027 Most Likely to Die Read online

  Chapter One

  "Okay, Bess. You have exactly three minutes," Nancy Drew said firmly, glancing at her watch. "If you're not ready by then, we're leaving without you."

  "But, Nancy, I've got to look perfect!" wailed Bess Marvin. She was staring anxiously at herself in her new bikini in the full-length mirror in Nancy's room. She pushed a stray lock of blond hair back into place. "I can't believe you and George are so calm. I mean, here we are about to see everyone from high school for the first time in ages—and you're not even worried? I won't be happy at this party unless every single guy there says how gorgeous I've gotten since high school."

  "But it hasn't been that long!" said George Fayne, Bess's first cousin. "You look the same, Bess. Gorgeous! Now, please, let's go!"

  Quickly Bess stepped into a pair of white baggy pants and pulled a turquoise- and white-striped T-shirt over her head.

  "Hey, up there! Don't you think we'd better leave?" called a voice from the living room downstairs.

  "We're on our way, Ned!" Nancy called to her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. "Let me make sure I've got the invitation so we'll know how to get there," she added as the three girls started downstairs. "Oh, yes, here it is. And here we are, Ned," she added as Bess joined them and walked into the living room. "Sorry to keep you waiting."

  The invitation that had thrown Bess into such a panic was from Wendy Harriman, who'd been in their class at River Heights High School.

  "End-of-summer beach party for the best class ever!" it said in bright pink letters. "Be there at 4:00 p.m. to party with all your old friends from River Heights High. Come on, gang—let's make Wednesday night a winner!" Obviously Wendy hadn't forgotten her pep-rally techniques—she had been head cheerleader. The wording of the invitation sounded exactly the way she always talked.

  The party was going to be held at Wendy's parents' cottage on Sprucewood Lake. Nancy had never been there, even though she'd been fairly friendly with Wendy in high school. At least Nancy had been one of the people Wendy was nice to sometimes.

  Nancy hadn't seen Wendy since the day they'd graduated, but when she had called Wendy to accept the invitation, Wendy sounded as perky and bubbly as ever. "It'll be a mini-reunion!" she had promised. "And feel free to bring Ned. He's practically a member of our class anyway."

  Ned had graduated from a different school from Nancy and her friends, but Wendy was right. Nancy and Ned had met while she was on a case, and they'd been going together ever since.

  Nancy could hardly stand the thought that he had to return to Emerson College right after Labor Day. She was glad they'd have one last party to mark the end of their happy summer together.

  "Do you think we could go together? In the same car?" Bess asked in a plaintive voice. "It would be more fun to get there with some—you know—moral support."

  Nancy glanced over at Ned. She knew he'd been counting on taking her alone, but he was grinning broadly.

  "How could we deprive you of our moral support, Bess?" he said. "We'll go in my car."

  "The scenery is gorgeous," Nancy commented after they'd left the city behind and were winding around Sprucewood Lake. "And look at these houses. They're practically mansions!"

  In the back seat, Bess sighed. "I guess that's just the way it goes. Why shouldn't the girl who has everything have the perfect beach house, too?"

  "What's the matter, Bess?" Nancy asked gently. "You don't sound like yourself today."

  Bess was silent for a minute. "I guess it's just that the idea of seeing Wendy Harriman makes me nervous," she said at last. "It probably doesn't bother you, Nan—you're so confident. But there's just something about Wendy—I know she's nice and everything. But when we were in high school she made me feel like a total clod. She was always so perfect! Perfect nails! Perfect hair! Perfect body! And going back to see her and everyone from our class is making me feel like a clod all over again."

  "I know what you mean," said George. "It wasn't anything she actually said, but Wendy always made me feel as though being athletic was weird. I got the feeling she couldn't really accept anyone who wasn't exactly like her."

  "She was kind of catty sometimes, but she was probably just insecure," Nancy said. "I'm sure she's gotten over it by now."

  "What's she doing these days, anyway?" asked Ned. "Is she going to college?"

  "Sort of," Nancy answered. "She said she was working part-time at a stationery store and taking some classes."

  "Doesn't sound too strenuous," observed George.

  "We must be getting close to the house," Ned said. "What did you say the number was, Nancy? Never mind. That's got to be it."

  Ahead of them was a rambling old beach house whose front yard was packed solid with cars.

  "Hi, Nancy!" Wendy Harriman shrieked, bouncing over to the car as they drove up. "Hi, Ned! Hi, Bess! Hi, George!"

  "Let's go home," whispered Bess dourly. But everyone else in the car was getting out.

  Wendy had always been one of the cutest girls in the class. "A walking cola commercial," Ned had once said. With beautiful auburn hair, freckles, and sparkling green eyes, she had managed to stand out.

  "I was beginning to think you guys weren't coming!" Wendy chirped now. "Everyone else is here"—she pouted a little—"except my boyfriend, Rod. I really wanted people to meet him, but he's out of town. Anyway, it's great to see you. Bess, you haven't changed a bit. You look

  exactly the same. And what about you, George— are you still a jock?"

  "I guess you'd say so," George said. Her smile was a little stiff, but Wendy didn't see it. She had already turned to Ned.

  "You're looking pretty healthy, Mr. Nick-erson," she said merrily.

  Ned smiled. "I try."

  "That's good. You know, you've got some competition tonight—Don Cameron's looking better than ever! Oh, there's Marcy Meyer! Hey, Marce!" Wendy dashed up to a car that was just pulling into the driveway.

  For a second the four of them just stood watching her. "She hasn't changed at all," George said at last. "Except maybe she's even perkier. Has anyone ever died of 'perky'?" Bess laughed. "The water looks great, anyway. I'm going in."

  "I'll come, too," Bess said.

  "I wonder what Wendy meant by competition," Ned said to Nancy.

  "I have no idea," said Nancy. She squeezed his hand. "Let's go talk to some of the other kids."

  A volleyball game was in progress on the lush side lawn, and Nancy and Ned headed in that direction. Very few kids were actually playing the game. Most of them were sitting or standing and listening to a handsome black-haired boy.

  "Patrick Emmons!" Nancy said.

  If Wendy had been the most popular girl in the class, Patrick had definitely been the most popular boy. As a matter of fact, those two had gone steady through most of high school. They were the perfect couple, and even when they'd broken up in the middle of their senior year they managed to stay good friends.

  It wasn't just that Patrick was so good-looking —it was that he shone at everything he did. He'd been the captain of the football team and president of the student council. He'd done lots of volunteer work without being a goody-goody about it. And no one was surprised when he had won a full scholarship to an Ivy League college in the East.

  Now he was talking animatedly, his back to the volleyball net. "So then my fraternity decided we had to get even. I wired the dean's office for sound, and when he— Nancy! Ned! How are you?" he broke off to say.

  "Just great," Nancy said as she and Ned moved in beside him. "How's college?"

  Patrick smiled. "Unbelievable. I'm having the best time of my life."

  "Still playing football?" Ned asked. Ned was a top athlete himself, and he knew Patrick had played on just about every varsity team a
t River Heights High.

  "Is he still playing football!" exclaimed a pudgy girl named Lori Blum. Nancy remem-

  bered that Lori had always had a crush on Patrick. "He's only the first freshman in twenty years at that school to make varsity."

  Patrick was blushing. "I just got lucky. I only hope I can keep my grades up at the same time."

  "I wouldn't worry too much," said Lori. "Nancy, he also won the freshman composition prize and the history prize. But you won't get him to talk about that. You have to drag it out of him."

  "Well, I'm impressed," Nancy said. "Your parents must be, too." Patrick had been the first person in his family to go to college.

  "I—I guess they are." Patrick ducked his head. "They gave me a car." He pointed to a sleek black Corvette. "But really, I don't want to talk about myself. What have you been doing, Nancy? Still sleuthing?"

  Before Nancy could answer, she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Any room over there?"

  She turned to see Monica Beckwith looking down at the group. Monica had been the class's star actress—so good that she had started getting parts in a regional theater even before graduating. Now she was doing TV commercials for a cosmetics company based in New York, and Nancy was sure it wouldn't be long before she hit the big time.

  Standing beside Monica, half hidden by her, was a girl Nancy had never seen before. If Monica was glamorous—an ash blonde with deep violet eyes—this girl was a genuine beauty. Her long black hair fell sleekly down her back, and her smoky gray eyes were fringed with the longest lashes Nancy had ever seen. But why did she look so sullen?

  "Of course there's room, Monica," Nancy said warmly. "And for your friend, too." She smiled at the girl beside Monica. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name, but—"

  "Celia Quaid."

  "Celia Quaid!"

  Nancy couldn't help gasping. She would never have recognized this beautiful girl as Celia!

  "You've lost so much weight!" Lori Blum said.

  "Sixty pounds," Celia said curtly.

  "That's fantastic!" said Nancy. "You look wonderful!"

  But Celia wasn't smiling. "Thanks."

  Monica had already sat down on the grass next to Nancy. "Wouldn't you like to sit down, too?" she asked Celia.

  "Not right now." Celia turned to walk away and almost bumped into Wendy Harriman.

  "Hi, gang! Doesn't Celia look great?" Wendy said. "I still can't believe it. How'd you ever do it, Celia?"

  Celia stared at Wendy for a second, and it wasn't a pleasant stare. "You should know" was all she said. "I'm going swimming." And she walked away.

  "Well! What's the matter with her?" asked Wendy, tossing back her hair petulantly.

  "Maybe she's a little self-conscious or something," said Ned.

  But if it made Celia self-conscious to be congratulated on her amazing achievement, why had she come to the party?

  Whatever the reason, the scene she had just witnessed made Nancy uncomfortable. "Want to go for a swim, too?" she asked Ned.

  "Sure," he answered, jumping to his feet and grabbing her outstretched hand.

  But they never got to the lake. Don Cameron was moving toward them, a delighted look on his face. And when she saw him, Nancy knew what Wendy had meant by "competition."

  Don had been Nancy's boyfriend before she started going with Ned. Like Ned and Patrick, he had also been a star athlete. He was a perfectly nice guy, but Nancy had never managed to feel starry-eyed and romantic about him. That was why she'd broken up with him.

  Still, Don had been a lot of fun, even if he didn't make her heart beat fast. "Hi, Don!" Nancy said enthusiastically.

  Don's eyes were glowing. Before Nancy knew it, he'd taken her hand and kissed her on the cheek. "It's great to see you again!" he said. "How's it going?"

  "Just fine. You remember Ned?" Nancy asked, determined to remind him how things stood.

  "Of course," Don said. Ned smiled and shook his hand. A little of the light faded from Don's face.

  Nancy decided not to draw things out any longer. "Bess! George!" she called, waving to them on the beach. "Come over and say hi to Don!"

  Bess and George sized up the situation at a glance. Chattering and giggling, they drew Don away with them toward the water.

  Nancy looked up at Ned, who was staring after Don. "You're not jealous," she said, grinning at him.

  "No," Ned said slowly. "I was just thinking about how lucky I am." Bending his head, he lightly kissed Nancy on her other cheek. When he drew back, he winked. "Now you have a matched set."

  A roar from a motorcycle drew their attention just then.

  "It's Judd Reese!" Nancy said. "He's sure cleaned up his act."

  Judd had been the biggest greaser in their class—scruffy, leather-jacketed, and surly. He was still wearing a leather jacket that day, but every trace of scrufliness was gone. Judd looked lean and elegant—a gentleman biker. "Isn't that a pretty expensive machine?" Nancy asked Ned.

  "Top of the line," he answered.

  "I wonder what he's been doing since we graduated," Nancy said.

  "What's he doing here?" Wendy hissed angrily, coming up at Nancy's side. "I didn't invite him!"

  Judd had swung off his motorcycle and was striding toward them. "Hey, Wendy," he said. "Heard you were having a little party, so I decided to stop by."

  Wendy looked furious—and a little scared. "Fine," she said, controlling the tremor in her voice. "As long as none of your friends are coming with you."

  "Don't worry," said Judd. "I don't have those friends anymore. Your house won't get trashed today—at least not by me!" He grinned. "Where can I get something to drink?"

  "There's soda in those ice coolers over there." Wendy pointed to the picnic table.

  "Thanks."

  "What should I do?" Wendy moaned as she watched Judd saunter away. "What if he gets nasty?"

  "Why should he?" Nancy asked.

  "Well, you know what he was like in school!"

  "It looks as though he's changed since then. I wouldn't worry about it. Look, is there anything I can do to help with the food?"

  "Good idea." Wendy's brow cleared. "Let's bring the burgers out to the grill."

  When they'd brought out the trays, Wendy climbed onto a picnic bench and clapped her hands. "Okay, gang!" she shouted. "Burger time! Who's going to light the fire?"

  "Me," said Patrick, stepping up to the grill. "Where's the charcoal starter, Wendy?"

  "I don't see it anywh— Oh, here it is." Wendy reached in back of the grill to hand it to him.

  Patrick bent over the grill and carefully squeezed the plastic container. He struck a kitchen match against its box and tossed it into the charcoal. Then he screamed.

  An explosion of flame leaped out of the grill— right onto his shirt and face!

  Chapter Two

  Nancy snatched up a crumpled beach towel lying on the grass beside the grill. Pressing the damp terrycloth against Patrick's face and shirt, she smothered the flames instantly. A few people in the crowd didn't even realize what had happened.

  But the flames on the grill were still blazing furiously, soaring high into the air. Nancy grabbed a pitcher of lemonade and flung it onto the fire. Ned grabbed two more pitchers and did the same. In a second the fire had died out, and all that was left in the grill was a hissing mess of soggy coals.

  "Sorry about the lemonade, Wendy," Nancy said. "Patrick, let me see your face. Are you okay?"

  Patrick was still patting the damp towel against his skin. His shirt was singed, and so was his hair. His face had been reddened by the heat —but there were no bad burns that Nancy could see.

  "I—I think I'm okay," he said, sounding dazed. "Thanks to you, Nancy."

  "Well, your skin's not broken anywhere, so I don't think you need a doctor. But you'd better put some ice on your face," Nancy said. "Could someone please—"

  George, who had come out of the water, was already filling one of the empty pitchers with ice from the coolers of soda can
s. She handed it to Patrick.

  "Thanks, George. And, Wendy, if you've got some plastic bags in the kitchen, we can improvise some ice bags for him."

  "Sure. Come on, Patrick. Let's go get you fixed up," said Wendy, leading Patrick into the kitchen.

  "And now," said Nancy grimly, "I want to take a look at that charcoal starter." She picked up the plastic bottle and sniffed it.

  "Just what I thought," she said. "Gasoline."

  There was a murmur from the kids gathered around her. "But the bottle says it's charcoal starter," Ned protested.

  "The same thing could have happened to any of us," Nancy said.

  "But I don't understand," said Bess. "Why would anybody put gasoline into that container?"

  "If you wanted to play a trick on someone . . ." Nancy said, leaving the sentence unfinished. A really horrible trick, she thought.

  It was the only explanation she could;come up with. Someone must have substituted gasoline for the starter fluid on purpose. But who would have done a thing like that—and why? Nancy could hardly believe her own suspicions.

  "Well," she said out loud, "I bet it was the only bottle someone could find to put the gasoline in. Accidents can happen. Ned, how about giving me a hand getting rid of these wet coals? We can get the grill all ready, and someone can go buy us some real charcoal starter."

  "I'll go," said someone from the back of the crowd,

  "Perfect," Nancy said gratefully. "Now we're back on track!"

  Wendy came out of the house a few minutes later. "Patrick's just getting cleaned up, and then he'll be right out," she reported.

  When Patrick did come out, Nancy was relieved to see that he looked fine. Only the front of his shirt—which was blackened—hinted that anything had happened to him.

  "Boy, Nancy," he said, "I guess that'll teach me not to put so much starter on next time!"

  "Right," Nancy said with a laugh. Patrick hadn't heard that it was gasoline in the bottle, and Nancy decided not to scare him after the shock he had just had.

  "Come with me while I change, Bess," she said. "All of a sudden I'm dying for a swim. Ned, how about you?"