058 Hot Pursuit Read online

  Chapter One

  "DO YOU THINK Woody and the Hot Rods will be on that seaplane?" asked Bess Marvin, pointing to the small silver spot on the horizon.

  "I may be a detective, but I haven't mastered the fine art of seeing into the future—or into a plane yet," said Nancy Drew, laughing gently at her friend. She brushed her reddish blond hair off her face and reached for her sunglasses. The rays of the warm Caribbean sun danced on the water like sparkling diamonds, making it hard for her to even see the plane.

  Bess's cousin George Fayne jogged up to the girls just then. Her short, dark hair was slicked back from her face, and her skin glistened with drops of water. "The water's great!" she said, grabbing a towel and drying off.

  The three friends were vacationing at Pineapple Grove, a resort on the Caribbean island of St. John. From their position under a cluster of coconut palms, they could keep an eye on the other end of the cove, where seaplanes and water taxis landed to drop off and pick up resort guests.

  Bess was perched on the edge of her lounge chair now, her hands cupped above her pale blue eyes, shading them as she stared at the small plane that was now taxiing through the surf, "I'll just die if we don't get a chance to meet the guys in the band."

  "Admit it, Bess," George said, reaching for her suntan lotion. "When it comes to guys, you'd like to meet them all—rock stars or not!"

  Bess stopped staring at the seaplane long enough to give her cousin a look of mock indignation. "You just don't appreciate how lucky we are to be here at the same time the band's going to be filming a video."

  Bess closed her eyes just then and crooned softly, " 'Look at the sky above—and launch into love—'"

  "Oh no," George groaned, rolling her eyes. "Not another Hot Rods medley by Bess Marvin!" She finished applying sun lotion and stretched her long, athletic figure out on a lounge chair, closing her eyes. "Don't wake me up until it's over."

  Nancy glanced at her two friends, smiling to herself. Sometimes it was hard to believe Bess and George were cousins. Curvy, blond Bess's main preoccupation was with guys, and her taller, athletic cousin was preoccupied with sports—and guys, sometimes.

  Bess stopped singing. "Okay, okay. The Hot Rods may be a little better than I am," she admitted. "Do you think they're on that plane?" she said, staring across the cove again.

  "Maybe. They could be traveling in disguise to avoid screaming fans," George teased.

  "I'd recognize them anywhere," Bess went on, as if she were the public relations agent for the group. "Dark-haired, exotic Enrique 'Ricky' Angeles, wacky redheaded Woody Neal, and the gorgeous, blond Tucker Dawson. He's my absolute favorite." Glancing at her two best friends, Bess added, "I guess they're sort of like the three of us—a blond, a redhead, and a brunette. . . ."

  She paused and listened as steel drums playing calypso music rang out into the tropical air, bringing the cove to life. Calypso was the resort's standard way of welcoming new guests. The girls watched as the visitors stepped from the seaplane onto the island and were greeted with flowers and tall, refreshing drinks. There were a young couple, a family of four, and two older ladies.

  "No go." Bess sighed, collapsing back onto her lounge chair.

  "Maybe they'll be on the next plane," Nancy said hopefully. She watched absently as Steven Gibbs, the tall, blond owner of Pineapple Grove,

  Strode toward the landing to personally welcome his guests.

  George had opened one eye to watch the welcoming ceremony. "I read in a magazine that everything Gibbs touches turns to gold. Apparently, this land was just isolated jungle until he bought it. But he's turned it into this fantastic resort."

  Nancy nodded. "They're not kidding when they call Pineapple Grove a 'slice of paradise,'" she said, quoting the resort's slogan. "As far as I'm concerned, there's only one thing missing."

  "I bet you wish Ned were here," Bess guessed correctly.

  Ned Nickerson, Nancy's boyfriend, was busy with his studies at Emerson College, near the girls' hometown of River Heights. Just thinking about him, Nancy felt a familiar warm rush.

  "I miss him," she admitted. "But there was no way he could get away in the middle of a term."

  Her mind still on Ned, Nancy watched distractedly as the new arrivals gathered around Steven Gibbs and his staff. The music had stopped while Gibbs addressed the group. Nancy was too far away to hear what he said, but she did catch an occasional ripple of laughter from the small crowd.

  "Gibbs really has a way with people," Nancy observed. "I was impressed with him when he came to greet our plane yesterday."

  "He does make you feel welcome," George agreed.

  The girls heard a round of applause, then saw the group begin to disperse. Bellhops gathered up the luggage and guided the new guests toward the flower-lined path that led to the lobby.

  Pineapple Grove had been built in the shape of a starburst. At the center was the main lobby, a huge glass dome that covered the round reception area, providing guests with spectacular views of the grounds and sea. Fanning out from the lobby were pastel-colored stucco buildings, two stories high and with terra-cotta roofs. These were where the guests stayed. Between the guest buildings were mazes of gardens, hot tubs, dining terraces, and thatched-roof huts that housed everything from small shops to kitchens.

  From the map of the resort which was in their room, Nancy knew that Pineapple Grove had been built on a hooked, isolated peninsula of St. John. The hook was surrounded on one side by high, rocky cliffs that formed natural protection for the sandy beach and calm bay waters where the girls now lay. A narrow, curving road was the only link to the rest of St. John.

  "It sure is a scorcher," George said, tugging a visor over her short, dark curls.

  "Let's get something to drink before lunch," Bess suggested, looking for a waiter. The resort swarmed with helpful staff members, and their casual uniforms of turquoise print shirts and crisp white shorts made them easy to spot. Bess waved at one who was making his way down the beach. "I'm dying to try a coconut cooler!"

  The waiter had just returned with their drinks when Nancy noticed Steven Gibbs strolling down the beach. He was escorting a petite woman who was wearing a red swimsuit and a matching wraparound skirt. Her features were nearly hidden by sunglasses and a straw hat that she had cocked over her face.

  "Here comes our host." Nancy nodded toward the couple. "Maybe he can fill you in on the Hot Rods' arrival."

  "Who's that woman with him?" Bess asked curiously. "She seems awfully familiar, doesn't she? Like maybe a movie star or famous model."

  Sipping her cooler, Nancy idly watched as Gibbs found the woman an empty lounge chair not far from them. "You know, she does look familiar," Nancy said. "I just can't place her, though."

  The resort owner brushed the sand from the chair and gestured for the young woman to sit. He was just about to leave when Bess called to him.

  "Mr. Gibbs!"

  He turned toward the girls. "Call me Steve, please," he insisted, flashing them a dazzling smile. "We're all very casual around here. And your name is . . ."

  "Bess Marvin," she supplied. Then she introduced Nancy and George.

  "Of course," Gibbs said. "I never forget a face—especially such lovely ones! You arrived on the launch from Saint Thomas yesterday, right?"

  "Right." Bess was beaming. "We were wondering when Woody and the Hot Rods are going to arrive. The rumor that they're shooting a rock video here is true, isn't it?"

  "Yes. The Hot Rods are coming." Gibbs pushed his hands into the pockets of his crisp linen suit. Despite the late-morning heat, he looked cool and energetic. "But don't tell me you came to Pineapple Grove just to see a rock band," he teased. "Don't we have anything else that might interest you? Snorkeling? Water-skiing? Maybe a shopping t
rip or two?"

  "We're going out on the glass-bottom boat to check out the reef after lunch," Nancy told him. She didn't want the owner to think that they didn't appreciate all the great activities Pineapple Grove had to oflfer.

  "And I'm sure I'll go waterskiing at least once a day," George added.

  Gibbs smiled at them again. "Well, that's more like it. I'm sure you'll find that the more you explore Pineapple Grove, the more you'll find to keep you busy."

  "Nancy's a pro when it comes to exploring," Bess explained. "She's a detective."

  "Really? I didn't realize we had a detective in our midst," he said, glancing at Nancy. "I hate to disappoint you, but Vm afraid you won't find any mysteries here. Just—paradise."

  Nancy was impressed with Gibbs's style. He made it look as if running a resort with hundreds of guests was the easiest thing in the world. And he certainly had the knack of making every guest feel special.

  "I have to get back to my ofl5ce," he went on, his blue eyes sparkling. He leaned over and winked at Bess. "I can see you won't be satisfied without a scoop. Between you and me, the guys are supposed to arrive some time today." Gibbs excused himself and headed for the main lobby of the hotel.

  "Wow! I can't believe they're really coming," Bess exclaimed.

  "I wonder if the rumor about the band is true," George said.

  "You mean all the talk about them breaking up?" Bess toyed with the paper umbrella in her drink. "I can't imagine it."

  "According to the newspapers, they have an iron-clad contract," Nancy said. "Even if they split up, they're locked into a recording deal with the same label. They could end up in a messy legal battle for years."

  "Well, I'd never get over it if they broke up," Bess said dramatically. "They're the best rock group of all time."

  "That's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?" someone said from outside their group.

  The girls turned, and Nancy noticed that the woman in the red swimsuit had lifted the brim of her hat and was taking off her sunglasses to peer over at them. She seemed annoyed by Bess's comment.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop," the woman said, her expression softening,

  "Oh, that's okay," Bess told her. "I suppose I was gushing— just a little."

  As the woman took off the huge hat and fanned herself with it, Nancy recognized her delicate face and honey-blond hair. "You're Courtney Brooks," she said. "The singer."

  "Courtney Brooks!" Bess echoed in a thrilled voice. "I knew you looked familiar. I must have seen your latest video a million times."

  Courtney's brown eyes seemed to warm up at Bess's praise. "It's always nice to meet a fan," she said. "All I've heard about lately is how wonderful Woody and the Hot Rods are," she added, frowning again.

  "Don't you like their music?" George asked.

  Courtney's expression darkened. She leaned forward as if she were on tria^and trying to convince a jury of her innocence. "It sounds like you know about the Hot Rods," she said. "So I guess you've heard the rumor that I'm the one responsible for the band's breakup."

  Chapter Two

  "BUT DOES THAT MEAN that the Hot Rods are really going their separate ways?" Nancy asked the blond singer.

  Now that she thought about it, Nancy did recall reading an article that blamed Courtney for the band's problems. It said that the musicians had been at odds ever since the Hot Rods' lead guitarist, Woody Neal, began dating their former singer, Courtney. The other guys in the band claimed that she was interfering with business.

  "I have no idea what's going on with the band," Courtney said, shaking her head. "See how ridiculous the press can be? I'm accused of tearing the guys apart, but the truth is, I haven't seen or spoken to Woody for weeks." She bit her lip and stared out at the sea.

  Courtney seemed a bit distant, but she had a candid quality that Nancy liked immediately. It was obvious that her situation with Woody was bothering her, and Nancy couldn't help feeling sorry for her.

  "Did you come to Pineapple Grove to be in their video?" George asked after an uneasy silence.

  Courtney shuddered. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a video with those guys. I met Steve Gibbs at a party a few months ago and he asked me to sing for the opening of the Coral Cove—a new nightclub here. I didn't find out until last week that the Hot Rods were going to be here at the same time. I nearly canceled, but I had a contract, and also I didn't want to leave Steve in the lurch."

  Nancy nodded sympathetically. She could imagine how uncomfortable it would be for Courtney to be stuck in the same place as her ex-boyfriend—plus his entire band. Pineapple Grove may be a tropical paradise, Nancy thought, but it was obviously the last place on earth Courtney Brooks wanted to be just then.

  "That was delicious," George said, munching a piece of coconut from the lunch buffet. "I've never seen so many tropical fruits in one place."

  The girls were just finishing up a lunch of chilled lobster salad and juicy pineapple, melon, banana, oranges, and mangos.

  "I could sit here and eat forever!" Bess raved, popping another piece of coconut in her mouth.

  'Too bad we don't have that long," Nancy reminded her, checking her watch. "The glass-bottomed boat leaves in five minutes."

  George slung her camera around her neck, and the girls headed down to the boathouse. One by one the passengers stepped from the dock into the wide, flat boat. Its sides were lined with benches, and an orange canvas awning shielded the passengers from the sun. The tall, wiry guide, who introduced himself as Vincent Lanchester, was the last one on.

  "Everyone aboard?" he asked. After jotting down everyone's names, Vincent gestured to the north end of the bay. "We're going out over the reef," he explained. "Many fish feed and hide near the coral, so you'll have plenty to look at. They seem very fond of our glass boat. Maybe to them we're a floating people zoo."

  Amid a chorus of laughter, Vincent revved the outboard motor, and they were on their way. As they cruised over a sandbar, the boat cut into a wave and saltwater whipped over the side, spraying Nancy and the dark-haired girl sitting beside her. Nancy laughed, enjoying the wet coolness of the water on her sun-soaked skin. The other girl let out a squeal of surprise.

  Nancy introduced herself, and learned that the girl's name was Eva Rivera. Eva seemed to be shy, so Nancy tried to make her feel at ease. She learned that Eva was from Mexico, and that she had just arrived at the resort that morning.

  "That's funny," Bess chimed in. "I didn't see you arrive—and I thought we had the only port of entry covered. We've been watching for Woody and the Hot Rods," she confided.

  Nancy noticed that Eva seemed to be unsettled by Bess's remark. The girl quickly glanced away, then looked back at Bess and asked, "The Hot Rods? You mean the rock band?"

  When George explained that the group would be filming a rock video at the resort, Eva's brown eyes sparked with interest. "They are very popular in Mexico."

  "Why don't we make a deal," Bess suggested. "Whoever finds the Hot Rods first will get the others, so that no one misses out on anything. Sound okay to you? We can meet tonight for dinner."

  Eva nodded eagerly, then exchanged her room number with the girls.

  They all turned their attention back to the boat as it glided into the darker waters of the coral reef. Vincent cut the engine, and everyone focused on the world beneath the Plexiglas hull of the boat.

  First Vincent pointed out different types of coral, including a patch of fire coral. "It can hurt you if you touch it," he explained.

  "What about sharks?" someone asked.

  "We don't see them in the Caribbean," Vincent answered, smiling. "Our water is too warm for them—like a hot bath," he joked.

  Nancy laughed along with the crowd as Vincent fielded their questions with a dry sense of humor.

  "Look there—that's a poey." Vincent pointed to a brilliant yellow fish with blue streaks on its face. "We call it a golden hamlet."

  Nancy leaned forward to get a look at the brightly colored fish that dart
ed between clusters of coral. A moment later a fiery orange grouper with spiked fins lingered beneath the hull, and Nancy heard George snap a picture beside her. There was so much to look at that the time passed quickly, and when the boat turned back toward shore, Nancy was surprised to see that it was after four o'clock.

  Looking back toward land, Nancy noticed a chain of tiny islands at the mouth of the bay. The mountainous clumps of rock and trees seemed deserted. "Does anyone live there?" she asked Vincent, pointing.

  "The Devil's Chain?" Vincent said, turning his eyes toward the rocky islands. He shook his head. "Those islands are uninhabitable. The rocky coasts make it difficult to get there by boat. And they are surrounded by cliffs with mazes of underground caves. Very dangerous." A dark frown came over his face, "There are stories of people falling into hidden passages and never getting out. That's how the islands got their name. Some people say the caves lead to hell itself!"

  "Gee. A real hot spot," George said, teasing.

  Beside her, Bess was shivering. "Sounds pretty creepy to me," she put in.

  When the boat reached the dock, George insisted on a group photo. "Let's get a picture with Eva."

  "I'll take it," Nancy offered. Lifting the camera to her face, she stepped back and focused. "A little closer together—that's it. Now smile and say—"

  Just as Nancy was about to snap the shutter, something obscured her view. The camera had been ripped from her hands and thrown to the ground!

  Stunned, Nancy stared at the camera lying in the sand, then at the dark-haired man who'd knocked it out of her hands. He was in his forties or fifties and was panting as if he'd run across the beach just to knock the camera out of her hands.

  "What did I tell you?" he growled at Eva, his face a bright red that almost matched his striped red and white swim trunks.

  "But, Papa, they are my friends," Eva explained, tears glimmering in her dark eyes.

  Nancy felt a rush of anger. Not only had Mr. Rivera rudely knocked George's camera to the ground, now he was humiliating his daughter. She didn't see what the big deal was. It was only a picture. . . .