High Risk Read online

  It was obvious, wasn’t it?

  Finally Nancy gave up trying to make sense of the whole incident and drove home.

  • • •

  Nancy slept poorly that night. When she awoke Friday morning to the sound of a ringing phone, she felt as if she’d barely rested at all. Groggy, she fumbled for the receiver.

  “ ‘Lo?” she murmured.

  “Nan!” Bess’s voice bubbled over the wire. “Rise and shine—it’s after ten o’clock! How was your big date last night?”

  “Mmmphh.” Nancy groaned as her mind cleared and she remembered what had happened the previous evening. “It was a total disaster.”

  “What do you mean?” Bess sounded concerned. “Is everything okay?”

  Nancy sat up in bed. “I don’t really know. But if you and George come over for brunch I’ll tell you all about it. I need advice.”

  “We’ll be there in a little while,” Bess promised, and hung up.

  Nancy looked out her bedroom window, and her spirits rose a bit when she saw that the day was sunny and clear. After showering, she pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of blue shorts, then went downstairs.

  The house was deserted. Nancy’s father was at his law office, and there was a note from Hannah Gruen, the Drews’ housekeeper, on the kitchen table: “Gone plant shopping. Back soon.”

  Nancy set to work frying bacon and collecting ingredients for French toast. Soon Bess and George arrived, and the girls gathered in the kitchen. As Nancy made French toast, she told her friends what had happened the previous night.

  “So I don’t know what to do,” Nancy finished. “Ned was totally out of line. But for some reason he got mad at me. He didn’t even say good night. I think he expected me to side with him. But how could I? He was wrong!”

  George gave Nancy a sidelong glance as she carried a stack of plates to the table. “Are you sure about that?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, am I sure?” Nancy retorted. “He had no proof!” She piled the last slices of French toast on a platter and set it down in front of her friends.

  “That coincidence with the names sounds pretty reasonable to me,” Bess ventured, reaching for a strip of bacon.

  “Oh, come on, Bess,” Nancy said. “You’ve done enough detective work to know that a coincidence isn’t solid proof.”

  “No, it’s not, but you’ve worked with a lot less sometimes when you were solving a case,” Bess pointed out.

  “Bess is right,” George put in. She poured syrup over her French toast. “Nan, I hate to say this, but are you sure you’re not just a little bit bothered by the fact that Ned’s job is a lot like what you do? You’re acting as if you are.”

  Nancy’s blue eyes widened. “You think I’m jealous?” she asked, startled.

  George lowered her eyes. “A little,” she replied after a moment. “I mean, I think we’re all agreed that Ned went too far last night. But he could be right about that Foyle guy. I think it wasn’t the best idea for you to tell him he was wrong.”

  As she listened, Nancy realized that her friends were right. “You’re saying I was trying to tell him how to do his job,” she murmured.

  “Maybe he sees it that way,” Bess put in hesitantly.

  “Right. Give him a little slack,” added George, jabbing a piece of French toast and popping it into her mouth.

  Nancy nodded. “I do understand what you’re saying,” she said slowly. “The fight we had wasn’t all Ned’s fault. Even though he acted badly, I shouldn’t have come down so hard on him. After all, he’s stood by me a billion times when I was following a wild hunch.”

  She got up from the table and added, “I’m going to call him right now.” She dialed Ned’s office number on the extension in the den so she’d have privacy.

  “Ned?” she said when he picked up. “It’s Nancy. I wanted—well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about the way I acted last night.”

  “Oh, Nan.” Ned’s voice was tender, and Nancy’s heart beat a little faster. “I’m the one who should apologize. You were right—I shouldn’t have jumped in and accused that guy without evidence. I was just so mad I wasn’t thinking straight. But I am now.”

  Nancy’s spirits soared as Ned spoke. Now he sounded like the old Ned, the one she loved!

  “Hey, I never did get dinner at Conchita’s,” she said into the receiver. “But I’ll settle for any kind of dinner tonight—if I can have it with you, Nickerson.”

  “Sounds good. Listen, I have an idea,” Ned began. Then he broke off to speak to someone in his office. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, speaking to Nancy again. “How about meeting me here after work? I have a plan for tonight.”

  “You’re on! I’ll be there at—six?” she asked. Ned said that would be okay. Nancy felt happy and relieved as she headed back to the kitchen.

  “I think they made up,” Bess commented to George as Nancy floated into the kitchen. “Look at the grin on her face!”

  “Yep,” Nancy said. “I think everything is going to be just fine.”

  • • •

  At five minutes to six Nancy parked in the now-empty employee lot in the back of the Mutual Life annex. She hurried around to the door, went in, and presented herself at the reception desk, where a night guard was on duty.

  The elderly man, who knew her by sight, waved Nancy past his desk. “I know Ned’ll be glad to see you, young lady,” he said with an indulgent smile. “Just go on up and surprise him.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy replied, flashing him a grin. She zipped up the stairs to Ned’s department, which was on the second floor of the annex. But as she breezed into the open conference area in the middle of the department, the cheerful greeting she had been about to utter died on her lips.

  Nancy saw Ned’s immediate superior, Wally Biggs, standing in the doorway of the office Ned shared with his coworker, Andy Feinberg. Biggs, a plump, oily man in his thirties, was shouting at Ned. Nancy winced as she heard his voice.

  “It’s the most idiotic, unprofessional thing I’ve ever heard of, Nickerson!” Biggs yelled. “Do you realize that your behavior in that restaurant last night will have a negative effect on the reputation of this entire company?”

  “But I—” Ned tried to interrupt. Nancy craned her neck until she could see her boyfriend over Wally Biggs’s shoulder. Ned’s face was red, but Biggs wouldn’t give him a chance to explain.

  “Don’t give me any of your excuses,” Biggs ranted on. “I don’t want to hear them. I was against giving you such a responsible position in the first place, and now I see that I was right. Well, let me tell you this.” Biggs paused, and Nancy watched his back expand as he drew in a big breath.

  Then Biggs leveled a finger at Ned and said, “One more slipup and you’re out of a job!”

  Chapter

  Three

  NANCY BIT HER LIP. Poor Ned! He was really getting a working over.

  At that moment the door to the head of the department’s office opened and Joe Packard came out, briefcase in hand. Nancy had met him once or twice before. He was an imposing figure, very tall and lean, with a thick shock of white hair. He caught Nancy’s eye and winked at her. Then he addressed Wally Biggs.

  “Why don’t you give the boy a break, Wally?” he said in a mild voice. “I think we can assume his motives were good, even if he was a little overzealous. I’m sure he won’t do it again.”

  Wally Biggs turned around, his jowls quivering. “Yes, Joe, but I—”

  “No buts, Wally,” Packard said firmly. “I’m sure Ned got the message. Now, why don’t you go home? I’m sure you’ve had a long day.”

  “Right,” Biggs said, trying to sound as if that were what he had been planning all along.

  Nancy had to suppress a laugh. Packard had certainly taken the wind out of Biggs’s sails!

  Biggs caught Nancy’s eye and glared at her before hurrying off.

  When Biggs was out of earshot, Ned emerged from his
office. “Hi,” he said to Nancy in a weak voice before turning to Joe Packard.

  “Thanks a million, Mr. Packard,” he said. “I really appreciate your coming to my defense.”

  The department head set down his briefcase and leaned against a desk. “I’m glad to know you’re being vigilant,” he said, “although it does sound as if you may have gone overboard last night. But you’re entitled to at least one mistake when you’re starting out.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake!” Ned said earnestly. “I mean, the way I handled it was wrong—I admit that. But I know I’m right about Foyle faking his claim. I reread the report today, and it just doesn’t ring true.”

  Packard was frowning. “Foyle—Foyle,” he said. He took a book of cardboard matches from his pocket, pulled off a single match and peeled the thin layers of gray cardboard into little curls. Catching Nancy staring at him, he grinned. “Habit,” he told her. “I guess it’s a holdover from the days when I smoked.

  “Now, the Foyle claim,” he resumed, raising his eyes to Ned. “You told me about that case, right? The man drove into a cement barrier, then claimed he had head injuries that would keep him from doing his job?”

  Ned nodded eagerly. “Right.”

  Packard shrugged. “Even if you’re correct in saying that this man you saw last night is the same guy who filed the claim with us—and I’m not saying you are right—there’s probably no way to prove the extent of his injuries. Head injuries are next to impossible to verify. The guy could be out of bed, even walking around, with a mild concussion or skull fracture.”

  “But the medical report said he’d be out of commission for months,” Ned protested. “That’s why he got so much money, because he couldn’t work.”

  “Out of commission and not able to work are two different things, aren’t they?” Nancy put in.

  Packard gave her an approving look. “Yes, they are, in this case. The fellow could be in some sort of job that requires a lot of reading, for example. With any kind of injury that affected his eyes, he’d be disabled as far as his work went, even if he could—say, for instance, go out to dinner. Tell me, who was the doctor who signed the claim?”

  “His name is Dr. Robert Meyers,” Ned replied.

  Packard snapped his fingers. “There, you see? Meyers is a fine doctor. In fact, he was my wife’s physician for years. Solid man. And he was willing to sign the claim. That’s why I told you to agree to a settlement, if you’ll remember. The man did have the accident, and the money he got from us is less than he would have gotten if we had gone to court—so don’t worry about it.” He bowed in Nancy’s direction. “Take this lovely young lady out to dinner instead.”

  Nancy smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

  After a minute Ned shook his head. “Thanks for your concern, sir,” he said. “But I can’t just let it slide.”

  “Well, I must say I admire your persistence,” Packard said with a smile. “All right, son. Go ahead and pursue this investigation if you want. Just make sure you’re a little more discreet in the future.”

  Ned grinned. “I will, sir.”

  “Fine. And now I’d better say good night to you both. I’m late for an appointment,” Packard said. He picked up his briefcase and strode out.

  “Where should we eat?” Nancy asked when Packard was gone.

  Ned didn’t seem to hear her. Raking his fingers through his light brown hair, he muttered, “You heard what Wally Biggs said about me being irresponsible. Nan, the only way I’ll ever get Biggs off my back is to prove to him that I was right all along.”

  “But Packard made it clear that he believes in you,” Nancy pointed out.

  Ned shook his head. “Mr. Packard is a terrific guy, but I can’t let him fight my battles for me. I have to follow this up, don’t you see? Will you help me?”

  In a flash, Nancy saw her summer with Ned being swallowed up by this investigation.

  Then she mentally kicked herself for selfishness. She thought of all the times Ned had stood by her. How could she say no to him now? And besides, she’d been complaining about how she never saw him. This was her chance to spend more time with him.

  “Of course I’ll help, Ned,” she promised.

  “You’re terrific!” Ned said, breaking into a smile. Drawing Nancy into his strong arms, he planted a kiss on her lips.

  “Mmmm. I’ll go along with that,” Nancy murmured. A pleasant shiver slid along her spine as he held her. “So what do we do first?”

  Ned laughed. “Boy, it feels funny to hear you asking me that instead of the other way around. Okay, here’s the plan. I want to stake out this Foyle guy’s house, starting now.”

  “What, no dinner again?” Nancy complained in a teasing voice.

  “I know a deli that makes great sandwiches,” Ned retorted. “I’m treating.” He went into his office to straighten up his desk. “I got Foyle’s address off his claim form,” he continued, talking over his shoulder. “I figure we’ll spot him entering or leaving. Then, after we make sure it’s the same guy we saw in the restaurant last night, we’ll take a photograph.”

  “Sounds like a good start,” Nancy told Ned as they walked down the stairs. “But will that prove anything? All that shows is that it’s the same guy. It doesn’t prove anything about his head injury either way.”

  “Ah! That’s phase two,” Ned told her. He raised a finger to wave good night to the security guard. “I’m going to follow our friend T. N. Foyle around with my camera until I can get a shot of him doing something that he absolutely could not do with a serious head injury.”

  “Like what?” Nancy asked.

  “Like dance. If only I’d thought of this last night! Didn’t you hear Foyle and his girlfriend make plans to go dancing?”

  Nancy nodded. “Sounds good to me.” She thought of warning Ned that his plans would involve long hours of tracking, on top of the time he put in at work. But all she said was “Let’s go!”

  First they went to Kirshner’s delicatessen, where Ned bought thick roast beef sandwiches and cans of soda. Then, following Ned’s instructions, Nancy drove to 421 Beechwood Street, the address T. N. Foyle had listed on his claim form.

  Foyle’s home was in an undistinguished-looking town house on a narrow one-way street near the center of Mapleton. A few lights showed in the first-floor windows. Nancy parked under some low-hanging branches across the street.

  “So tell me about this claim,” she urged Ned as they ate their sandwiches.

  Ned sipped his soda. “Well, according to the report, Foyle was driving at night and skidded on an oily patch on the road. The car went out of control, and he slammed into a barrier and hit his head. He managed to walk to a house to call for an ambulance. A few days later he threatened to bring a suit against Mapleton for not keeping its roads clean. His claim was that the town’s negligence had caused him injuries that made it impossible to do his job—he’s an accountant. Mutual Life insures the town for liability, so that’s where I came in. Mr. Packard said the court costs and all would be horrendous, so we decided to offer him a settlement, which he accepted.”

  “Sounds pretty straightforward to me,” Nancy said.

  Ned went on, “The reason I’m suspicious is that Foyle’s symptoms—double vision, stuff like that—didn’t start until a couple of days after the doctor at the hospital emergency room checked him out and said he was okay. I suspect that he thought it over and decided that if he could fake symptoms, he could make a mint by suing the town for damages. Since I’m the one who investigated the claim, I feel responsible for straightening the whole mess out.”

  “It seems like a long shot,” Nancy remarked, half to herself.

  Ned didn’t answer, but Nancy saw him frown and immediately felt a pang of guilt. Was she being too discouraging? Could George be right about her not wanting Ned to get involved in investigative work?

  “But if anyone can solve this case, you can, Mr. Insurance Dragon,” she added quickly, and was pleased that Ned smiled at
her.

  After a few minutes Ned got out of the car. “I’m going to ring the doorbell,” he told Nancy. “If Foyle answers, I’ll snap his picture. If anyone else answers, I’ll ask for Foyle and see what happens.”

  “Be careful,” Nancy called after him. She watched him cross the narrow street and go up to the door. After a moment it was answered by a thin, elderly woman. She and Ned spoke briefly before he turned around and came back to the car.

  “That was Foyle’s landlady,” he reported. “She says she has no idea when he’ll be in.”

  “Well, these things happen,” Nancy told him. She eased her seat back to get a little more legroom. “Now I guess we just watch and wait.”

  Four hours later Nancy was feeling tired and grimy, and her neck was stiff from staring at the house across the street.

  “Ned,” she said. “It’s after eleven, and I’m beat. Can we try again tomorrow?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, yawning. “I guess we’ve done enough staking out for one day.”

  Giving Ned a grateful smile, Nancy started the car and drove the short distance to his house.

  “I’ll call you in the morning,” he told her. He gave her a quick kiss and got out. “And, Nancy, remember one thing—I’m not going to give up until I prove my case.”

  • • •

  On Saturday morning Nancy hung around the house for an hour or so, waiting for Ned’s call, but it didn’t come. When she tried to call him, the line was busy. At last she decided to go out and run some errands.

  When she came home at two, she asked Hannah if Ned had called.

  The gray-haired housekeeper looked up from the kitchen table and smiled at Nancy. “No, he hasn’t,” she replied. “Do you two have plans for today?”

  “I thought we did,” Nancy said, frowning. “He was supposed to call me this morning.”

  At that moment the telephone rang, and Nancy sprang for it. It was Ned, calling from what sounded like a phone booth.

  “Ned, what’s up? Have you been tailing Foyle?” Nancy asked.