038 The Final Scene by Carolyn Keene Page A

at her watch. It was noon.
    George must have noticed the nervous gesture. “We’ve got to think of something, Nancy.”
    “I’m thinking.” Someone older. Haven’t considered all the possibilities. Who would want the plans to the theater? Who else had a motive?
    “Bingo!” she said. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of it before.”
    “Nancy,” George said, grabbing her friend’s arm, “would you care to let me in on it?”
    “Louis Falcone.” Nancy let the words sink in.
    “Nicholas’s grandfather?”
    “We’ve never considered him as a suspect, but what if he’s behind all this? It would make sense. There’s no way he’d want that theater torn down, and he probably knows that building better than anyone.” It was all falling into place.
    “But, Nancy—”
    “There’s no time to waste.”
    Within a few minutes Nancy had looked up Louis Falcone’s address and called Detective Ryan to arrange for him to meet her at the theater later.
    After half an hour’s drive out of River Heights, Nancy and George were in the middle of the country. They took several rural roads and finally turned into Louis Falcone’s driveway. It was lined with plaster sculptures.
    “Just look at this place!” Nancy exclaimedas she and George stepped out of the car and walked across Louis Falcone’s front yard. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
    “No wonder Nicholas is so proud of his grandfather,” George said. “Can you imagine having the talent to create such beautiful things?”
    Nancy pulled on her friend’s arm. “Now, remember, we’re here to ask him about Nicholas. Then we’ll see if he reveals anything suspicious.”
    “I hate the idea of tricking him like that, Nancy,” George said, shaking her head.
    “It’s the only way, George. Trust me. Besides, it’s all for a good cause. If we don’t figure this out soon, Bess is—”
    “I know, Nancy,” George said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
    Together the girls strolled up the stone walkway to the door of a small cottage. In answer to their knock, the door opened, and the girls found themselves face to face with one of the handsomest older men that either of them had ever met.
    Louis Falcone was tall, with a dark complexion like his grandson. He had a full head of snowy white hair and piercing blue eyes. “Yes?” he asked. His voice was rich and deep.
    “Mr. Louis Falcone?” Nancy asked, thoughshe was sure she had found Nicholas’s grandfather.
    He nodded his silver head. “I am. And who are you?”
    “I’m Nancy Drew, and this is George Fayne. We’re investigating the disappearance of our friend, Bess Marvin. You may have heard about—”
    “Oh, yes, of course.” A guarded look crossed his handsome features. “My grandson told me all about you. How can I help you?”
    “Could we possibly come in, Mr. Falcone? There are a few questions we’d like to ask you, if you don’t mind.”
    “Certainly. Please, come inside.”
    He ushered them into his home, which was as charming and quaint inside as outside. Carved animals of all species adorned his mantle. On the coffee table was the figure of a young man sitting on a tree stump, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting in his hands. He looked very thoughtful and serious.
    “That’s a wonderful sculpture,” George said. “It’s Nicholas, isn’t it?” Mr. Falcone nodded.
    “I think you really caught his personality,” she remarked.
    Mr. Falcone studied the piece as thoughseeing it for the first time. “Yes. I was pleased with it. Nicholas is such a serious, intense boy. Always has been.”
    It sounded funny to Nancy to hear Nicholas referred to as a boy when he was at least twenty-three years old. She supposed that to his grandfather he would always be a child.
    “So, have you heard any news about your kidnapped friend?” he asked, motioning for them to take a seat on the sofa.
    “No. Unfortunately not,” Nancy said.
    “And I’m now one of the suspects on your