The Case of the Artful Crime (2 page)

“That's terrible,” Nancy said.

Shawn shook his head wearily. “Yesterday it was the exhaust system in the kitchen. Grease and cooking smoke were backing up into the dining room. The repair guy found cloth napkins jammed into the fan. The day before that, someone messed around with the plumbing in the bathrooms. All of the toilets were backed up. If this keeps up, I'm out of business.”

“Do you suspect anyone?” Nancy asked.

“Not really,” Shawn answered with a sigh.

“Who, besides you, has keys?” Nancy questioned.

“No one,” Shawn replied. “Though about a week ago, I couldn't find them for a few hours. Finally, I spotted them on the floor in the hallway. I figured I'd dropped them.”

“But someone could have made copies in that time,” Carson suggested.

“It's possible, I suppose,” Shawn said. He pushed back on his chair and folded his arms. “I've sunk every penny I have into this place. The remodeling alone has put me in debt over my head. If I can't make a go of it, I'm in big trouble. Nancy,
Bess says you're the best. Do you think you can help me?”

Nancy twirled the stem of her water glass between her fingers as she thought. This didn't seem like a difficult case. She was fairly certain that someone on Shawn's staff was responsible. It had to be someone who could move around freely without seeming out of place. With a little luck, she would pinpoint the culprit and still have time to head off for a visit with Ned. Besides, Shawn seemed like a nice guy. She hated to see his business ruined.

“I'll give it a shot,” Nancy said. “And I have an idea. Why don't we pretend that you're hiring me as a new waitress? That way, I can snoop around the restaurant without anyone suspecting.”

“That's great,” Shawn said, standing. “Could you start tonight?”

“No problem,” Nancy agreed. “What time?”

“Five o'clock would be best. Wear black pants and comfortable shoes. I'll supply the rest of your outfit. Nancy, I can't thank you enough,” Shawn said, looking relieved.

“I'll do my best,” Nancy promised.

Shawn glanced across the room at the man Bess had insisted was Harold Brackett. A tall, willowy waitress with long red curls was just leaving the man's table.

“Looks like Loreen got his order,” Shawn said. “I'd better get back into the kitchen and make sure his food is perfect.” Shawn excused himself just as Nancy and her father's meals arrived.

“Wow! This salmon is great,” Nancy said, sampling her lunch. “How is your burrito?”

“Delicious,” Carson replied. “I'm glad we can spend this time together now, since I won't be seeing much of you for a while.”

“Sure you will,” Nancy said, smiling. “This case won't take long.”

“The last time you said that, you were on the case for weeks,” he reminded her.

Nancy laughed. “I remember. But that case looked a lot simpler than it was. This one is pretty straightforward.”

“Famous last words,” Carson said with a chuckle. For the next twenty minutes, Nancy and her father ate their lunch and chatted happily. With both of them so involved in their work, they often dashed past one another in the hallway of their home, exchanging just a quick hug and brief words. Nancy was glad they had this time to talk.

Glancing across the restaurant, Nancy noticed that the man with the yellow tie was about to taste his lunch. “Dad, do you think that guy really is Harold—” Nancy cut herself off the minute she saw the expression on the man's face. Something was wrong—very wrong. His eyes watered, and a crimson flush swept up over his cheeks.

Clutching his throat with one hand, the man grabbed the edge of the table with the other and pulled himself to his feet. His eyes streamed with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to utter a sound.

Nancy and her father leaped up from their seats. “Dad, I think he's choking!” Nancy cried.

In seconds the two of them were across the room. A low murmur spread through the restaurant as all eyes turned toward the gasping, red-faced man.

A petite woman who had been dining at a nearby table rushed to the man's side. “I'm Dr. Hordell,” she told him. “Where is the pain?”

The man collapsed into a chair, his forehead drenched with sweat. A waiter rushed over with a glass of water, which the man gulped. When he was done, he pointed at the fish on his plate.

“That!” he gasped. “The fish!”

Picking up the man's plate, Nancy examined the heavily herbed fillet served on a bed of yellow rice. Gingerly, she sniffed it. Almost instantly, her sinuses tingled and she jerked her head away.

“See what I mean?” said the man, starting to regain his voice and composure.

“May I have that, please?” Shawn requested, coming up beside Nancy.

“There's some very powerful spice in that fish,” Nancy warned, handing him the plate.

As Shawn sniffed, a frown creased his brow. He took a clean fork and flipped the fish over. “How on earth?” he muttered. Under the fillet was a layer of bright green paste.

“I don't even keep this stuff in my kitchen,” he said. “It's
wasabi.
It's used exclusively in Japanese cooking, and I don't offer any Japanese dishes at the Arizona House. Someone must have snuck the
wasabi
in and added it after I prepared the fish.”

“But it
is
edible,” Nancy said.

“Yes, but it's so hot that most people eat just the tiniest dab at a time. This poor gentleman got a mouthful when he ate his fish.”

“I'm sure it was extremely unpleasant,” Dr. Hordell said. She turned to the man. “Keep sipping water. Eventually the burning will pass.”

“Unpleasant! It was much more than unpleasant!” the red-faced man boomed, mopping his brow with a linen napkin. His enunciation reminded Nancy of an actor's perfect speech.

“Wasabi
is powerful stuff,” Shawn agreed. “I can't tell you how sorry I am, sir.”

Just then, Bess rushed over. “What happened? Oh, Mr. Brackett, are you okay?”

The man's eyes darted back and forth. “What did you call me?”

Bess blushed. “Sorry. I know you want to keep your true identity a secret. But I know you're Harold Brackett. The food here is really the greatest. It's just that lately everything is going wrong. We think someone is deliberately trying to mess things up for the restaurant. You can't believe what this person is doing—wrecking the plumbing, tearing the reservation book. I'll bet that same person did this to your food and—”

“Bess,” Nancy warned. She didn't think Shawn wanted this bad news made public.

“Oh, um . . . ” Bess stammered. “I just wanted Mr. Brackett to understand why—” Suddenly a glimmer of doubt flashed in her eyes. “You
are
Harold Brackett, aren't you?”

The man shrugged. “I suppose, since you found me out, there's no sense denying it.”

Bess looked at Nancy triumphantly.

Carson cleared his throat. “If no one needs me, I'll return to my lunch,” he excused himself.

“So will I,” said the doctor. “Just keep drinking cold fluids and you should be fine,” she added as she returned to her table.

“Mr. Brackett, I am deeply sorry about this,” Shawn apologized once again. “You can't imagine how sorry. Please give us a second chance—on the house. I promise you this terrible prank won't be repeated. I'll serve your meal personally.”

The crimson flush was fading from Brackett's olive complexion. “I suppose I might,” he agreed, taking a sip of water. “Let's just say I like to give new businesses the benefit of the doubt. This is a charming place you have here. Who did your decor?”

“I did,” Shawn told him proudly. “With help from Loreen, our head waitress. She's the one who served you.”

Brackett grimaced. “Yes. I believe that was the name tag worn by the woman who delivered the fish of death.”

Nancy noticed the red-headed waitress serving another table. For a moment Loreen looked back toward Harold Brackett's table curiously, then returned quickly to her work.

Loreen, thought Nancy, registering her first possible suspect. Could Loreen be the one sabotaging the restaurant? She had handled the fish after Shawn had prepared it. But what could be her motive?

Looking at her watch, Nancy realized that her father's lunch hour was nearly over. She excused herself and rejoined him at the table. “Sorry, Dad,” she said as she took her seat. “I thought this would be a nice quiet lunch.”

“I don't know, Nancy,” her father said good-naturedly. “You're like a magnet for excitement. If you don't find it, then it finds you.”

“At least you can't say my life is boring,” Nancy answered with a laugh.

“No, I would never say that,” Carson agreed wryly. “Shawn seems to be a nice enough guy,” he went on. “I hope he can make a go of this place. The last owner couldn't seem to make it work.”

“What last owner?” Nancy asked. “Have you been here before?”

Her father nodded. “Many years ago. At that time, it was a popular French restaurant called Chez Jacques. The food and service declined for some reason, unfortunately. Then Le St. Tropez opened, and everyone began eating there instead.” He glanced around the dining room. “I didn't realize that this building was still here. I wonder when it changed hands.”

“That's something I should find out from Shawn,” Nancy said, taking a quick peek under her fish for any signs of
wasabi.

After dropping her father back at his office, Nancy spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about the case. Whoever the culprit was, he or she was fairly bold. Spreading the hot
wasabi
on that fish had to have been done quickly and in a moment when no one was looking.

At the moment, Loreen was the most likely suspect. She'd had the opportunity. But did she have a motive? Nancy decided to find out more about Loreen that evening.

By five o'clock Nancy was driving back to the Arizona House in her blue Mustang. She wore a pair of tapered black pants, as Shawn had requested, and a deep blue T-shirt.

The Arizona House was on the outskirts of River Heights in an extremely wealthy area. In this part of town, mansions were set far back from the winding country roads. The restaurant itself was at the end of a narrow, wooded road.

Once again Nancy pulled into the lot and went in the front door. This time the restaurant had an entirely different atmosphere. It was cool and quiet. The only sound was the clinking of glass and silverware as the tables were set for dinner in the empty dining room.

“Nancy!” Shawn greeted her, stepping out from the lounge. “I was just getting these things from the storeroom for you.” He handed her three cellophane bags. In them were the fringed denim shirt, the bandanna, and the apron worn by the Arizona House waiters. “You can put these on in the ladies room downstairs,” he said, directing Nancy to a set of narrow steps to the right of the coat-room.

She had just finished dressing when Loreen walked into the large, well-lit room. Surprise filled the redhead's face. Her expression quickly changed to a look of unmistakable irritation. “Who hired
you?”
she asked.

“Shawn did. This afternoon,” Nancy replied.

“Why wasn't I informed?” The waitress frowned.

“I really don't know,” Nancy said as sweetly as she could manage.

Loreen's green eyes narrowed as she gave Nancy the once-over. “Weren't you here at lunch today?” she asked.

“Yes,” Nancy said, nodding. “I mentioned that I was looking for a job, and Shawn hired me on the spot. Wasn't that nice of him?”

“Real nice,” Loreen replied sarcastically. “That Shawn is one super-duper guy. I think I'll go talk to Mr. Wonderful about you right now,” she added as she slammed the door.

Nancy was about to follow her when she bumped into Bess. “What did you say to her?” Bess asked. “She was breathing fire.”

“She's not too happy I was hired,” Nancy replied.

“I guess not. She usually hires and fires the waiting staff,” Bess said with a shrug. “Loreen's sort of the manager around here.”

“I'd better go upstairs and see what's happening,” Nancy said, slipping through the door. At the top of the stairs, Nancy looked around for Loreen, but the head waitress was gone.

“Okay, Nancy,” Shawn said, looking up from the reservation book. “Ready for the grand tour?”

“Did you talk to Loreen?” Nancy asked.

“Don't worry about her,” Shawn said. “Sometimes she forgets who's the boss around here. I told her that I'd decided to train an extra waitress in case we need help serving the upcoming summer crowd. Everybody on the staff wants some time off over the next few months.”

“Did that explanation cool her down?” Nancy asked.

“She went off in a huff,” Shawn said, “but she'll get over it.”

“Why didn't you tell her the truth?” Nancy asked.

An uncomfortable look came over Shawn's face. “The fewer people who know why you're here, the better,” he said.

Nancy had to agree with that. “Do you think Loreen could be the one causing the trouble?” she pressed.

“I don't want to think so,” Shawn said. “But I suppose anything is possible.”

“Does she have a reason to wish you harm?”

“No,” Shawn said decisively. “Absolutely not.”

Nancy followed Shawn through the restaurant as he introduced her to the waiting staff and the busboys and girls. In the lounge, they ran into Roy, the bartender. Nancy smiled as she was introduced to the older man with the pleasant expression, receding hairline, and pot belly.

Now that the restaurant was calmer, Nancy had time to look it over carefully. As she trailed Shawn across the dining room, her attention again was drawn to the oil paintings on the wall. “How did you select these paintings?” she asked Shawn, still thinking that the artwork seemed strangely out of place.