Portrait in Crime (3 page)

“So there was nothing strange about his death?” she asked.

“No. The police looked into it very carefully,” Bob replied. “The investigation is closed. It was an accident.”

Nancy decided not to question Bob further, and she and Sasha stood up to go. Bob escorted them back down the hall. “This is one of Scott's recent paintings,” he said, gesturing toward the huge pink canvas hanging in the main room.

As Nancy and Sasha stood studying the painting again, Bob asked suddenly, “I wonder if you could do me a favor when you check out the Scott place? One of Christopher's paintings is missing.

“It's called
Vanity,”
Bob continued. “It's an oil that Chris did about six months ago of a woman sitting in front of a mirror, combing her hair. You can't miss it; she's a pretty girl with long red hair. It's a very striking image.”

“How do you know it's missing?” Sasha asked.

“It belongs to the gallery. We bought it, but Christopher had a hard time parting with it, so we let him keep it for a while. I was at the house when I was making arrangements for the funeral, and I noticed it wasn't in its usual place.”

Nancy looked skeptical. “Isn't it odd for a painter to sell something but keep it in his house?”

“Well, I think he was doing another portrait, or
maybe a whole series, and he needed the
Vanity
for reference,” Bob replied. “Christopher is a little odd, you know. A genius, but a little odd.”

“Was there anything unusual about the painting?” Nancy asked. “Any reason why it would be missing?”

Bob shook his head. “Nothing unusual. Well,” he corrected himself, “Christopher doesn't usually paint portraits. He's really a landscape painter, but I don't think that could be a reason for the painting to be missing.”

“What about the model?” Nancy asked. “Could he have given it to her?”

“Nah.” Bob dismissed the idea. “Besides, we paid for it.”

“Maybe we should check with her anyway,” Sasha ventured.

“Good luck!” Bob replied. “People here come and go all the time. I don't have a clue how you'd even begin to look for her.”

“She doesn't live around here?” Nancy asked.

“No, she was just someone who was here briefly. I don't even know what her name is.”

Nancy nodded. “Thank you for your time,” she said.

“No problem. Thank
you
for helping us look for Christopher. If we don't find him, it's going to be a problem for the gallery.”

Nancy and Sasha found Bess and Tommy outside. After Tommy offered to lead the way to the Scotts' place, Nancy signaled Bess that she
wanted to talk to her. The girls jumped into Nancy's car, and Sasha reluctantly joined Tommy in his jeep. They drove through the center of the bustling beach town on its wide main street, which was lined with boutiques and quaint shops.

After Nancy told Bess about her conversations with Bob and Cynthia, Bess said, “Wait. Is this mystery about Christopher or his nephew?”

“I'm not sure,” Nancy admitted. “I'll have to check out Nicholas's death just to be sure. This mystery may be more interesting than I thought.”

The girls followed Tommy out of town and into the residential area. They passed huge old-fashioned houses set back on perfectly manicured lawns edged with masses of summer flowers in every color.

“This is such a beautiful little town,” Bess said as they went along. The road was shaded by a canopy of large trees that looked as though they'd been there forever.

“It smells so clean, just a hint of the sea in the air,” Nancy added.

As they drove the houses thinned out and were set even farther back from the road. Soon massive hedges blocked the girls' view of the properties completely.

Following Tommy, Nancy turned her silver Honda into a long, private driveway. No house was visible from the road.

“Look at this place!” Bess gasped as she watched a sprawling wooden house rise from the sloping, grassy yard. It had a gray gabled roof and a deck that wrapped around the second story. “It's a mansion!”

The two cars pulled up in front of the house.

“Just how do we get in?” Sasha asked, slamming his door. “I thought the whole point was that no one's home.”

“That's easy,” Tommy said, pushing back a branch of one of the blue hydrangeas that lined each side of the front walk. He stooped and came up with a key. “Nicholas always kept his key hidden here under the front step.”

They split into two groups to search the house. The guys checked out the downstairs, and Nancy and Bess took the second floor. They started in the master bedroom, Christopher's room.

“Do you think Christopher could have killed Nicholas and skipped town?” Bess asked, kneeling to peer under the queen-size bed.

“Possibly,” Nancy replied. “But if he did, it doesn't look like he took anything with him.” Nancy showed Bess the bathroom, where the sink was covered with toiletries. “He would have left in an awful hurry.”

Bess returned to the bedroom and opened the closet door. “You're right. This closet is stuffed. If he has more clothes than these, I don't know where he would have put them. What are we looking for?”

“I don't know,” Nancy said. She swung the
door to the bedroom open and checked behind it. “Anything unusual.”

The girls walked down the hall to search the next room.

“This must have been Nicholas's bedroom,” Bess commented in a low voice.

“It doesn't look as if anyone has cleaned it since the accident,” Nancy commented.

The girls searched the smaller bedroom quickly, sifting through the clothes draped over the back of an overstuffed chair in one corner and checking the drawers and surfaces.

“Just the usual stuff,” Nancy said when they had finished.

After the girls searched the guest rooms, they headed back downstairs to meet Sasha and Tommy in the entrance hall.

“Nothing,” Tommy reported. “Everything looks normal.”

“And no portrait of the red-haired girl,” Sasha added. “I checked everywhere.”

“It's strange,” Nancy mused as they left the house. “Only two paintings in the whole place. And nothing to indicate a painter lives or works here. No oils, canvases, nothing.”

“They'd be in his studio,” Tommy said. “It's a separate building.”

Nancy snapped her fingers. “Of course. I should have known. Can we go there and investigate now?”

“It's six o'clock,” Bess said. “What about tonight?”

“Oh, that's right.” Nancy glanced at her watch. “We're going out tonight. But this shouldn't take much longer here.”

“Nancy,” Bess protested, “I promised George we'd be back by six. We're late already. Besides, I still have to decide what I'm going to wear tonight.”

“The studio's just over that way,” Tommy said, pointing. “Why don't I take Bess back to your aunt's and you two can check out the studio?”

“Great idea!” Nancy said. “Bess can pick out something for me to wear, too,” she added mischievously.

“Oh, no! I'll never have time to choose
two
outfits!” Bess wailed.

Nancy and Sasha set out across the back lawn in the direction Tommy had pointed. As the ocean came into view, they saw a small, square outbuilding. It was an old, two-story structure facing the water. A short, clipped hedge ran along the far side of it, defining the end of the Scott property. A fragile-looking wooden dock reached out into the bay right below the house. Several powerboats and a sailboat were moored along one side of it, swinging gently in the surge.

“That's got to be the studio,” Nancy said, shading her eyes from the slanting sun bouncing off the water. They veered off toward the building. As they approached, Nancy noticed a light on in one of the rooms.

“Sasha,” she asked, putting her hand on his arm, “do you see what I see?”

Sasha looked at her, then back at the small building. Just as he did, a shadow passed across a window.

“Well, what do you know?” he said under his breath. “Someone's inside!”

D
O YOU THINK
it's Christopher?” Sasha asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Nancy replied. They walked around to the front, to where a door had been cut into the wide opening of the original building. The building must have been a boat house before its conversion to a studio, Nancy decided. The first floor had large plate-glass windows overlooking the water.

Nancy knocked on the door and waited.

When the door finally swung open, a petite girl was standing beside it, her hand on the knob. Her dark brown hair hung in shoulder-length ringlets, and her soft brown eyes looked sad.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” Nancy said. “We're looking for Christopher Scott.”

“He's not here,” the girl replied. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. “No one's here.”

“Do you mind if we come in?” Nancy asked.

The girl released the doorknob and walked into the living room. Nancy glanced at Sasha and they followed, closing the door behind them.

The living room took up almost all of the ground floor. It was shabby, furnished with a rickety rattan couch and a few unmatched armchairs. The flowered cushions on the couch were faded, and the coarse outdoor carpet that covered most of the floor hadn't been cleaned in a while.

“I'm Megan Archer,” the girl said as she sat down and motioned for them to join her. “Are you friends of Christopher's?”

“Actually, no,” Nancy said. She and Sasha introduced themselves. “Cynthia Gray asked us to come by. She's worried about Christopher.”

Megan nodded mechanically, tucking her slender legs under her on the couch. She smoothed her brightly printed skirt over her knees and looked down. After an uncomfortable pause, Nancy asked, “And you?”

“I'm . . . I was Nicholas's girlfriend,” Megan said. She put her hand to her forehead and laughed, a hint of desperation in her voice. “We were together for four months. That's all. It's kind of silly to be so upset after only four months, don't you think?”

“No,” Nancy said quietly, leaning in toward the girl. “I'm sorry for your loss.”

Megan lifted her delicate face and fixed her eyes on Nancy. “You must think it's strange, finding me here. I live right across the hedge, so it's very convenient. I used to spend a lot of time here.”

“So you know Christopher, then,” Sasha stated, sitting on a chair opposite the girl. “Do you know where he is now?”

“No, I'm afraid I don't. In fact, I've never seen him. He's not around much.”

“I understand he's a recluse,” Nancy said, probing delicately.

Megan shrugged. “I don't know. I do know he travels a lot. Nicholas always said Christopher just didn't have any patience with people.”

“Do you mean you never met him once?” Sasha asked. “Not even in his own studio?”

Megan looked at him in surprise. “Well, no. But I'm not here every minute. I work during the day, and I guess Christopher also does most of his work during the day. There are new paintings lying around sometimes.”

“Is there a painting here that he's working on now?” Nancy asked.

“If he is, I haven't seen it. The studio's upstairs,” Megan said, pointing to a spiral staircase near the door. “There's nothing up there now, though.”

Nancy changed the subject. “Tell me about Nicholas,” she suggested.

As Megan spoke, Nancy did her best to hide her surprise. The girl's description was obviously
colored by love—it was the exact opposite of Bob Tercero's. And of Tommy's and Cynthia's, too, she realized. According to Megan, Nicholas spent all his time taking care of his uncle. He was a sensitive, artistic person who adored Megan so much that they spent most of their evenings alone together at the studio, rarely seeing anyone.

When Megan finished, Nancy asked her about the
Vanity
painting.

“Vanity?”
Megan asked. “I can't think of anything by that name.”

But as Nancy described the painting, Megan's face changed.

“Absolutely not,” she declared. “There is no such painting. I'm sure I would have seen it if there was.”

Nancy glanced at Sasha, her eyes warning him to be quiet. Megan was being awfully decisive, she thought. Especially since she had been so vague about everything else. She made a mental note to pursue this later.

“Do you mind if we look around?” Nancy asked mildly, standing up.

“Not at all,” Megan said. She stood up. “I have to leave anyway, so please close the door behind you as you go. Don't worry about locking up—as you can see, there's nothing worth stealing here.”

Megan was right. Other than the few pieces of furniture, the place was eerily empty. There was a kitchenette at the back of the main floor, which looked as if it hadn't been used in years.