“I hope you saved a dance for little old me,” said Ned.

“Hmm … I think I just can squeeze you in,” I said, smiling.

I hugged them both, but before I could ask my dad how their case was going, the music stopped and the tinkling of a bell cut through the sudden hush of the room. The Duchess stood before her throne, holding the microphone again. Was she finally ready to tell the truth?

Before the Duchess could speak, the lights flickered. I heard the sound of thunder approaching.

“What now?” someone groaned.

“Not another interruption!” complained someone else.

Everyone was nervously watching the chandelier. We heard shouting from the main hallway, and the squeal of rubber against stone.

With a roar like a thousand angry lions, Sven came screeching into the ballroom astride his art cycle, a hideous machine encrusted with torn bits of painted canvas, silverware, stuffed animals, fast-food wrappers, fake flowers, tennis balls, plastic jewelry, and other colorful junk. He’d changed from his navy-blue leotard into another skintight outfit made of shiny purple spandex. Attached to the cycle’s handlebars was a three-foot-tall statue of a woman with a crescent-moon headdress, holding a metal bow with a real arrow.

The room exploded in an uproar. People climbed over one another, trying to get out of the art cycle’s path.

“Stop that at once!” the Duchess shouted into the microphone.

But Sven ignored her, barreling toward us. I realized the goddess’s arrow was pointed straight at me!

George must have realized it too. She tackled me to the ground, James Bond–style.

“Oof!” We rolled to safety under the dessert table.

Just before he crashed into the table, Sven slammed on the brakes and threw the cycle into reverse. He peeled backward out of the ballroom, shouting, “Yes, it was I who took your precious, worthless statue! I exposed your fakery, which is the fakery of all artists! It’s impossible to be original! Art is theft and theft is art! Come and get me, Nancy Drew!”

When we were sure Sven wasn’t circling back to flatten us, George and I crawled out from under the table.

“I know Sven was just being dramatic, but he was actually right on with all that fake art stuff,” said George, blinking.

“Wow, George. I never thought I’d hear you say Sven was right about anything,” I replied. She shrugged.

Guests were straightening their outfits and tsking over Sven’s dangerous performance. Bess came running over, anxious to make sure we were okay.

“Oh, Nancy, your dress is all dusty!” she cried.

“Don’t worry about that right now, Bess. It’s up to us to rescue the goddess!”

My friends and I had to chase Sven down before he destroyed the statue.

“We’re coming too,” called Zeke and Diana, rushing to our sides as we followed Sven out the front door.

“Fine. There’s no time to waste arguing,” I said. “Everyone’ll just have to squeeze into the hybrid.”

I ran over to the valet stand and asked for my car.