Spending the Thanksgiving holiday in romantic Paris, Nancy meets professor Ellen Mathieson and finds her curiosity piqued by the death of the professor's research assistant, which mimics the murder of a painter six months earlier. Original. " HOLD IT, Nancy -- right next to those gorgeous plums. They're the exact shade of your coat!" Nancy Drew brushed her reddish blond hair from her face. She and her friend, George Fayne, were getting a firsthand look at a Paris street market in action. A crowd of shoppers flowed slowly between the two rows of stands that lined the block. The tables were heaped high with colorful fruits and vegetables. George had stopped a few feet before Nancy to aim her pocket camera. "I can't get everything in," she complained, taking a step back. Then she added, "Oh, pardon, monsieur," as she bumped into a middle-aged man whose straw shopping basket contained several zucchini, some purple onions, and a bushy head of lettuce. "Take one picture of me and another of the veggies," Nancy suggested, laughing, "and save some film for that fish store we just passed. Did you see all those crabs and lobsters? And the other shellfish -- I don't even know the names of most of them." George pressed the shutter release, then moved over to Nancy's side. "Well, if you find out, don't ever serve them to me," she said with a shudder. "Some of them were really ugly. I wouldn't want to meet them in a bad dream, never mind on a plate!" "Don't worry," Nancy said, patting her friend's shoulder. "Dad's taking us out to dinner tonight. We'll tell him we want a place that doesn't feature shellfish." Nancy's father, attorney Carson Drew, had come to Paris to settle the estate of a client. His old friend, Robert Morland, who owned a big apartment in Paris, offered to let him use it during his stay. He invited Nancy to come with him and bring her two best friends. Nancy's other close friend, Bess Marvin, already had plans to spend Thanksgiving with an old friend, so reluctantly she turned down the invitation. George was delighted to accept. The two girls had arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport that morning at seven-thirty French time, which was still the middle of the night in River Heights. After a short rest and some freshening up at their apartment, they set out to explore the neighborhood, which was east of the Place de la Bastille, while Nancy's father went to an appointment. George peered doubtfully at the string shopping bag on Nancy's arm. "Plums, apples, oranges, lettuce -- you're not buying much," she commented. "Don't you think we ought to find a supermarket and stock up for the next few days?" "Don't be silly," Nancy replied with a grin. "In Paris, people shop practically every day. That way, their food is always superfresh. Let's pick up some cheeses, a couple of patés, and a baguette. On the way back, we can stop at that little coffee-roasting shop we noticed and buy some tea and coffee. Then tomorrow we'll toss to see who goes out to get fresh baked croissants for breakfast." "You mean they don't deliver?" George joked. "I'm crushed!" A few minutes later the girls had bought every thing they needed. After stopping to admire a stand piled high with roses, they made their way through the crowd of shoppers to the main street and the five-story building where they would be living for the next couple of weeks. The building was in the form of a hollow rectangle, with a long, narrow courtyard paved with cobblestones down the center. They entered the courtyard and were starting up the stairs, when Nancy noticed a woman of about thirty-five coming down the stairs toward them. Her dark brown hair was cut in a short, asymmetrical style, one side chin length and the other an inch or so shorter. She had set off her turquoise wool jacket with a bright yellow silk scarf, casually knotted at her neck. "Hello," the woman said. "You must be Bob Morland's guests. He told me to look for you. I'm Ellen Mathieson. I live just above you." After Nancy and George introduced themselves and shook hands with her, the woman continued, "I was planning to knock on your door. I'm an American college professor, teaching and directing an exchange program for American students here. I'm having an open house this evening for our students. Would you like to come by and meet them? If you're not too jet-lagged, that is." "Thanks very much," Nancy said after a quick glance at George. "It sounds like fun." "Great. Anytime after eight," the woman said. "I'm off to buy some supplies before the market closes for lunch. See you this evening." By the time George, Nancy, and Carson got back from dinner at a lively neighborhood bistro, it was nearly nine o'clock. The door to the courtyard was locked every evening after eight, but Carson punched in the code on the keypad next to it. The lock clicked, and they entered the courtyard. Nancy heard a buzz of voices from Professor Mathieson's apartment. Carson had to