open doorway to Lisa's closet. Her face was pale, but
otherwise she looked okay. Nancy's heart stopped
racing. “What happened?” she asked, touching Bess's
arm.
“You look like you've seen a ghost!” George ex-
claimed.
“Look,” Bess said in a tragic voice. She turned and
pointed into the spacious closet. Nancy walked in. It
boasted a custom-made system of drawers, shelves for
sweaters, cubbyholes for shoes, and separate hanging
areas for short and long clothes. An acoustic guitar case
was propped against the back wall. The top drawer of a
built-in unit was open. Planted squarely in the middle
of a stack of scarves was a reel of tape.
“The tape!” Nancy gasped, not wanting to believe
her eyes.
George pushed past Bess. “Lisa had it all along!”
“Oh, how could she?” Bess wailed.
“Where's the box?” Nancy asked, picking up the
tape and rummaging through the scarves.
“And the tape recorder?” Ned added, taking the
tape from Nancy and looking it over.
“She obviously ditched it,” George grumbled as Ned
brought the tape out of the closet.
“Are you sure this is the right tape?” Ned's skeptical
tone made Nancy look up. “I'm no expert, but this tape
doesn't look thirty years old to me.”
Nancy took it back and examined it again. “I can't
swear it's the same tape, Ned, but it sure looks like the
one Dave Leinberger played yesterday.”
“I'll check the closet for the recorder,” George
volunteered, and plunged back in. “It's not here,” she
said a minute later.
“But where is it, George?” Nancy wondered. “If Lisa
is the culprit, then there was no break-in. But when
would she have stolen the tape and gotten rid of the
recorder?”
“Beats me,” George said. “Maybe she got rid of the
box and recorder while Bess was in the shower.”
“Got rid of them where?” Bess asked.
“I bet there's a room for trash disposal on this floor,”
Ned said. “Maybe the recorder is still there.”
Ned went to check, then came back empty-handed.
“It's not there. So next step is to scare up a recorder so
we can play the tape to see if it's really George's.”
“I'm sure it is,” Bess said. “I mean, why would Lisa
have a tape she couldn't even play?”
“More like, why would she hide it?” George said,
irritated.
“So where do we find a machine?” Nancy wondered.
“That's easy,” George said. “I'm supposed to bring
the tape to the party tonight to have Ethan's buddy
check it out.”
“Maybe we should leave Ethan out of this,” Ned
suggested. “But I've got a friend who might help us
out.”
“Who?” Nancy wondered.
“One of my frat brothers' dads owns a blues club
here in Chicago. He can probably scare up the right
equipment on pretty short notice.”
“That would work,” George said. “We can go now.”
“No,” Nancy contradicted. “Not now. Ned, call him,
and tell him we'll come over later. I want to go to that
party first.”
“To confront Lisa?” George asked.
“No, not until we hear the tape. And, Bess, don't tell
Lisa or Jason we found it. Remember, we're not a
hundred percent sure this is the missing tape.”
“I hate that Lisa's the bad guy here, but at least
you're getting closer to solving the puzzle,” George
said.
“I wonder,” Nancy mused aloud. “Lisa's stealing the
tape doesn't prove that she was involved in the other
burglaries.”
“Now, why do I get the feeling you don't quite
believe Lisa's guilty?” Ned teased lightly.
“Because my gut instincts tell me she isn't. And Lisa
wasn't anywhere near me when the fingerprinting kit
was taken.” Nancy checked her watch. “Let's get ready
for the party. An art opening should be the perfect
place to nose around.”
“What a scene!” Ned remarked as he, Nancy, and
George lingered near the front door of Jason's loft,
waiting for Bess to return from the rest room. The
place was wall-to-wall bodies. Outfits ranged from
almost formal, to extremely casual, to outrageous— but
always stylish.
To freshen up their outfits, Nancy and George had
traded pieces. George was wearing Nancy's black
trousers, while Nancy was wearing George's miniskirt.
“No wonder this place was featured in a design
magazine,” Bess commented as she joined them. “You
won't believe his collection of vintage photos. I spotted
two Edward Weston prints on the wall. This guy must
be loaded.”
“Maybe his family has money,” Ned suggested,
hands in the pockets of his dark cords as he surveyed
the room.
Nancy had no idea, but she remembered Jason's
teasing Ethan about his not making much money at his
Westfield's job. Obviously, Jason was the more
successful of the two brothers. Still, Nancy hadn't
expected to find such an expensive art collection or
such a sumptuously catered affair.
Exactly how did Jason manage to support his ex-
pensive tastes? Fencing museum-quality collectibles
would be a tempting option. Now that Nancy thought
of it, Jason's business contacts—like Lisa's, Inez's, and
Wes's—might provide just the right connections.
Putting aside her frustration, Nancy said, “Why
don't we split up. George, you feel Ethan out about the
tape.”
“He expects me to have it with me,” George said,
“but I'll pretend I forgot it.”
“Good thinking,” Nancy said. “Bess, why don't you
keep Jason occupied. See if you can hang out with him.
Ask him about his art—whatever.”
Bess smiled broadly. Looking around, she said, “I
might have trouble getting close to him, though. Oh, by
the way, I saw Lisa on my way back from the rest room.
You'll be proud of me. I just said hi.” Bess appeared
troubled for a moment, but then she brightened. “But,
hey, hanging with Jason's not bad.”
“What about me?” Ned asked playfully. “Don't I get
to help?”
Nancy grinned. “Mingle. Be the social soul you are.
Keep an eye on the people Lisa talks to. That might
give us a lead.”
“So you don't think she was working alone?”
“Not if she's involved in the other burglaries. But if
it's just the tape she's stolen, then she's a dead end.”
“Which I think would make you happy,” Ned
predicted.
“Right. I doubt George would press charges once
she had the tape back. Without the tape, the recorder
isn't worth anything.”
As Ned strolled off in search of Lisa, Nancy worked
her way through the crush, heading toward Jason's
exhibit.
“Nancy!” Lisa gr
abbed Nancy's arm. She took in
Nancy's outfit and grinned. “So you made it home
okay. I'm so sorry to have stranded you guys.”
Nancy managed a small smile. How could Lisa play
so innocent? She was half tempted to confront her, but
Lisa wasn't going to give her time to get a word in
edgewise.
Lisa rolled her eyes. “This turns out to be an all-
work, no-play party for me, though Ethan said
something about getting together later—with George,
whatever. Anyway I've got to socialize.”
“Right.”
“Oh, and I heard about your run-in with Wes today.”
Lisa pursed her lips. “Mr. L. said that Wes was
accusing you of stealing. What a creep that guy can
be—Wes, I mean.”
“That got cleared up,” Nancy assured Lisa, although
both times Nancy had seen Wes at the party, he'd
glared at her. It was obvious he still thought she was
some kind of crook.
Before Lisa left, she handed Nancy an envelope.
“Mr. L. told me to give this to you. It's that list of
burglaries you asked for.”
Wondering how Lisa managed to act so innocent,
Nancy finally made it to the exhibit. The framed photos
people were actually looking at the art. Nancy had no
trouble getting close enough to study the pictures.
Unlike Jason's tightly composed colorful commercial
work, these photos were all black and white. One
group consisted of close-ups of graffiti-covered walls.
Nancy moved to the next group and found herself
drawn to a haunting photograph of . . . Nancy wasn't
sure which twin until she read the title: “My Brother,
My Keeper.” “Ethan,” she murmured, amazed at the
brooding photo. Ethan was sitting in a small, simply
furnished room. Bookshelves on either side of his easy
chair were crammed. The room—and Ethan—were in
stark contrast to Jason and his elegant digs. The only
items of value in the photo were five or six rock posters
on the wall: Nancy recognized one as being from the
first USA tour of the Beatles, back in the 1960s. If the
poster was the real thing, Ethan must have paid a lot to
acquire it.
“The series is called How the Other Half Lives.' ”
Nancy looked up. Jason or Ethan? The guy was
wearing a charcoal gray shirt, a black tie, and a black
blazer. He was offering her a glass of something
sparkling.
“Just seltzer—you look underage.”
Nancy took the drink and sipped it, glad for the cold
refreshment. The room, in spite of the cool evening,
was hot.
“He means me, of course,” the twin said, taking a sip
of wine.
“Oh, Ethan, hi!” Nancy wondered why the two
brothers were dressed alike. The brief glimpse she'd
had of Jason earlier revealed that he was dressed in
black and gray as well. “These photos are pretty
incredible.”
“He's good, you know. I can't deny that. What does
bug me is he might get famous for these pictures
someday—and they are, after all, a kind of put-down of
me. Jason is always mocking my lifestyle.”
“Which is?” Nancy probed, taking another gulp of
seltzer.
“Minimal.” Ethan laughed. “I can't afford any of
this. How Jason does is beyond me, but, hey, he's the
guy who charged two dollars a glass for lemonade and
sold out faster than any kid on the block. He's got a
talent for money, I guess. Anyway, I'm the family dork.
I'd rather work at a low-paying job doing what I love—
and one that leaves me time to pursue my real
passion.”
“I thought appraising antiques was your passion.”
“Don't get me wrong,” Ethan went on. “I adore
antiques and the amazing things people have collected
over the years. Every piece has a history—fascinating
stories. Usually just family stories, but sometimes you
find something George Washington might have
handled.”
Nancy had to stifle a yawn. “So then what else are
you passionate about?”
“Music. Seventies rock music specifically. I'm
working on a history of the era. I've already got quite a
good discography—you know, a list of all the releases
in each given year.”
“You're writing a history of seventies rock?”
“You bet. And I might even have a publisher soon. I
met an agent at one of these parties, and he's trying to
interest Tumbleweed in taking it on. My hook is to
have a Web site for the book where, for a small fee,
readers can download bits of songs mentioned in the
text.”
Tumbleweed was a leading rock magazine that had
started a book-publishing business, part of which was
on the Internet. Nancy would have been impressed,
except she was too busy trying to fit in this new piece of
the puzzle. Ethan's motive for wanting George's tape
was strong. Except it was Lisa who had it. Were they in
cahoots?
“What's your relationship to Lisa?” Nancy asked.
Ethan blinked. “Why?”
“Just wondered,” Nancy said with a coy smile. “One
of my friends sort of likes you but wasn't sure if you
were taken.”
Ethan returned Nancy's steady gaze. “She's a friend.
over Nancy's shoulder and frowned. “Speaking of
friends, one of mine just turned up.”
“Wait.” As Nancy turned to stop Ethan, she saw Inez
hovering by the front door. Nancy caught her eye, and
for a second Inez looked distressed; then she flashed
Nancy a tiny smile. Nancy quickly said to Ethan, “I was
wondering, in this picture”—she pointed to “My
Brother, My Keeper”—“there's a Beatles poster on the
wall. Is it the real thing?”
Ethan's eyebrows shot up. “What do you think?”
“That you couldn't afford it,” Nancy said bluntly.
“I couldn't, but I did. Just as I'd come up with the
money for your pal's tape.” Then he strode away.
Nancy tried to keep an eye on Ethan, but she
quickly lost sight of both him and Inez in the crowd.
She turned back to the pictures. One a little farther
down the wall caught her attention. Like “My Brother,
My Keeper,” it was black and white. This time the
model was a woman: a slim, leggy blond in a clingy
black cocktail dress. The model was posed in front of a
double glass door. The sky was twilit, and the model
was turned away from the camera, so that Nancy could
see only the chiseled profile of her face. She looked
familiar. In fact, the whole picture reminded Nancy of
something. But what?
Nancy turned away and saw Ethan, or was it Jason,
bearing down on her. “So are you impressed or what?”
he asked with a cocky smile.
Then she noticed the Rolex watch on his wrist.
“Jason?”
He put an arm around her. “What if I said no?”
“You'd be lying,” Nancy said with more confidence
than she felt. “I was just speaking with Ethan about
your picture of him.”
“And he was less than enthusiastic? Don't deny it.”
Nancy evaded the question to press one of her own.
“So why do you dress alike?”
“We're twins. It's fun. But it's not like we call each
other and plan what to wear. I like fooling people, and
I know Ethan's wardrobe is limited. He has only one
art-opening outfit. Ethan, unlike me, is very
predictable.”
Nancy filed that information away. “So tell me about
this picture.” She tapped the glass-framed photo with
her fingernail.
“What about it?”
“I feel like I've seen it before.”
“How could you?” Jason gasped, then quickly re-
gained his composure. “Sorry, didn't mean to react like
that. It's just I'm very protective of my work . . . but I
know why it's familiar.”
Nancy just lifted her eyebrows.
“It's the model. She's Yvonne Bly. She was on last
month's Trend.”
“Oh, that's it then.” Nancy was disappointed. Yvonne
Bly was one of the world's top fashion models. “I didn't
realize you knew her.”
Jason looked smug. “She's a friend. She would have
been here tonight, but she left yesterday—or the day
before,” he corrected himself quickly. “For Paris.”
“Jason! Stop hiding. This is your party. Your pretty
friend has to share you with the rest of us,” a large
woman said as she walked up. She wore a sequined
blouse with a plunging neckline, and an ankle-length
velvet skirt. She was middle-aged but very pretty and
perfectly made up. She hooked a plump hand through
Jason's arm. “I'll bring him back to you later, sweetie,
but I want Jason to meet the head of a Taipei gallery.
He's in town just for the evening.”
Before heading for the rest room, Nancy cast one
last glance at the photograph. The title was simply “By
Dark of Night.” Something about the picture bothered
Nancy. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn't
recognized the model. Nancy got in line for the guest
bathroom. While she was waiting, she noticed the
entrance to Jason's work area. He had partitioned off a
small room in the back of the loft. In one corner was a
door marked Darkroom. One wall was covered with
windows, opening out onto a fire escape. In front of the