The Case of the Artful Crime by Carolyn Keene Page B

slipped it under the door.
    Nancy picked up the envelope and tore it open. It took only a second to read. The note read, “Give up, Nancy Drew—while you still can.”

10
Relative Danger
    For the next hour, Nancy read and reread the note. She didn’t show it to her father when he came home, thinking he was already worried enough.
    Though the words were printed, some of the letters drifted into script. The i was very distinctive, curving far back like an inverted c. The points of the final n in “can” were also sharp and decisive. The paper was good-quality bond with a grain. The rough edges at the top told Nancy it had been torn from a pad. She tried to decide whether it was written by a male or female hand, but it was hard to tell.
    Nancy sighed. She’d been threatened before, on other cases. But this person, she knew, wasn’t kidding around. How far would he or she go?
    The next morning Nancy dressed in black pants and a soft blue silk blouse. She pulled her hair backwith a blue barrette. After breakfast, she drove to the River Heights Community Center. Felice Wainwright was waiting for her.
    â€œHere’s your pass,” Felice said, handing Nancy a large white card. “The class is just down this hall.”
    â€œDo you enjoy teaching?” Nancy asked as they walked down the long, quiet corridor.
    â€œOh, yes. Mostly I do a lot of encouraging. I studied art in Rome for a number of years, so I can give the men a few pointers and principles, too.”
    They stopped at a door in front of which stood two uniformed guards. “She’s with me,” Felice said as Nancy held up her pass.
    Inside the bright, high-ceilinged room, ten men dressed in gray coveralls worked intently on canvases propped on easels. In each corner of the room stood armed guards.
    The prisoners looked up from their work when Nancy and Felice entered. Taking Nancy’s arm, Felice guided her over to a short, dark-haired man working in oils. Nancy immediately recognized Joseph Spaziente from his picture in the paper.
    â€œJoseph, this is Nancy Drew. She’s a great fan of your work. She might be interested in commissioning a piece,” Felice said.
    Spaziente looked up at Nancy, then turned back to his work. “I don’t do commissions,” he muttered as he dabbed his brush in the paint on his palette.
    The scene Spaziente worked on had already been sketched in pencil on the canvas. Nancy noticed that the subject was the same as the other threeshe’d seen, a lake surrounded by trees. The sketch was done in light lines with little detail—except for the tree in the lower left-hand corner. Every inch of its bark had been penciled in with great care.
    â€œThat lake scene seems to captivate you,” Nancy said pleasantly.
    â€œMmmph,” he grunted in reply. With one long, decisive stroke, he covered the sketch marks on the tree trunk with a long line of brown paint.
    â€œOnce you’ve completed this winter scene, the series will be finished,” Felice said. “Spring and summer are in the Arizona House. I have autumn. Where shall we send winter?”
    The dull boredom in Spaziente’s eyes was replaced with sharp interest. “Hasn’t my Uncle Auguste been in touch with you?”
    â€œI was just about to mention that,” Felice said, slightly flustered. “He says you promised him the painting you gave to me.”
    â€œI’ll paint you another,” Spaziente said gruffly. “Give him the painting. I want him to have this one, too.”
    Felice’s mouth twitched. The gift had obviously meant something to her.
    â€œBut, Joseph,” Felice protested, “can’t your uncle wait until after my auction? So many important people will see your work and—”
    â€œI want Auguste to have the paintings!” Spaziente flared. Red-faced with anger, he jumped up from his seat.
    Startled, Felice backed up clumsily,