As Bess guided the curator toward the parking lot, Nancy moved around to the front of Mr. Stone’s car. Pushing past the flattened hedge, she asked George to get in the driver’s seat and pull the release lever on the hood.
The moment Nancy looked under the hood, she could see a dark oil stain running down below the engine. “Push the brake pedal,” she called to George.
The next instant Nancy saw a trickle of brake fluid oozing from a rupture in the metal hydraulic brake pipe.
“Do you think that was done on purpose?” George asked.
“Maybe,” Nancy said, frowning. “But there’s a slim chance that it was a natural break. I’d need an expert’s opinion to know for sure.”
Just then Lee Tung ran across the front lawn to help the girls push the Cadillac back to the parking lot. “I just heard the commotion from the toolshed,” he explained.
After the Cadillac was moved, George and Nancy joined Bess and Nelson in the Mustang. “This day has been a disaster,” Nelson Stone grumbled as Nancy drove past the front gate. “First there was the threatening note. Then the Golden Horse was stolen. And now someone has really tried to kill me.” He shuddered.
“Maybe it was an accident,” Bess said. She was sitting beside the curator in the backseat.
Nancy signaled to George not to mention the possibility that the brake pipe had been tampered with. She didn’t want to frighten Mr. Stone any more than necessary. But she made a mental note to get a professional opinion on the brake pipe as soon as possible.
Nelson Stone lived in a small ranch-style house on the outskirts of Clinton Park. As they drove up, he leaned forward and said, “Would you girls like to come in for a few minutes?” When Nancy hesitated, Mr. Stone added, “Frankly, Nancy, I’d like you to check out my house.”
“All right,” Nancy said.
As they walked to Mr. Stone’s front door, Nancy wondered how much more tension the man could take. The curator looked pale and drawn, and he was shivering slightly, as if he’d been gripped by a fever.
He fumbled with his keys for a moment, then noticed a package in the letter box. He hesitated before reaching for it.
Nancy saw his hand tremble and took hold of the package herself.
“Maybe it’s a nice surprise this time,” Bess suggested as they entered the house.
“Hmm,” Nancy said, frowning. “No return address.” Inspecting the box more closely, she noticed that the brown paper wrapping was torn along one edge, revealing a striped black and gold box underneath.
Bess looked over Nancy’s shoulder. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Gold Flag chocolates.”
Nancy unwrapped the package, then smiled. “Bess can detect Gold Flag chocolates from a mile away.”
“Actually,” Bess confessed as Mr. Stone ushered them into the living room, “I’m on a diet right now. But what harm would one little chocolate do?”
George gave Bess a disapproving look, followed by a quick jab in the ribs. As they sat down on the couch, Bess glared back at George.
“Funny,” Nancy said, handing the chocolates over to Mr. Stone. “There’s no card inside.”
“I can’t imagine who they’re from,” he muttered, tucking the box into a cabinet drawer.
Nancy noticed the disappointed look on Bess’s face. Generosity obviously wasn’t one of Nelson Stone’s strong points.
It took Nancy about fifteen minutes to survey the house. Carefully she checked that all the windows and doors were properly locked and that there was no one hiding in any of the closets.
“Everything looks all right to me,” Nancy said cheerfully as she rejoined the others in the living room. “I guess I don’t have to remind you not to let anyone in, Mr. Stone. I’d also suggest keeping the curtains closed and staying away from the windows. We’ll talk tomorrow. But meanwhile, if you have any problems, you can call me at home.”
Nelson Stone walked the girls to the door. “Thanks for your help, Ms. Drew,” he said. “I’m very grateful.”
• • •
That evening, after Nancy had set the dinner table, she called her father in from his study. “Hannah made fresh onion soup and pot roast for dinner,” she said as they sat down at the dining room table.
“Mmm, smells good,” Carson Drew said, sniffing the air appreciatively. He opened a linen napkin and spread it across his lap. “Hannah’s homemade onion soup is one of my favorites.”
A few moments later the housekeeper entered with two steaming bowls of onion soup, topped with crusts of melted cheese. “Careful, they’re hot,” she warned, placing the bowls on the table. “Go ahead and start. I’ll join you in a minute.”
“Looks great,” Nancy and her father said together. They always appreciated Hannah Gruen’s loving attention. She had been with the Drews since Nancy’s mother had died when Nancy was three, and they considered her part of the family.
Carson Drew smiled at his daughter. “So, it sounds as if you’ve had yourself a busy day. Tell me more about this robbery at the museum. Do the police have any suspects yet?”
Nancy took a sip of onion soup. “If they do, I don’t think Lieutenant Higgins will be confiding in me. I got the idea he thought Nelson Stone was crazy to hire a teenage detective.”
Carson shrugged. “I would have thought your reputation for success had spread to the Clinton Park police by now. It’s only the next town over. Chief McGinnis has nothing but good things to say about your work here in River Heights.”
“Well, right now I’m more concerned with Nelson Stone,” Nancy said. “Especially if that brake pipe was severed by someone on purpose.”
“Any leads on who might have done that?” Nancy’s father asked.
Nancy broke off a piece of crusty bread and buttered it thoughtfully. “Mr. Stone may have a collection of enemies. At this point, I don’t know who’d be vicious enough to try and hurt him. But right now I’d say that Hillary Lane is a prime suspect.”
“Hillary Lane certainly isn’t fond of Nelson Stone.”
“Can you fill me in on the details?” Nancy asked.
“Well, it’s a long story,” Carson said. “You see, when Hillary Lane gave up her Hollywood career, she expected to be made curator of the Clinton Park Museum, especially since the mansion was donated by her great-aunt. There was some debate among the museum trustees as to whether she had the necessary qualifications, I believe. Hillary has been a big art collector for years, and she has an advanced degree in art history. In fact, I understand she’s written some important articles on the subject of Oriental art. But then, so has Nelson Stone, of course. I read in the paper that he was a curator of a museum back East. From bits of gossip I’ve heard, he used his connections to get the job out here.”
