George gave me a look. “Okay … What are you up to, Nancy?”

“Just tying up some loose ends. Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a sec.”

I went over to the bench and sat down beside the dejected artist.

“You stole the statue, didn’t you?” I said gently. “Angelica Velvet let you into the gallery before the performance, and you hid the statue in your studio.”

Sven did not reply. His face was stony.

“What was part two of your performance tonight? Where are you keeping the statue?”

When he still wouldn’t respond, I tried one more time. “That statue means something to you, doesn’t it? Because you cared for Mona Pearl, and you know she made it. Do you still have feelings for her?”

Sven glared at me, then shook his head.

“All right, have it your way. I wanted to do this nicely. Now I’ll have to find the statue and expose you as the thief.”

“You just try it, Nancy Drew,” Sven finally said. Without another word, he stood and slunk away toward the exit.

I heard the scrape of stone on stone. Mr. Gatewood emerged from behind the urn, followed by Diana Yip, Zeke, and the Duchess.

“Everything all right?” I asked them.

“We seem to have come to an agreement,” said Mr. Gatewood curtly.

“I have one more announcement to make,” the Duchess said, winking at me. “Come!”

I followed their procession into the ballroom. As the Duchess made her way through the crowd back toward her throne, people broke into spontaneous cheers and applause. The four bearded flute players from Mona Pearl and Diana’s performance struck up a merry tune and were soon joined by the string quartet. With the Duchess settled on her throne once more, the crowd celebrated with dancing. Flamboyant out-of-towners grabbed hold of River Heights citizens and began to waltz. The man with the antlers spun Riley the photographer in a pirouette. I spotted Hannah Gruen twirling on the arm of Mr. Covarrubias.

Ahead of me, Bess ran up to Zeke and held out her hand.

“Zeke, shall we dance?” she asked.

He laughed. “Of course!”

I felt a tap on my shoulder. “May I have this waltz, milady?” George asked.

I decided the missing statue and Sven’s come-uppance could wait until the song was over, so I fluffed my skirt and took George’s arm.

I expected some awkward shuffling, and maybe a bow, but George turned out to be a surprisingly smooth partner, leading me through the one-two-three steps of the dance with ease. But because she was George, she also insisted on speaking in a British accent that was decidedly more chimneysweep than courtly gentleman.

“I learned from YouTube videos,” George confessed. “I ’ad to practice for hours.”

“Oh, Prince George, you’re an absolute delight!” I said, giggling at my own terrible accent. As the song ended, I heard clapping off to my left. Someone was calling my name—Dad! And Ned, just behind him, both looking dapper in freshly pressed tuxedos.