Island of Secrets Read online

  “That was smart. Most people would have fished it out right away.”

  “Well, I’ve had some detective experience,” Nancy said. “I know not to disturb evidence.”

  “Detective experience?” Hathaway raised an eyebrow. “A pretty girl like you?”

  Nancy told him about a few of the cases she’d solved. She could see that he was impressed.

  Barb, too, acted respectful, saying, “If you’re a detective, maybe you could find out how Tom—”

  “I’m sure Sergeant Hathaway and the others can handle the investigation,” Nancy replied.

  “Why don’t you call me Jim?” Hathaway said. “After all, we’re colleagues in a way, and it seems that you have more experience than I do when it comes to murder. Probably more than the senior officers on the force. A murder has never happened on Block, not in my memory.”

  “So you do think it’s murder?” Nancy asked.

  “What else could it be?” Jim said. “Tom was only twenty-four, a big guy, healthy as a horse.”

  “You knew him well?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s a small island, especially once the tourists leave. Only about eight hundred of us live here year-round. Tom and I grew up together, but he was several years ahead of me in school. He was something of a troublemaker, to be honest.”

  “That’s not fair!” Barb said. “He had a rough life, but I know a lot of guys like him where I come from, in South Boston. And how can you talk about him that way? He’s dead!” Barb burst into tears and ran toward the mopeds.

  “Let her go,” Jim told Nancy. “She needs time. But she’s making a mistake, trying to defend Tom. The guy was bad news.”

  “What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

  “He was always trying to make a buck, and he didn’t care how he got it. His junior year in high school, he ran a gambling ring. It only lasted until he was caught with a marked deck of cards, but that was just peanuts compared to what I heard he did later. And I know he was into something big this summer.”

  “What?” Nancy asked.

  “I’m not sure, but it definitely wasn’t honest,” Jim said. “He was flashing a lot of money around, talking about buying his own boat, and he hadn’t worked in almost two months. Even a used boat costs plenty these days, so he must have had something big going.”

  A police lieutenant came over to them. Jim introduced Nancy, then showed him the hammer. They dragged it from the pond with a long stick and dropped it into a plastic evidence bag.

  “The chief wants you to head back to the station,” the lieutenant said. “Get this ready to send off to the lab, then start on your report.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jim said as he strode away. He turned to Nancy. “Thanks for your help, Miss Drew.”

  “Nancy, please,” she said.

  He smiled for the first time, a boyish grin. “Could you come down to headquarters in a little while? I’ll type up the statements for you and Barb to sign.”

  “Sure,” Nancy said. “We’ll meet you there.”

  Barb was waiting for her by the mopeds, her eyes puffy and red from weeping. When Nancy told her about Jim’s request, Barb nodded, then mounted her bike and silently led the way back to the main road, turning north toward Great Salt Pond.

  They stopped for a soda at the convenience store where Barb had phoned the police. This seemed to calm down Barb. Then they rode to the police station, which was located minutes from the center of Old Harbor.

  As Nancy and Barb walked in, they were greeted by the dispatcher in her small office to the right of the door. “You can wait for Sergeant Hathaway in there,” the woman told them, pointing to the main room. The phone rang and she snatched it up. “No, I can’t comment about a murder,” she told the caller, annoyed. “The chief will be making an official statement later today.” She hung up and the phone rang again. Shaking her head, she repeated the same thing to the next caller.

  Several people were sitting in the main room, and through an open door, Nancy could see into the garage where the patrol cars were parked.

  “Do you know anything about the murder?” a short, bald man with a notebook asked Nancy.

  “No,” she replied.

  The man hurried over to a young couple who had just come in and questioned them eagerly. More and more people arrived. Nancy was relieved when Jim appeared and led them into a small office crowded with three desks. Barb had remained very quiet the whole time. After Jim typed her statement into the computer, she signed the printout, checked to be sure Nancy knew the way home, then quickly left.

  By the time Nancy had signed her own statement, the small police station was abuzz with excitement. At least a dozen people milled around, exchanging rumors about the murder.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Jim offered, glancing at his watch. “I’m due for a short break.”

  “I’d love it,” Nancy answered.

  He was leading her to the door when a tall, distinguished man with iron gray hair called out, “Sergeant Hathaway, could I see you for a moment?”

  They stopped and turned around. “Certainly, Congressman,” Jim said with respect. “What can I do for you?”

  The man strode toward them, followed by a very blond, very handsome young man. “What in blazes is going on here?” the older man asked with an accent that sounded vaguely Western. “We came to file a complaint against trespassers on our property and found this place busy as a barn at milking time.”

  Jim lowered his voice. “A body was found earlier this afternoon, sir. In fact, this young lady was one of the people who reported it. Nancy Drew, this is State Congressman Walt Winchester and his son, Scott. The Winchesters are building a house on the island.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Nancy held out her hand, noticing the congressman’s red- and white-checked shirt and cowboy boots. His son wore deck shoes, jeans, and a blue polo shirt that matched the blue of his eyes. Not even the bruise on his cheek could spoil his incredible good looks, but his expression was tense, remote, and a little superior, Nancy thought.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Winchester drawled. “A body, you said? Someone died?”

  “Yes, sir. We believe it was one of our people—an Islander, that is. The next of kin is here now to make the identification.” Jim nodded at a closed door behind the congressman.

  “What happened? Another of those blasted moped accidents?” Winchester sounded irritated. “It’s a wonder people aren’t killed every day, the way the tourists drive.”

  “It wasn’t an accident, sir. At least it doesn’t appear that way, but I can’t say more right now.”

  The congressman gave Jim a sharp glance. He reminded Nancy of an eagle—imposing, dignified, and ever watchful. “What’s all this mystery?”

  Jim cleared his throat. “It’s just that we’ve barely begun our investigation and we’re not able to discuss it yet. We’ll be making an announcement as soon as the body has been officially identified by the victim’s aunt.”

  “I see.” Winchester nodded. “Thank you, Sergeant.” He and his son walked away.

  “Winchester is a very important person in New York politics,” Jim told Nancy. “In fact, the rumor is he’s about to be nominated as a judge on the state supreme court.”

  “It’s interesting,” Nancy said. “He sounds more like a Westerner than someone from New York.”

  “I understand that he moved up from Texas after his wife died some years ago. Apparently he lost a big election and blamed the other candidate for causing her heart attack. Claimed he waged a dirty campaign.”

  Nancy saw the door that Jim had indicated earlier was now opening. Others noticed it, too, and a hush fell over the room as the crowd waited for the next of kin to emerge.

  A burly police officer appeared, supporting a small, plump, white-haired woman. The woman took a step forward, her face so white it resembled marble. Then her legs dissolved under her as she started to collapse in a faint.

  “I know her!” Nancy whisp
ered, her blue eyes widening. “That’s Hannah’s friend—the quilter, Sarah Windsor!”

  Chapter

  Three

  THE OFFICER CAUGHT SARAH as she was falling. Jim ran over to help him put her into a chair, announcing in a loud voice, “That’s it, folks. Please clear the room.”

  Nancy was about to help when the doctor she’d seen at the grave site appeared and bent over the older woman.

  Jim returned to Nancy’s side. “I’m sure she’ll be fine once we get her home. But would you mind taking a rain check on that cup of coffee?”

  “Sure. I should be getting back anyway. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, turning away.

  Outside the station, Nancy collected Angie’s moped, then slowly rode it into town. She left the moped in Angie’s garage, along with a note of thanks, and walked on to the cottage.

  Hannah was in the kitchen mixing a pitcher of iced tea when Nancy arrived. “I walked down to the grocery store, but I only bought a few things. I thought we could eat out tonight—” Noticing Nancy’s expression, she interrupted herself. “What’s the matter?”

  Nancy told her about the death of Sarah’s nephew.

  “I’ve got to go to her. Can you call a cab?” Hannah untied her apron. “Sarah lives off Corn Neck Road. Oh, poor dear, I know she was worried about him. She told me all about him, how he’d lost his parents and everything. She said he’d been gone since Friday night.”

  “Did she report him missing to the police?” Nancy asked, looking up taxicabs in the phone book.

  “No. According to Sarah, he was a moody boy. He stayed with her, but he’d often go off for days at a time without a word.”

  Nancy wasn’t surprised that Hannah knew so much about Tom, although she’d only met his aunt that morning. Total strangers often opened up to Hannah, sensing they could tell her anything. Nancy dialed the cab company and minutes later Hannah was off to comfort her new friend.

  After that, Nancy called Barb. “I’m okay, Nancy, but I went over to talk to D. J. Divott and I’m really worried about him. He’s awfully upset about Tom’s death. They’ve been best friends since they were little kids.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Thanks, but not now.” Barb sighed. “I’d planned to take you to the Spotted Dog tonight. . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Nancy said.

  “Wait, I have an idea for tomorrow,” Barb said. “I always swim two miles when I finish work. Why don’t you come to the beach with me tomorrow afternoon? We can lie in the sun and pretend this . . . murder never happened.”

  “Good idea.” Nancy arranged to pick Barb up at her apartment the next day and hung up, then sank into a rocking chair on the porch.

  Hannah returned at six and reported that Sarah’s living room was full of friends who had come over to keep her company. She and Nancy decided to fix a simple supper of soup and sandwiches. A game of gin helped keep Nancy’s mind off the murder during the evening, but as she fell asleep that night, she couldn’t forget the image of Tom Haines’s body buried in that lonely spot.

  • • •

  Right after breakfast Nancy and Hannah walked into town to the moped rental shop. Nancy rented a blue moped and was surprised when Hannah chose a bright red one. The shop owner suggested they practice in the large parking lot before going out on the road.

  They donned their helmets and Nancy showed Hannah how to turn on the motor. She pointed to the right handlebar grip. “Think of that as your gas pedal. Turn it toward you, gently, like this, to give it a little gas.”

  Hannah twisted the grip and the motor roared. She jumped at the sound and let go of the handle. The engine automatically slowed.

  “Not too much,” Nancy said. Hannah tried again and the engine rose to a purr. “That’s it. The levers on the handlebars are the brakes. When you want to slow down, release the gas and squeeze them.”

  “It seems easy,” Hannah exclaimed. “It’s just like riding a bike, without pumping.”

  Nancy smiled. “Right. Now start off slowly. Just give it the tiniest bit of gas.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. “Okay, here I go!” She puttered at two miles an hour around the lot, making a wide circle that arced back toward Nancy. “This isn’t so hard!” she called. “It’s easier than a bike!”

  Nancy watched her make another wide turn. Suddenly the motor revved and Hannah shot back up the lot.

  “Hit the brakes, Hannah!” Nancy shouted.

  Hannah slowed only to make the turn around the row of parked cars. The bike tilted as she leaned into the curve. Then she raced back toward Nancy and skidded to a halt in front of her.

  “I think I’ve got the hang of it,” Hannah said, grinning.

  “You scared me to death!” Nancy said, her heart still pounding.

  “Don’t worry about me, dear. I watch the road races on television all the time.” Hannah patted Nancy’s shoulder.

  “Um, right, but control is important,” Nancy reminded her. “Once we get out in traffic . . .”

  “I’ll be fine,” Hannah said calmly. “Shall we hit the road?”

  Nancy watched in amazement as Hannah negotiated her way through the busy downtown streets. It seemed as if she’d been riding all her life. Shaking her head in disbelief, Nancy wondered what other surprises Hannah had in store for her during the vacation.

  At Hannah’s insistence, they rode across the island to the Captain’s Catch for lunch. Only a few tables were occupied in the dining room, but the deck overlooking Great Salt Pond was packed. Nancy and Hannah decided to wait for an outdoor table.

  As she stood near the reservation stand, Nancy glanced around the restaurant, noticing the heavy tables, comfortable chairs, and dark wood paneling hung with pictures of old sailing ships. Nancy spotted the New York congressman, Walt Winchester, alone at a corner table. Just then a man in a business suit carrying a battered briefcase entered the restaurant and strode over to Winchester.

  A few minutes later the hostess led Nancy and Hannah to the deck. As they passed near Winchester, who was studying a typewritten sheet of paper, the man stood up, said goodbye, and began to walk away.

  Nancy noticed he’d left his briefcase on the floor. “Sir,” she called, but he didn’t turn back. Nancy spoke to the congressman. “Your friend forgot his briefcase.”

  Winchester’s face flashed annoyance, which vanished as soon as he recognized Nancy. “Why, Miss Drew, how nice to see you again.” He stood and gave Nancy a courtly nod of his head, then glanced at the briefcase. “He didn’t forget it. I’m afraid it’s full of important—but tedious—documents for me to study. I can’t escape from work, even when Congress is in recess.”

  Nancy smiled sympathetically. “May I introduce my friend, Hannah Gruen? Hannah, this is Congressman Walt Winchester.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you,” he said, grinning. “In fact, it’s a real privilege to meet such an attractive lady.”

  Hannah’s cheeks grew pink. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Congressman.”

  He glanced at his watch. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. Have to fly back to Albany for a conference with the governor. My pilot is waiting at the airport.”

  “You have your own plane?” Hannah asked.

  “Sure do,” he replied affably as he pulled some bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. “Perhaps you might like to join me for a ride sometime, Ms. Gruen. We could hop over to Newport for lunch, or would you prefer Nantucket?”

  “Well, either would be lovely, I’m sure,” Hannah said graciously.

  “Good, I look forward to it.” With that, he picked up the briefcase and nodded to Nancy. “I must be off. Goodbye, ladies.”

  Nancy led a smiling Hannah to their table. When the waitress handed her a menu, Hannah read through it. “Heavens, look what they’re charging for lobster salad!”

  Nancy studied the face she had known since childhood, suddenly seeing Hannah in a new light. Her sk
in was unlined and the color of peaches and cream, her gray hair soft, her figure trim. No wonder a man like Walt Winchester would find her attractive.

  Hannah leaned toward Nancy. “He’s quite a charmer, isn’t he?”

  Nancy grinned. “Yes, he is. I understand he may be appointed a judge on the New York State Supreme Court.”

  “Really?” Hannah glanced at the menu. After a minute she said, “You know, I think I’ll have that lobster salad.”

  After a leisurely lunch, the two of them separated. Hannah proudly rode her moped back to the cottage, and Nancy decided to stop by the police station before picking up Barb to go to the beach. She found Jim in his office, typing up a report.

  “Hi,” she said. “Got time to buy a girl a cup of coffee?”

  The sergeant looked up from the computer screen. “Hi, Nancy. Gosh, I wish I could but we’re swamped. How about a cup of the local brew instead?” He indicated the coffeemaker in the corner.

  “Sure. I won’t keep you. I just wondered how the case is going.”

  “Before we sent the hammer to the lab on the mainland for analysis, we noticed initials scratched into the handle. They led us to a suspect.” He poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “He’s being questioned right now.”

  Nancy was surprised. “That’s fast work. Does that mean you think the hammer is the murder weapon?”

  “The preliminary autopsy showed bruises on the face and head, but the cause of death was a sharp blow to the back of the skull. It will take a while to determine if the wound could have been caused by the hammer, but it seems likely.”

  “Bruises,” Nancy said, thinking out loud. “Sounds like he must have been in a fight before he was killed.”

  “That’s what we figure.”

  “Who is your suspect?” she asked.

  Jim frowned. “Another Islander. They both fell for the same girl, and twice before this they tried to settle it with their fists. It’s too bad—they used to be friends.”

  “Hathaway,” a police officer called from the main room. “The chief wants you.”

  “On my way,” Jim answered. “I’ve got to run, Nancy.”