Mr. Stone sighed. “I’ve just received a threatening letter. I think someone’s out to kill me.”
“Where are you right now?” Nancy asked.
The curator cleared his throat. “I’m in my office at the museum.”
“I can be there within the hour,” Nancy said, glancing at her watch. “But if you really think someone’s out to kill you, why don’t you contact the police?”
Mr. Stone breathed another deep sigh. “If possible, I’d like to keep the police out of this,” he said. “At this point, all I need is a private detective to find out who sent me the letter. Quite frankly, Ms. Drew, I’m in a panic about this. But at the same time, I don’t want any bad publicity.”
Nancy assured the curator that she would be right over. Hanging up the phone, she wondered why anyone would threaten Nelson Stone. He certainly seemed panicky.
Nancy called George back. “Guess what?” she said. “I may have a new case. Want to drive out to the Clinton Park Museum with me? I have to meet with someone there.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” George said. “It’s such a great day for tennis. Can’t you put it off for another day?”
“I don’t think so,” Nancy said. “This guy sounded serious. He thinks someone’s out to kill him.”
George paused. “I guess that’s a good reason for not playing tennis,” she said.
“I’d better call Bess,” Nancy said. “She thinks we’re meeting at the mall.”
“Oh, I’m sure my cousin would much rather be at the scene of a murder,” George said with a chuckle. She and Nancy both knew how Bess hated to be involved in anything dangerous. “But if you don’t call her, she’ll probably feel left out.”
After hanging up with George, Nancy punched Bess’s number into the phone. She knew she was lucky to have the two cousins for friends. They were both loyal and fun, always eager to help Nancy solve a mystery, but they were complete opposites in other ways. Blond and pretty, Bess was a few pounds overweight and was always talking about a new diet. She loved shopping, eating, and thinking about boys. Dark-haired George had a slim, athletic build. Gutsy and practical, she often joined Nancy on dangerous missions.
Bess picked up on the third ring and quickly agreed to join Nancy and George.
Nancy hurried up to her room and slipped a yellow linen blazer over her T-shirt and jeans. Then she ran a comb through her shoulder-length hair, tucked a spiral notebook in her shoulder bag, and rushed downstairs again.
Ten minutes later Nancy had picked up Bess and George in her blue Mustang, and the girls were on their way to the Clinton Park Museum.
A soft breeze blew through the car as Nancy braked for a red light. “Do either of you know anything about a guy named Nelson Stone?” she asked her friends.
“Not much,” Bess said from the backseat. “My mother’s friend is the real estate agent who rented a house to him here. He’s only been in the area about six weeks, since the museum opened.”
“And last weekend,” George offered, “he was a guest at the club. I was paired with him in a tennis match.”
Nancy glanced at George. “So, what did you think of him?”
George ran her fingers through her short dark hair. “Well, he has a great serve,” she said, “and an awful backhand.”
“Get serious!” Bess told her.
“All right,” George laughed as the traffic light changed and Nancy drove across the intersection. “To tell you the truth, he seemed kind of stuffy.”
“I got the same impression over the phone,” Nancy said. Making a right turn, she entered the town of Clinton Park and drove up a steep hill. A few moments later the Clinton Park Museum came into view.
“What a neat place,” Bess gushed, gazing wide-eyed at the majestic mansion. It was surrounded by large formal gardens and neatly clipped hedges.
“It sure is,” George agreed.
Now Nancy could understand why Hillary Lane was so bitter that her aunt donated the mansion. Hillary had probably had a sentimental attachment to the gorgeous building. Nancy drove slowly through the front gate and followed a long gravel driveway to the parking lot. Finally she pulled into a space, and the girls scrambled out.
Nancy tucked her keys into her purse and took out the spiral notebook. Her mind was now fully focused on meeting Nelson Stone.
“I know that look in your eyes,” George teased as the three of them hurried toward the museum. “You’re ready to start a new case.”
Nancy grinned. “The beginning is easy,” she said. “The problems come later.”
“Oh, no!” Bess cried suddenly. A sign in front of them read: The Clinton Park Museum Is Closed for School Tour.
“So much for seeing the museum,” George said, sighing. “I guess we’ll have to wait for you outside, Nancy.”
“At least there’s a refreshment stand,” Bess said brightly. She pointed to a striped awning near the front entrance where a group of school children were gathered. “It looks as if it’s open.”
George rolled her dark eyes. “I thought you were on a new diet.”
“Oh, I am,” Bess replied, flashing a naughty grin. “It’s called the junk-food diet. I’m going to get some ice cream,” she added. “Catch up with you later.”
Crossing the manicured grounds with George, Nancy was aware of the fragrance of fresh-cut grass. The chopping sound of garden clippers filled the air as they passed a man shaping a tall hedge.
“Wow!” George explained. “Take a look at that mermaid.”
Nancy turned and glanced at the smiling gardener, thinking her friend was joking. Then she realized that the gardener was shaping the hedge into the graceful form of a mermaid. “That’s really beautiful,” she told him. He nodded pleasantly.
George admired the sculptured hedge from another angle. “I wonder how he did that,” she said.
“Listen,” Nancy said, glancing at her watch, “I’d better get a move on. I’ll meet you out here after I talk with Mr. Stone, okay?”
