windows was a long desk, and on the desk were a single
lamp, which was lit, a computer, a scanner, some
photographic equipment, and a stack of photos.
Nancy walked into the room. She stared at the top
photo and smiled. In spite of his party-boy image,
Jason was obviously a hard worker. He had already
developed the photo she'd seen him take earlier that
day, the one with the man in front of his wooden cigar-
store Indian statue. Nancy realized Jason must have a
pretty good color darkroom to be able to get such
professional results. That was his business, though she
reminded herself, and he had the money for top
equipment.
She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. No one
was watching, and it still wasn't her turn for the
bathroom. She picked up the top picture. The next one
showed Bess and the man and the Indian. Bess looked
terrific, though Jason, in spite of his flirting, had done a
good job capturing the Indian, catching it at an angle
that partially cut off Bess.
She began thumbing through the stack of prints.
There was one of George and her and Bess the day
before, and right dead center was the tape recorder.
Nancy turned the photo over and frowned. Scribbled
in a photographic pen was a note: “Knight? Carey?
Tape.”
Nancy flipped to the next picture, and her frown
deepened. It was a picture of a young woman, grinning
broadly as she held up a large, elaborate art deco
brooch toward the camera. Nancy turned that photo
over: just a street address was penned on the back. The
next picture in the pile was of a plump grandmotherly
woman in a pair of shorts and sandals standing next to a
wonderful Tiffany stained-glass lamp. On the other
side of the lamp was an elderly man, probably her
husband. Nancy slowly turned the photo over and her
hand flew to her mouth as she read, “Tiffany/777/
Canyon Drive/ Denver.”
“What do you think you're doing?” a furious voice
cried behind her.
Nancy spun to face the door. Jason was staring
daggers at her—or was it Ethan?
12. Bad News Blues
“Messing with stuff on my brother's desk is a real no-
no. Believe me, I learned that a long time ago.”
Ethan, not Jason. Relief swept across Nancy.
“I wasn't messing around,” Nancy protested, then
tried to look sheepish. “I really like your brother's
work, and while I was waiting for the bathroom, I just
peeked at his desk.”
Ethan eyed Nancy quizzically. “Why do I get the
feeling you weren't just casually checking over his
stuff.”
His tone was curious, a little mocking, but not angry.
Nancy took courage and added, “Well, I wasn't being
completely casual. He took some photos of my friend
Bess today, and I was looking to see if he'd developed
them.”
“And . . . ?”
“He has.” Nancy grabbed the photo of Bess off the
desk.
“Oh, your blond friend,” Ethan remarked. “Nice
shot. But then, what would you expect from Jason?
He's a pro.” He leaned over Nancy's shoulder and
checked the photos. Nancy wondered if he was trying
to see if she'd taken any. Suddenly he chuckled. “I
remember this picture. Those folks in Denver with that
lamp. It was one of those great Old Can Be Gold
moments. What they thought was a copy turned out to
be a genuine Tiffany. Jason caught their expressions
well.”
“You sound as though you were there,” Nancy said.
“I was.” Seeing the expression on Nancy's face, he
laughed. “Don't look so surprised. Westfield's loves the
publicity and contacts Old Can Be Gold provides. Why
do you think most of the auction and appraisal houses
pay for tables at these shows? Primo networking.
Westfield's sends me when there's no affiliated
appraiser in the area.”
Nancy groaned inwardly. So Ethan had as much
opportunity as Jason did to scout out the valuable items
when the show was on the road.
Ethan flicked out the desk light and closed the door
behind them. “Jason would not be happy if more
people wandered into his study.”
“I'm sure Jason will be glad you were looking out for
him.”
Ethan winked at Nancy. “Mum's the word. My
brother thinks you girls are pretty cool. I don't want to
disappoint him. And speaking of cool, I just spoke with
George. It's too bad she zoned out and forgot to bring
the tape.”
Nancy managed a casual shrug. “Well, I guess she'll
just have to have it checked out tomorrow at the show
or back home in River Heights.” Just then a woman
came out of the rest room. Fortunately Nancy was next
in line, which made it easy to cut short her con-
versation with Ethan. “See you later,” Nancy told him.
Once inside, she took out her notebook and ran her
finger down the list of stolen items Mr. Landowski had
mentioned. Her suspicions were confirmed: three of
the stolen pieces matched photos of items she had seen
in Jason's office.
Next Nancy checked the inventory of the robberies
Lisa had given her. She wondered how many of the
photos in Jason's study matched the stolen items on the
list. She was tempted to slip back into the study, but
that would be risky. She didn't relish breaking and
entering, but she needed to investigate here when
Jason wasn't around—maybe tomorrow afternoon
when he'd be at the show.
After putting away her notebook, Nancy left the
bathroom to search for Inez. Maybe she'd have more
luck tonight drawing the woman out. As she made her
way through the crowd, Ned appeared at her elbow,
ready to head outside. “Nan, I think we'd better leave.
I told my friend we'd bring the tape over around
eleven, when he'd be between sets. Bess went to get
her coat.”
Nancy hesitated. “I wanted to find Inez first. She
works for Old Can Be Gold and may be mixed up in all
this,” she told him as Bess walked up. She had Nancy's
jacket over her arm, too.
“If you're looking for Inez,” Bess remarked, “don't
bother. She cut out after she and Ethan had a heavy
conversation. Ethan's still here, though. He seems to
have suddenly developed an interest in George.” Bess
jerked her head over her shoulder.
Nancy saw George talking animatedly to Ethan.
When George spotted Nancy, she headed directly for
her, motioning Ethan to stay put.
“You're leaving?” George asked. “Look, I'm going to
hang out here longer,” she added, then lowered her
voice. “Ethan's a wealth of information about Lou
Knight and Carey Black. Anyway, if I wait until he can
cut out of here, he said he'd show me something
related to the tape. He's being prett
y mysterious, but I
thought I should follow through. He can drive me back
to the condo afterward.”
“Good idea,” Nancy said. “The more information we
have about that tape and how this whole appraisal
scene works, the better.”
Clutching the mike, the blues singer wailed the
closing bars to his song. He let the last note float over
the audience gathered in the Back Street Blues Club.
The audience remained spellbound a second, then
exploded into applause. Seated at a front corner table,
Ned, Nancy, and Bess joined in enthusiastically.
“Ned, that was incredible!” Nancy exclaimed,
clapping until her hands hurt. Before Ned could reply,
the singer announced the next set would begin in forty-
five minutes.
The singer came down the side steps of the small
stage and walked toward Ned's table, holding out his
hand. “Ned Nickerson?” he asked. Ned jumped up as
the singer introduced himself. “Bobby Morgan. Greg's
dad. Greg called earlier to make sure I'd reserve you a
table.”
“These are my friends Nancy Drew and Bess
Marvin,” Ned told the musician.
“We loved the show,” Nancy told Mr. Morgan.
“That last song was awesome!” Bess added, her eyes
still misty.
Bobby Morgan gave a little bow and beamed at the
girls. “I thank you, but it seems you came because of
some mysterious tape. Greg said you were pretty vague
about it but needed me to listen to it?”
“If you can, Mr. Morgan,” Nancy said. “A friend
found it in her attic, and we want to know if it's au-
thentic. Ned said you were an expert on some of the
rock-blues crossover music of the late sixties and early
seventies.”
Bobby's dark eyes widened. “You've got that tape?
The one with Lou Knight and Carey Black and Mama's
Bad Boys?”
“You know about it?” Bess gasped.
Bobby Morgan chuckled. “I heard it turned up at an
appraisal show. You bet I want to hear it. Come on, I've
got a reel-to-reel set up in the back of the club.” He led
them backstage to a small but fully functional
recording studio. A bank of recording equipment and a
technical console were set up on the near side of a glass
partition. Behind the partition was a microphone, with
earphones draped across a music stand. A drum set was
stashed in a far corner.
“So where's the tape?” Bobby said.
Ned took it out of his pocket. Before leaving the
house Nancy had carefully slid it into a self-locking
plastic bag. Ned handed Bobby the tape.
The musician looked at it with reverence. “You have
no idea how many people have speculated about the
existence of a tape of this jam session. Carey Black
mentioned it in some interview, but the tape had
vanished.” As he spoke, Bobby unpacked the tape,
flicked on his reel-to-reel player, then carefully
threaded the lead in an empty spool. He spun some
knobs, then looked up with his fingers crossed. “Here
goes nothing,” he said, his eyes bright with anticipation.
A blast of static was followed by the sound of a
woman clearing her throat and the strum of an acoustic
guitar. A deep, mellow female voice began to sing a
traditional folk ballad. For a second Nancy was
mesmerized by the hauntingly beautiful voice.
It was Ned who exclaimed, “That's not Lou Knight!”
Nancy snapped back to the present. “This isn't the
tape we heard yesterday.”
“But who's the singer?” Bess wondered.
“Me!” an angry voice cried from the door.
Nancy turned. “Lisa?” Lisa was standing in the
doorway. Next to her were Ethan and George.
“Turn off that tape,” Lisa demanded. Her dark eyes
were furious. Her expression was a mixture of anger,
shock, and hurt.
“This is you?” Bobby asked, switching off the music.
“Not that it's anyone's business,” Lisa fumed, “but
yes.” Then, turning on Bess, she said through gritted
teeth, “I can't believe you'd go snooping in my things
when I wasn't around.”
“Lisa, it wasn't like that,” Bess answered. “I was
looking for a scarf to wear to the party, and the tape
was in your drawer.”
“And you all just assumed that I had stolen the Lou
Knight tape.”
“Stolen?” Ethan looked aghast. “Did you know this
earlier?” he asked George.
George looked embarrassed. “I couldn't tell you. It's
part of an investigation.”
“Into what?”
“Those burglaries,” Lisa said sharply. “Jason knew
about the tape and about Nancy's involvement in the
burglary investigation.”
Ethan shook his head. “Guess he was too busy
tonight to mention it. He's with one of his model
friends. They were heading out to an all-night club
after the opening.” To Nancy's dismay, Lisa proceeded
to fill him in on all the details.
Meanwhile, Nancy took George aside. “What in the
world are you doing here?”
“Bobby Morgan is a friend of Ethan's. Ethan wanted
me to meet him to hear some bootlegged material that
Bobby's collected over the years.”
“But why is Lisa with you?” Bess wondered.
“Because she overheard him say we were going to
the club, and she's a fan of Bobby's.”
that tape—too bad it's gone missing. I'll keep my eye
out for it and notify the cops if copies turn up,” Bobby
promised.
Ethan stayed behind with Bobby, but Lisa left with
Nancy and the others. Once they were outside, she
said, “You guys owe me an apology, big time.”
“Yes, we do, Lisa,” Nancy said. “And I'm sorry. I've
got no excuses except that the problem is how someone
else would have had access to your apartment without
your being involved. This tape rules you out.” Nancy
poked out her hand toward Lisa. “Friends?”
Lisa smiled wanly. “Yeah, I guess.”
“How come I never knew you sang?” Bess asked.
“I just decided to give it a shot,” Lisa said. “Now and
then I perform at the smaller clubs. This tape is part of
a demo I'm putting together.”
“Well,” Ned remarked, “with your voice you should
have no problem finding a producer.”
Lisa gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, it's about the same
level of problem as Nancy is having finding the Old
Can Be Gold thieves. Any luck?” she asked as they
headed toward Nancy's car. Back Street Blues was
within walking distance of Jason's loft, where Nancy
had left the car parked.
“No. Do you have any new ideas?” Nancy asked.
Lisa shrugged.
Nancy thought a minute. “The culprit has access to
Old Can Be Gold's database of clients and addresses.
So the robberies have to be
an inside job.”
Lisa stopped in her tracks. “Do they?” she said,
obviously puzzling something out in her mind. “I don't
think so. I mean people can access anything over the
Internet.”
“Aren't Old Can Be Gold's records secure?” George
wondered.
Ned laughed. “Nothing's totally secure online. And I
doubt you'd need big-time hackers to break into Old
Can Be Gold's files. I bet we could if we had access to
a computer.”
“We do—right down the block,” Lisa said excitedly.
“CyberScoops—it's an ice cream parlor/coffee-
house/Internet café. Come on. They're open all night!”
A few minutes later Nancy, George, Ned, and Bess
were peering over Lisa's shoulder at a computer
screen. The café was relatively empty so late on a
Saturday night, but the coffee was good.
Nancy had her notebook open on her lap. At her
suggestion, Lisa punched in the name of the couple in
Denver, Max and Minnie Cordel. The search engine
brought up several Cordels: a retail store, a cabaret
singer named Max, a pet-food site, and finally
something called Thriftytreasures.com.
“Let's try another name,” Bess suggested, “and see if
they have anything in common.”
The next name they tried belonged to a woman in
Memphis who'd had a small bronze Southeast Asian
statue burgled. “L-A-P-P-I-T-O.” Lisa spelled out the
name as she typed. The first four listings were for
cheese and dairy products sold by a family in
Wisconsin. But when Nancy spotted the fifth site, she
grabbed Ned's arm. “Hey there's Thriftytreasures
again. We're onto something here,” she said.
“Let's check it out.” With a click of her mouse Lisa
surfed over to Thriftytreasures.com. As the Web page
loaded, Nancy looked on, amazed.
“This is no amateur site,” she remarked. The Web
page boasted a sophisticated design with colorful
graphics. Reaching for the mouse, Nancy highlighted
the first topic, “All About Us.”
When the page downloaded, Nancy skimmed it
quickly. “This is a sort of barter and bargain site,” she
said, vaguely disappointed. For a fee the site would
connect potential sellers and buyers. Interesting, but it
didn't seem to be a link to the robberies.
Lisa took the mouse back and went to the site's
home page, where she clicked on something called
“New and Of Note.”
“Well, I'll be . . .” Lisa tapped a finger against the