Once Upon a Thriller (Nancy Drew Diaries #4)(23)

We drove the rest of the way in silence as I puzzled over all the clues. I was pretty sure I had figured out who was behind the crimes, but there were still a few loose ends that needed tying up.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Ned said, breaking the silence.

“You’ll know soon enough,” I replied.

Before I knew it we were back in town. I parked in the lot behind the inn and hurried inside, Ned struggling to keep up with me.

I slipped into the dark lobby and headed straight for the gift shop, almost crashing into Alice Ann as she turned the key to lock the door to the tiny room.

“Wait!” I cried. “Don’t lock up just yet. Can you let me back into the shop?”

“Nancy?” Alice Ann asked. “Whatever for? I’m running late for a fund-raiser at the Clancy Tate Gallery.”

“I know,” I replied. “I am too. But first, there’s something in your shop that I need to borrow, just for the evening.”

“Borrow?” Alice Ann asked, raising her eyebrows. “This isn’t a library, you know. People tend to buy the things they like, especially if it’s something to wear to a fancy event.”

“It’s nothing like that,” I explained. “I need to look at your Avondale High School yearbook collection. I’m this close to solving the mystery of the bookstore fire, the art gallery theft—oh, everything!”

Alice Ann smiled brightly.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” she asked. “In that case, go right in.”

She unlocked the door and pushed it open, practically shoving me inside. Then she flicked the lights back on and hustled me over to the bookshelf where I had seen the yearbooks earlier that day.

“Which one do you need?” Alice Ann asked. “And I knew you weren’t just a reporter working on a story—you’re really a detective, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I replied. There was no sense keeping up my cover story when I was this close to solving the case and knew that Alice Ann wasn’t who I was after. “I am. And right now I’m really hoping you have the yearbook from the year you graduated. That’s the year that Paige, Rick, and Cecilia graduated too, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Alice Ann replied, a puzzled look on her face. She pulled a dusty book off the shelf. “Here it is. But our high school days were years ago. I really don’t see how that’s going to help you,” she said.

Suddenly I had a pang of doubt. What if I couldn’t find the proof I was looking for? What if the hunch I had was just that—a hunch?

Alice let me take the book back to my room, and she closed up the shop. Back in room Two-B, I sat down on the Dr. Seuss chair and began flipping through the yearbook.

“Who—or what—are you looking for?” Ned asked, looking over my shoulder.

“Pictures of Rick Brown,” I replied.

I turned a page, skimming captions of sports teams and school clubs. But finally I found him: an image of Rick in a tuxedo, standing arm in arm with a pretty girl with curly hair in a lovely, off-the-shoulder evening gown.

I had never been so happy to see an old prom picture in my life!



Luckily for Ned and me, the Clancy Tate Gallery fund-raiser wasn’t a black-tie affair. Since it had been planned at the last minute, everyone was dressed casually, so we didn’t stick out too much in our khakis and sneakers.

It was wall-to-wall Avondale when we walked in. In just a few days, I already recognized faces, from Alice Ann to Lacey to Paige and even Mr. Tate and Mandy. It seemed like there was a great deal of support for Mr. Tate and his gallery.

I knew that the fund-raiser was the perfect cover for me to finally get to the back writers’ room. I would try to convince Mr. Tate to give me the key so I could look around for myself.

“Ned, you stay here and mingle,” I told him. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Tate alone.”

But I couldn’t get close to him with the all the people who were listening to his story of the statue’s theft.

I walked to the rear of the gallery, to the locked door to the writers’ space. I wanted to will it open and wished there was a magical phrase like “open sesame” that would somehow make it so.

But something magical did happen: The door opened and out walked Mandy.

“Mandy! What are you doing here?” I started to shriek, but quickly lowered my voice. “I mean, what are you doing in there?” and motioned my head toward the door.

“Hi, Nancy.” Mandy smiled. “I had to escape this crowd. Really, how boring can it get? People just telling Uncle C how wonderful they think this boring gallery is, over and over again,” she said. “I couldn’t stand it.”

“But I thought only your uncle and one other person had the key to this door. Was it left unlocked?” I asked.

“Unlocked? No,” Mandy answered. “The writers’ room isn’t a secret to me. I know where the key’s hidden, so I take it anytime I want. Like I said the other day, my uncle is pretty clueless. Nice, but clueless.” She laughed a little bit.

And then she said, “I hang out here a lot. Sometimes with my friends, sometimes with the writers. Ms. Samuels is even there right now.”

“Paige? Paige is in the room?” I said.

Mandy nodded and then took off. So I slowly, quietly opened the door and couldn’t believe my eyes: Paige was there, just as Mandy had said. And in her hands was The Bride of Avondale!