“You’re right,” Nancy said. The girls had made reservations at the famous Blue Devil club before they’d even left River Heights. Bix Patterson, whose nickname was “the Granddaddy of Jazz,” was making a rare appearance. Nancy had been looking forward to the evening for months.

  “I wanted to talk to you guys about our plans for this evening,” George said, leaning forward in the backseat.

  “You should definitely wear your cobalt blue dress,” Bess said.

  George laughed slightly. “That’s not what I wanted to discuss,” she said. “Frank isn’t working tonight, and when he was showing me around Reverb, he asked me out to dinner. Would you be upset if I skipped out on our plans for tonight?”

  Nancy glanced at George in the rearview mirror. “If you’re willing to miss Bix to go out with Frank, well, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

  “Actually, it was a really easy choice,” George said with a shy grin.

  “Then go, definitely,” Bess told her.

  “There’s just one problem,” Nancy said. “I was planning to go back to Reverb after hours tonight and do some snooping when nobody’s around. Can you meet us there, George?”

  “Sure,” George agreed. “We were planning on an early night. Frank has to get up at the crack of dawn to go to the farmers’ market and do the shopping for the restaurant.”

  “What do you think we’ll find at Reverb?” Bess asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy said. “I’m thinking that maybe something on Paula’s desk will suggest a motive.”

  “I could be there by midnight,” George said. “But it might still be open then,” she pointed out, “and you said you wanted to snoop around after hours.”

  “You’re right,” Nancy said. “Since it’s Saturday, the restaurant might be open late.” She paused, thinking. “Tell you what,” she said after a minute. “Let’s meet at midnight anyway, and if the restaurant’s still open, we’ll just hang around outside until they close up.”

  “But how will we get in?” George asked.

  “I thought I’d stop by the hospital later to get a key from Adam,” Nancy said.

  “Where’s Frank going to take you?” Bess asked, changing the subject.

  “He wouldn’t tell me,” George said. “He just promised that it would be romantic.”

  “Wow,” Bess said. “What are you going to wear?”

  “Something casual,” George said. “Frank isn’t a black-tie kind of guy.”

  Twenty minutes later Nancy pulled into their hotel’s underground garage. The girls took the elevator to their floor.

  “Do you guys mind if I shower first?” Bess asked as Nancy unlocked the door to their room. “It takes a long time to dry my hair.”

  “No problem,” Nancy said.

  “Fine with me, too,” George agreed. She flipped on the lights.

  “Great,” Bess said, putting her shoulder bag down on the nightstand. “I’ll be quick.” She grabbed her robe out of the closet and kicked off her shoes. Then she crossed the room to the bathroom.

  George turned on the television and flopped down on her bed, while Nancy went to the closet to pull out her dress.

  Both girls jumped when Bess let out a chilling scream.

  Chapter

  Six

  BESS?” NANCY SLOWLY PUSHED open the bathroom door. “Bess, are you okay?”

  George and Nancy stepped into the large, tiled bathroom. “Look at that!” Bess said in a horrified voice, pointing to the mirror. Someone had written in bloodred lipstick over the glass: Go home, Nancy Drew, or you won’t be so cute anymore!

  In a very low voice Nancy said, “We’d better check out the room to be sure no one’s hiding here.” The three girls quickly checked under the beds, inside the closet, and behind the draperies for intruders.

  “Well, at least no one’s in the room now,” Nancy said.

  “That’s good,” George said. “But how could someone have gotten in here to leave that little valentine?”

  Nancy shrugged. “It probably wasn’t that difficult. Lots of people have access to hotel rooms—the front-desk clerks, maids. But don’t let it worry you too much. The room is much more secure when we’re in it because we can double-lock the door from the inside.”

  “Good idea!” Bess exclaimed, running over to check the door.

  Nancy went back into the bathroom, where she carefully examined the lipstick used on the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” George asked as she and Bess hovered in the doorway.

  “Examining our first real clue in this case,” Nancy said, sounding almost pleased. “Hand me a tissue, would you? I want to get a smear of this lipstick.”

  George pulled out a tissue from a box in the wall and handed it to Nancy, who carefully wiped some color onto it.

  “Nancy,” Bess said, sounding aggravated, “I think you’re missing the big picture here. This message means you could be in serious danger. Aren’t you even going to consider backing off?”

  “Of course not,” Nancy said as she carefully folded the tissue.

  “Do you really think we can track down that lipstick color and its owner?” George asked. “Thousands of lipsticks are sold every day. It doesn’t seem like much to go on.”

  “You’re right,” Nancy agreed. “But there’s another clue in the message. It says ‘or you won’t be so cute anymore.’ ”

  “So what?” Bess asked.

  “Well, that’s the exact word Adam used to describe me at our first meeting, remember?” Nancy asked.

  George nodded. “That’s right.”

  “I don’t think that’s a coincidence,” Nancy said. “And that throws suspicion on everyone who was at that meeting.”

  “Paula was there,” Bess said immediately.

  “Right,” Nancy agreed.

  “Well, besides the three of us, the only other person at that meeting was Adam,” George said. “Surely you don’t suspect him.”

  “No,” Nancy said with a firm shake of her head. “But you’re forgetting someone.” Nancy took a deep breath before she added, “Frank.”

  George’s face immediately flushed an angry red. “I can’t believe you suspect Frank,” George said. Without another word, she left the bathroom.

  Bess and Nancy exchanged concerned looks, then immediately followed George into the bedroom. They found her pulling her favorite jeans and a mustard yellow sweater out of a dresser drawer.

  “George—” Nancy started.

  “Let’s finish talking about this later,” George snapped. “I’m running late now. If I want to be on time to meet Frank, I have to take a shower and get moving.”

  “Please don’t meet Frank,” Nancy said. “I admit that I don’t have any evidence against him. But I’d feel a lot better if you postponed your date with him.”

  “I’m not going to do that,” George said flatly, gathering up her clothes and heading for the bathroom.

  Bess spoke up. “I agree with Nancy, George.”

  George spun around. “Then you’re both being silly,” she said fiercely. “Frank is a sweet, gentle guy. He’s definitely not the type to go around threatening people.”

  “We really don’t know him that well,” Nancy pointed out quietly.

  George sighed. “Your theory doesn’t even make sense,” she insisted. “What could he possibly gain by harming the restaurant? That would just leave him out of a job.”

  Nancy shrugged. “You’re right about that. But someone at the restaurant is behind all this. And you could say the same thing about anyone who works there.”

  “Listen, both of you,” George said, obviously struggling to control her temper. “I appreciate your concern. But I’m a big girl and I’ve made a decision. I’m going to meet Frank and nothing you can say is going to stop me.” With that George swept into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

  “What are we going to do?” Bess whispered to Nancy.

  “Go see Bix,” Nancy said with a sigh. “I think we have to respect George’s decision.”

  “All right,” Bess agreed. “But I don’t like it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  A few minutes later, George emerged from the bathroom and Bess hurried in to take her shower. Even though George talked with Nancy as she finished getting ready, Nancy could tell that she was still angry. Nancy could only hope that George was right about Frank—and that she would owe George an apology when this was all over.

  Bess was still in the shower when George left. Since Nancy had time to kill, she let herself out of the room and rode the elevator down to the lobby. She wanted to talk to the hotel manager, as well as the maid assigned to their floor if she was still on duty. Nancy was hoping one of the hotel employees had seen someone come in or out of their room.

  “May I speak to the manager, please?” Nancy asked the clerk behind the desk.

  “Sure,” he replied. “Is there something wrong with your room?”

  “Not exactly,” Nancy said. “Is the manager in?”

  The desk clerk nodded. “Her office is right down that hall,” he said, pointing.

  Nancy walked down the short corridor. The office door at the end was open, so she poked her head in. A trim, middle-aged woman in a blue suit was standing behind the desk inside. She was on the telephone, but she smiled when she saw Nancy. “I’ll be with you in a second,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” Nancy replied. She retreated back into the hallway.

  A small coffee table and a chair had been placed outside the office. Nancy sat down and aimlessly picked up a brochure about the hotel that was lying on the table. She was reading a restaurant review when a photograph of the hotel staff caught her eye. Nancy gasped when she noticed a familiar face in the second row.

  “Thanks for waiting,” the manager said as she came out of her office. She extended a hand toward Nancy. “May I help you with something?”

  “I, um, I was looking for some extra towels,” Nancy said quickly.

  “Certainly,” the manager replied. “Just let me write down your room number, and we’ll send up as many as you like.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy said, following the manager into her office. “Two extra sets would be fine.”

  The manager looked at her quizzically. “You know you can call our housekeeping service any time you need something like this.”

  “Oh, I know,” Nancy answered. “I only just remembered I needed towels as I was headed out for a walk.” The manager nodded her understanding.

  “Room number?” the manager asked.

  “It’s five-fifty-five,” Nancy told her. “It’s funny, but I was just looking through one of your brochures while I was waiting, and I think I spotted an acquaintance in your employee photo.”

  The manager smiled at Nancy as she set down her pen. “Really? Who?”

  “Paula, um, I’m afraid I can’t remember her last name,” Nancy said. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “Paula Kass,” the manager supplied. “Of course! She used to be our night manager.”

  “Used to be?” Nancy asked. “Oh, too bad. I thought maybe I’d run into her.”

  “Sorry,” the manager said. “That picture is almost a year old. Paula quit a couple of months ago. She got a better job.”

  “Have you seen her lately?” Nancy probed. “I’d love to say hi.”

  The manager shook her head. “She hasn’t come back to visit even once. I guess her new job must be keeping her awfully busy.”

  “I guess so,” Nancy said. “Well, thanks again for the towels.”

  “My pleasure,” the manager said.

  Nancy rode the elevator back upstairs, pleased with her quick detective work. If Paula had worked at the hotel, she surely knew plenty of employees. How hard could it be for her to get a key to Nancy’s room? Or to talk one of her friends into scribbling a threatening message on her mirror?

  Nancy was still thinking about Paula when she and Bess arrived at the jazz club about an hour later. She decided to put the case out of her mind, though, and enjoy the music. The girls settled in around a tiny table and gave their orders to the waiter.

  “Are we late?” Bess asked.

  Nancy glanced at her watch. “Nope. The music isn’t due to start for about ten minutes.”

  “Great,” Bess said. “That means we have time to soak up the scene.”

  Nancy sat back and tried to do just that. The club was so tiny that even the smallish stage seemed to crowd the walls. A lustrous black grand piano took up most of the space onstage. Several simple folding chairs and microphone stands claimed the rest of the space. Nancy scanned the audience. A boisterous group of people speaking a foreign language sat just to their right. Just behind them Nancy spotted a familiar face.

  “Look who’s here,” Nancy whispered to Bess.

  Bess turned in the direction Nancy was looking and drew in her breath. “Whitney!”

  “I’m going to talk to her,” Nancy said, getting to her feet.

  Nancy quickly crossed the small room and approached Whitney’s table. She braced herself for a cold response and could only hope that her attempt to talk to Whitney wouldn’t get her and Bess kicked out of the club. Nancy decided to try a different tack.

  “Having a nice evening?” Nancy asked pleasantly, holding a hand out to Whitney. She was sitting at a table for four, but two of the chairs were empty. A middle-aged woman in an elaborate sequined dress was sitting on Whitney’s right.

  Both of the women returned Nancy’s smile. Whitney’s expression didn’t show any hostility. Doesn’t she remember me from last night? Nancy wondered.

  “Excuse me, but have we met?” Whitney asked politely.

  Well, that answers that! Nancy thought. “Actually, we have,” Nancy said carefully. “I was at Reverb opening last night.”

  “Oh, I heard about the smoke bombs,” the older woman put in, shaking her head in dismay. “What a terrible thing!”

  “It was,” Nancy agreed. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Nancy said, turning toward Whitney. “I’m a detective, and Adam Sledge has asked me to look into the bombing.”

  “I remember you now,” Whitney told Nancy, narrowing her eyes. “You came to my restaurant last night.”

  “Yes,” Nancy confirmed. “You threw me out.”

  “Whitney!” the older woman exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Whitney said, patting the older woman’s hand. “I thought she was a reporter.”

  Nancy was so surprised she burst out in laughter. She thought of her own experience with Brenda Carlton, a reporter who had interfered in more than one of her investigations, and immediately forgave Whitney’s behavior. She could imagine how difficult it was for a celebrity to be hounded constantly by reporters.

  “I understand,” Nancy told Whitney. “I probably would have done the same thing if I were you.”

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Whitney offered.

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, sliding into a seat. “Did you see anything suspicious at Reverb last night?”

  “Suspicious? No . . .” Whitney studied Nancy for a moment. “Did Adam tell you I was behind the smoke bomb?” she demanded suddenly.

  Nancy glanced uneasily at Whitney’s mother. “Actually, yes,” she admitted.

  “I told you that man was no good,” Whitney’s mother said to her daughter through pursed lips.

  Whitney sighed, looking almost amused. “Yes, you did, Mama. You told me and told me.” Whitney turned to Nancy. “Adam was never very popular in my family,” she explained. “It took me a long time to realize they were right. I broke off our engagement a few months ago. Adam didn’t like that much. Hurt his ego, I suppose. Anyway, he’s done his best to make my life miserable ever since.”

  Nancy wondered about this new spin on the breakup. Adam had said he was the one who had broken off their relationship. She scanned Whitney’s face for any uneasiness, any indication that she was lying. But Whitney met her gaze evenly and seemed perfectly serene.

  “Why would Adam do that?” Nancy asked.

  Whitney shrugged. “Because he’s a creep. He treats everyone badly. Why should I have been any different?”

  “What do you mean he treats everyone badly?” Nancy asked. He’s been perfectly nice to me, she thought.

  “Take his fans, for example,” Whitney offered. “He refuses to give people his autograph after concerts! Word of that kind of attitude gets around. I’m surprised he has any fans left.”

  Nancy thought back on Adam’s blasé attitude toward the people who had been waiting to hear him play that morning. Perhaps Whitney had a point.

  A couple of men approached the table. One was a handsome, powerfully built man about Whitney’s age. “Are we interrupting anything?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” Nancy said, standing up. “I’m the one who’s interrupting your evening out. Thank you for talking to me, Whitney. Nice to meet you, ma’am,” she said to Whitney’s mother.

  The women nodded at Nancy and turned their attention to the two men.

  Nancy got back to her table just as the musicians took the stage.

  “How did it go?” Bess whispered.

  “It was interesting,” Nancy whispered back. “I’ll tell you more later.”

  Nancy sat back to enjoy the music. She couldn’t stop thinking, though, about her conversation with Whitney. She wasn’t sure whether to believe what Whitney had told her about Adam’s nastiness. Her claims didn’t jibe with Nancy’s own impressions. Could Whitney have purposefully been misleading her? Well, Nancy was certain about one thing: Whitney didn’t like Adam. But that didn’t mean she would hurt him.

  “That was wonderful!” Bess exclaimed when the set ended.

  “Definitely,” Nancy said. “It was just what I imagined when I think of Chicago.”

  The girls paid their check, then made their way through the slow-moving crowd to the door. Bess looked at her watch. “We have an hour and a half to kill before we meet George. It’s only ten-thirty now.”

  “Don’t forget we have to run over to the hospital to get that key from Adam,” Nancy said.

  “Then let’s go,” Bess agreed.

 

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