Portrait in Crime (4 page)

Nancy and Sasha went upstairs to look at the
studio. The room was almost bare. A large easel stood in one corner, surrounded by a ring of paint splatters.

Leaning against one wall were several blank canvases of different sizes. Other than that, there was nothing to indicate that this was the studio of a working artist, Nancy realized. And no sign of the
Vanity
painting.

“Well,” Sasha said, when they completed their search, “this wasn't very helpful.”

“When you're a detective, you need to see the things that aren't there as well as the ones that are,” Nancy replied, as they left the house. “Sometimes the clue is that there's nothing unusual to be found.”

“Are you saying that you did find a clue?” Sasha asked in delight.

“No.” Nancy shook her head. “Not this time. But did you notice how different Megan's description of Nicholas was from Bob Tercero's?”

“That's nothing,” Sasha said, crinkling his nose dismissively. “That's just love talking.” Then he gave Nancy a sideways glance. “Love makes you do the strangest things,” he added softly.

Nancy ignored that. She had enough to think about right then!

She and Sasha headed back to town. She dropped him off at his house and wearily made her way back to Eloise Drew's house. It was a large, contemporary beach house set back a short distance from the beach. Nancy walked through
the front door and sifted through the pile of mail on the table in the entrance hall.

“Anybody home?” she called. She looked around the airy living room, which took up most of the main floor.

Getting no response, Nancy climbed the stairs to the room that she was sharing with Bess and George. Music was booming out of their half-open door. No wonder no one had heard her!

“Hey, Nancy!” Bess called gaily, throwing a red blouse onto a pile of clothes on her bed. “We thought you'd never get here.”

“But don't worry,” George Fayne said laconically from a chair in the corner, “you haven't missed anything. She
still
hasn't found the perfect thing to wear.”

The big room was a mess. The girls rotated between the two twin beds and a futon on the floor. With all the furniture, it was hard to keep it neat in the first place, but when Bess was getting ready to go out it always looked as if a storm had just torn through it.

Nancy saw several of her own blouses and dresses among the pile of things Bess had rejected. Shaking her head in amusement, she set her purse down among the clothes strewn on one bed and greeted George.

George and Bess were total opposites. George was tall and athletic, and wore her dark hair stylishly short. She was cool in a crisis and always had practical advice. George teased Bess constantly about her passion for clothes and her
endless string of crushes, but despite their differences the two cousins were fiercely loyal and devoted to each other.

“Where's Aunt Eloise?” Nancy asked.

“Out with Dana Harding, I think,” George answered, referring to the director of the dance institute. Nancy's aunt had become friendly with several of the women in the area. “The way Eloise fits into this town, you'd think she grew up here.”

“You'd better start getting ready, Nancy,” Bess advised, examining what looked like her twentieth outfit in a full-length mirror. “I was just telling George about my day. Tommy told me all about the gallery on the way home. Do you know how much a painting goes for these days?” She didn't wait for an answer. “There's not a single painting in his mom's gallery under twenty thousand dollars! And the gallery is just Cynthia's hobby!”

“They sound rich,” George commented. “Just what you always wanted—a rich boyfriend.”

“I guess they are pretty well-off. Tell Nancy about your day.”

“Yeah. What were you and Gary up to?” Nancy asked.

George shrugged. “He worked this morning. Then he took me flying. What about you, Nan?” she asked as Nancy selected a deep green dress from Bess's discard pile. “How's Sasha?”

Nancy blushed. “Okay, I guess.”

“Okay!” Bess snorted. “You should see the two of them. Sparks positively fly when they're together. What a hunk!”

“Bess,” Nancy said, feeling slightly irritated. “He's just a friend.”

“Well, every girl in the Hamptons is jealous of the way your ‘friend' follows you around,” Bess countered. “The minute we go anywhere, girls swarm all over him.”

“I'm going to take a shower,” Nancy announced. “If you two boy-crazy girls want to talk about me, do it while I'm gone.”

But the truth was Nancy couldn't get Sasha off her mind. She knew she couldn't put him off much longer—the things he had said that day were proof that he was getting tired of being “just friends.”

But what did
she
want? Sasha was fun and exciting, and—well,
different
from any other guy she'd ever met. She could definitely be interested in him—except for Ned.

Oh, Ned. Nancy sighed, toweling herself off. She did still love him, but Sasha was certainly putting that love to the test. The dancer was like a whirlwind, so intense and charming, and so interested in her.

Nancy slipped the dress on and rubbed a dry circle on the steamy mirror to see herself. Made of thin, silky cotton and cut straight, the dress showed off her slender figure to perfection. Sasha would just love it, she thought, and then stopped
short as she realized where her mind had wandered. “Oh, no!” she groaned. She had to make a decision soon.

• • •

“This place is great!” Bess exclaimed as the three girls and their escorts stepped into the Lobster Tank, one of the most popular clubs in town, it was a large, dimly lit room, pulsing with rock music. George began tapping her foot.

“Care to dance?” Gary asked George.

Nancy watched as George and Gary stepped onto the dance floor. Gary's lean body shifted back and forth gracefully to the beat, and he smiled down at George as he took her hand. George gazed back at him and grinned. They were perfect for each other, Nancy decided, sitting at a table with Sasha.

The song ended, and a slower one with a strong Latin beat came on. Nancy found herself being pulled out of her chair by Sasha.

“Last time we went dancing, I left you alone,” he said in her ear as he guided her out onto the floor. “This time we must dance.”

Nancy closed her eyes, swaying her slim hips gently to the beat. When she opened them again, Sasha's intense blue gaze was fixed on her face, the glittering light playing over his golden brown hair. Her heart pounded. He was so handsome!

Sasha twirled Nancy around and pulled her close. They came face-to-face, and for a breathless moment she thought he was going to kiss her. The moment passed, and Nancy fought down the
feeling of disappointment that swept through her.

“You have been promising to come by and take a dance lesson with me for ages now,” Sasha shouted over the music. “What about tomorrow?”

Nancy hesitated.

“Being with me is not so bad, is it?” he asked, pretending to be hurt.

Nancy's determination faded, and she laughed. A dance lesson wasn't a date, after all. And how could she resist? “Of course not,” she said, touching his cheek. “Tomorrow's fine.”

Maybe she didn't have to make a big decision right now, she thought. He wasn't pushing her, and she was having a great time. They were just friends still, after all. Maybe she should just wait and see what happened.

After a couple of hours at the club, Nancy and her friends decided to head home. Laughing, they burst into the parking lot, Nancy and Sasha first. Bess realized she'd left her brush in the powder room and dashed back in, pulling George along for company.

“We'll wait out here,” Nancy said, declining the invitation to join them.

“So will we,” Gary said as he and Tommy stopped just outside the main door.

It had been hot in the club. Nancy and Sasha moved over to her car and leaned back against it. The cool night breeze blew Nancy's damp hair away from her face. She shivered.

“Cold?” Sasha asked, slipping his arm around her.

“No,” Nancy murmured, pulling away reluctantly. “The breeze feels nice.”

“Nan!” Bess called as the cousins appeared in the doorway of the club. She broke away from George and the guys and jogged up to the two of them. “I saw that arm,” she whispered playfully in Nancy's ear. “Just friends?”

“Bess, really—” Nancy began.

Bess held up her hands in mock surrender. “That's not why I interrupted. Here.” She handed Nancy an envelope. “It's for you.”

Nancy took it in her hand. It was a plain white envelope with her name typed neatly in the center. “What's this?” she asked, turning it over.

“Beats me,” Bess shrugged. “Danny, the bouncer, said someone left it on the counter of the coatroom.”

Sasha looked at Nancy, surprised. “Who knew you were here?”

“No one I can think of, besides my aunt Eloise,” Nancy said. “My car was parked right here, and Tommy's jeep is easy enough to recognize.”

Nancy slit the envelope open before Sasha could protest. “Don't worry,” she said, pulling a sheet of paper out. “It's not a bomb.”

Nancy unfolded the paper. It wasn't a bomb, but the three words typed there took her breath away. The note read: Scott was murdered!

N
ICHOLAS
S
COTT MURDERED
? Nancy's mind raced. What did this mean? And who could have left her the message? Bob Tercero had mentioned murder. Could he have been afraid to say something more? Or had someone else she didn't even know left it?

While the others-waited in the parking lot, Nancy and Sasha went back into the Lobster Tank to question the bouncer, Danny, who had given Bess the note.

Danny scratched his head. “I don't know why anyone would leave a note at the coat check. It's never open in summer, so there's no one on duty there. If I hadn't seen the envelope and recognized
your name, chances are we never would have known it was there. Someone would have found it at the end of the night and thrown it away, probably.”

Telling Nancy and Sasha to wait, Danny checked with a few other members of the staff, but no one had seen the person who left the note.

“Well, that was useless,” Nancy grumbled as she and Sasha headed back outside. They told the others what they had—or rather, hadn't—learned. No one was able to come up with any suggestions for how to find the note writer. Finally they all headed for home.

• • •

The next morning Nancy woke up early. After a quick breakfast she jumped into her car and drove out to Megan Archer's place, hoping to catch the girl before she left for work. This was the second time someone had suggested Nicholas Scott was murdered, and Nancy was determined to find out why.

Remembering that Megan had said she lived on the other side of the hedge from the Scotts, Nancy found her house easily. It was a small cottage at the end of a rough gravel road—judging from the fancy neighborhood, it was probably someone's guest house.

Megan seemed pleased to see Nancy and invited her into the living room.

“I was just having coffee before I go to work,” she said, leading Nancy to a round breakfast
table in front of a picture window. The window gave Nancy a beautiful view of the bay. “Please have some. It's nice to have someone to talk to.”

Nancy poured herself a cup of coffee, put cream in, and stirred the mixture. “Do you have time to talk to me?” she asked. Megan nodded. “I need your help,” Nancy said simply.

Megan looked at her with a steady, level gaze, inviting her to continue.

“I heard that Nicholas was murdered,” Nancy continued.

“Murdered?” Megan asked, horrified. She stood up and stared out the window, hugging herself with her arms. Nancy could see tears forming in her dark eyes. “I don't know where you heard
that
, but it's ridiculous.”

“You're sure?” Nancy pressed. “Someone is trying very hard to make me think it was no accident.”

“Of course I'm sure,” Megan said, impatiently running her hands through her glossy curls. “I was with him right before—before it happened.

“It was late at night,” she continued, staring out at the bay. “The weather was terrible. The wind and the surge alone would probably have been enough to tip the boat. I'm sure Nicholas wasn't paying attention to what he was doing, and the boat went off course and hit the rocks.”

Nancy prodded her. “Why go out at night?”

“He did it all the time. Night fishing is very popular. They catch a lot of striped bass after
dark and in the early hours of the morning. Nicholas had also been very moody, and going out in the boat seemed to calm him down.”

Megan swung around, her square chin tilted defiantly. “There's another thing. We had a fight. It was silly, but he blew up at me and slammed out the door. If we hadn't fought, he would never have gotten into the boat.” Megan sat down again and rested her head in her hands.