A Race Against Time Read online

  “So you walked,” I said.

  “Yeah, back to where I thought my car was—safely parked under the tree.”

  “Only Charlie had already seen it in the creek and towed it in,” I pointed out.

  “So you kept walking,” Bess said. “Wow.”

  “Until I saw an angel driving her blue hybrid to rescue me.” Ned reached over and squeezed my shoulder.

  “I bet you’ll never leave your phone in the glove compartment again,” Bess said.

  “Or park on an incline without pulling your emergency brake,” George added.

  “But I did,” Ned said, twisting around again. “That’s just it. I always use the emergency when I park under that tree.” He frowned as he narrowed his eyes. He thought for a moment, then nodded firmly. “I definitely pulled that brake this afternoon.”

  My mind sifted that information into the pot with the rest of Ned’s report. What was the full story here, I wondered.

  “That’s quite a hike,” George observed, “especially when you’re dragging your bike along with you.”

  “I took the shortcut across Fern Meadow,” he said. “That helped a little.”

  “That’s why we didn’t see you on our way out to the sycamore,” I realized. Suddenly I remembered something. I reached into my pocket and took out the brass medallion with the Gemini symbol that I’d found under his car seat. “Is this yours?” I asked Ned.

  “No,” he answered. “Why?”

  “I found it in your car,” I told him. “I was pretty sure it didn’t belong to you. Have you ever seen it before?”

  “No,” he answered, shaking his head. He squinted his eyes as if he were trying to remember something. Then he shook his head again. “No—I really don’t have a clue,” he said. “Maybe it’s some sort of medal or something. I have no idea why it was under my seat though.”

  “You’re sure you set the emergency brake,” I reminded him. “So maybe this was dropped by someone who opened your car and unset the brake. Someone who released the brake so that your car would roll into the creek.”

  “You’re saying that it wasn’t an accident?” George asked.

  “I’m saying that’s possible,” I confirmed.

  “Deirdre,” George said in a very low whisper. Then she spoke up. “What about the race tomorrow?” she asked Ned. “Are you up for it?”

  “Absolutely,” Ned answered. “A long shower, a big meal, and a good night’s sleep, and I’ll be ready to ride.”

  “I’m biking the first leg,” George reminded him. “So you’ll get even more rest in the truck tomorrow morning.”

  “Excellent,” Ned said. “That’s all I’m going to need.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked. “I don’t care as much about the race as I do about you.”

  “I’m sure,” he promised. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he meant it. “I’m fine now, and I’m going to be even better tomorrow.”

  “How about taking a detour to the hospital emergency room,” I suggested, “and have someone take a look at your leg. You’ve got a really bad scrape.”

  “Not necessary,” Ned said. “Really. I’d do it if I thought I needed to.”

  “Okay.” I handed him his phone. “You’d better call your dad.”

  While he talked to his dad, I went over Ned’s story in my mind. Who would want to put Ned out of commission? And why? Did it have anything to do with the race? Or was it something personal against him?

  “I didn’t tell my dad what happened,” Ned said after he hung up. “We’ve got unexpected house-guests—a couple of his old colleagues here from Washington. I’ll wait until they leave, and then give my folks the full story.”

  “Maybe by then we’ll have figured out exactly what did happen,” I said.

  As I pulled back into River Heights, I asked the hardest question. “Ned, is there anyone who would want to harm you for some reason? Have you made any enemies recently?”

  “I can’t think of anyone,” he answered.

  “Okay, then, we’ll just go with what we’ve got and see what we can figure out,” I assured him. Now if I could only assure myself, I thought pessimistically, we’d be in business.

  I took Ned home first—he was really hungry and needed to get that leg wound cleaned up. And besides, I knew a good hot shower would make him feel a lot better.

  When we got to his house, Bess told him to just leave the bike on the rack. “I’ll repair the chain tonight,” she told us, “and make sure the bike is ready for the race.”

  “As your team captain, I order you to cram some carbs and get a good night’s sleep,” I told Ned, giving him a kiss. “Bess will pick you up in the morning.”

  “Go team,” he called back as he walked inside. He looked tired, but I knew he’d be back in form by the next day.

  “So, tell us, Nancy,” Bess said as I backed out of Ned’s driveway. “What do you really think happened? Who did this to Ned? And why?”

  “I honestly don’t know,” I answered. “I believe what Ned told us about not having any current enemies.”

  “Are you sure he’d tell you if he did?” George asked. “What if it’s someone really nasty, and he’s not telling you so you won’t get involved? What if he’s just trying to protect you?”

  George had a point. Ned doesn’t lie, but he sometimes hedges the truth for my sake. This wouldn’t be the first time he had put my welfare before the pursuit of a case. But this time I believed him. Something in my gut told me he was being totally straight with me. I shook my head.

  “What about Deirdre?” George said. “She’s not above doing something like this, just to mess with our heads the night before the race.”

  “I thought about that when you suggested it,” I said. “And I’m not ruling her out . . . yet.”

  I dropped off George next, then drove to Bess’s house. They live a few blocks apart off Vernon Avenue.

  Bess and I took Ned’s bike down off the rack. Together we looked at the broken chain. It was easy to see where the broken links had snapped. It was also easy to see that they had been partly filed through before snapping.

  Finally I headed home. Hannah Gruen, our housekeeper, had already turned in for the night. When my mother died, Dad hired Hannah to keep house, cook, and baby-sit. But she does much more than that. She’s definitely a valued member of our little family.

  I wasted no time getting cleaned up and collapsing into bed. It had been a long day, and it took me a while to wind down my mind. Two trains of thought whizzed along parallel tracks: What happened to Ned? and Is my team ready for the race?

  Without answers to either question, I finally gave up and fell asleep.

  The Race Is On?

  Saturday morning’s weather lived up to the local forecasters’ expectations: It was sunny but not hot, breezy but not blowy, dry, and gorgeous. I called Ned the minute I woke up, and was relieved to hear him say he felt great and ready to ride.

  I showered and dressed in my racing gear. Bess had chosen these bright purple biking shorts and jerseys with green stripes for our matching uniforms. Not all the teams went that far, but with Bess on our team, we couldn’t help it.

  I packed my sports bag with sunscreen, lip balm, a pocketknife, a miniflashlight, a couple of hair-clips, my cell phone, energy bars, insect repellant, and other odds and ends. Something told me to grab the Gemini medallion I’d found in Ned’s car, so I dropped it in, too. Then I went downstairs to the kitchen.

  Hannah had posted a note on the refrigerator telling me she had already left for downtown. She had volunteered to help cook and serve breakfast for the race organizers. The aroma of her homemade banana bread still floated around the room—and a loaf waited for me on the counter.

  Although I wasn’t scheduled to ride until three o’clock, I was still feeling jumpy and excited. So I decided to down a peach protein smoothie and a piece of Hannah’s melt-in-your-mouth bread.

  Bess picked me up in the truck she had outfitted for the
two-day event. George and Ned were already aboard.

  “Hurry up,” Bess called to me. “We don’t want to be late for all the prerace stuff.”

  I jumped into the backseat, and we sped away.

  “So are we excited or what?” George asked everyone. “I am so ready to start this race! We’re going to leave Deirdre and her team coughing in our dust.”

  “I’m ready,” Ned said.

  “Me too,” I chimed in.

  Soon we were driving into the parking lot at the bank downtown. The starting line for the race was at Main Street and Highland Boulevard, right in front of the bank, on one of the busiest corners in town. All the streets in the area had been roped off for the race. Temporary bleachers had been erected on the sidewalks for supporters and fans, and a small stage constructed near the starting line.

  Red and gold banners billowed out from all the streetlights, and the storefront windows of all the downtown businesses and shops had handmade posters cheering on their favorite teams. Members of the high school pep band had staked out a spot in the minipark across from the bank, and the air was full of rousing music.

  George, Ned, and I unloaded our bikes in the parking lot and did a few warm-ups. I hate racing in brand-new clothes, so I’d worn my new gear for a couple of ten-mile rides earlier in the week. When I warmed up with a few stretches Saturday morning, my new shorts and jersey felt perfectly broken in.

  “Uh-oh, there she is,” Bess said. We all looked up as she alerted us. Deirdre was gliding across the parking lot, followed by a couple of guys.

  “Looks like her team got matching uniforms too,” Ned noted. “Black with blue stripes.”

  “Mmmm,” George said, “black and blue. Sounds like and omen to me—like maybe DeeDee will crash her hotshot new bike as much as she always crashed the old one.”

  “Okay, racers, can you gather over here for a minute, please?” Ralph Holman’s voice boomed across the parking lot. He was better at speaking through the bullhorn than he’d been at the microphone during the CarboCram the night before. “Just leave your bikes and come in closer,” he urged us.

  Mr. Holman was standing on the small temporary stage. Next to him stood an impressive, old-fashioned safe. It was black cast iron with shiny brass curlicues and leaf figures in all the corners. A man in a gray uniform stood on the other side of the safe.

  All the bikers and the supporters and fans who were there to see the start of the race jostled one another to get a better view of the little stage. I looked around at the other bikers, mostly to check out the competition. I knew most of them, but a few I’d never seen before.

  Two of the guys Deirdre had pressed into service were clustered with her, but one had drifted off somewhere. I recognized Malcolm, their truck driver, from school. He was very tall with long brown hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of his neck. I’d never met the other one, but he must have been one of the Jensen brothers. His hair was sun-bleached almost white—at least I assumed it was from the sun.

  There were a few people I didn’t know at the edge of the crowd who were dressed in racing gear. One of them seemed totally out of place, because he was leaning against a tree and holding on to a bike with fat knobby tires, cantilever brakes on a straight handlebar, and three chain rings. I figured that he couldn’t possibly have seen the race route because he had a mountain bike, not a road racer!

  “As I’m sure you know, the pledges and donations for this year’s Biking for Bucks have already set a record.” Mr. Holman’s voice pulled my attention back to the stage. “We thought you’d like to see what you’re racing for.”

  Mr. Holman reached over and twirled a long bar that was connected to the center of the antique safe door. The crowd got really quiet. The safe door clicked open slightly. Dramatically he pulled the door open the rest of the way. Everyone gasped. The safe had stacks of money in it—a lot of money.

  “All the money that you see here has been pledged to the Open Your Heart Fund,” Mr. Holman said. “And best of all, it’s been pledged in your names.” He swept his arm around in front of him, almost as if he were bowing to us.

  “Congratulations for everything you’ve done so far for this wonderful cause,” he said, “and for everything you’re about to do.”

  His words made me feel really good. My team came in for a group hug; then we threw our arms up in the air with a cheer.

  I led my team through the crowd so we could wish the other five teams a good race. Some of them were kind of scattered around, so we didn’t actually get to talk to all of the other competitors.

  Deirdre walked up with her team. I recognized one of the guys immediately.

  “You’re Malcolm Price, right?” I said to her driver. “I’m Nancy Drew.”

  “I remember you from school,” Malcolm said. “This is Thad Jensen.”

  “That’s right,” Deirdre said. “You all don’t know the Jensen brothers, do you? They’re practically cycling professionals. They’ve won a lot of competitions—all just a warm-up to this race, of course.”

  Without another word Deirdre turned and walked away. Malcolm and Thad smiled and nodded, but then turned on their heels and trotted off after their queen.

  “You don’t suppose she’s brought in a ringer, do you?” Bess asked. “I mean a real pro—someone we have to worry about.”

  “So what if she did?” George said. “We can take him. Today we can take anybody!” She put her arm around Bess’s shoulder and gave her a good squeeze. “You just keep the truck running. We’ll do the rest.”

  “Did any of you see the man in the red biking shorts?” I asked. “He had a mountain bike and was hanging way back from the crowd, leaning on a tree by the bank.”

  “I did,” Ned said. “Someone should tell him that this is a road race. He’s going to have a real handicap against the faster road bikes. There’s no real trail-riding in this race.”

  “I wonder if his whole team is on mountain bikes,” George said.

  I looked over at the tree where the man in the red shorts had been leaning. His bike was still there, but he was walking toward the stage. Mr. Holman had stepped down into the crowd and was talking to some of the supporters.

  Something about that mountain biker bothered me. This guy just didn’t seem to fit the picture of an entrant in a charity road race. He also seemed to be a loner with no one hanging with him. So where was the rest of his team?

  I watched him pace around the stage for a few minutes. Mr. Holman had moved farther away, meeting and greeting the crowd. The security officer was still onstage, but he was looking over to the side and didn’t seem to notice the man in the red shorts circling the area.

  While I watched, Red Shorts bounded gracefully up onto the stage and walked right over to the safe. He crouched down in front of the open door, as if he wanted to get a closer look at all the money inside.

  I wandered over to get a better view of the action, and I reached the stage just in time to see the security officer in the gray uniform hustle Red Shorts back away from the safe with a friendly smile. Red Shorts jumped backward off the stage without a word and bumped into me as he hurried off. I turned and watched him grab his mountain bike and rush it to the parking lot.

  “You too, miss,” I heard from behind me. “It’s time to get ready for the race. I’m closing up the safe now.”

  I turned back to the stage and realized the officer was talking to me. “Uh, yes, you’re right, Officer . . . um . . . Rainey,” I said, reading his name tag. “You’ve got quite a job there, protecting all that cash.”

  Officer Rainey smiled warmly and gave me a brisk professional nod.

  “Well, hello there,” Mr. Holman greeted me when he stepped back onto the stage. “You’re Carson Drew’s daughter, aren’t you? It’s Nancy, right?”

  “That’s right,” I replied.

  “I see you’re one of our cyclists today,” Mr. Holman said, slamming the door shut. “Good luck to you! Better get yourself ready.”

&n
bsp; As Mr. Holman spoke I watched Red Shorts move through my peripheral vision and then vanish.

  I glanced over to the starting line. What I saw shocked me back into reality. Most of the starting riders on the other teams had already pulled their bikes into position. I checked my watch. I’d been so distracted by Red Shorts that I’d missed the call to report. The race would start in twelve minutes.

  When I looked back at the stage, Officer Rainey and Mr. Holman were wheeling away the safe on a large dolly. I sprinted back to the parking lot.

  “Where’s George?” I mumbled to myself. She wasn’t at the starting line. In fact I didn’t see any of my team anywhere near the line, and the starter was getting his pistol ready.

  I found my team still in the parking lot. Everyone was hard at work, unloading spare tubes and tire irons from the truck.

  “It was Deirdre, I know it,” George snarled as I ran up. “All the tires are flat!”

  Ready, Set . . . Stop!

  Just strip out the tube in the back wheel,” Bess ordered. “We’ve got to get you on the road, George.”

  “Both of George’s tires are flat?” I asked, using one of the frame pumps to partially inflate the spare tube.

  “Yeah,” Ned said with a nod. “And the tires on all the other bikes are too. But you know Bess—she’s got plenty of spares.”

  “Stop talking and pump,” Bess said. “We’ve got to get her out there! We’ll worry about the other tires later.”

  “Evan Jensen was missing from the whole safe presentation, Nancy,” George said. “He’s probably the one who deflated the tires. But we know Deirdre’s behind it. We’ve got to do something about it.”

  “We don’t really know that, George,” I reminded her. “At this point we have only suspicion, and no proof. Sure I think her team is out to get us. She’s always out to get us! But for now we can only stay alert, and see what she might have planned next. And your whole focus should be on your ride.”

  George was really angry—and that was a mixed blessing. A certain amount of heat against Deirdre’s team would make her even more fiercely competitive. But I didn’t want her to be so angry that she’d be distracted from the real goal: bringing home the pledges for the Open Your Heart Fund.