that Vivian no longer carried the package that had been under her arm. “She must have dropped something off,” Nancy said, pulling the restroom door shut as Vivian walked by.
Nancy waited until the footsteps faded. Then she peeked out again. The corridor was empty.“Okay, now!” she instructed George. The two friends made a dash for the room Vivian had entered and let themselves inside, the door opening and closing with a faint squeak.
The walls of the small room were lined, floor to ceiling, with cabinets, and in the middle of the room were low, free-standing, enclosed bins.
“It’s some kind of storeroom,” Nancy observed.
She pulled at the handle of one of the cabinets—labeled 1981, A through C—and found it locked. She tried one on the adjacent wall. The typed sticker on the door read 1982, G through K. It didn’t open either.
George was walking around, fiddling with the cabinet doors. “These are locked too,” she said, her words colored with annoyance. Then she called out softly, “Nancy, come look at this.”
When Nancy joined her, the young detective took a look at a list George had been studying. It was taped to the wall. The page was divided into columns headed name, title of master, date borrowed, date returned.
“Masters. So that’s why all these drawers are locked so securely. George, this is where they keep all the original recordings, the ones they copy when they press the albums they sell.”
“Right,” George said, “I remember back when we were sophomores, this record store in Mount Harmon was closed down because the owner wasselling albums that had been made illegally. I’m not sure of the details, but he was buying the albums for way under the normal costs, selling them for the retail prices, and raking in a fortune.”
Nancy nodded. “Right. If these masters get into the wrong hands, they can be used to make a lot of illegal money. Record piracy, I think they call it.”
As Nancy talked, she skimmed the list in front of her for Vivian’s name. It wasn’t there. What was Vivian up to? she wondered. She guessed that the parcel contained masters Vivian had sneaked out and then sneaked back in. Was Vivian getting them for Harold Marshall so he could mint illegal albums and sell them as the real thing? If so, then Barton was right to wonder about Bent Fender’s royalties. They wouldn’t earn money on copies sold illegally.
Nancy pondered that, continuing to study the list. Suddenly a familiar name near the bottom of the page caught her eye. “George!” she gasped, pointing to the bold script.
George’s gaze followed Nancy’s finger. “Oh wow! Barton Novak!”
“And he was here just a few days ago!” Nancy added. “George, I bet Barton came here and discovered something. Maybe he found out that some of the masters were missing!”
“And then someone found out that Bartonknew, and had to make sure he didn’t tell anyone.”
Nancy nodded, her face taut. “That’s a really strong motive. Now I’m sure Barton didn’t disappear on his own. He must have been kidnapped!”
Chapter
Seven
T HE PIECES OF the puzzle were finally beginning to fall into place. “This explains why there was no ransom note,” Nancy continued. “Barton’s kidnappers weren’t interested in getting money, just in keeping him from spilling the beans. I bet all this has something to do with his wanting to talk to me after the concert.” Nancy leaned back against one of the cabinets, digesting the implications of the new discovery.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her that made her blood go colder than an arctic ice floe. “George,” she said, “if Barton’s kidnappers don’t want a ransom for him, maybe they don’t intend to free him at all.”
George’s ruddy complexion drained to pale.
The two girls stood in silence, the horrible realization sinking in until the stillness in the room was shattered by the soft but unmistakable squeal of the door opening. Nancy gasped.
A
Nancy waited until the footsteps faded. Then she peeked out again. The corridor was empty.“Okay, now!” she instructed George. The two friends made a dash for the room Vivian had entered and let themselves inside, the door opening and closing with a faint squeak.
The walls of the small room were lined, floor to ceiling, with cabinets, and in the middle of the room were low, free-standing, enclosed bins.
“It’s some kind of storeroom,” Nancy observed.
She pulled at the handle of one of the cabinets—labeled 1981, A through C—and found it locked. She tried one on the adjacent wall. The typed sticker on the door read 1982, G through K. It didn’t open either.
George was walking around, fiddling with the cabinet doors. “These are locked too,” she said, her words colored with annoyance. Then she called out softly, “Nancy, come look at this.”
When Nancy joined her, the young detective took a look at a list George had been studying. It was taped to the wall. The page was divided into columns headed name, title of master, date borrowed, date returned.
“Masters. So that’s why all these drawers are locked so securely. George, this is where they keep all the original recordings, the ones they copy when they press the albums they sell.”
“Right,” George said, “I remember back when we were sophomores, this record store in Mount Harmon was closed down because the owner wasselling albums that had been made illegally. I’m not sure of the details, but he was buying the albums for way under the normal costs, selling them for the retail prices, and raking in a fortune.”
Nancy nodded. “Right. If these masters get into the wrong hands, they can be used to make a lot of illegal money. Record piracy, I think they call it.”
As Nancy talked, she skimmed the list in front of her for Vivian’s name. It wasn’t there. What was Vivian up to? she wondered. She guessed that the parcel contained masters Vivian had sneaked out and then sneaked back in. Was Vivian getting them for Harold Marshall so he could mint illegal albums and sell them as the real thing? If so, then Barton was right to wonder about Bent Fender’s royalties. They wouldn’t earn money on copies sold illegally.
Nancy pondered that, continuing to study the list. Suddenly a familiar name near the bottom of the page caught her eye. “George!” she gasped, pointing to the bold script.
George’s gaze followed Nancy’s finger. “Oh wow! Barton Novak!”
“And he was here just a few days ago!” Nancy added. “George, I bet Barton came here and discovered something. Maybe he found out that some of the masters were missing!”
“And then someone found out that Bartonknew, and had to make sure he didn’t tell anyone.”
Nancy nodded, her face taut. “That’s a really strong motive. Now I’m sure Barton didn’t disappear on his own. He must have been kidnapped!”
Chapter
Seven
T HE PIECES OF the puzzle were finally beginning to fall into place. “This explains why there was no ransom note,” Nancy continued. “Barton’s kidnappers weren’t interested in getting money, just in keeping him from spilling the beans. I bet all this has something to do with his wanting to talk to me after the concert.” Nancy leaned back against one of the cabinets, digesting the implications of the new discovery.
Suddenly, a thought occurred to her that made her blood go colder than an arctic ice floe. “George,” she said, “if Barton’s kidnappers don’t want a ransom for him, maybe they don’t intend to free him at all.”
George’s ruddy complexion drained to pale.
The two girls stood in silence, the horrible realization sinking in until the stillness in the room was shattered by the soft but unmistakable squeal of the door opening. Nancy gasped.
A
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