“Hey, Nancy!”

“Ned! Have you heard about the Duchess’s party? It’s next Saturday, and I want you to be my date. If you don’t have an invitation, Dad says you can use his. What do you say? Are you free?”

I heard crackling on the line. Ned probably had a bad connection. That, or he’d rolled over on his phone.

“Nancy? Nancy, I can’t go! I’m being kidnapped!”

“Who is it this time?” I asked. “Smugglers? Jewel thieves? A disgruntled magician?”

“The kidnapper … is your father. He hired me to help research intellectual property law for this new plagiarism case. I’ll be buried in law books all week. I can’t go to the party. I wouldn’t be any fun.”

“Oh no, Ned! I’ll have a word with Dad. He’ll have to give in. This isn’t just any party! And who knows? Maybe a mystery will pop up.”

“With artistic types, there’s always a mystery. Last night, I was reading about a Renaissance printmaker called Albrecht Dürer who sued another artist for carving duplicates of his wooden printing blocks. The court ruled that the man could go on making the duplicate blocks as long as he didn’t include an artist’s monogram. After that, Dürer started printing a warning at the front of all his books. I have the quote right here.

“It says: ‘Hold! You crafty ones, strangers to work, and pilferers of other men’s brains. Think not rashly to lay your thievish hands upon my works. Beware! Know you not that I have a grant from the most glorious Emperor Maximillian, that not one throughout the imperial dominion shall be allowed to print or sell fictitious imitations of these engravings? Listen! And bear in mind that if you do so, through spite or through covetousness, not only will your goods be confiscated, but your bodies also placed in mortal danger.’ ”

“Mortal danger! That’s strong stuff.”

“Artists have to be crafty to protect their work. It’s much easier to steal an idea than to make one up yourself,” said Ned.

“Promise you’ll try to join us at the party, at least for a little while?”

“I promise I’ll try.”

“You work too much, sweet Ned,” I said, making sure he could tell I was pouting.

“You work too much, Detective Drew.”

“That’s not true! I’m attending this party strictly as a civilian. A civilian who wants to dance with her cute boyfriend.”

“I’m sorry, Nance! I promise I’ll take you dancing another time.”

“Fine, but I am determined to enjoy myself at the Duchess’s party, sans date if I have to!”

“You’ll make the best of it. You always do.”

“I’ll miss you!” I said before hanging up.

I could smell a golden, toasty aroma wafting up from the kitchen. My French toast was ready. As I got to the table, Hannah laid a final sprig of mint on top of a voluminous mound of soft pink cream.

“Raspberries,” she said, grinning ear to ear.