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    The Case of the Lost Song
    The Case of the Lost Song
    The Case of the Lost Song
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    The Case of the Lost Song

    By Carolyn Keene

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    About this ebook

    AT A TRAVELING ANTIQUES SHOW, NANCY'S APPRAISING BURGLARIES, FRAUD, AND A GREEDY THIEF!
    While visiting Chicago, Nancy, Bess, and George bring some items to the Old Can Be Gold show to see what they're worth, just for fun. In George's old tape recorder, a dealer finds a rare early tape by a famous rock group. But before George can get it insured, it's stolen -- like many other items brought to the show!
    From a luxury condo on Lake Shore Drive to a hot blues club, Nancy discovers a mix of suspects. There's a seedy dealer, an ambitious publicist with access to the show's database, a talented singer in need of money, and drop-dead gorgeous twin brothers, one a top appraiser and the other a gifted photographer. Nancy's got to wind up the case -- before a desperate con artist erases her for good!
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAladdin
    Release dateJan 8, 2002
    ISBN9780743437011
    The Case of the Lost Song
    Author

    Carolyn Keene

    Carolyn Keene is the author of the ever-popular Nancy Drew books.

    Read more from Carolyn Keene

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    • 5/5
      this starts with an old tape being stolen after it was found to be worth a lot "a true original".join Nancy and her friends as they solve the mystery.
    • 3/5
      December 4, 2002Nancy Drew and the Case of the Lost SongCarolyn KeeneWas feeling nostalgic! Mickey had pointed out to me that I still had two Nancy Drew computer games I hadn’t opened, and they both had this book with it. It was short, of course, and not great, but I still enjoyed revisiting with Nancy, Bess and George. The girls were in Chicago to attend a traveling antique show. It was a new story, written within the last couple of years.Kinda puts me in the mood to read the old ND stuff, like The Hidden Staircase…
    • 4/5
      Very interesting mystery in this book, about a missing, rare tape by a famous rock group.

    Book preview

    The Case of the Lost Song - Carolyn Keene

    Contents

    1 Blast from the Past

    2 Oldies but Goodies

    3 Double Vision

    4 Without a Trace

    5 The Truth Will Out

    6 Partners in Crime?

    7 Not So Candid Camera

    8 A Thief in the House

    9 Nancy Nabbed

    10 Pretty as a Picture

    11 Caught in the Act

    12 Bad News Blues

    13 Double Exposure

    14 A Clever Ruse

    15 Over the Edge

    1

    Blast from the Past

    Nancy! You’re drenched! Bess Marvin wailed one stormy October Friday as her friend Nancy Drew dashed up the steps of the Lakeview University Sports and Recreation Center. A red-and-gold banner, reading Old Can Be Gold, snapped over the entrance in the gusty wind.

    Protected from the rain by the portico, Bess had the hood of her pink vinyl raincoat turned down and was fluffing out her straw blond hair. Bess’s cousin and Nancy’s other best friend, George Fayne, stood beside a large parcel swathed in black plastic trash bags. The three girls had driven to Chicago to check out the antiques and collectibles appraisal show.

    Nancy threw back the hood of her slicker and shook out her thick red-blond hair. My socks may be soaked, but at least this isn’t! The eighteen-year-old produced a blue plastic folder from under her raincoat. Her blue eyes shone with delight as she announced, My dad’s Al Capone Wanted poster is still in perfect condition.

    And the poster’s what counts here, Bess declared. While you were parking, I picked up our admission tickets and a brochure. The corners of several pages were already dog-eared. There’s a guy here who owns Crime Shoppers and Pop Smart. His blurb says he’s interested in all sorts of crime memorabilia.

    Let’s go for it, Nancy said.

    The three friends marched into the state-of-the-art sports facility and lined up to check their coats. A large crowd bearing shopping bags, carryalls, and carefully wrapped bundles milled around the spacious lobby.

    Nancy smiled as she glanced at George and Bess in front of her. They were cousins and best friends but so different. Blue-eyed Bess, curvy, fair, and on the short side, was passionate about shopping, clothes, decorating magazines, antiques, and boys—not necessarily in that order. Tall, slim, athletic, with a mop of short dark curls and sparkling brown eyes, George vastly preferred wilderness camping to hanging out at malls.

    George bent over and unwrapped her bundle, revealing a rectangular worn brown leatherette suitcase with metal hardware on the corners. The hardware was dull, rusty, and dented.

    What’s that? Nancy asked as George folded up the trash bags and stuffed them into her jacket pocket.

    An old reel-to-reel tape recorder.

    Where’d you find it? Bess asked.

    Under the eaves in the attic. I bet it’s been there since before we bought the house.

    I hope it didn’t get wet, Nancy commented.

    It was all wrapped up. But considering how long it’s been up there, it could be moldy and useless.

    Didn’t you bother to see if it works? Bess sounded shocked.

    No, actually, George admitted with a sheepish grin. I didn’t even look for anything to bring until this morning.

    Bess sighed and patted her small pink handbag. I only hope Grandma Marvin’s Depression-era bracelet is a treasure. Not that I wouldn’t love it even if it’s totally worthless, she added, then stepped up to the coat check.

    Smiling at the girls, the woman behind the counter took their coats. Hope you enjoy Old Can Be Gold, she told them, handing Nancy all three tags. Keep your ticket stubs—the admission is good for the weekend. And we also have a door-prize drawing every three hours. She checked her watch and made a face. You missed the last one for today, but starting at ten tomorrow we’ll resume the drawings. Prizes are donated by the appraisers and range in value from a couple of bucks up to three hundred dollars. If you like, you can bring your things to those long sorting tables where workers will direct you to the right appraisers. Or you can just browse the show.

    We already know about one appraiser, Bess told her, so I think we’ll head over there.

    The girls made their way into the cavernous gymnasium until they were standing in an aisle, staring at a sign: Crime Memorabilia and Pop Culture Treasures.

    I guess this is the place, Nancy said, though I don’t see any appraiser around. As she approached, she saw the table was covered with a green felt cloth. On it she spotted an old fingerprinting kit. The long narrow box was open, its contents protected by an acetate sleeve. Inside the red-and-black checkerboard box was a magnifying glass, a tube of powder, and some papers and other objects. This must be ancient! she exclaimed.

    I guess to a girl your age, 1920 seems ancient, a gruff voice interjected. Hands off unless you want to buy it!

    Annoyed by the speaker’s rude tone, Nancy turned and glared. The man was scruffy and bearded. His hair was salt-and-pepper gray, and he smelled unpleasantly of cigarette smoke. He was only a little taller than Nancy, with a wiry build and muscles that bulged under the sleeves of his black T-shirt.

    I wasn’t going to touch it, Nancy said.

    Good, the man snapped.

    Anyway, who are you? Bess inquired sharply.

    Wes Clarke, proprietor of Crime Shoppers. The man’s brusque tone had softened slightly. You can find me online at CrimeShoppers.com or right here in downtown Chicago. He turned to Nancy. Sorry to be so suspicious, but in my business … He stroked his beard, then shrugged.

    For some reason this guy creeped Nancy out, and she said coolly, If something’s that precious, you should lock it up.

    "Oh, the more valuable things are locked up, believe me, he snapped right back. So what are you girls interested in?"

    Nancy was tempted to say nothing and walk away, but this guy was the only crime specialist at the show. She silently counted to ten, then calmly opened her portfolio. One of my father’s clients gave him this poster some time ago. When I mentioned I was coming here, he suggested I check out the value. You are an appraiser?

    The best in the field around here, the man said, seemingly oblivious to Nancy’s chilly tone. He held out his hand. Reluctantly Nancy passed him the poster. It was black and white, and the old paper was yellowed and fraying at the edges. With surprising care Wes removed it from its clear protective sleeve.

    He turned it over, held it closer to his eyes, then let out a snort. Fake, he pronounced, and gave it back to Nancy. Sorry, but it’s not the genuine article. At least a dozen of these turn up at every show.

    Nancy frowned. How can you tell—I mean so quickly?

    Wes Clarke narrowed his eyes. "I am an expert. But if you want the details, it’s simple. This is computer generated. Nineteen-twenty is pretty ancient when it comes to printing processes. In those days posters were done on presses, with moveable type. This is obviously a photo reproduction."

    But the paper’s old, Bess pointed out.

    About a year old, if that, Clarke responded. It’s artificially aged to look old. Believe me, these are pretty good fakes, but they can’t fool anyone who knows the first thing about collectibles from the period.

    So it’s worthless? George asked.

    Pretty much. Now, if it were the real thing, it would be worth quite a bit. Maybe even a thousand bucks.

    Nancy inserted the poster in the protective sleeve and put it back in her folder. I’m half tempted to just toss it, she said.

    Don’t do that, Wes said. It’s fun to frame and put up in your room, or wherever. Some folks find the gangster era here in Chicago romantic.

    Nancy frowned. The idea of bootleggers gunning one another down ranked far down the list of what Nancy considered romantic.

    Clarke didn’t seem to notice her distaste. That’s what keeps me in business. The next best thing to knowing how to commit the perfect crime is collecting memorabilia from notorious criminals.

    That’s weird, Bess said.

    To each his own, Clarke countered, then his eyes lit on George’s tape recorder. That’s probably not worth much either—yet, he told her. But hold on to it. Another fifty years and it’ll be a real collectible. Reel-to-reel machines are going to be as valuable as early nineteenth-century cameras are now. As he spoke, a man with a framed Humphrey Bogart movie poster walked up. The appraiser turned to him, and the girls hurried away.

    Yuck, Bess whispered to Nancy. That guy was seriously creepy.

    Nancy tried to stifle her disappointment. I hope Dad isn’t too let down when I tell him this is a fake.

    Next Bess found a Depression-era jewelry appraiser. The woman examined the delicate bracelet Bess had brought. "I’m afraid these stones are only

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