We proceeded into the dining room, set the dishes on the table, and took our seats.

“What do you think Zeke is doing right now?” Bess said dreamily.

“He said he had business to take care of,” I replied. “I wonder what kind. …”

“Maybe we should’ve invited him to dinner.”

“I’m sure we’ll see him at the party. You can ask him then,” said George. “By the way, Nancy, what time are you picking me up on Saturday? Remember, Mom won’t let me drive. Not since the scooter incident.”

George had briefly owned a motorized scooter. She’d managed to crash it within the first week, wiping out on the miniature golf course and damaging their plaster replica of an Egyptian sphinx. She ran right over the sphinx’s left paw!

“I’ll be there at six,” I told her, spooning a big heap of macaroni onto my plate. “Make sure you wear something nice, okay?” I didn’t mind driving us. I liked being able to take my friends wherever we needed to go. A good detective relies on herself, first and foremost, but a trusty mode of transportation is crucial.

It will be fun to go to a party with friends, I thought, as long as George doesn’t show up in hiking boots.

And as long as the thief didn’t return for the rest of the Duchess’s art.

CHAPTER FIVE A Glamorous Fraud

ON FRIDAY, THE DAY BEFORE the Duchess’s party, I got a call from Bess.

“What are you wearing, Nancy? I was thinking maybe we should color-coordinate. Or get matching hats? I feel like this is the perfect occasion for fancy hats. What do you think?”

“I’m still tweaking my outfit,” I told her, but that wasn’t totally true. I couldn’t even settle on a dress. I’d tried on everything in my closet, but nothing felt right. I couldn’t figure out what the Duchess’s invitation meant by “suitable dress.” Did she expect formal gowns, or something avant-garde and artsy? Neither of those things were really my style. I decided to throw Bess off the scent the only way I knew how.

“I bet George is going to show up in jeans and flannel,” I said.

“She would. I love her, but that girl was born without a lick of fashion sense.”

“I’d better go over there and make sure she actually has something to wear. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, good luck. I can’t wait for tomorrow!”

When I got to the Faynes’ house, I found George in her room, eyes trained on her laptop screen. With her rumpled T-shirt and short dark hair sticking up every which way, it looked like she hadn’t logged off in days.

George was so absorbed in her screen that she didn’t hear me enter the room. I snuck up behind her to see what she was working on. There were two versions of the same painted image blown up side by side on her screen—the head and upper body of a young woman dressed in blue. Her gown and hairstyle indicated that this painting was very old. Maybe European. But I couldn’t see why George was scrutinizing the images so closely. They looked identical to me.