Free Dance Till You Die by Carolyn Keene Page B

B.D.’s tracking him down. In the meantime let’s do a little more digging on our own.”
    â€œWhere do we start?” George asked.
    Nancy thought for a minute. “Let’s start with Charity’s house, if we can find it. I want to talk with her parents to see if I can get a lead on where she might be staying. And then I remember from Bess’s flyer that there’s another dance party scheduled for tonight at a loft in the warehouse district. We can go there to see if anyone’s seen Charity or Gaetan. It’s a long shot, but worth a try.”
    Nancy lifted the phone book that was attached to the pay phone by a thick metal cord. “Freeborn is an unusual last name,” she said, thumbingthrough the book. “There probably won’t be too many of them. Here it is,” she said, running her finger down the page. “There are two Free-borns listed.”
    George peered over her shoulder. “That listing for ‘B. Freeborn’ says they live at Twelve Regent Court. Isn’t that a really fancy part of town?”
    Nancy nodded. “And from what Etienne told us, I’ll bet that’s where they live. Let’s head there first.”
    B. Freeborn’s house was an elegant, three-story brick dwelling set back on a wooded lot behind a screen of hemlocks. It looked like a replica of a British manor house. Nancy pulled into the circular drive, where a couple of expensive luxury sedans were parked. A uniformed maid answered the doorbell.
    â€œI’m a friend of Charity’s,” Nancy said. “Is she home now?”
    The dark-haired maid seemed confused and uncertain. “Um—no,” she said. “I’ll tell Mr. Freeborn that you’re here.” Nancy felt a surge of excitement as she and George followed the maid into a formal living room. She’d found the right house!
    The room was furnished with ornately carved, silk-covered furniture. “This room looks like people never use it,” George whispered, taking inthe array of expensive porcelain on the highly polished wooden side tables. “I’m almost afraid to breathe in here.”
    â€œI know exactly what you mean, George,” Nancy replied with a grin.
    A man cleared his throat in the doorway just behind Nancy. Turning, she saw a tall, patrician man standing there. “I’m Bradley Freeborn, Charity’s father,” he stated simply. Mr. Freeborn was wearing a cream-colored cashmere blazer, and had streaks of gray in his dark hair. He had a serious, but not unfriendly, expression on his face. “You know my daughter, Charity?” he asked, reaching out to shake their hands.
    Nancy nodded. “I’m Nancy Drew, and this is George Fayne,” she said. She decided not to reveal the real reason that she was looking for Charity. “We thought we’d stop by to see if Charity was around. There’s a party tonight we wanted to invite her to.”
    â€œWell, I wish I could be of some help,” Bradley Freeborn said with a sigh. “But I simply don’t know where she is.” Nancy could see worry lines etched on his brow. “We had a quarrel—a stupid quarrel over her boyfriend, and she took off without a word. Her mother hasn’t left her bed in days, she’s so worried.”
    Nancy felt sorry for Charity’s father. He was obviously distraught over his daughter’s absence. “I saw Charity at a dance last night,” Nancy said, trying to reassure him. “She was fine at that time.”
    â€œYou did?” Mr. Freeborn’s eyes lit up. “I’ll tell her mother. That’ll make her feel much better.”
    A brass pendulum clock on the mantelpiece over the fireplace chimed eight o’clock. Nancy and George turned to leave. “If I see Charity, I’ll tell her that you want her to come home,” Nancy said softly.
    Nancy thought she saw tears welling in the corners of Mr.