Don’t Look Twice by Carolyn Keene

ahead.” Martha squinted blearily at Nancy, then took a long swallow of coffee.
    Nancy held up her forefinger. “One—on Fridaynight you say Bernard worked straight through with you until nine o’clock. Think carefully, Martha. Did he leave the gallery at any time before that? For example, did he go out to get dinner, or anything?”
    â€œI don’t— Wait a second. He did go out around seven forty-five to pick up Chinese food for all of us. He was gone for about twenty minutes.”
    Aha! One more question, and Nancy’d be sure.
    â€œTwo,” she said. “You told me his place was being painted. Do you know whether the workers are using oil-based paints or latex?”
    Martha’s eyes widened. “Oil, I think,” she said. “It lasts longer. But what does that have to do with anything?”
    Nancy was already halfway to the door. “I’ll explain later,” she said. “I’ve got to run. But you’ve been very helpful.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t mean to be,” Martha said dryly. “I just get tired of taking the blame sometimes.”
    Nancy hurried out to her car, jumped in, and sped away. Two blocks from the Raphaels’ house, she stopped at a pay phone to call Ned.
    â€œNed,” she said as soon as he came on the phone, “I know who the kidnapper is. It’s Bernard!”

Chapter

Thirteen
    W HAT ?” N ED CRIED. “What are you talking about, Nan? I thought we already ruled him out.”
    â€œWe were wrong,” Nancy replied. “Or, rather, I was wrong. The clues were all there, but I never put them together.”
    â€œWhat clues?” Ned wanted to know.
    â€œWell, remember when Denise said that a friend of her father’s named Bernard had recommended Puccini’s to her? That meant he knew she was going to be there, right?”
    â€œRight,” Ned agreed. “But so what? He has an alibi for that entire night, doesn’t he?”
    â€œNo, he doesn’t!” Nancy crowed. “I just talked to Martha—she says he was gone between seven forty-five and eight o’clock or so, picking up Chinese food. The Amster Gallery is only aboutfive minutes from the gym where your game was. He could have hurried over, slipped the note into Tim’s locker during the halftime chaos, and still had time to get the Chinese food. And then, remember Martha said he left around nine o’clock? He came straight to his house, where his accomplices were waiting with me. He took one look at me, saw that I wasn’t Denise, and told them to get rid of me.” Nancy shook her head, annoyed with herself. “I knew I recognized his voice from somewhere,” she muttered. “I just didn’t make the connection. And the smell of turpentine—how could I have missed that?”
    â€œTurpentine?” Ned repeated.
    â€œRight. He’s having his house painted,” Nancy explained, “and the painters are using oil-based paints. While I was in his house, blindfolded, I smelled the turpentine. I didn’t figure out what that meant until just now. I thought it meant I had been at some artist’s studio.”
    â€œWait, wait.” Ned sounded dazed. “There’s a basic problem here. Why would Bernard go to all this trouble and set up this whole elaborate thing? He works in the Amster Gallery. He could have retrieved that hidden Rembrandt any time he wanted.”
    Nancy stamped her feet, which were getting cold. “Ah, but he couldn’t,” she told Ned. “Not after Mr. Mason put in that new alarm system. It alerts the police if the painting frames are disturbedat all. Bernard himself told me how it worked at the gala last night. He even told me that no one but Mr. Mason could disarm the system, which was a little careless of him.”
    â€œI don’t know— I never would have made the connections you did. How did you figure all this