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    The Clue on the Crystal Dove

    Page 9
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      description of the crystal dove. “Listen to this, guys,”

      she said, getting ready to quote from the document. “

      One finely fashioned crystal dove with a faint

      aquamarine hue. This unique object has a distinctive

      olive branch pattern carved upon its belly, suggesting

      Noah's dove. This object is an extremely valuable piece

      of crystal work. It has been in Julius Van Hoogstraten's

      possession since 1900.' ”

      “That's got to be the missing dove,” George cut in.

      “Should we show this to Dell?”

      “Definitely,” Nancy said, “but first let's make sure

      there aren't more clues in any of these other

      documents.”

      After checking out the rest of the papers and finding

      nothing worthwhile, the girls put them away. Then

      they took the list of Julius's possessions downstairs to

      Dell, who was lying on the sofa in the sitting room

      reading a magazine.

      Nancy showed her the document, then said, “One

      thing I don't get—why would this list say that Julius

      owned the dove since 1900? I mean, didn't he make all

      of his birds before he immigrated to America?”

      “Nancy, you're right,” Dell said, peering carefully at

      the list. “By 1900, when he supposedly first had this

      dove, Julius would have been running his railroad

      empire. He would have been way too busy at that point

      to do glasswork.”

      “Maybe this was a different dove,” George reasoned.

      “Maybe Julius bought it in 1900, but the family no

      longer has it. It could have been sold off between 1915

      and now.”

      “Do you remember whether the stolen dove had an

      olive design on its belly?” Bess asked Dell.

      “I don't know,” Dell said, frowning. “For as long as I

      can remember, the stolen dove just sat on the pedestal

      in the Aviary. I never noticed whether it had an olive

      branch design.”

      “So there's no way to tell whether the dove on this

      list is the stolen one,” Nancy said.

      Before anyone could reply, a key turned in the lock

      of the front door. Seconds later Alden walked into the

      sitting room.

      “Bess!” he said happily as his gaze rested upon her.

      “You remembered our plans to take a carriage ride in

      the park?”

      “I wouldn't forget an invitation like that,” Bess told

      him, smiling.

      Alden glanced at George and Nancy. “Why don't

      you guys join us? There's no reason you two should

      miss the fun.” To Dell, he added, “And you're welcome

      to come, too, cousin.”

      “Thanks, Alden, but I think I'll stay here to try to

      chill out.” Dell filled Alden in about Walter's reap-

      pearance.

      “That is so weird, Dell,” Alden said, looking trou-

      bled. “Don't let Walter talk you into calling off the

      police. They should still try to figure out what hap-

      pened.”

      Dell glanced at the three girls. “When you girls were

      upstairs, I called Detective Phillips and told her that

      Walter had reappeared. They said that if Walter

      doesn't want to press charges, there's nothing they can

      do.”

      “We should tell them about the dove if we don't find

      it soon,” Alden suggested.

      “Let's give it another day,” Dell said. “I don't want

      any negative publicity about the museum.”

      Half an hour later Nancy, Bess, George, and Alden

      were standing on Fifty-ninth Street on the border of

      Central Park. Elegantly dressed women strolled down

      nearby Fifth Avenue, while shoppers filed through the

      doorways of famous stores such as Tiffany's, Bergdorf

      Goodman, and F.A.O. Schwarz. The trees in Central

      Park swayed festively in a light breeze, their green

      leaves fluttering.

      Alden approached a carriage driver standing by his

      huge dappled gray horse. “Can the four of us take a

      ride?” he asked.

      “Certainly,” the driver said. The man peered at the

      girls from under the brim of his cap. “Climb aboard,

      ladies. Jupiter and I will take you for a relaxing ride

      around the park.” With a frisky toss of his head, Jupiter

      seemed eager to start. He pawed the ground


      impatiently as Alden paid the fee.

      The man, whose gray hair matched that of his horse,

      climbed on to the driver's seat while Bess stepped into

      the open carriage. Grabbing a nearby handle, Nancy

      hoisted herself onto the outside step.

      Just as she was about to swing herself into the

      carriage, Jupiter bolted forward. Nancy struggled to

      keep her balance on the step, hanging onto the flimsy

      handle as the horse and carriage careened down the

      street.

      Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw Jupiter toss

      his head violently, yanking the reins out of the driver's

      hands. Barreling down the street behind the frenzied

      horse, the carriage suddenly leaped the curb.

      Terrified pedestrians scattered as the carriage

      knocked down a street sign. The horse galloped across

      the sidewalk toward a stone wall.

      Nancy held her breath as she hung from the side of

      the carriage. If Jupiter jumped the wall, the carriage

      would crash!

      12. Clued In

      Jupiter slowed as the wall loomed in front of him. Out

      of the comer of her eye Nancy saw Alden racing

      alongside the carriage, gritting his teeth as he struggled

      to catch up.

      The horse skittered away from the wall, and Alden

      reacted. He leaped up to grab the reins and tugged on

      them hard until the horse finally stopped.

      “Whoa, boy,” Alden said soothingly, patting the

      trembling creature. The horse snorted, scattering

      flecks of foam in the air.

      Nancy jumped down, then helped Bess out of the

      coach. “What was that all about?” Bess asked, her body

      quivering with shock.

      Before Nancy could answer, the driver climbed from

      his box to join Alden. With a trembling hand, he took

      the reins and said, “Thank you so much. I don't know

      what caused Jupiter here to bolt like that.”

      “You almost ran over me!” an angry woman shouted

      from a group of horrified onlookers. “I'll sue you for

      trauma.”

      “I'm so sorry, ma'am,” the driver said. “Were you

      hurt?”

      “No,” she said, “but I could have been if this gen-

      tleman hadn't come along to stop your horse.”

      “What do you think happened?” Alden asked the

      driver.

      The man shrugged. “Jupiter's young and recently

      trained. Maybe the traffic startled him.”

      Alden joined Nancy, Bess, and George. “Let's hire

      another carriage,” he suggested.

      “I'm game,” Nancy said.

      “Me, too,” George said. “After all, the chances that

      there are two crazed horses in this park are pretty

      slim,” she added wryly.

      “Count me out,” Bess declared. “No way am I get-

      ting into one of those things a
    gain.”

      “Oh, Bess, come on,” Alden coaxed. “George is

      right. That kind of freaky accident isn't going to happen

      again to us.” Squeezing her hand, he added, “I

      promise.”

      Bess sighed. “Well, okay,” she said warily.

      “Good,” Alden pronounced. “Let's hire this guy

      here.” He pointed to a sober-looking chestnut horse

      nodding sleepily in the sunlight. “Something tells me

      he's had years of experience.”

      Ten minutes later Nancy, George, and Bess were

      happily riding through the park with Alden behind a

      completely unflappable carriage horse named Norm.

      “I wonder what happened to make Jupiter so crazy?”

      Bess wondered as they plodded along. “Norm sure is

      different. His name kind of describes him.”

      “Must have been the traffic as the driver said,”

      George guessed.

      The carriage took a turn onto a leafy road where

      bicyclists and in-line skaters whizzed by. Nancy could

      no longer see any skyscrapers bordering the park.

      “It's hard to believe we're even in New York,” she

      said, leaning back comfortably in her seat.

      “New York is really a group of neighborhoods,”

      Alden said. “Each one has its own personality. When

      you live here, it doesn't seem like such a big, unfriendly

      place.” He scowled suddenly and added, “Unless

      you've just had a valuable crystal dove stolen.”

      “So do you still suspect Richard Schoonover?”

      Nancy asked him.

      “Yes!” Alden said passionately “I'm sure Richard's

      guilty. He's always been envious of Julius's reputation,

      thanks to a family grudge that's been handed down

      through generations in his family.”

      “His ancestor Gustav Kinderhook must have talked

      nonstop about how much he hated Julius,” George

      said.

      “No doubt about it,” Alden said darkly.

      “We know you suspect Mr. Schoonover,” Bess said,

      edging closer to Alden. “But is there anyone else you

      think might be guilty?”

      “Only Violet,” Alden replied, “because she'd like to

      keep Dell in New York.”

      Nancy shot a curious look at Alden. “Why don't you

      want to live in the house?” she asked. “Then it could

      stay a private family home.”

      Alden grimaced. “No, thanks. The thought of living

      in an heirloom gives me the creeps. I like my loft down

      in Tribeca. It's got a modern style to it that's not stuffy

      like the house. And the neighborhood is younger—

      much hipper. I don't feel as if I'm living in the past.”

      “I don't know about you guys,” Bess cut in, “but I'm

      ready for the Plaza. I mean, I trust Norm and all now,

      but I wouldn't mind a change of scene.”

      Alden gave her the thumbs-up sign, then shouted

      directions to the driver to take them back to Fifty-ninth

      Street. A few minutes later the foursome walked

      through the revolving doors of the Plaza Hotel.

      “This hotel is so beautiful!” Bess gushed, looking

      around at the high ceilings, plush carpets, sumptuous

      marble fixtures, and potted palms swaying at the edge

      of the Palm Court, where tea was being served. An

      orchestra at the back of the room struck up a tune.

      “I could never get tired of this place,” Bess added.

      “It kind of sums up glamorous modern New York

      City.”

      “New York has always been glittering and grand,”

      Alden said as the maître d' in the Palm Court showed

      them to a table. “No matter whether it's the Gilded

      Age, when my great-grandfather lived, or the 1920s,

      the 1980s, or now.”

      George elbowed Bess and pointed to a large trolley

      filled with colorfully decorated pastries. “Wow!” Bess

      exclaimed. “Those things are awesome. Look at that

      mocha cake with the layers and swirls on the frosting.

      It's like the pastry equivalent of the Plaza.”

      Nancy laughed—and then stopped short as her gaze

      traveled across the magnificent room. At the entrance

      of the Palm Court—next to a group of grandly dressed

      ladies—was a familiar face. “Richard Schoonover,” she

      said.

      Nancy gasped. Dell was rushing over to him!

      Dell touched Schoonover's shoulder. He whipped

      around, then smiled, shaking her hand vigorously.

      The maître d' beckoned Schoonover and Dell to

      follow him to a table. But as he stepped farther into the

      room, Schoonover locked gazes with Nancy and

      stopped abruptly.

      Schoonover grabbed Dell's arm, then did an about-

      face. Without a backward glance, he escorted Dell

      through the hotel lobby and disappeared from Nancy's

      sight.

      “Hey, guys,” Nancy said to everyone at her table.

      “Did you see that? Richard Schoonover and Dell were

      going to sit down here, but when they saw me, they cut

      out.”

      “Let's follow them,” George said, springing up from

      her chair.

      “And sacrifice those great pastries?” Bess asked,

      stricken. “No way!”

      “Then you stay here with Alden, Bess, while George

      and I go,” Nancy suggested.

      The two girls hurried through the room and out of

      the hotel. As they raced down the stairs to the

      sidewalk, they saw Dell slamming the door of a nearby

      cab.

      “Let's take the next one,” Nancy urged. She yanked

      open the door of a waiting cab and tumbled inside with

      George behind her. “Can you follow the taxi ahead of

      us waiting at the red light?” she asked the driver.

      “No problem, lady,” the driver said. His tires

      screeched as he pulled away from the curb just in time

      to catch up with Schoonover and Dell's cab before the

      light turned green.

      Schoonover and Dell's cab wove through the mid-

      town traffic in an effortless flash, missing vehicles by

      inches as the driver skillfully threaded his way down-

      town. No matter how fast the other cab went, Nancy

      and Georges cab was behind it, like a watchful mother

      hen.

      “Hey, this is kind of fun,” George declared as they

      zoomed by the Empire State Building.

      “I think so, too,” Nancy said, her blue eyes fixed on

      Schoonover's cab. Soon the massive buildings gave way

      to a leafy square bordered by elegant nineteenth

      century brownstones. “We're heading into Greenwich

      Village,” Nancy commented.

      Minutes later the stately cast iron buildings of SoHo

      flashed by them, and Schoonover's cab took a left on to

      Spring Street.

      “It's stopping at the Glass Slipper,” George cried,

      pointing. “Quick—let's pull over behind them.

      Schoonover and Dell are getting out.”

      Nancy handed the cabbie the fare and a generous

      tip the moment he stopped the cab. Then she and

      George hopped out and rushed to the door of

      Schoonover's shop.

      Nancy pushed on the door as Schoonover held it

      shut from the inside. “Ple
    ase let us in!” she cried.

      Shaking his head sternly, Schoonover tried to bolt

      the door. But before the lock slid across it, Nancy and

      George threw their weight against the door. It opened

      a crack.

      “What is the meaning of this break-in?” Schoonover

      sputtered as Nancy and George pushed their way

      inside. “If you two don't leave these premises

      immediately, I'll be forced to call the police.”

      Dell blinked in surprise at Schoonover's threat as

      she observed the activity. “Don't be silly, Richard,” she

      said. “You don't need to call the police on Nancy and

      George. They're trying to help me.”

      “How do I know that?” Schoonover snapped.

      “Just take my word for it,” Dell said. “You can trust

      Nancy and George with the information you were

      about to give me.”

      Schoonover peered haughtily at the girls from be-

      neath his bushy white brows. “All right. But you girls

      had better not tell another living soul what I'm about to

      reveal.”

      “We won't,” Nancy promised.

      With his ice blue eyes flashing, Schoonover pro-

      claimed, “Well, then, I saw it—the clue on the crystal

      bird!”

      13. A Ghostly Welcome

      Dell looked at Schoonover as if he'd lost his mind.

      “What are you talking about, Richard?” she asked

      sharply.

      “My memory has finally returned,” he announced.

      “You see, before I was hit on the head, I'd examined

      the crystal dove and noticed an olive branch design on

      its belly. The knock on my head drove away that

      memory until now.”

      “You mean the knock on your head gave you am-

      nesia?” George asked.

      “Sort of,” Schoonover replied. “I remembered most

      things, like my name and the job I was doing for

      Delphinia. I just forgot what had happened im-

      mediately before I was struck. But I remember

      everything now, and the olive pattern on the dove was

      unmistakable.”

      Nancy, George, and Dell exchanged glances.

      “Julius's list,” Nancy mouthed to them.

      “I suppose you're all wondering what's so special

      about that olive branch design,” Schoonover cut in.

      “Well, let me tell you.”

      Dell drew up a nearby chair and sat down, while

      Nancy and George leaned against the counter. Warm-

      ing to his story, Schoonover said, “You might be aware

      that one of my ancestors was Gustav Kinderhook. Now,

     


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