The Case of the Lost Song, Page 2

  Nancy.

  Nancy shook her head. “It sounds sort of weird. And

  who's that woman?”

  “Carey Black, I bet,” a gruff voice announced from

  behind the girls. Nancy turned and saw Wes Clarke

  standing there. “And I'd bet more than a pretty penny,

  Dave Leinberger, that this tape is going to prove pretty

  valuable—to someone,” he added, arching his bushy

  eyebrows.

  Dave eyed Wes cautiously. “You're thinking what

  I'm thinking,” he stated, looking over the heads of the

  four girls.

  “And exactly what are you thinking about my tape?”

  George asked. “It's Lou Knight, and it sounds like a

  pretty bad version of that song.”

  “Bad?” Wes snickered. “I wouldn't put it that way.

  It's unproduced, as in a missing jam session, though

  maybe you girls are too young to know about them.”

  Nancy gritted her teeth. The man was so conde-

  scending she wished she could tell him she knew all

  about this mysterious jam session, but she had never

  heard of it.

  Fortunately Dave spoke up. “Apparently Knight had

  jam sessions in his garage back when he was still

  singing with the Mama's Bad Boys band. Lou briefly

  owned an old farm south of here. He had a whole

  recording studio set up in the garage.”

  “This tape sounds like the one he made with Carey

  Black, who split from the band right around then, then

  later resurfaced as a punk rock star,” Wes added. “If

  the tape is genuine, it's worth a fortune.”

  “You're kidding,” George said, paling slightly.

  “I'm pretty sure it's the real thing. You'll have to

  check with a music expert, with better equipment than

  this recorder,” Dave told them. “But if the tape is for

  real, someone—either a rock music collector or maybe

  even one of the record companies or the artists—would

  get into the bidding for it. There might be copyright

  problems, but you could claim some stake in it since

  you found it.”

  “And how much do you think it's worth?” George

  asked weakly.

  “Thousands of dollars!” Wes declared, eyeing the

  tape greedily.

  2. Oldies but Goodies

  “Thousands of dollars?” Bess shrieked.

  “Not so loud,” Lisa cautioned.

  Nancy frowned. “Do you have a security problem?”

  “I didn't say that!” Lisa corrected sharply.

  “The crowd looks nice,” Wes said, “but you never

  know who's casing the joint.”

  “Oh, Wes, it's not that bad.” Dave laughed and

  turned off the tape. “You make Old Can Be Gold

  sound like a thieves' paradise.”

  Wes shrugged. “Yeah, well, better safe than sorry

  when you've got something that could be stolen easily.”

  He eyeballed the tape longingly, then lifted his

  shoulders and dropped them. “Well, let me know if it

  comes on the market.” He pulled a card out of his

  wallet and handed it to George. “Meanwhile I've got to

  get back to my table. My relief guy will be champing at

  the bit for his dinner.”

  As Nancy watched Wes Clarke amble off, someone

  else caught her eye and she asked, “Why is that guy

  over there photographing the recorder?”

  A tall twenty-something guy was stationed across the

  aisle, peering directly at Dave's table through the

  viewfinder of a 35mm camera. He was dressed in a

  black turtleneck sweater and black jeans, and would

  have been a standout in any crowd. At the sight of him,

  Lisa's frown relaxed into a big smile. “Oh, it's just

  Jason,” she told Nancy as she motioned the guy over.

  Jason lowered his camera and returned her grin,

  revealing a pair of adorable dimples. He tossed his

  straight, longish dark blond hair off his forehead. “Who

  are your friends?” he asked as he sauntered up. His

  eyes were a surprisingly dark chocolate brown. As they

  rested on Nancy, her heart did a little flip-flop. If

  Nancy didn't already have a boyfriend, she'd definitely

  be interested.

  “This is Jason Woodard, and these are people from

  home.” Lisa introduced him to each girl. “They're in

  town for the show and crashing at my place for the

  weekend.”

  “Then let me get a better shot of all of you, as a

  souvenir.”

  Bess interrupted. “We'd love it. Will you send us a

  copy?”

  “Just leave me your address.” Jason lifted his

  camera, and the flash went off.

  “So what's the big fuss over here, anyway?” Jason

  asked, glancing at the tape recorder. “That doesn't look

  like much.”

  “Ah, but listen to the tape,” Dave said, rewinding

  the tape and turning the Play knob. “Sound familiar?”

  he asked.

  As the tune played, Jason listened, then shrugged.

  “It's okay, I guess, but I've never heard it before. You

  think it's worth something?”

  “Could be,” Dave said. “Though we need a pop

  music expert and maybe a soundman to really evaluate

  it. Meanwhile, George, keep it dry and safe, and don't

  play it too much. And maybe you should insure it.”

  “Wouldn't it already be covered under the Faynes'

  house insurance policy?” Nancy asked as Dave

  carefully packed the tape back in its original box and

  put it into the drawer of the carrying case.

  Handing the tape recorder back to George, Dave

  shook his head. “Probably not. Without an appraisal

  value, the tape would be worth only the replacement

  value of a reel of blank tape—not very much. You

  should call your insurance agent—right away, actually.”

  George made a face. “I guess I can try to reach my

  parents, but they were going away for the weekend. I

  don't know anything about their insurance.”

  Jason cleared his throat. “Don't mean to interrupt,

  but I've got work to do. I'm off.”

  “Right,” Lisa said, tapping his camera. “Are you

  going to Low Downs later?”

  “What's Low Downs?” Nancy asked.

  “A cool blues club. That's where the party I told you

  about is happening.”

  “Will you be at the party?” Bess asked Jason.

  “Wouldn't miss it—especially if you girls are coming.

  Do you like to dance?” He directed his smile at Bess.

  “More than anything,” she flirted right back.

  “So, see you then,” he said, then headed over to an

  antique furniture appraiser who had a crowd around

  his table.

  “Where have you been keeping him?” Bess asked,

  her eyes still glued to Jason's back. “I can't believe you

  work with a hunk like that.”

  “I don't. Not exactly. Jason's a freelance photog-

  rapher,” Lisa pointed out. “He specializes in art and

  antique collections and show catalogs. He's got an

  impressive clientele and does pretty well. You should

  see his loft. He owns it, and he's only twenty-two or

 
; so.”

  “So what exactly does he do for Old Can Be Gold?”

  Nancy asked.

  “He works for our publicity department. Last month

  he was in Denver, and before that, Seattle. He

  photographs the shows for our publications. He's also

  available when either an appraiser or one of our clients

  wants a piece photographed.”

  “Sounds like interesting work,” George commented.

  Lisa checked her watch. “Yeah, it is. He loves it. But

  speaking of work, I've got to get going. I need to be

  available to troubleshoot any problems. We have

  another hour or so before we close, so I can meet you

  at the coat check and then we can head back to my

  place.”

  The girls agreed. George got a written appraisal

  sheet from Dave, and then they set out to find the

  refreshment area. As soon as they settled down at a

  table with mugs of hot cider and a plate of chocolate-

  chip cookies, George asked to borrow Nancy's cell

  phone. “I'll call my parents now. Maybe they decided

  to stay home for the weekend after all.”

  George punched in her number but got the an-

  swering machine. She left a message about the tape

  and also gave her parents Lisa's phone number in case

  they needed to reach her. “So I guess I can't insure the

  tape recorder now.”

  “No big deal,” Bess pointed out. “It'll be perfectly

  safe in Lisa's apartment. If it's a Lake Shore Drive

  condo, I bet it's got great security.”

  “And we can deal with insurance on Monday back in

  River Heights,” Nancy added. “Meanwhile we'll hunt

  down one of those music experts tomorrow, so we can

  get a more accurate appraisal.”

  “Now, this is really high tech!” George exclaimed a

  couple of hours later as the girls stood in the hallway on

  the twentieth floor of Lisa's apartment building. Lisa

  punched in a code on the keypad on one side of the

  front door. “You don't even need a key to get in!”

  “Supposedly it makes the place more secure, along

  with the twenty-four-hour concierge,” Lisa said,

  throwing open the door and flicking on the light switch

  in the foyer.

  “Lisa Perrone!” Bess gasped. “This place is to die

  for.” She plunked down her bag and clasped her hands

  together.

  Nancy had to agree with Bess. The foyer alone was

  as big as Nancy's bedroom back home. The entrance

  hall opened into a spacious sunken living room. Most

  of the far wall was taken up with glass doors, which

  opened onto a terrace.

  “Aunt Betty has a house rule. No shoes inside the

  house. We change here,” Lisa said, pointing to a low

  bench conveniently located near the door.

  As Nancy slipped out of her damp sneakers, she

  asked, “Does the terrace overlook Lake Michigan?”

  “Yes,” Lisa answered. “Later, if it clears, we can

  check out the view. It's beautiful even at night.”

  Nancy padded into the living room. In spite of its

  grand scale, the place felt homey and surprisingly cozy.

  The lighting was mellow, the furniture a wonderful

  hodgepodge of intriguing Asian chests and side tables,

  comfortable overstuffed easy chairs, and floor-to-

  ceiling bookshelves.

  “This is really cool!” George exclaimed from across

  the living room. Nancy joined her in front of a large

  glass-front case. Inside the case were all sorts of

  mysterious objects. “Isn't that gizmo some kind of blow

  dart?” George asked Nancy, putting the tape recorder

  down beside the curio cabinet.

  Nancy nodded. “I've seen pictures of blow darts that

  look like that.” In addition, the cabinet housed an

  extraordinary collection of knives, carved wooden

  statues, masks, and small totems. “Where are these

  things from?” she asked Lisa.

  “The dart blowers and knives come from the

  Amazon, while most of the other pieces are from the

  South Pacific.”

  Bess peered over Nancy's shoulder and gave a

  shudder. “Ugh. This stuff gives me the creeps.”

  George laughed. “It's probably supposed to.

  Particularly the masks. Bet they have something to do

  with evil spirits.”

  Nancy studied the masks. True, they were a little

  spooky, but she found them haunting.

  The girls picked up their overnight bags and fol-

  lowed Lisa to the back hall, where she showed them to

  the bedrooms. “Both my room and the guest room

  each have twin beds.” She opened the door to the

  guest room and showed George and Nancy in. “You

  guys can share this room, and Bess can sleep in my

  room, if that's okay with you. I sort of don't like using

  the master bedroom. Each room has its own bath. Feel

  free to shower. If you need anything, let me know.”

  “How dressy is this party?” Bess asked. “We didn't

  come planning to go to anything too formal.”

  Lisa shrugged. “It's casual, but if you want to borrow

  any clothes, I have a closetful, believe me.”

  Nancy changed quickly into slim black pants, a blue

  shell, and black jacket. While George pulled on a short

  black skirt and a deep crimson shirt, Nancy phoned her

  father, Carson Drew, who was a lawyer. She told him

  all about George's find and asked him about the legal

  issues surrounding the tape. He told her that any

  surviving members of the original band might still have

  a claim to it, and that since Lou Knight had died in an

  accident after Mamas Bad Boys broke up, his estate

  might also have some legal rights to the song, which he

  wrote. After promising to look into the matter, Mr.

  Drew told her that Ned Nickerson, Nancy's boyfriend,

  had called and said she should phone him.

  After hanging up on her dad, Nancy dialed Ned at

  his frat house in Emerson College.

  “Hey there, Nan!” Ned's cheerful voice greeted her.

  “I'm really glad you checked in with your dad. I hope

  we can hook up this weekend.”

  “But how?”

  “I'm driving up to Chicago tomorrow. One of my

  buddies at Northwestern University is moving and

  needs a hand.”

  Nancy grinned. “Ned, that's great.” She then filled

  him in on what had happened so far.

  “I've got another friend in Chicago who's a blues

  freak. Maybe he can check out the tape to see if it's for

  real.”

  “Maybe, Ned, but don't mention it to him yet,”

  Nancy said. “I'm not sure it's smart to have too many

  people know about it—at least until it's insured and

  tucked away in a safe place.”

  “You've got a point,” Ned agreed. “But if you change

  your mind, I can always hook up with him tomorrow

  night.” Then they arranged to meet at Old Can Be

  Gold late the next afternoon.

  A few minutes later the girls left the apartment.

  “Oops!” Nancy gasped as she began to button her coat

  in the hall. “I
forgot my scarf.” Lisa opened the door,

  and Nancy flipped on the lights, raced back to her

  bedroom, grabbed her scarf, then hurried to the front

  door, turning off the lights as she went.

  Low Downs, one of Chicago's premier blues clubs,

  had been closed to the public for the evening so Old

  Can Be Gold could host a private party for its most

  important dealers, appraisers, and collectors. At the

  buffet Nancy and Bess nibbled on a slice of Chicago

  deep-dish pizza and took in the room. Nancy saw that

  Lisa was right—this crowd was on the young side.

  The atmosphere was lively, and a DJ cranked out

  music while a live band set up on a small elevated

  stage.

  Lisa joined Nancy and Bess. “I hope you're okay,”

  she said, smoothing her sleeveless cashmere sweater

  over her short black skirt. “The dancing should be

  good, and then the live music later will be really out of

  sight. I'm going to have to mix and be nice to the VIPs

  here.” Lisa wrinkled her nose. “That's the hard part of

  this job.” She nodded toward a slim forty-something

  man with thinning blond hair, small wire-rimmed

  glasses, and a well-trimmed mustache. “That's Eddie

  Landowski. He's my boss.”

  “Is he the Old Can Be Gold manager?” Bess asked.

  Lisa laughed. “More like Old Can Be Gold is his

  brainchild.”

  Nancy studied Eddie Landowski. His eyes darted

  here and there nervously. Why did he seem so uptight

  at a party? Before she could ask, Lisa was off.

  “Look, there he is!” Bess gripped Nancy's arm and

  made her turn around. “At the bar!”

  Nancy obediently followed the direction of Bess's

  gaze. Sure enough, Jason Woodard was pouring

  himself a glass of wine. He was wearing the same black

  turtleneck and black pants he had worn that afternoon.

  Tonight, however, he didn't have his camera. Nancy

  wondered why. A party seemed a perfect place to shoot

  publicity photos.

  “Let's go over and talk to him.”

  “I doubt he'll remember us,” Nancy warned.

  “I'm not the sort of person who's easy to forget,”

  Bess said blithely.

  “That's true!” Nancy conceded—especially the way

  Bess looked in the black pleather pants and a pale gold

  metallic top that she'd borrowed from Lisa.

  Nancy followed Bess through the crowd as the DJ

  began a set of Latin dance music.

  As dancers took to the floor, Nancy's view of Jason