A/N: Thanks so much for the feedback, Leya, Diogenes, Jackie, Mrs. Frank and Virtute! Always fun to read! And Diogenes, don't worry. Emily only touched the side of the canvas, not the painting itself. I've volunteered in an art museum for well over fifteen years...I promise I won't let her besmirch the Van Gogh. ;-) Thanks again to all who are reading!

Chapter 14

By ten o'clock the next morning, Frank was back with Joe in the prop room, cataloging another list of items for Ed, the assistant prop master.

"I'm not seeing anything remotely suspicious in this bunch of stuff, are you Joe?" he asked, tapping his clipboard with a pencil.

"Not unless you consider dishes and flatware fine art." Joe held up a floral handled soup spoon.

Frank sighed. "All right, we're almost done with this group of items. Let's hurry and then do some investigating on our own."

Before Joe could answer, a side door opened and a man entered. As Frank peered through the metal shelving containing the prop room inventory, Joe grabbed his arm. "That's the goon that decked me in the warehouse. The one who tried to swipe the painting."

Frank nodded. "Well, now I think we're finally getting somewhere. Let's go see what he's up to."

OOOoooOOO

Emily donned her costume and turned to Nancy, who was finishing up with the hair and make-up woman, prior to them taking their places on the set for the day's taping of The Resort. Nancy was reprising her role as the French maid, while Emily was slated to appear as an extra in a poolside scene.

"Please tell me that I am not standing here wearing a bikini and stiletto heels," Emily groaned, as she surveyed her appearance in the large dressing room mirror.

"That's what you get for being able to 'fill out' your previous costume so well," Nancy jibed.

"Thanks," Emily muttered, as she pulled on a cover-up. She turned to Nancy. "Shall we get this over with?"

"Yes." Nancy walked toward the door. "I want to move on to some serious investigating."

Emily giggled. "Pardon me for saying this, but that sounded totally ridiculous coming from someone dressed as a French maid."

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know."

OOOoooOOO

Frank snuck quietly between the rows of shelving with Joe on his heels, trying to get closer to their suspect. The man walked to the far end of the prop room and entered an enclosed space that appeared to be a small office, with a glass window extending along one side. Frank crouched down low and observed as the man placed a small statue of a ballerina on a desk, then rifled through a filing cabinet, pulling out a manila folder and setting it beside the statue.

"What's that?" Joe hissed. "Another art object?"

Frank shrugged his shoulders. "How would I know?"

They watched for a few more minutes, while the man examined the papers in the file. A phone rang in the office, and he picked it up. Although they couldn't hear the conversation, Frank could tell from his actions that whatever was being said was upsetting him. The man slammed down the receiver, exited the office, and stormed down an aisle, going out through the main door of the prop room.

Frank and Joe exchanged glances with one another. "After you," Joe said, gesturing toward the office with a grin.

OOOoooOOO

Nancy was standing on the set, which was currently decorated as an elaborate entrance hall of a mansion, ready to rehearse her scene. She was poised at the bottom of a grand staircase, tray in hand, ready to greet Penelope Randolph when she arrived at the foot of the steps. Penelope and Dirk Benson were positioned at the top of the staircase, off to the left.

Nancy watched Miss Randolph closely. I wonder why she seems so jumpy, she mused, as she balanced two champagne glasses filled with sparkling apple juice in the center of the silver tray.

"Okay, are we ready?" called out the director in a loud voice. "Miss Randolph? Mr. Benson?"

They both nodded down to him.

The director looked at Nancy. "Miss...er...Maid?"

Nancy rolled her eyes. "Yes."

"All right, then," he shouted. "Rehearsal only. Begin when you're ready."

Penelope Randolph walked from her position offstage onto the staircase landing. "Certainly not, Preston," she said to Dirk in an annoyed tone. "I don't care how much you think you're in love with Afton. You will never be allowed to marry her and bring that tramp into our family."

"But Mother," Dirk began to protest as he stepped into the upstairs hallway. "You can't do that to me. I can marry whomever I choose. I'm of age, remember?"

"I don't care how old you are," Penelope began as she moved to descend the staircase. Without warning, a scream tore from her throat as she lurched forward and tumbled headlong down the stairs, landing with a sickening thud at the bottom.

Nancy dropped the tray of drinks she was holding and rushed over to the crumpled form of Miss Randolph. Her leg was twisted at an odd angle, and she wasn't moving. Nancy reached her just as Dirk did.

"Is she..." Nancy whispered, afraid to say the word.

"No," Dirk said, as he held his fingers to her neck. "She has a pulse."

Nancy let out a sigh of relief as other members of the cast and crew began to crowd in around her.

"Step back," Dirk called out loudly. "Give her some room. Don't move her!" he said to a stagehand, who pushed in next to Dirk to kneel beside Penelope.

"The paramedics are on their way," another crew member shouted out as he hung up a phone.

Dirk stood and gestured to Nancy. She walked over to him and they climbed to the top of the staircase. Dirk pointed down and Nancy followed his gaze.

"This was no accident," he said. "Look."

Nancy stared down at the top step, her eyes finally focusing on a thin strand of wire, strung across the top step and attached to the balusters on either side of the staircase. She gasped and looked up at him.

"I know." His voice was grim. "I just about fell myself. In fact, I would have if I hadn't been holding onto the newel post."

"Who? Why?" Nancy asked.

Dirk shook his head. "I'm not sure. But let's get this out of here, or I'm going to have fifty local cops sticking their noses into a federal investigation and screwing it up royally."

He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief , then leaned down and pulled out the nails on each side that were holding the wire, while Nancy made sure no one was watching. She didn't think she really needed to worry, as all eyes were on Penelope Randolph, who was slowly beginning to regain consciousness.

Dirk handed the wire and his handkerchief to Nancy. "Get rid of it," he instructed.

Nancy shoved the wire into the top of her costume, then turned to Dirk. "I'm going to do some investigating. This is getting scary."

"Me, too," he said as he gazed around at everyone on the set. "Because clearly someone here wanted her dead."

OOOoooOOO

Joe entered the office vacated only moments before by the man who'd attacked him two days ago. Frank followed him and reached for the file the man had been holding before the phone call which led to his hasty retreat.

Joe moved close to the desk and leaned down to examine the ballerina statue resting there as best he could without actually touching it. He had no idea if it was real or a dime-store prop, but he hoped Emily or Dirk would be able to tell.

"Joe?" Frank turned to him. "I think this is provenance."

"Huh?" He leaned over Frank's shoulder to get a closer look at the file.

"You know, the documentation for art work. That's what Emily called it."

"You learn quick, bro," Joe teased.

"Yeah, well, I am the smart one," Frank grinned back.

Joe rolled his eyes as Frank paged through the papers in the file.

"And it appears to be for this statue." Frank held up a page from an auction catalog. "According to this, the statue is a Degas."

"Degas?" Joe wrinkled his forehead. "I thought he was a painter."

"Maybe he worked in another medium, too," Frank said. "Michelangelo did."

"Yeah, maybe," Joe agreed. "So, what's this guy doing with it?"

"Let's find out," Frank said, moving toward the filing cabinet. "If this file was in here, maybe there's more."

OOOoooOOO

Nancy was racing away from the set when she was stopped by Emily.

"What on earth is going on?" Emily asked, a worried look on her face.

"Come with me," Nancy called, as she headed down a corridor to the dressing rooms. She paused, checking to make sure nobody was around, then said, "Somebody just tried to kill Penelope Randolph."

Emily's eyes went wide. "What? Who?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Nancy told her. "Now, Miss Randolph has been acting nervous and edgy for two days. Something's clearly been bothering her, and I want to know what." She continued down the hall, with Emily following behind, and stopped short in front of a dressing room with Miss Randolph's name painted on it in gold lettering.

"Hopefully, we'll find some answers in here."

She watched as Emily stared at the door. "We're breaking in?"

"Can you think of a better way to find out what's been bugging her?" Nancy asked, knocking softly on the door.

"Nancy, you forget, I'm not a detective," Emily reminded her. "Don't ask me anything, because I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You don't have to," Nancy said, removing a lock pick from her pocket. "Just stick with me." She quickly unlocked the dressing room, and the two girls entered, shutting the door behind them.

OOOoooOOO

Joe continued to poke around on the desk while Frank was rapidly shuffling through papers in the top drawer of the filing cabinet.

Joe noticed a letter addressed to Mr. Craig Simpson sitting on top of the inbox. "Hey, Frank?"

"Yeah?"

"What did Ed say the name of the prop master was?"

Frank paused, staring up at the ceiling. "Um, I think he said his name was Craig."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Joe held up the letter. "I think the thug that hit me was Craig, the prop master."

"That would explain some things," Frank muttered, as he examined the contents of a file.

Joe noticed a tiny sliver of yellow paper sticking out from underneath the desk blotter. He pushed the blotter aside, and picked it up. "Frank?" he called out again, more excitedly this time.

"Did you find something?" Frank asked.

"I think so," Joe said. "Look." He showed him the paper, marked with dates and the titles of what appeared to be works of art, listed in orderly columns.

"This may be what we're looking for," Frank said, glancing over at him.

Joe heard the door to the prop room open. "Let's get out of here."

He pushed Frank toward the entrance of the office and shoved the paper in his pants pocket.

They quickly scrambled down an aisle of the prop room, taking cover behind a large wicker love seat.

"That damn bitch," they heard Simpson hiss as he approached his office. "She's going to blow this whole thing sky high." He roughly grabbed the statue and file from his desk and beat a hasty retreat back through the prop room.

"Who do you think he was talking about?" Joe whispered.

"Only one way to find out," Frank said with a grin.

"Yeah, I was afraid that's what you were going to say." Joe sighed. He had nothing else on his agenda today. Why not try and corner the thug who'd beat him up once already. Might as well go for a matching bruise on the other cheek. "Okay, let's follow him." He stood and offered his hand to Frank to help him up.

OOOoooOOO

Nancy paused at the entrance of Penelope Randolph's opulent dressing room with Emily right behind her. It was elegantly furnished, with Victorian style sofas and chairs, a dressing table, and racks and racks of clothing.

"Wow," Emily said in a hushed tone. "I guess this is what they mean by star power."

"I guess," Nancy said, heading over to Penelope's dressing table. Her mind was focused completely on the case. Why on earth would someone have wanted to kill Miss Randolph? It didn't make sense. She began searching through the items on the top, and then started opening drawers and examining the contents.

"What should I be looking for?" Emily asked.

Nancy glanced up to see her standing in front of an open armoire in the corner of the room, going through the pockets of Penelope's clothing. "Anything that seems suspicious."

"Okay, I'll do my best."

The girls work in companionable silence for the next five minutes, then Nancy called out, "I think I've got something." She bent down to examine a drawer in Miss Randolph's dressing table. The other drawers were all closed flush with the front of the vanity, but this one was sticking out slightly. She tugged on it, and while it gave a tiny bit, something was clearly stopping it from opening all the way.

Emily arrived at Nancy's side just as the drawer finally came loose. Nancy flew backwards and landed with a hard thud on her bottom. "Here," she said to Emily. "Hold this."

Emily put her hands around the drawer, holding it aloft, while Nancy peered underneath it. "Aha!" she said, pulling out a bundle of letters, tied with a violet ribbon.

Emily set the drawer down on a nearby chair. "What's that?"

"I don't know yet," Nancy answered, as she untied the ribbon. "But if this is where she's keeping these, then she's hiding them." Nancy pulled one of the letters out of a yellowed envelope and began reading aloud:

My Darling Daughter,

I don't know if this letter will ever make its way over to England, given the trying circumstances we are now enduring, but I must try to get this information to you. I fear that your mother and I will be taken away any day now by the powers that be, and I don't know when I will have an opportunity to speak with you face to face.
We will be leaving our home to try and join you, if possible. If that does not happen, please know that your mother and I love you dearly, and above everything, we mean to keep you safe from the horrors of this invasion.
I have done my best to protect your inheritance. The artwork has been sent to the monastery and I have high hopes that Father Flanagan will do his best to preserve it until the time comes when it can be appreciated and enjoyed again.
I have included a list of the pieces I have sent to him for safe keeping, and I pray that you will try to restore the collection when this war is over if I am unable.

With much love,
Father.

"I-is there a list?" Emily asked in a hushed tone.

Nancy dug through the envelope again. "Yes." She handed it to Emily. "What does it mean?"

She watched intently as Emily scanned the list, hoping they had just uncovered a major clue.

Emily gasped as her eyes moved over the paper. "Raphael's Portrait of a Young Man, Le Salon de Madame Aron by Vuillard, The Pink Wall by Matisse..." Emily looked up. "Nancy, these are all missing paintings. Do these letters mean that Penelope Randolph's father owned them all at one time?"

Nancy reached for more of the letters in the bundle and began reading them quickly. "Apparently. This letter talks about her being sent to England before the Nazi invasion of France." She paused and blinked. Her vision was getting a bit blurry. She looked up at Emily and it felt like the room was starting to spin. "Wow, I'm feeling a little dizzy."

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing." Emily handed the letter back to Nancy. "I thought it was just excitement over the paintings." She swayed a little on her high heels. "I think maybe I need to sit down."

Nancy was struggling to replace the drawer in the dressing table. "Help me, Em. I can't get this."

Emily staggered over to Nancy and the two of them managed to get the drawer back in place. Nancy sagged to the floor. "Here, I'll keep the letters. Penelope certainly won't be back anytime soon after the fall she took." She shoved the letters down her blouse.

"Um, I think I need to get some fresh air," Emily told her. "I feel awful."

"Me too," Nancy murmured, trying to summon the strength to drag herself to the door.

"I can't do this, Nance," Emily said, crumpling down to the floor. "I'm so tired."

We are in serious trouble, Nancy thought, before she completely lost consciousness.