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think it is, but it shows a different season.”
    Before Nancy could examine the seventh painting, the tall, blond officer returned. “That sedan you followed was reported stolen this morning. It’s registered to an elderly woman named Sarah Glass. She says that her car disappeared while she was eating at a coffee shop. Her keys were gone from her purse, too.”
    â€œThe thief probably watched her park, then followed her inside to pickpocket her keys,” Nancy said, frowning.
    â€œGood thinking, little lady,” said the policeman. “You should be a detective.”
    Nancy smiled politely.
    â€œWe can have the car dusted for prints,” the other officer suggested.
    â€œIt won’t help,” Nancy told them. “He was wearing surgical gloves.”
    â€œSo we’re at a dead end,” Shawn said.
    â€œWe’ll be leaving now,” said the blond officer. “Call us if anything new develops. We’ll be looking for this guy, but we don’t have much of a description to go on.”
    â€œThanks for your time, officers,” Shawn said, escorting the two men to the door.
    Nancy stayed behind to examine the seventh painting. It, too, had taken a worse beating than the other five. It was a summer scene, showing swimmers wading in a lake. As Nancy had noted, it showed the same landscape as the other painting,rendered from exactly the same perspective, but in a different season. The first lake scene was set in spring, with blossoming trees.
    Nancy knelt on the floor and replaced the scattered pieces, smoothing them with her hand. Then she studied her work and gasped.
    A perfect triangle had also been cut from the summer scene—in exactly the same spot as in the spring painting. And that triangle, too, was gone!

7
A Startling Appearance
    Throughout the night, Nancy wrestled with the question of the missing triangles. She tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fall asleep despite the late hour.
    The triangles had to mean something. It was just too coincidental. Nancy’s every instinct as a detective told her there was more to this case than there seemed. But what?
    The slashed paintings had all been done by one artist, who was a prisoner. Why would someone want two triangles cut from those paintings? Nancy didn’t like the prison connection. It spelled trouble to her.
    By ten o’clock Wednesday morning, Nancy had showered, eaten breakfast, and dressed for work at the Arizona House. Part of her wanted to sleep in till the afternoon, but another part was eager to pursue the case.
    The night before, Shawn had walked Nancy to her car. On the way out he’d told her he was determined to clean the place up in time for lunch, even if it meant staying up all night.
    The Arizona House lunch staff wasn’t expected at work until eleven, but Nancy arrived there by ten-thirty. She parked in the back lot, beside Shawn’s white compact station wagon.
    The back door was locked, so Nancy walked around to the front. The door stood ajar. Nancy entered and found Shawn in the lounge, counting money at the register behind the bar.
    When he saw her, he smiled. “I just put two hundred dollars into the register so Roy will have money for change. As long as I have two hundred to put in each day, I’m not going out of business.”
    â€œGood attitude,” Nancy said with a grin. She couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He wore the same clothes he’d had on the night before. “You didn’t go home at all last night, did you?” she observed.
    Shawn shook his head. “I caught a few Zs in my office, though. I wanted to be here early to let in the exterminator. He’s already laid traps for the mice and gone. Come to the dining room. I want to show you something.”
    Shawn came out from behind the bar, and Nancy followed him into the empty dining room. Large, bold, framed posters depicting the Grand