The Case of the Photo Finish Read online

  “Right,” said Nancy. “I’m not sure of what really happened. I suppose it’s possible that it was an accident, but Cheryl accused another runner named Marta, who’s staying at George’s house. Marta denied it, of course.”

  “Marta—she has short blond hair, right?” Bess asked. “I met her. What’s the problem?”

  Nancy frowned. “I don’t know either of them, so I don’t have any reason to believe one more than the other. I’ll just have to keep my eyes open.”

  Bess shook her head. “I guess I’m lucky. The girl who’s staying at our house is a fifteen-year-old named Marie-Laure, from the South of France. She’s really shy and doesn’t know a word of English, but she’s got the longest legs I’ve ever seen. She does the high jump.”

  Nancy noticed Cheryl walking in their direction with a girl with a brown ponytail and a tall blond guy whose deeply tanned face ended in a pointy chin. Their warm-up suits showed that they, too, were participants in the track meet.

  As the trio came up to Nancy and Bess, Nancy said, “Cheryl, are you okay? That looked like a nasty fall, even though you did a great job of recovering yourself.”

  Cheryl rubbed her shoulder. “I think I’ll have a couple of bruises, but nothing that will stop me from competing. The nerve!” she exclaimed. “Having somebody bad-mouth me is one thing—I can let that just roll off—but when people start shoving me off a grandstand, I draw the line!”

  “Are you positive—” Nancy began.

  “You bet I am!” Cheryl broke in. “You can ask Annelise. She was right there the whole time.” She gestured to the girl and boy she’d been walking with. “Nancy, meet Annelise and Willy. They’re from Switzerland, and they both speak better English than I do. The Swiss are incredible linguists, you know.”

  Willy smiled. “We have to be,” he said with only a trace of an accent. “Our country has four official languages—German, French, Italian, and a language called Romansh that nobody outside of Switzerland even knows about. English is the unofficial fifth.”

  “Five languages,” Bess said, shaking her blond head in amazement. “And I thought learning just one extra was hard enough!”

  Nancy introduced Bess, then turned to Annelise. “Cheryl says that you saw someone try to push her from the grandstand. Is that right?”

  The Swiss girl thought for a moment. “I did not really see what happened,” she said. “It is possible that someone bumped into Cheryl, but I did not see it. I’m sorry.”

  “I think maybe I know what happened,” Willy said to Cheryl. “In the crowding, someone pushed into you by accident. Then, when you fell, the person was too frightened to admit what had happened.”

  “It could have happened like that,” Cheryl admitted reluctantly. “But I was sure I felt a hand on my back, shoving me. And Marta was right there. Still, maybe I shouldn’t have accused her—not without proof. But I was really furious.”

  Marta did seem like the most likely suspect, thought Nancy. But she knew it was dangerous to jump to conclusions without evidence. “Is there anyone else who would have reason to push you?” she asked Cheryl.

  “No one that I can think of,” the runner replied.

  Nancy looked around. The crowd had thinned out now that the ceremony was over. George was still there, standing on the steps of City Hall with Helga, Marta’s trainer. They didn’t seem to be talking to each other, Nancy noticed. Marta joined them a moment later; she had a knapsack on her back.

  Turning back to Cheryl, Nancy asked, “What happens now?”

  “Those who wish to go back to the athletic field may take the buses,” Willy replied. “Most of us will go to the homes of our hosts.”

  “Oh, Cheryl, I’ve got my car here,” Nancy said, smiling at her guest. “Would you like a lift back to the house? You could unpack or whatever.”

  “Sure, that’d be great,” Cheryl replied. “Hang on, I have to get my gym bag from the bus.”

  As she hurried away, Nancy realized that she hadn’t seen Eric and his cameras for five or ten minutes. She hoped he’d gone in search of a lab to develop those slides for her.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Nancy,” said Willy, holding out his hand.

  “A great pleasure,” Annelise echoed, offering her hand as well.

  “Thank you.” Nancy shook their hands. “It’s been great meeting both of you. And good luck in the games.”

  Cheryl came back as Annelise and Willy were walking away. “They’re nice,” she observed. “A little formal, but that’s just their style. Underneath it, they’re really sweet.”

  The two girls headed for Nancy’s car and drove to the Drews’ house. Nancy went to the kitchen to fix a snack while Cheryl went up to the guest room to relax for a while. Nancy had finished peeling and slicing some carrots and was starting to prepare a yogurt dip when she heard Cheryl cry out, “That does it! When I get my hands on that little creep, I’m going to tear her up and throw away the pieces!”

  3

  A Sticky Clue

  Nancy dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the guest room, stopping in the open doorway.

  Cheryl was standing in the middle of the room, staring down into her open gym bag, which lay on the bed. Her fists were clenched, and she was breathing heavily.

  “What is it?” Nancy asked. She could guess who the “little creep” was, but she had no idea what had happened to make Cheryl so angry. “What’s wrong?”

  “Take a look,” Cheryl said angrily, pointing to the gym bag.

  Nancy crossed the room to the bed. At first she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary in the bag—just shorts, tops, a pair of running shoes, a magazine, and a small bag that seemed to contain toiletries. But everything seemed to have the same yellowish brown tinge.

  Then, Nancy noticed a small jar that had rolled into the corner of the bag. The top was off. Reaching in, she pulled the jar out, holding it carefully by the rim.

  The label of the jar had the word Honig in gold letters across the top and a picture of a bee wearing a golden crown in the center. Nancy didn’t need to read the English translation at the bottom of the label. Her fingertips and nose had already told her that the jar had once contained honey—and that the contents were now all over Cheryl’s running gear.

  “What a mess,” Nancy said, frowning. “How did it happen?”

  “Somebody put that gunk in my bag, that’s how,” Cheryl replied. “And I know who! Just wait till I catch up to her!”

  “Catch up to whom?” Nancy asked, although she was pretty sure she knew whom Cheryl was referring to.

  “Marta, that’s who! Or maybe it was Helga, her trainer. It doesn’t matter.” Cheryl reached into the bag and pulled out what looked like a leather insole. “My orthotics are probably ruined!” she wailed. “Do you know how long it takes to have these things made and fit? And how much they cost? What’ll I do?”

  “We can try to clean them off,” Nancy suggested. “And we can throw the clothes in the washer. They’ll be ready in an hour.”

  Continuing to hold the honey jar by its rim, Nancy held it up to the light. “Did you touch this?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Cheryl said. “But I might have. I reached into the bag to pull out some things, then I felt that guck. Why?”

  “There might be fingerprints,” Nancy said. “There are a few smudges, anyway. I’ll keep the jar safe and take a closer look later. When was the last time you knew for sure the bag was all right?”

  Cheryl gave her a curious glance. “You sound just like a detective,” she said.

  Nancy let out a little laugh. “Well, to tell the truth, I am. I’ll tell you all about it sometime. But for now, what about the bag?”

  “Let me think.” Cheryl knitted her brow in concentration. “Oh, okay—I was looking at a magazine on the bus. When we got to the ceremony, I stuck it inside my bag.”

  “Would you have seen the honey jar if it was already there?” asked Nancy.

  “Well, sure!
I remember now, I rummaged around inside for my comb. There wasn’t any jar of honey in my bag then.”

  “And then you left the bag on the bus?”

  “Uh-huh. On the luggage rack.”

  Nancy glanced down. The ID tag attached to the strap of the bag was easy to spot. Anyone could have known the bag was Cheryl’s.

  “Why do you think that Marta or her trainer put the honey in your bag?” Nancy continued. “Did you see either of them acting suspiciously?”

  “Nooo.” Cheryl said slowly. “But Marta always takes some special kind of honey wherever she goes. It’s part of her training diet.”

  “This kind of honey?” asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know,” Cheryl admitted. “But who else would pull such a dirty trick on me? You heard the way that Helga talked to me. And it is German honey, isn’t it?”

  “But they’re not the only Germans at the games, are they?”

  “I guess not,” Cheryl admitted. “But they’re the only ones I know. And I know I’m Marta’s toughest rival. When we compete together, one or the other of us almost always wins.”

  The telephone rang, and a moment later, Hannah Gruen, the Drews’ housekeeper, called up to Nancy. Hannah had worked for the Drews since the death of Nancy’s mother, when Nancy was just three. She was almost a member of the family.

  “The phone’s for you,” Hannah said. “It’s George, and she sounds upset.”

  “Excuse me a moment,” Nancy said. “Why don’t you take all your things down to the kitchen so we can start cleaning them up.”

  Nancy went downstairs and took the call in her father’s study. Hannah was right. George was upset. “Can you come right over?” she asked. “I’ve got an international incident brewing over here. Helga is accusing Cheryl of theft, and she’s threatening to call the police.”

  “ ‘Theft’?” Nancy repeated. “What kind of theft?”

  “I don’t know,” George replied. “Every time I ask her a question, she makes another long speech in German. But she’s plenty mad, I can tell you that.”

  Nancy lowered her voice and said, “I’ve got a problem here, too. But I think it’s under control for the moment. I’ll be right over.”

  She hung up and went to the kitchen, where Cheryl and Hannah were looking at the honey-coated clothes and discussing the best way to clean them. Nancy didn’t want to alarm Cheryl with Helga’s accusation until she knew more about it, so she simply announced that she had to go out for a few minutes.

  Cheryl, who seemed preoccupied with cleaning her gear, just said, “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  Nancy hopped into her Mustang, but a few minutes later she regretted her decision to drive the short distance to the Fayne house instead of walking. She got stuck behind a sanitation truck that was creeping along its rounds, and it took forever before the truck finally pulled over far enough for her to pass. One of the sanitation men waved as she went by, and she gave him a tap of the horn in reply.

  George was waiting for Nancy on her front steps. “Hosting an athlete isn’t turning out to be as much fun as I was expecting,” George remarked with a wry smile.

  “Is Helga still mad?” Nancy asked.

  George rolled her eyes. “Wait’ll you hear!”

  Nancy followed George into the house. The German trainer was standing in the middle of the living room with a stormy look on her face. Marta was sitting on the couch, looking scared.

  Helga took one look at Nancy and said, “You are not the police.”

  “No, I’m not,” Nancy agreed, keeping her voice friendly. “But I’ve worked closely with the police many times. Won’t you tell me what the problem is?”

  “You are a friend of Cheryl Pierce, no?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Not really. Cheryl is staying at my house, just as you and Marta are staying at George’s. I met Cheryl this morning for the first time. Why?”

  “I wish to accuse her of theft and attempted sabotage,” Helga replied.

  “Those are serious charges,” Nancy said. “What was stolen? And what kind of sabotage?”

  “Cheryl Pierce is trying to destroy Marta’s training regime by taking a most important item from her diet.”

  “From her diet?” Nancy repeated, looking at the older woman with new interest. “This item that was stolen—it wouldn’t be a jar of honey, would it?” She recalled the jar label. “Honig?”

  Helga stared at her. “How are you knowing this?” she asked. “It was not just any honey, but honey with a special food from the queen bee. Very rare, and very expensive.”

  “She must be talking about what they call royal jelly,” George said to Nancy. “I’ve seen articles about it.”

  “So have I,” Nancy said. “Ms. Roth, do you have any idea when and where this special honey was taken?”

  “It was in Marta’s bag—this morning. Now it is gone. Cheryl Pierce must have taken it while the bag was in the bus.”

  Nancy frowned. First Cheryl’s bag had been tampered with, and now Marta’s.

  “How could Cheryl have known the honey was there?” Nancy asked.

  “Everyone on the bus knew. A person made a joke because Marta takes a spoonful with each meal,” Helga explained in a serious voice. “It is not civilized to joke about a training regime like that. To try to ruin one is a crime.”

  From the couch, Marta suddenly said, “This is very upsetting. I depend upon my diet. How will I run my best now?” She looked as if she were about to cry.

  George went over to Marta and patted her shoulder. “Hey, no problem,” she said cheerfully. “There’s a health food store a few blocks from here. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen honey with royal jelly there. Who knows? It might even be your brand.”

  “Is this so?” Helga asked. She pulled a map of River Heights out of the pocket of her warm-up suit. “Will you please show me where? I will go at once.” A few moments later, she was on her way out the door.

  “You must not mind Helga,” Marta said after her trainer had left. “She would do anything to help me become champion.”

  “We noticed,” replied George with a laugh.

  Nancy looked closely at the German girl, then exchanged a significant look with George. She knew George was wondering the same thing she was: Did “anything” include sabotaging Cheryl? Still, that didn’t explain why Marta’s things had also been tampered with.

  Nancy was mulling over this when the Faynes’ doorbell rang.

  “Helga must have forgotten something,” George said, leaving the room. She returned with a young woman who was carrying a briefcase.

  “This is Barbara Williams,” George said. “She’s a reporter from United Sports News.”

  “Really?” said Nancy, regarding the young woman curiously. Although she was dressed in a suit, she didn’t look old enough to be out of high school yet.

  A blush rose to Barbara Williams’s cheeks. “I’m not exactly—” she began. “I mean, I’m really freelance. But USN said they were very interested in my project. I’m interviewing a lot of the athletes who’ve come to River Heights to take part in the high school games. Are you”—she pulled a list from her pocket and glanced at it—“Marta Schmidt?”

  “I am Marta Schmidt,” Marta replied, standing up. “But I am not permitted to give interviews without my trainer present. I am sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” the reporter said quickly. “I understand. Different countries, different customs, right? When will your trainer be available?”

  “She left for only a little while,” said Marta. “If you can come back in half an hour—”

  The telephone rang before the reporter could reply. George answered it, pressed a button to put the call on hold, then beckoned to Marta. “It’s for you,” she said.

  Looking surprised, Marta took the receiver. George pushed the button a second time to release the hold, but her finger accidentally pressed the speaker button at the same time.

  “Marta Schmidt,” a thickly accented voice s
aid from the phone’s built-in speaker.

  George reached to turn off the speaker, but Nancy grabbed her arm.

  “This is a warning, Marta Schmidt. Pay close attention.” The voice was drowned out for a few seconds by a loud grinding, scraping noise. Then it continued. “You will quit the games and go back to Germany. If you do not, the results will be very bad for you. This will be your only warning. Quit the games . . . or else!”

  4

  New Information

  The menacing voice fell silent. There was a click, then the sound of a dial tone.

  For a moment, Marta continued to hold the receiver so tightly that her knuckles were white. Finally she replaced the receiver in its cradle, but the look of fear on her face remained.

  Barbara Williams broke the tense silence. “Wow!” she exclaimed. “Was that supposed to be some kind of joke?”

  “If it was, it’s not a very funny one,” George commented.

  “This is horrible,” Marta said in a tight voice. “Who is this person to tell me to quit the games and go home? He has no right!”

  “He?” asked Nancy. “Or she? What did the rest of you think? Could that have been a woman’s voice as well as a man’s?”

  “It sounded like a man to me,” Barbara replied.

  “I’m not so sure,” George said. “I guess it could have been a woman. What kind of accent was that? German?”

  “I think not,” Marta said. “It is not easy to tell in a foreign language, but I think that person was not German.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nancy said. “That noise in the middle of the call, remember? It sounded like some kind of machinery, and there was a sort of scraping sound. What could it have been?”

  Suddenly Nancy snapped her fingers. “Of course!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got it.”

  She started for the door, and George called after her, “Where are you going, Nancy?”

  Nancy looked over her shoulder and gave her friend a mysterious smile. “To catch up to some garbage,” she replied.