figure out what’s going on here.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” Ned promised. “And if anyone tries to knock you over the head again, I’ll give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“My hero,” Nancy giggled. “But don’t forget, I’m the one with the brown belt in karate.”
“Do you have to remind me?” Ned said, groaning.
“Well, I won’t try any of my new moves on you this time,” Nancy said solemnly. “Except maybe on the dance floor. Roger Gold is taking us to a wild new club tonight.”
“Sounds great.”
“Good. It’s a date.” Before saying goodbye,Nancy gave Ned the address of the hotel. “There’s an indoor parking lot right across the street,” she added.
“Well, you look a little happier than you did a few minutes ago,” George observed from the couch. “Love, love is the miracle drug,” she sang teasingly. It was the refrain of one of Bent Fender’s new songs.
“George, do you think Ned’s ready to forget about Daryl?” Nancy felt herself blush.
“I don’t know, Nan, but a few days together in the most exciting city in the world ought to do something for the two of you.”
“Hmm. You know, this might turn out to be a good vacation after all. If I could just stop worrying about Barton, and Alan’s record contract . . .” Nancy felt herself coming down to earth. “Speaking of which, I better call that security guard back.”
She dialed the number on the message sheet. “Hello, is this Carl Rutland?” she asked the man who answered the telephone.
“Speaking.”
“Hi, this is Nancy Drew. From the concert last night.”
“Oh, Miss Drew. Yes. Hello.”
“You said you found something?”
“That’s right. Well, first of all, whoever gave you that knock on the head came in and out by the fire escape, off one of the dance studios. When I checked the windows leading out to it, Ifound that one of the latches had been forced open, and we always keep them locked.”
“Mr. Rutland, do you think someone would go through all the trouble of climbing the fire escape and breaking in just to steal a wallet?” Nancy asked.
“Maybe. But it would be very risky. There are too many people around the Music Hall when there’s a rock concert. You know, fans come without tickets and try to scalp them or just sneak in, and they wind up hanging around outside. Anyway, there’d be too good a chance of being caught.”
“Then,” Nancy mused aloud, “there must have been something worth far more than money in that wallet. Well, thank you for the information, Mr. Rutland.”
“Wait, that’s not the only thing I wanted to tell you,” Carl Rutland said. “I found something outside Barton Novak’s dressing room, near all those boxes and things.”
“You did?” Nancy was alert.
“Yeah. A scarf. A violet-colored scarf with designs on it.”
“Mr. Rutland,” Nancy said hoarsely, in a flash of understanding, “you mean you found a purple bandanna—a square of heavy cotton, with a sort of leafy pattern stitched on it in green?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Is it yours?”
“No. No, it’s Barton Novak’s, sort of his good luck charm,” Nancy said, “and one of a kind.His sister did the embroidery.” Nancy remembered reading that in several articles about Barton. “He never plays a concert without it. Um, Mr. Rutland, when did you say you found the bandanna?”
“Last night, after they took you home. I’ve got it right here in my pocket.”
“Last night?” Nancy’s brain was working overtime. “Well, just hold on to it. I’ll make arrangements to get it from you.” Nancy thanked the man again and got off the phone in a hurry, her hand trembling as she hung up the receiver.
“Nancy, what’s the matter? You look like that security guard has been telling you ghost stories or something,” George said.
“No, not ghost stories. Something much more real and much more frightening. It’s Alan, George. He’s been lying to us!”
Chapter
Six
G
Learning to Kill: Stories