Still crouching, Diana took out her tablet and snapped a photo, then tapped out a message and hit send. I could hear the whoosh of the outgoing text. Was Diana sending Zeke a “Mission Accomplished” message? There had been something odd about the way he’d dodged my question back at Slay Gallery. A hint of self-satisfaction, like he knew more than he was letting on. It definitely seemed like he knew the Duchess. Was he the mastermind behind the art heist, with Diana acting as his accomplice? That didn’t explain what I’d just witnessed. Why leave even more evidence behind? Especially evidence that could so easily be tracked. Diana’s hands were probably covered in plaster dust, and she was leaving fingerprints everywhere.

Diana brushed plaster dust away from something in the debris and took several more photos, the shutter sound startlingly loud in the empty drawing room. What kind of art thief forgets to silence her device before a heist? I wondered. No, it just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t believe that shy, sad Diana Yip was involved in any sort of crime. But then how could I explain what I’d just seen?

Diana stood and slid her tablet into a pocket in her dress. There was something else in her left hand, but she hid it behind her back before I could see what it was. I froze, realizing too late that I was still standing out in the open. If Diana turned her head, even a little, she’d see me.

And as soon as the thought crossed my mind, she did exactly that.

“Nancy Drew, what are you doing here?” Diana’s eyes were wide and frightened.

“Would you mind telling me what you just put into your pocket?” I asked.

She was silent for a long moment.

“It’s nothing,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper. “Just an old sketchbook.”

“Come on, Diana,” I said, exasperated. “I saw you pull something out of the pedestal.”

“You’re a real gumshoe, Nancy Drew.”

“I just want to know what happened to that statue,” I said, moving closer.

“Then you’ll have to ask someone else. I don’t have a clue.”

“An expert told me the statue wasn’t even valuable. Do you know if that’s true?”

“It was valuable to me. Mona Pearl promised I could have it after the show. It’s mine.”

“So you did take it?” I darted to one side, trying to catch Diana off guard, but she kept her face to me, backing toward the sliding door.

“No! Whoever took the statue didn’t steal it from the Duchess. They stole it from me. I’m the only other person who could really appreciate that piece.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because I love the artist who made it. That statue tells me something about her, something she wouldn’t say out loud. That’s what makes it valuable. Not some expert’s opinion.”

“Okay, so who made the statue?”

Diana shook her head.

“You can tell me,” I coaxed, reaching out to lay a hand on her bare arm, the same one twisted behind her back, protecting her hidden treasure. “I’m sorry, I have to go!” Diana’s voice trembled. What was she so frightened of?