefully lifted the metal dog tags from the shattered glass. They dangled from his hand, a surprisingly bright silver. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said softly. “But Nick Finney is back.”
9
Dragon Latches
Nancy swiftly scanned the crowded display hall. “Nick Finney must still be nearby,” she said. “You said he had a small, wiry build and bright red hair?”
“Don’t even bother looking,” Terry said, using a piece of cardboard to sweep up the broken glass. “Nick could melt in or out of sight like a shadow. He was being trained for intelligence work. Moving unseen was his specialty.”
“Why did he smash the box, Dad?” Amy’s voice shook.
“I don’t know, pumpkin.” Terry hugged Amy close to him. “I walked across the hall to talk to a friend. When I got back, the box was smashed.”
“It’s a warning,” Nancy said.
Terry rubbed his chin. “That’s what I think. And it’s a warning I intend to take. Let’s get packed up.”
“But if Nick Finney is here, that means he’s been following you,” Nancy said. “What’s to stop him from following you home?”
“I’m guessing he’s already on his way to Cherry Creek,” Terry said. “Which is why we’re going to the Peninsula.”
“Oh, no,” Amy said, backing away. “You’re not leaving me with Aunt Marge again. She makes me eat boiled eggs for breakfast.”
“Amy, don’t start,” her father said. “I’m taking you to the one place where I’ll know you’ll be safe.”
Amy crossed her arms and turned her back on him.
“Fine, have a temper tantrum,” Terry said. “It won’t do you any good. I can’t give you a choice this time.” Without another word he began wrapping the stained-glass windows. Nancy, Bess, and George helped him pack up.
Reluctantly Amy followed them outside. “I just want you to know I think you’re all acting like a bunch of cowards,” she announced.
