038 The Final Scene by Carolyn Keene

said breathlessly, “is Bess still in the—”
    But he had already hung up.
    A few moments later George came running back into the bedroom. “They got it,” she exclaimed. “With that new equipment of theirs they traced it right away.”
    “Where was the call coming from?” Nancy asked anxiously.
    George drew a deep breath. “From a telephone at five-twelve East Main Street.”
    The call had come from inside the theater!

Chapter

Twelve
    W HAT DO YOU THINK it means, Nancy?” George asked as Nancy rushed her from the bedroom.
    “Shh, George,” Nancy said, putting her finger to her lips. “I don’t want Hannah to hear us. She’ll have a fit if she even knows I’m out of bed.”
    After silently sneaking down the stairs, Nancy opened the front door. She and George quietly slipped out of the house.
    “Whew. Okay,” Nancy said. “There are twopossibilities. First, it was the kidnapper himself who called, and he’s still inside the theater—with Bess.”
    “That’s not logical,” George said as she opened the passenger door of the car for Nancy. “Who would throw you onto his scent like that?”
    Nancy thought for a moment. “You’re right. But the second possibility is that someone inside the theater knows more than we do but doesn’t want to come forward.”
    “Like Brady!” George said excitedly. “Or Deirdre!”
    “That could be. I still haven’t ruled out Simon Mueller. Still,” Nancy said slowly, “the caller said we hadn’t considered all the possible suspects. That implies it isn’t Simon. And it means we’re missing something important. But what?”
    “I don’t know, Nan. Whatever it is, we’d better find it soon.”
    • • •
    “I told you they aren’t here,” said the young woman in the city planning office of the River Heights City Hall. “The blueprints you want simply aren’t here.”
    The woman pursed her strawberry red lips and put her hands on her waist as she stared at Nancy and George.
    Nancy leaned across the narrow counter and tapped her fingers impatiently on its scuffed surface. “Are you absolutely sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure. And I’m as upset about it as you are,” she said offhandedly while examining the chipped polish on the nail of her pinky.
    “I doubt that,” Nancy muttered under her breath to George.
    “I trusted that man with those prints, and now look what’s happened,” the young woman said with a bored pout.
    “What man?” Nancy exclaimed.
    “Just some guy. He came in a few days ago and asked to see the blueprints. Then he asked permission to take them down the hall to photocopy them. Our copier was broken, so I let him take them. He brought the envelope back later and left it on the counter. Like a dummy I filed it without looking inside. Apparently he took them with him.” She patted her carefully styled blond hair. “And he seemed so honest, too.”
    “What did he look like?” George asked eagerly.
    “What?” The librarian squinted at George through her heavy blue mascara. “What did he look like? He looked—just regular.”
    “Did you notice anything about him? Like the color of his hair?” Nancy continued.
    “I think it was kind of gray,” she said. “But I’m not really sure. I think he was older, anyway.”
    Nancy was going to push for distinguishing features, but she realized there was no point. The woman seemed to care more about her own appearance than anyone else’s.
    “Why is everyone so interested in the theater all of a sudden?” the young woman asked. “Does it have anything to do with that kidnapping?”
    Nancy looked at George, her pretty face reflecting her concern.
    “Yes,” she said, “it has everything to do with the kidnapping.”
    Nancy led George out of the office and down the hallway.
    “We don’t know much more than we did before,” George said dejectedly.
    “Sure we do. We know someone wants to stop us from finding those blueprints, and that someone may be older.” Nancy looked