Don’t Look Twice by Carolyn Keene Page B

else. “I’ve got to stay here until twelve-thirty. I’m going to hide out upstairs until everyone is gone. When you go back into the ballroom, pretend I had to go home.”
    â€œWhy?” Ned asked. “What’s going on?”
    Nancy quickly explained what she had overheard upstairs and what she planned to do. “I want to see which painting they’re after and tryto find out where they’re taking it,” she concluded.
    â€œI don’t like to leave you here alone,” Ned told her.
    â€œI’ll be fine, as long as you’re standing by to rescue me if anything goes wrong,” Nancy told him. She grinned. “My hero.”
    Ned gave a half smile, then looked deeply into Nancy’s eyes. “Be careful,” he said, and drew her into his arms. She felt so warm and secure that she didn’t want him to ever let her go.
    â€œI hope we find Denise soon,” Ned added.
    Nancy drew back abruptly, feeling as if she’d just had cold water poured on her head. Why did he have to keep reminding her of how much he cared for the missing girl?
    â€œYeah, me, too,” she said, trying to sound normal. “See you in a few hours.”
    Nancy stole back up the staircase and into the file room. It seemed a good place to hide until people had left the gallery. She found a dark corner and made herself comfortable.
    It was eleven-fifteen. An hour and a quarter to wait. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
    When her eyes snapped open a while later, it took her a moment to remember where she was. It was dark and quiet in the file room. She looked at her watch. Two minutes to midnight.
    She stood up, stretched her legs, and walked quietly to the door. The floorboards creakedloudly, and she stopped, her heart beating fast. No one came, no footsteps, no alarms. She was alone in the gallery.
    Nancy opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. She could see the red emergency exit lights at the ends of the hall. The staircase was unlit, but the burnished wood seemed to glow with a light of its own. Nancy fought the jitters that were beginning to make her stomach churn.
    Slowly and deliberately she walked down the staircase and into the ballroom. A few dim lights had been left on, as if to keep the paintings company. Nancy moved from painting to painting.
    Somehow, without the bright light and the clamor of the artsy crowd, the paintings came to life. She stopped in front of The Young Boy. Sitting in his huge velvet chair, the small, thin, dark-haired boy looked incredibly sad and alone. She turned away, then gazed over her shoulder at the painting. Sad eyes gazed back.
    Suddenly Nancy heard the bolt move on the front door. Her heart began thudding in her chest. It wasn’t twelve-thirty yet—they were early! Where should she hide?
    She squeezed behind the door leading from the ballroom to an adjoining room just as footsteps echoed in the ballroom. Because the door was slightly ajar, Nancy could see out. It was Mr. Mason, and he was alone. He took a key from his pocket and stuck it into a plate in the wall. It wasthe new alarm panel, Nancy guessed. Obviously he was turning it off.
    She watched as Mr. Mason dragged a chair over to The Young Boy and stood on the chair to unhook the painting from its supporting wires. He almost fell under the weight, and Nancy suppressed her instinct to move forward to help him. He recovered his balance and slowly eased the painting down onto the floor.
    Mason walked directly toward Nancy, and for a moment her heart was in her throat, but he just flipped on the storage room light on the other side of her doorway. He returned from the room with a handful of tools. Nancy could see his heavily lined face in the spill from the fluorescent lights. He flicked the switch to Off again, then walked as if in a dream, past her and back to the painting on the floor.
    She watched as he slowly unhinged the painting from the frame and began