038 The Final Scene by Carolyn Keene Page B

list,” he said, looking at Nancy.
    Nicholas’s grandfather had guessed why they were there. She decided to be honest. “Your feelings about the upcoming demolition are a matter of public record,” she said. “And none of us can blame you for wanting to preserve your father’s and your art.”
    Louis Falcone said nothing for a long moment. He only walked over to a small table and picked up a chunk of wood that he had apparently been carving.
    Walking over to the girls, he showed them the piece. “Do you see this?” he asked. “This is just a bit of baroque carving, a shell. It’s only a fancy little curlicue. I’ve been carving on it for two hours. Like this—”
    He took a sharp knife from his pocket, pressed the tip to the wood, and scooped out a small bit of the wood. “When I’m finished carving this,” he said, “I’m going to use it to make a mold. From that mold I can cast dozens of these shells in plaster. Then I paint them gold or silver. Mixed with other shapes I can create those ornate borders that you see all over the theater.”
    He walked back to the table and laid down the wood and chisel. “I began learning my craft back in Italy when I was only six years old. By the time I was fourteen, I was here in the United States working as a master craftsman.”
    “You have a wonderful talent, Mr. Falcone,” George said sincerely.
    “Yes, I have,” he said without pretending to be humble. “But a man only creates a few truly beautiful things in his life. That theater was one of my father’s and my contributions to this world. I spent a long time creating the Royal Palladium. I don’t want to see it destroyed in one day.”
    “I don’t blame you,” Nancy said. Then she asked him pointedly. “Did you kidnap my friend, Mr. Falcone?”
    He returned her steady gaze as he said, “No, Ms. Drew. I didn’t.”
    Nancy swallowed hard. George glanced at Falcone, then gave Nancy a sad and disappointed look.
    “Do you believe me, Ms. Drew?” he asked with a half smile.
    “I think you and your grandson would do almost anything to preserve that building,” Nancy said, baiting him. Carefully watching his reaction, she saw his eyes flash with anger and determination.
    “You’re right, Ms. Drew, we would. And if that makes us suspects on your list, so be it.”
    He stared at her with such intensity that Nancy found herself having to glance away. Her gaze swept Mr. Falcone’s studio, and a photograph, hanging among others on the wall, caught her attention. She stood up and walked over to the wall.
    “This is a picture of you, Nicholas, and Joseph Hughes,” she observed. “I didn’t know that you were friends.”
    “I’ve known Joseph for years,” he said. “He’s a good man.”
    “Do you think Joseph is capable of kidnapping?” Nancy asked him.
    “Joseph is a very capable man,” he said without hesitation. “He has a deep love for the theater, and I’m sure that he would do anythinghe could to save it. But he’s a kind soul. I can’t imagine that he would hurt anyone.”
    Nancy turned to face him, her eyes trained on his face to watch his reaction to her next question. “George and I went to City Hall less than an hour ago to look at the blueprints of the theater. They’re missing. Do you have any idea who might have taken them?”
    He smiled a half smile and shrugged. “I can’t imagine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to work.”
    Nancy looked at George in frustration. Another dead end, and it was getting later by the minute.
    They said goodbye to Louis Falcone and headed back down the walkway to their car.
    “I think he did it,” George said with conviction.
    “But he denies it, and we haven’t got any proof.” Nancy shook her head sadly.
    “I know. I think if Bart Anderson had been in the room with us, he would have strangled him.”
    “Unfortunately, that’s not enough.” Nancy sighed. They were headed back to River Heights knowing no more than when