The Clue of the Gold Doubloons Read online

  in front of the camera.

  “Action,” Andrew hollered, and immediately

  everyone on deck was quiet.

  Nancy held the shield steady, trying to make sure

  Selena's eyes weren't shadowed. Facing each other,

  Mary Read and Anne Bonny drew their weapons.

  “Fire the cannons!” Mary yelled, brandishing a

  musket.

  “Prepare for battle!” Anne yelled, a sword in her

  hand.

  “Surrender or die!” Captain Barnet yelled as he

  swung onto the deck.

  Mary pointed her musket at him. “Never!” she

  growled, firing.

  A boom filled the air and something hit the

  reflective shield, the blow hurtling Nancy backward.

  She slammed against the railing, the shield still in her

  hands.

  Screaming hysterically, Selena dropped the smoking

  pistol.

  “Cut!” Andrew cried over the din. Jumping off the

  stool, he ran over. “What in the world happened?”

  “This gun thing really went off!” Selena screeched.

  Stunned, Nancy stared at the shield still clutched in

  both hands. A hole had been shot clean through it.

  When she raised it up again, she realized how close the

  shot had come to her head.

  “Nancy, arc you all right?” George came over.

  Dropping his shield, Eli bent and picked up the

  pistol. “That's impossible,” he said. “The guns I bought

  are from a toy store.”

  Daniel took the weapon from him. “Not this pistol.

  R's an export reproduction.”

  All eyes turned to Selena. “Where did you get it?”

  Daniel asked.

  “Eli gave it to me,” Selena said, huge tears running

  down her cheeks. Nancy had expected Joseph Mascelli

  to rush over to comfort her. Instead, the reporter was

  holding out the mike of a tape recorder, trying to get

  every word.

  “Eli,” Andrew said in a stern voice. “What's going

  on?”

  Eli shook his head, a confused expression on his

  face. “I handed her a fake pistol for the scene,” he

  declared. “The same kind I gave to Karl.”

  Nancy glanced toward Karl Kidd. The actor's face

  was as gray as his beard. Daniel took Karl's pistol and

  examined it. “This one is a cheap fake. Someone must

  have switched Selena's. We should call the police.”

  Andrew groaned. “Not the police. They'll be here all

  day interrogating us again.”

  “Yeah, but think of the publicity,” Janie said, her

  tone sarcastic. “In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Ms.

  Ramirez pulled this little stunt to get on the front cover

  of some magazine.”

  “How dare you say that?” Selena protested, her tears

  quickly drying up. “That is so wrong.”

  “Oh, really?” Planting her hands on her hips, Janie

  stared at Joseph, who was getting ready to take a

  picture.

  Daniel reached out and snatched the camera from

  him. “Enough! You've already picked our bones clean.”

  Mascelli shot him a haughty look. “I've just started.”

  Pulling out his pad, he went over to Karl. He flipped

  back the pages and began to read. “How's this sound

  for tomorrow's headlines: Is the Swift Adventure

  Haunted—With Bad Luck?' ” he read. “ Actor Karl

  Kidd was seen leaving the Lucky Lady, a yacht

  notorious for holding big-stakes card games. Only,

  sources tell me, Kidd has not been lucky. In fact, he

  owes so much money, the Big Man's looking for him.' ”

  “Shut up, Mascelli,” Karl growled, and before

  anyone could stop him, he punched the reporter in the

  jaw. The blow sent Mascelli sprawling to the deck.

  “Joe!” Selena rushed over and knelt beside him.

  “Are you all right?”

  Sitting up, the reporter rubbed his jaw. “You'll pay

  for this, Kidd.”

  “I'm already paying. Now get off this ship.”

  Still rubbing his jaw, Mascelli stood, Selena helping

  him up, and stalked off.

  “What was he talking about, Karl?” Janie asked.

  Karl pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through

  his hair. “Mascelli's right. I got into a card game I

  shouldn't have with guys way out of my league. They

  bankrolled me some money. I lost big, and now they

  want their money back—with interest.” He gave Nancy

  a defeated look. “I'm sorry, Nancy, it's obvious that

  pistol shot was meant for me—as a warning.”

  “I'm just glad no one was hurt,” Nancy said, knowing

  he was wrong about the shot being intended for him.

  There was no way some card shark's goon could have

  sneaked onboard the ship and replaced the pistols.

  Nancy didn't contradict Karl because she didn't

  want to draw attention to what she figured had really

  happened. Chance Curran or his accomplice had

  replaced the pistol, and the shot had been meant for

  Nancy.

  12. A Chance Encounter

  If the pistol shot had been meant for her, there was

  only one person who could have set it up, Nancy

  thought—Harold! He'd instructed her where to stand

  so she'd be in Selena's line of fire when the actress

  aimed at Karl.

  Nancy angrily scanned the boat for him. Everybody

  was milling about, discussing the near-miss. Everybody

  but Harold. Where had he gone? Nancy wondered.

  Then she spotted him on the other side of the

  wheel, fiddling with his sound equipment. Fists

  clenched by her sides, Nancy marched toward him.

  She caught herself. She wanted whoever was

  Chance to be arrested and thrown in jail, which meant

  she had to be patient. She had to wait for the police to

  match the fingerprints on Harold's cup to Chance

  Curran's before she was sure he was the culprit.

  Still, Detective Weller had said he hoped Chance

  would get cocky enough to make a mistake. Nancy

  decided she just might push him in that direction.

  When Harold saw her coming, he glanced up. “Gee,

  Nancy, I'm really sorry about what happened.”

  “Well, you did kind of set me up,” Nancy said,

  keeping her tone light. “Thank goodness Selena's a

  lousy shot or Karl or I could've been on our way to the

  hospital.”

  “Really.” Harold glanced back down at his

  equipment. Nancy wondered how he could act so

  innocent and unconcerned. He should be the one

  getting the acting award, not Selena.

  “It's funny, though, how accidents keep happening

  onboard,” Nancy continued. “In fact, the whole

  haunted ship thing started with you losing your balance

  and falling overboard.”

  Harold frowned. “True. Except that was just an

  accident.”

  “Really?” Nancy drew out the word dramatically.

  Harold stopped tinkering and gave her a puzzled

  look. “Must have been. I mean, why would someone

  want to whack me in the head with a rope and knock

  me off the ship?”

  “Good question.” Nancy tapped her lip. “I wa
s

  wondering the same thing a minute ago—why would

  someone want to shoot me?”

  “I thought the shot was meant for Karl.”

  “Was it?” Nancy asked.

  “All right, people, let's get ready for take two!” she

  heard Andrew call behind her. Turning on her heels,

  Nancy left Harold.

  Nancy wished she could get to a phone and call

  Weller. She wanted to get the receipts to him. She had

  to find out about the fingerprints.

  “Nancy, you mark the scene this time,” Andrew said.

  “We'll let Janie hold the reflective shield.”

  “You mean you don't mind if I get shot?” Janie

  protested.

  “The pistol is not loaded this time,” Daniel assured

  her. “I checked it twice, and so did Harold.”

  “I'll check it, too,” Nancy said quickly. When Daniel

  handed her the pistol, she could tell instantly that it

  was the fake. “What did you do with the replica? I

  really do think the police should see it.”

  “I locked it in the Great Cabin,” Andrew said. “I'll

  call that Weller guy when we're finished shooting. He

  can come get it.”

  The next three takes went without a hitch. When

  Andrew called for a break, Nancy went over to George.

  “I need to get to a phone to call Weller myself,” she

  whispered. “I think I know who Chance Curran is!”

  George's eyes widened. “Who?”

  Nancy put her finger to her lips. “I'll tell you later.”

  “I remember there's a phone outside the aquarium,”

  George whispered. “Good luck.”

  Nancy took off at a jog. When she reached the

  phone, she dug in her pocket for change. Weller wasn't

  in his office, but the dispatcher said she'd page him.

  For five minutes Nancy paced in front of the phone.

  She couldn't wait to tell Weller she'd found Curran.

  Finally, it rang. “Detective Weller? Did you find out

  about the fingerprints? Because I think—” Nancy was

  about to tell him who the thief was, when Weller cut

  in, “Got two of them back this morning. No matches.”

  “Which two?” Nancy asked.

  “According to the prints, Harold Oates and Andrew

  Wagner are not Chance Curran. Now, what were you

  about to tell me?”

  Nancy felt deflated. She'd been so sure about

  Harold. “Nothing. I mean, there is something.” She

  told him about the pistol shot. “If he's telling the truth,

  Karl Kidd's in big trouble.”

  “You tell Karl to get in here and talk to the detective

  who's been trying to shut those card games down,” he

  told her.

  “It might mean Karl is Chance. You haven't ruled

  him out with the prints, right? What if he robbed the

  rooms to help pay his debt?”

  “Possible,” Weller agreed. “The thief stole more

  jewelry and watches than cash. If Kidd's trying to fence

  the stuff, it may take him a while before he can pay

  back those goons. And they're not very patient.”

  Nancy also told Weller about the receipts.

  “Good. I'll have an officer pick them up right now.

  Where are you?”

  She gave him her location, then hung up. Sitting

  dejectedly on the curb, she opened the bag of receipts.

  When she sorted through them, she noted that there

  were receipts from everybody except Karl and Selena.

  “That's why you have dinner with men,” the actress

  had told her. “So you never have to pay for a meal.”

  Nancy looked over Eli's receipts, checking dates and

  times. There was no receipt for the night before, which

  meant he could have been the assailant in the

  aquarium. She noticed a receipt from the night of the

  first burglary, but it was for seven o'clock. That meant

  Eli could still be their thief.

  And what about Karl? Was he Curran? Somehow,

  Nancy couldn't picture the real Chance Curran

  hanging around long enough to get threatened and

  shot at by a card shark.

  Which brought her back to the same question—why

  was Curran sticking around? Jumping up, she dialed

  Weller again. “He's planning another heist,” she said.

  “Maybe a bigger one. That's why he and his accomplice

  are still in Baltimore.”

  “Could be,” Weller agreed. “I'll check around, see if

  the hotel has anything unusual going on that could be

  bringing in more money. Why don't I meet you later

  and go over everything with you?”

  “We'll be shooting all morning and afternoon. What

  about meeting at the hotel lobby around seven?”

  Nancy suggested.

  “Good idea, I'll see you at seven.”

  A minute later a uniformed officer drove up in a

  marked police car. Nancy handed over the receipts,

  then hurried back to the boat. She knew the break

  would be over. She hoped no one had noticed she'd

  been gone.

  “Celebration dinner seven o'clock at the Seaside

  Restaurant,” Andrew announced to the tired cast and

  crew. It was late afternoon and filming had finally

  ended for the day.

  “What are we celebrating?” George asked.

  Andrew gave everybody a grin. “New backers for the

  film. Not only will it be on educational TV, but News

  Time Productions wants to release it on video!”

  Nancy cheered along with the others. Then, taking

  George aside, she whispered, “I can't go to the dinner.

  You'll have to tell everybody I already have a date.”

  “With who?”

  “Uh, Scott—” Nancy said the first name who came

  to mind.

  “You do? Where are you going?”

  “I don't really have a date with Scott,” Nancy

  whispered. “I'm meeting Detective Weller. He's going

  over all the receipts and should have more print

  matches by then. We need to compare notes.”

  “Got it,” George said. “Too bad, though—you'll be

  missing a fun dinner.”

  Six o'clock that evening, after George had left,

  Nancy sat down in the hotel dining room, making sure

  she was seated in Scott's area. She wanted to grab a

  sandwich as well as clue him in that he was her excuse

  for not going to the dinner. She figured he wouldn't

  mind going along with the ruse.

  “I've had enough of the Wagners and their film,”

  Nancy told Scott. “I hope you didn't mind if I told

  them I was going to be with you.”

  “Not at all. In fact, why don't we make it a real

  date?” He grinned shyly, and Nancy realized maybe

  she'd had another motive for using him as an excuse.

  “We could do something fun, around nine, when I

  get off work?” he suggested.

  “I'd love to,” Nancy said, and she meant it. The

  dining room was crowded, and by the time her chicken

  salad sandwich came, it was almost seven.

  “Maybe I'd better get this to go,” Nancy said to

  Scott. “Uh, I want to do some shopping before our

  date.”

  “No problem.” He removed the plate, tripping over
r />   her purse, which she'd set by her chair. The sandwich

  went flying, landing on the floor in a soggy heap.

  He smiled sheepishly. “I'll get them to make another

  one—pronto.”

  “Leave the bill,” Nancy said. She finished her drink,

  then left money on the bill tray. When Scott didn't

  return with the sandwich, Nancy went to look for him.

  She didn't want to be late for Weller.

  She headed to the kitchen. There was a round glass

  window in the closed door. Peeking in, she saw Scott

  wrapping what looked like her sandwich. When he was

  finished, he tossed it in the air and, in one swift motion,

  caught it behind his back in a paper bag.

  Nancy's eyes widened in astonishment. Minutes ago

  Scott had tripped over her purse. Now he was deftly

  juggling her dinner.

  He turned toward the door, and Nancy ducked

  away, hurrying over to a row of potted plants. Was the

  clumsy guy routine for her benefit? She remembered

  all the times he'd threatened to knock over glasses and

  tip over dishes. And if so, why would he try to fool her?

  “Scott!” She waved when he came out the kitchen

  door. “I left money on the table for the bill—and a tip,”

  she told him.

  “You can give me a tip later,” he teased.

  “Meet you in the lobby around nine?” she asked.

  “Righto.” He handed her the bag. “Enjoy. I made

  sure the chef prepared it specially for you.”

  “Thanks.” Nancy waved goodbye, then sped from

  the restaurant.

  When she reached the lobby, there was no sign of

  Weller. “Ms. Drew?” One of the clerks called her over

  to the check-in desk. “You received this message from

  a Detective Jackson Weller.” He handed her a slip of

  paper.

  Nancy unfolded it. “Got some important info on our

  cat burglar,” the message said. “Meet me on the wharf

  in front of Harborplace.”

  Yes! Weller must have made a match on the prints.

  Excited, Nancy pushed through the revolving doors.

  The night air was cool and refreshing. As she walked to

  the wharf, she munched on half her sandwich,

  suddenly starved.

  The walkway in front of Harborplace was crowded

  with Thursday night revelers. A foot-tapping trio

  played bluegrass music. Two mimes, their faces

  painted white, pantomimed climbing ladders.

  While she waited, Nancy ate the last bite of

  sandwich, then threw the bag and wrapper away.

  Finished, she glanced around, wondering why Weller