DISCLAIMER: Not with the owning...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Enjoy and review, please.

Chapter 20

"So, what are you two lovebirds going to do tonight?" George asked, drawing out the word "lovebirds."

"Us two? You guys might be coming to," Nancy replied.

"Uh… Nance, I like you and all, but I don't swing that way," Bess said, giving her a look.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, you pig. There's something in this diary and it may give us the clue to finding Raybolt. I'm thinking if Mr. Peterson is feeling okay, we can get him to translate it and then we'd be able to wrap this up tonight."

"Tonight? As in tonight, tonight?" Bess asked, groaning. "Aw, come on, man!"

"What can possibly be more important than this?" George asked.

"I wanted to take a nice long bath and wash my hair…"

"So, nothing."

"No, not nothing," Bess snarled. "I was supposed to go out with Jeff Allen tonight. In fact, I was supposed to go out with Jeff Allen a while ago and I've rescheduled it three times already. Damn. Whatever, I'll just tell him tomorrow."

"I'm sorry I've screwed up your dating life," Nancy said sincerely. "You want me to drop you off home first then?"

"Don't worry. My dating life has survived more crippling blows, but yeah. I need to make dinner for my father anyway."

"In fact, I kind of need to get home too. My mom threatened to kill me if I didn't clean my room today and if you're going to need me tonight…" George said with a shrug. "Well, let's just say that I'm no good to anyone dead."

Nancy laughed and headed for the cousin's separate houses. They were dropped off, then Nancy headed out towards Peterson's bakery. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the bakery number. Karen answered the phone. She asked how Mr. Peterson was and was relieved to hear that he was a lot better. After a short delay, Karen told her that Mr. Peterson was waiting to see her and that he was excited that she was coming by. Nancy grinned happily and hung up the phone. She drove into the bakery and walked in.

"Hi Karen," she greeted to the girl behind that counter.

"Hey Nancy," she replied, looking up from her task. The family she was attending smiled a thank you and headed out of the store with their box of sweets. "He's waiting for you upstairs in his room. He said to just go on up."

"Thanks."

The reunion with the elderly Swedish baker was a happy one. Nancy was surprised to remember him so well. Memories of her childhood flooded through her. She used to come with Hannah Gruen all the time and order sweets. Mr. Peterson fawned over how beautiful she was. He asked about her father and about Hannah.

"You look just like your mother," he said in his soft, sweet voice.

Nancy gave a smile. "Thank you. How are you feeling."

Peterson waved her concern away. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. So, tell me, dear one, what is it you wanted to speak to me about? Karen had told me you had called before my visit to the hospital."

"Actually, I wanted to ask you if youwould do me a favor."

"Anything, child."

"Would you mind translating a Swedish diary?"

"Diary, you say?" the old man said with a twinkle in his eye and a kind smile. "No, not at all. In fact, I have always been interested in diaries. You see, all throughout history, some of the most interesting and well-respected people kept clear, day to day accounts of their lives and this has helped to piece together the sequence of history."

"Really? Like who?" Nancy asked, leaning forward in her chair, interested.

"Lot's of people such as Queen Victoria of England, George Washington… even Christopher Columbus. Oh, yes, his was a very important account. Did you know that when he first saw the coasts of Cuba, he thought that they were landing in Japan?" He laughed along with Nancy, then nodded his head. "Yes, diaries are a wealth of information."

Nancy reached into her bag and produced the little leather-bound journal. She handed it to him. The baker took a few seconds to get his glasses from the table next to him chair and looked down at the book. He gently caressed the worn cover, then began to leaf through the pages.

"The writer is an inventor, I see," he said after a moment. "And seems like quiet a decent person."

"He is," Nancy replied soberly and sat back to listen as Oscar Peterson began to slowly translate the passages of the diary. After about half an hour, Nancy stopped him, saying, "Mr. Peterson, if you are tired, please, stop. I don't mind coming back later."

"Nonsense, child. I am fine, don't fret," he replied and continued.

At Nancy's request he flipped ahead towards the pages where Raybolt began appearing. Nancy leaned forward as Peterson began reading a passage that detailed Swenson having met with Raybolt for the first time. He mentioned that he would show him his drawings and the instructions for his electrochemical processing. He handed everything over to Raybolt. Raybolt had given him a check for two thousand dollars and promised him that he'd have a fifty-fifty split of the royalties as soon as it was patented. Nancy brightened, this was obviously hard evidence that Raybolt had stolen Swenson's original invention.

"'Raybolt is a shrewd man,'" Peterson translated in his slow, steady voice. "'He told me that he doesn't trust banks to do his work for him. He keeps all his important papers and money in a safe. The safe is hidden in a place in his house that only he knows about. The-'"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Nancy called out eagerly, stopping him suddenly. "Go back. Please read that part again."

"'The safe is hidden in his house where only he can find it.'" Peterson looked up at her, a knowing look in his eyes. "What is it, dear one? You see something in this text?"

"Yeah, Mr. Peterson, I do. I really do. Please, continue. I'm sorry to have interrupted you."

Peterson read for another half hour, but there was nothing else about the safe. Swenson did, however, go on in great detail about his invention. The diary would be great proof to the fact that he was the true owner of the product and that Raybolt was an undeniable thief. Not that she knew of anyone who didn't already know he was a thief.

Peterson finished the diary, handing it back to the excited girl with a smile.

"I know that you must have changed, Nancy, but I don't see," Peterson said. "Other than your appearance, you are still the same brilliant little girl I knew so long ago, begging Hannah for one of my fruit tarts."

"Oh, God, yes. I'd forgotten about those. Those were my favorites," Nancy said, licking her lips. "The boysenberry ones. Mmm."

"Come. I'll walk you down."

Nancy protested, but Peterson ignored her and walked into the now empty show with her. Karen smiled at the pair.

"Karen, dear, please box up some fruit tarts for Nancy. One of every flavor. And two of boysenberry, my girl," Peterson asked sweetly.

"No, I can't. Please, no," Nancy protested, but stood helpless as Karen did as she was told hurriedly and thrust the box into Nancy's arm before she could leave without it. She sighed and smiled. "Thank you. And thank you for all you've done today."

She kissed the old man's cheek and he patted her shoulder.

"Say hello to Hannah dear for me," he said and she promised to do so.

Nancy walked out of the bakery and raced home, eating one of the boysenberry tarts on the way. They were just as good as ever. She was excited to talk things through with her father tonight. This was evidence, hard evidence. No way they could hold Joe Swenson now. Nancy swung into her father's office building parking lot and headed up with the box of treats. She gave a tart to her father's secretary, then went into his office, offering him a tart as well.

"Oh my God, are those from Peterson's Bakery?" he asked, taking it greedily and biting into it without waiting for the reply. "Mmm. Jesus Christ. I forgot how great these are."

Nancy laughed. "I need to talk to you."

Carson licked the sugar from his fingers. "I need to go in like five minutes. Shoot, kiddo."

Nancy summed up what she had learned at Mr. Peterson's and her father listened attentively. He agreed that Swenson would have a good case with his diary as evidence against Raybolt.

"So, when can we get him out of jail?" Nancy asked.

Carson sighed and made a face. "Well…"

"You just said he has a good case."

"Yeah, against the robbery of his invention, but that won't be able to get him off the hook for the disappearance of Raybolt and for the fire."

"But he didn't do it!" Nancy yelled, frustrated and angry.

"I know that, Nancy. Don't you think I know? But, what can I do? I can't so anything! Mrs. Raybolt screwed him over and there's nothing I can do about it."

"She lied! She lied! She came into the room and totally lied!"

"You can't prove that," Mr. Drew said, shaking his head.

"I saw her, dad! She looked at him and she didn't even know who he was. She'd never seen him before in her life!" Nancy argued. "She didn't know him!"

"That might be true, but I can't take that into court and tell them that because you say she's lying, she lying. It's your word against hers and you know what? If I put her on the stand, she'll do more harm than good because the jury will feel sorry for the poor crying widow who lost her house. The only way to get Swenson out is if you bring me Felix Raybolt in the flesh. Once I have him here, I'll get him out."

Nancy fell into a boiling rage at the injustice of it all. "Stupid bitch."

"What?" Carson snapped, looking at his daughter sternly.

"Yeah, dad, that Raybolt woman is a stupid bitch."

Carson sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know. Look, I've got to go."

"Okay, sorry I was yelling."

Carson kissed his daughter's hair. "Okay. See you at home. And stop saying 'bitch.'"

Nancy laughed and drove home. Hannah was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. She got Nancy a mug and Nancy told her of everything that had happened so far. Hannah sighed, gave her some encouraging words and they sat in silence for a minute.

"Holy crap! I've got it!" Nancy yelled suddenly.

"You've got what?" Hannah asked, a little startled.

"I know how to get Felix Raybolt!"