A Secret in Time (7 page)

Within minutes a police car pulled up, and two officers jumped out. One, a tall, heavyset man, took a look at the ice cream truck, then ran to the trunk of
the police car and removed a coil of heavy cable. He threw it to his partner, a petite blond woman.

“Secure it to the post,” said the officer, whose nameplate read Robert Walker. “I'll radio for a tow truck.”

Nancy turned to Bess and George. “We sure are giving the towing companies a lot of business today.”

The blond officer, whose name was Jean Daniel, attached the cable to a hitch on the back of the ice cream truck. Then she looped the other end several times around a steel post on the bridge and secured it.

Officer Walker spoke into his walkie-talkie and then turned to the girls. “Looks like you had a little problem here.”

Nancy explained how they'd nearly been run off the road, giving the policeman a detailed description of the van.

“An orange van with green stripes,” Officer Walker mumbled, jotting down the information Nancy had given him. “No license plate number?”

Nancy shook her head. “I tried, but we just couldn't get a good look.”

“I see,” said Officer Walker. “We'll run a check and see what we come up with.”

“When you talk to Chief McGinnis,” Nancy added, “please mention that this incident was probably related to the stolen brooch.”

For the second time that day a tow truck appeared, dodging in and out of the stalled traffic on the bridge. The driver got out and, aided by Officer Walker,
placed an enormous metal hook underneath the back of the Frosty Freeze truck. After Officer Daniel removed the cable, the tow truck slowly pulled the ice cream truck back onto the bridge. The motorists standing nearby applauded.

Nancy, Bess, and George walked around the Frosty Freeze truck to assess the damage. The front fender and hood were dented where they had struck the railing, and the headlights were shattered. When George turned the ignition key she was relieved to hear that the engine was still running smoothly and that the merry tune still played, as well.

“What should I do with the truck?” the tow truck driver asked. “You want me to take it somewhere?”

George shook her head. “No, thanks. As long as I can still drive it, I'm going to take it back myself. It would look much worse if my boss saw it hanging off a tow truck.”

“Just as long as your boss sees this,” the truck driver said, handing George a bill.

George grimaced. “I'm a little nervous about showing this to Ms. Franklin, my supervisor,” she said to Nancy and Bess.

“And I'm a lot nervous about getting back into that truck,” Bess added, her blue eyes lingering on the truck's dented front end. “Maybe the police officers can give us a ride home.”

“The damage has already been done,” Nancy said. “I doubt the van's going to come back for us. They probably think we're floating in the river by now.”

“Who would do such a thing?” Bess wondered. “Okay, I'll go.” Turning to her cousin, she added, “Just do me one favor.”

“Sure,” agreed George. “Name it.”

“Turn off that stupid music!”

Laughing, George did as Bess had asked. Then, after thanking the police officers for their help, the three girls climbed into the Frosty Freeze truck and took off.

As they drove, Nancy took her notebook from her purse and flipped it open. “The driver of that van could have been anybody,” she said, looking at the notes she had taken on the case so far. “Lydia, Kimberly Burton, or some person we haven't encountered yet.”

“Those wild colors on the van would certainly fit Lydia's personality,” George commented.

“Kimberly's, too,” said Bess. “And since Kimberly's an antiques dealer, she probably needs a van.”

“For jewelry?” Nancy asked.

“We don't know what else she deals in,” Bess reminded her. “She said she has a variety of interests, whatever that means.”

“That's true,” Nancy said. “Maybe Chief McGinnis can run a check on Lydia and Kimberly to see what kind of cars are registered in their names. But I keep thinking about the possibility of another suspect. I have a weird feeling about that van, as if I've seen it somewhere before. But not with Lydia or Kimberly in it. I would have remembered that.”

George's brow was knit in concentration. “You know, I think I've seen that van before, too. Only I can't remember where.”

“It's also possible that the driver of the van is working with either Lydia or Kimberly,” Nancy pointed out. At the bottom of her list of suspects, she added a big question mark.

George turned off the highway and onto a private road that went up a hill. Soon they reached a small guard's house and an electronic gate. George flashed her Frosty Freeze ID card at the guard, and the gate slowly opened.

“Wow,” Bess said. “Tight security. Are they afraid someone's going to hijack an ice cream truck?”

“It's company policy,” George said. “Every employee has to have an ID card.”

George drove into an enormous parking lot filled with Frosty Freeze trucks and employees' cars. Several large buildings were clustered together next to the lot. Nancy saw a few smaller buildings at the other end of the parking area. Pulling in between two other trucks, George parked, and the girls got out.

“Do you want us to come with you for moral support?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, we can back up your story,” Bess offered.

George shook her head. “Ms. Franklin's pretty fair, and I've got the police report to prove I'm telling the truth. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.” George took a few steps away, then looked back at them over her shoulder. “Of course, if I
do
lose my job, I'll have
more time to help you with the case . . . and my car's still running.”

“Good luck,” Nancy said, and Bess gave her cousin the thumbs-up sign.

Ten minutes later George rejoined them in the parking lot, a big smile on her face.

“You're still employed?” Bess asked hopefully.

George nodded. “Ms. Franklin was really understanding. She said the company's insurance would cover the damage. She blamed me for only one thing.”

“What's that?” asked Nancy.

“Transporting unauthorized parties in a company vehicle.”

“I think she means us,” Bess said to Nancy.

George nodded. “But I can still help out with transportation. I'm not working tomorrow, so I can drive you around. And the day after, you can use my car, as long as you drive me here for work.”

“Thanks, George,” Nancy said. “That would be a big help.” She and Bess followed George to her car.

“Would you mind making one more stop?” Nancy asked as they pulled out of the Frosty Freeze parking lot. “I just realized we're not far from Russell Brown's shop. It's on Route Twenty-two, on the other side of the bridge.”

“No problem,” George said.

“Oh, no!” cried Bess. “We have to go over that bridge again?”

“There's no other way to get there,” Nancy said.

“I'll cover my eyes,” Bess said. “Just tell me when we're back on solid ground.”

• • •

Several minutes later George pulled her car over to the side of a country road and parked next to a wooden sign that had the words Russell Brown Antiques painted on it in faded white letters. A path led from the sign to a red farmhouse with white trim.

Bells jingled as Nancy opened the door and entered the house, Bess and George behind her. Russell Brown was standing inside.

“May I help . . .” he began, but then he recognized Nancy and Bess. “Oh,” he said. “It's you. Have you had any progress catching the thief?”

“Not yet,” Nancy told him. She introduced George to the store owner, then looked around. Mr. Brown had converted most of the ground floor of the house to the antique shop. Most of the pieces looked right at home in the old farmhouse. There were patchwork quilts and hand-painted wooden cabinets and even an old rocking horse. Nancy liked the homey, comfortable appearance of the rooms.

“Have you come to look at my collection?” Mr. Brown asked.

Nancy turned to face him. “No,” she said. “But I'd like to ask you a few questions.”

“More questions,” Mr. Brown said with a wry grin.

“I'm sorry,” Nancy said. “This won't take long. Can you tell me where you got the brooch? We really don't know that much about it.”

Mr. Brown waved a hand toward the back of the house. “Do you know how many pieces pass through here every week?” he asked. “I couldn't possibly remember where I got each and every one.”

“Well, you must keep some sort of record,” Nancy pressed. “Could you possibly look it up? It might be an important clue.”

Mr. Brown walked to the back of the room and opened a wooden filing cabinet. “I remember that the brooch belonged to an elderly woman,” he mumbled as he riffled through the files. Finally he pulled out a manila folder. “Here it is. According to this, it belonged to a woman named Agnes Thompson. She died several months before the piece was brought to me.”

“When was that?” Nancy asked.

“A few months back,” Mr. Brown said vaguely. “I don't remember exactly.”

“And that's all you can tell us?” Nancy asked.

Brown shrugged. “Where I get a piece is not as important to me as selling it.”

There was a jingling of bells, and a young man and woman entered. They wore business suits and carried matching briefcases.

“Now if you'll excuse me,” Mr. Brown said. He rushed past Nancy to greet the couple. “May I help you?”

Mr. Brown followed closely behind the pair as they wandered around the store.

“He's not very helpful, is he?” Bess whispered to
Nancy, then said, “These prices are just as outrageous as the ones we saw at the expo.”

George shook her head. “I bet he doesn't do much business with his things costing this much.”

Seeing that Mr. Brown was occupied, Nancy put her plan into motion. “Wait here,” she told Bess and George in a low voice. “I'll be right back.”

She had noticed that Mr. Brown had left the folder open on his desk. Pretending to be interested in a rocking chair right next to the desk, Nancy walked across the room.

When Mr. Brown followed the couple behind a tall dresser, Nancy shifted her gaze to the folder. It lay open, revealing several sheets of paper. Nancy didn't dare risk moving the papers, so she took in as much as she could see. A paper beneath the top one stuck out a little on one side, and Nancy saw the name Thompson written on it.

Then she took a closer look at the paper on top. When she saw what it was, she was barely able to suppress her excitement.

It was a fifty-thousand-dollar insurance policy for the rose brooch. That wasn't so strange—Mr. Brown had said it was worth that much. What interested Nancy more was the date typed at the top of the page. It wasn't from a few months ago, when Mr. Brown had said he got the brooch. It was dated just a few days before the antiques expo.

That seemed a little
too
coincidental. If the brooch
is so valuable, Nancy thought, why would Mr. Brown wait until right before the expo to insure it . . . unless he
knew
it was going to be stolen? He could collect fifty thousand dollars if someone took the brooch. Maybe Russell Brown had arranged the robbery himself!

Nancy walked casually back to Bess and George. “Let's go,” she said in an excited whisper, giving her friends a look that said she would explain once they were outside.

“Thanks, Mr. Brown,” Nancy called, opening the door.

The antique dealer turned around as the three girls left. “Let me know if you come up with anything, Nancy,” he called to her.

Once outside, Nancy didn't head for the car but walked toward the back of the building.

“Where are you going?” George asked.

Nancy put a finger to her lips. “I'm looking for an orange van,” she whispered.

Bess gasped. “You think it was Mr. Brown?” she asked.

“I'll tell you in the car,” Nancy said.

While Bess and George went down the path to the car, Nancy circled the farmhouse, looking for a garage, a clump of trees, or anything else that might conceal a van. There was nothing except flat, dry ground and a gray sedan parked in the driveway. Disappointed, Nancy followed the drive to the road and got into the back seat of George's car.

“What did you find?” George asked, turning around in the driver's seat to look at Nancy.

“Not a van,” Nancy admitted, “but you'll never believe what was on Brown's desk.” She described the insurance policy.

“You mean he
wanted
the brooch stolen?” Bess asked.

“Very possibly,” Nancy replied, “though I'm still not ruling out a real robbery.”

“What about the orange van?” George asked.

Nancy sighed. “It's not parked here. But Brown could have hidden it somewhere else. It's also possible that he's working with whoever was driving the van.”

“So now we have three definite suspects and a question mark,” George said.

“Exactly,” said Nancy with a nod. She opened her notebook and added Russell Brown's name to her list. “Brown could be working with Lydia or Kimberly, or with someone else. If only I could remember where I saw that orange van before. . . .”

“I've been thinking about that, too,” George said.
“I have the impression I've seen more than one of them. And remember those green stripes along the side? I keep thinking they're a logo for a company or something.”

Nancy nodded. “Right. This is going to bother me until we figure it out.”

George started the car and drove to Nancy's house to drop her off. “So what's the plan for tomorrow?” she asked.