The Mysterious Image Page 3

  5. Clue Search

  Thank heavens these brakes are good! thought Nancy. Her hands were shaking and her heart was jumping as the car stopped with a screech of tires.

  The pedestrian she had seen out of the comer of her eye just in the nick of time was now coming up to the car door. Nancy gasped in relief as she recognized her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. He opened the car door and swiftly slid in beside her.

  “Sorry I scared us both so, Nancy!” the handsome college student apologized with a grin. “When I saw you and stepped off the curb to flag you down, I didn’t expect you to turn so suddenly.”

  “I’m sorry too, Ned.” Nancy reached out for a moment to squeeze his hand before starting up again. Horns were already honking behind her. “The turn was a spur-of-the-moment decision,” she explained while swerving onto the side street. “I was tailing a yellow convertible in connection with a case I’m working on, but I lost sight of it around that bend in Central Avenue. So I thought if I took a shortcut, I might have a better chance of picking it up again.” “Don’t let me stop you!” Ned chuckled, entering into the spirit of the case. “We’ll both keep our eyes peeled.”

  As it turned out, however, precious moments had been lost, and the quarry was too far out of range to be overtaken. After cutting back onto Central Avenue, Nancy continued the pursuit for another half-dozen blocks. But neither she nor Ned was able to glimpse the blond picture- snapper in his convertible.

  “Oh well, if he’s really important to the case, I’ll probably see him again,” Nancy said philosophically.

  “What I do see up ahead is an ice cream parlor,” said Ned. “I suggest we stop in and console ourselves with a soda or milk shake. How about it?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Nancy laughed as she pulled over to the curb and parked.

  After they were seated and had ordered, Ned remarked, “It was a lucky break spotting you, Nancy. Telepathy maybe! I called your house a little while ago, but Hannah said you’d gone out. I wanted to invite you to dinner tonight. Can you make it?”

  “Oh, I’d love that, Ned. I’m so glad you’re home again,” Nancy replied enthusiastically.

  It was summer vacation time for Ned Nickerson, who attended Emerson College. “I’ve just been offered a summer job in an advertising agency, by the way,” he went on, “but I’m not sure yet whether I want to take it. It involves market research . . . you know, fining out whether or not people will buy a certain product, and what it takes to convince them.” “Sounds interesting. I’m into advertising myself on this latest mystery I’m trying to solve.” While they were pursuing the yellow convertible, Nancy had already told Ned some of the details about the weird duplication of magazine ads that had plagued Dallas Curry. Neither could guess how the lanky blond cameraman might fit into the case.

  As they sipped their milk shakes, Nancy described some of the unusual photographic layouts that Curry was accused of copying. The conversation then turned to television commercials. Suddenly Nancy remembered the mysterious video cassette that had been sent to her. She told Ned about it and added, “You didn’t send it to me, did you?”

  “No, I know you aren’t fond of rock music, Nancy,” he said. “Maybe George or Bess did it as a joke.”

  She nodded. “I’ll ask them.”

  When they had finished their shakes, Nancy and Ned walked back to her blue sports car. “Can I drop you anywhere, Ned?”

  “Well, as a matter of fact, the ad agency that offered me a job is located just a couple of blocks from here.” The husky six-footer glanced at his watch. “They asked me to come in for a three-o’clock interview, so I could use a lift there, if you’re heading toward Park Street.” Nancy smiled. “Wherever you say, sir!”

  A few minutes later she stopped to let him off. “Thanks. See you tonight!” he waved before walking into the office building.

  Nancy drove home and was delighted to find Bess Marvin and George Fayne waiting for her. Though cousins, the two girls were strikingly different in looks. Bess was blonde and slightly plump, while George was a slim, athletic girl with short, dark hair.

  “The very two people I wanted to see!” Nancy cried on discovering them in the living room.

  “Well, it’s nice to know we’re wanted.” George said and winked at Bess.

  “Yes, but for what?” Her cousin finished the candy bar she’d been nibbling on and wadded up the wrapper.

  “For one thing, to ask you both a question,” Nancy replied. “Did either of you send me a video cassette?”

  She knew they hadn’t when she saw their puzzled faces, even before they shook their heads no. Nancy told them how the package had arrived with no sender’s name or address and how, when she played the cassette on the video recorder, the tape had proved to contain a series of rock-music videos.

  “Gee, that’s odd,” George murmured.

  “It certainly is,” Bess agreed. “Can we see it, Nancy?”

  “Oh, I’ll play it for you later—that’s a promise. But first, will you do me a favor and keep me company on a walk . . . please?”

  “Sure, I’d enjoy a little exercise,” said George.

  Bess, however, emitted a doleful groan. “Oh, no-o-o! If ‘walk’ is a polite name for a hike, count me out.”

  “Pretty please?” asked Nancy.

  At this point, George cut in firmly, “Listen, my little butterball of a cousin. You need the

  exercise more than either of us do. So come on, be a sport!”

  Bess was finally persuaded. Nancy quickly changed into loafers and jeans. Then the three girls got into Nancy’s car and started eastward out of town.

  “What’s this all about, Nancy?” George inquired, suspecting a mystery.

  As she drove along Possum Road, Nancy told her two chums about the strange disappearance of Clare Grant. She also pointed out, in passing the white chateau-style home of the Fyfes, where the young actress had been staying just before she vanished.

  Presently Nancy stopped at a point where a cinder path from the woods cut into Possum Road. “This is one end of the path that slants by that quarry I told you about,” Nancy explained. “I’d like to follow it all the way through the woods to Highway 19 and look for clues.” Despite her lack of enthusiasm for hiking, even Bess was excited at the prospect. “Oh, it would be thrilling,” she breathed, “if we found some clue that enabled you to nab her kidnappers, Nancy!”

  “It sure would ... if she was kidnapped,” George added more cautiously.

  “Yes, that’s an important question,” Nancy agreed. “Either way, it’s a puzzling situation. If Clare Grant was kidnapped, why didn’t she call for help or put up a struggle? But on the other hand, why would she go off on her own accord in the middle of the night just when she was expecting a friend to come and visit her?” “Gee, this sounds like a really baffling mystery!” said Bess as they got out of the car.

  “You can also see why we’ll have to walk,” said Nancy. “I’m afraid this cinder path is too rough and rutted to risk driving on.”

  “You said it,” agreed George. “You’d wreck your springs.”

  The girls started out across the brief expanse of meadowland that adjoined the road and soon entered the woods. All three found themselves breathing deeply and enjoying the sylvan atmosphere as they walked along. The air was cool and filled with the songs of birds.

  “This is really pleasant!” Bess said, sounding slightly surprised.

  “See, there, what did I tell you?” asked George smugly. “If you’d try this sort of thing a little more often, you might actually get to like exercise!”

  “Ugh!” Bess made a face at her cousin, and all three girls burst out laughing.

  As they passed the rock quarry, Nancy pointed out the few footprints that were visible where the ground was mushy, and also the tire tread marks.

  “Do you figure the car or truck, whatever it was, came from Highway 19 and went back the same way?” George questioned Nancy.

  “That’s wha
t it looks like,” the teenage sleuth said and nodded, “because the tire tracks connect with the cinder path on that side of the quarry. If they’d joined the path on the side toward the house, I would have assumed the vehicle came from Possum Road. But hopefully, if we follow the path farther along, we may really stumble on a clue that will help us identify it.”

  About a quarter of a mile past the quarry, the three girls reached an old wooden bridge over Possum Creek.

  Bess paused timidly. “Gee, that doesn’t look very stable.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t,” Nancy agreed.

  Ordinarily the creek was a small, bubbling stream, but the heavy rainfall over the weekend had turned it into a swollen torrent.

  “Wow!” gulped Bess, venturing close enough to peer down at the muddy, rushing water.

  After examining the bridge, Nancy saw that the flood had weakened some of the bridge supports. “Maybe we’d better turn back,” she decided. “Crossing it looks too risky.”

  But George strode boldly out onto the structure, saying, “Come on, don’t be scaredy-cats! It’s perfectly safe.”

  Even as she spoke, the bridge rattled ominously and gave way. With a scream, George plunged toward the swift waters below!

  6. Windshield Warning

  Nancy and Bess gasped in fear, but in the nick of time George managed to grab hold of a broken plank that was still part of the remaining bridge structure! With both arms stretched over her head and hanging on for dear life, George dangled perilously above the rain-swollen creek!

  “Good girl!” shouted Nancy, finding her voice again. “I’ll pull you up. Just don’t let go!” “Okay,” George quavered in a strained voice. “But make it quick . . . ple-e-e-ease!”

  Crouching down on all fours, Nancy scrambled out on what was left of the near side of the bridge, preparing to reach down and grab her friend by the wrists.

  “Oh, Nancy, please be careful!” Bess begged tremulously.

  “Don’t worry, I think I can reach her! But if I can’t get enough purchase, Bess, you may have to grab my ankles and haul back!”

  Luckily, a fisherman who had seen the accident from the bank of the creek was already running toward them to lend a hand. “Hold tight, Miss!” he cried. “We’ll soon have you up and safe!”

  He scrambled out to the edge of the broken bridge alongside Nancy, and together they soon hauled George to safety.

  “Oh, wow!” George panted as she sagged in a comical-looking heap. “What a scare I had, when the bridge gave way right under my feet!” “A warning sign should have been put up first thing this morning,” the fisherman declared indignantly. “I noticed when I first came here how rickety that thing looked. It was the storm that did it. Some of the bridge piles were already rotten, I guess, and the force of the flood water must’ve cracked 'em!”

  “And I guess I was an idiot to venture out on the bridge when it was in such condition,” George mumbled contritely, brushing herself off. “Anyhow, thanks ever so much to both of you for rescuing me!”

  “Aw, don’t mention it, young lady.” The fisherman grinned reassuringly, seeing her rueful expression. “Just be thankful your friend and I were around to help. If someone had tried to cross that bridge alone, it might’ve been a different story.”

  Smiling, Nancy added her own thanks for his help. The fisherman shook hands with all three girls and returned to his flycasting, after vowing to notify the police and the county road department that a warning sign should be posted before dark.

  Nancy reflected privately that the authorities were probably not even aware that the bridge had been so near collapse. At any rate, Detective Hoyt didn’t seem to know about it when he had discussed with Nancy the route taken by the mysterious, all-terrain vehicle.

  Only one thing was certain, Nancy thought—no car of any kind could possibly have been driven across the bridge during the early morning hours of darkness. She definitely remembered that the storm had ended long before midnight, so by that time the damage to the bridge structure had already been done.

  As the girls retraced their steps toward Possum Road, Nancy pondered what this discovery might tell her about Clare Grant’s mysterious disappearance. For one thing, if no car could have crossed the bridge, this meant that the

  mystery vehicle must have come not from the direction of Highway 19 but from Possum Road, and must have left the woods by the same route.

  When she pointed this out to her two chums, Bess looked puzzled. “But what about those tire tread marks, Nancy?” she asked. “You said yourself that they approached the quarry from the Highway 19 side.”

  “That’s right, Bess. And they returned from the quarry to the cinder path on the same side. But, don’t you see? If the driver had really come and gone that way, he and his vehicle would have ended up in Possum Creek.” “Wow! I see what you mean—and we know the bridge didn’t break down until George tried to cross it just now.”

  “Exactly.” Nancy nodded. “Therefore we know that the driver was deliberately trying to fool us—or to fool whomever went into the woods to look for Clare Grant.”

  “And what do you deduce from that, Nancy?” George queried.

  The girl detective was silent for a moment before replying. “I’d say it could be very important,” she mused. “It may mean that Clare Grant and her kidnappers—if she was kidnapped—may still be somewhere right in the vicinity of River Heights!”

  Bess’s eyes widened in surprise. “You mean she may be hiding out somewhere?”

  Nancy chuckled and shrugged. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what I do mean—yet. Right now I can’t even guess how or why Clare Grant disappeared. But at least we know a little more now than we did when we started out.”

  Trekking along the rutted cinder path, the trio passed the quarry and, minutes later, reached the fringe of the woods where the stand of trees thinned out. As they crossed the little stretch of meadow toward Possum Road, George pointed to the sleek blue sports car standing at the curb.

  “Look, Nancy! Someone’s stuck something under your windshield wiper!”

  It looked like a folded piece of paper. Nancy hurried ahead to see what it was, wondering who could have left her a message. Plucking the paper out from under the wiper blade, she unfolded it, and her pretty face promptly took on a slightly troubled frown.

  “Anything wrong?” asked George.

  By way of reply, Nancy handed the paper to her and Bess. It bore two sets of initials: C.G. and N.D. A heavy, slanting line had been drawn through each.

  “I don’t get it,” George muttered. “No, wait a minute! . . . Does the C.G. stand for ‘Clare Grant’?”

  “Of course!” Bess cut in excitedly. “And the N.D. must stand for ‘Nancy Drew’!”

  “But what about those lines through each set of initials?” George queried uneasily.

  Nancy shrugged. “I suppose it could mean that Clare Grant’s already been done away with, and I could be the next one to—disappear. At least that could be what whoever left this wants us to think.”

  “Oh, gee!” Bess Marvin’s plump rosy cheeks paled slightly. “Nancy, are you sure you want to go on with this case? Maybe you should let the police find Clare Grant!”

  Nancy’s smile remained calm, though inwardly she felt her heart beating a bit faster than before. “You’re forgetting, Bess, that it was the police who called me in in the first place.” “But they probably didn’t realize then it might put you in danger!”

  “Even so, I don’t think I’ll let myself be scared off just yet. Come on, let’s go back to town before we melt.”

  “I second the motion!” said George. Climbing into the car, Nancy turned on the air conditioner as the girls started back to River Heights.

  “Didn’t you say that’s the house where Clare Grant was staying?” Bess inquired a few moments later as they passed the Fyfes’ chateau.

  “Yes,” Nancy replied and saw that a red- and-white van was now parked in the driveway. It bore the
name and insignia of the local television station, and below that in bold letters was the label: video news.

  “Looks like your latest mystery case is about to become a news item, Nancy,” George remarked.

  “So I see.” Nancy was not quite sure whether to welcome or regret this development. It was too early to tell yet whether this might in any way hamper her investigation—or possibly, by encouraging people to come forward with information, even aid her in unraveling the mystery.

  Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted as the car began to thump and wobble. The steering wheel had begun to shimmy violently in Nancy’s hands. She gripped it firmly to keep the car on the road.

  Bess gave a little cry of fright as the thumping and wobbling continued. “What’s happening?”

  “Don’t know yet,” Nancy said tersely. “Something seems to be wrong with the car.”

  “Oh, no-o-o!” Bess whimpered. “Maybe whoever stuck that note under the windshield tampered with the car while we were in the woods! Stop, Nancy, or it may blow up!”

  7. A Sneaky Trick

  “Bess, calm down! We’ll be all right,” George said, who was sitting in back. She reached forward and patted her cousin soothingly on the shoulder.

  Nancy, meanwhile, was already applying the brakes. After bringing the car to a gradual stop as gently as possible, she got out to see what was wrong. The left front wheel seemed okay, but the right one was a different story.

  “This tire is almost flat,” she announced with a wry grin at her two friends. By this time, both had climbed out of the car.

  “Shall we try to change it?” George inquired.

  “No, I think that there’s enough air left so that if I drive slowly, it won’t hurt the wheel. It seems to me we passed a gas station on the way out here. It’s just a little way ahead, if I remember rightly, somewhere on the edge of town.”

  The trio got back into the car, and Nancy started up cautiously. Bess beamed a weak smile at her companions. “Sorry I threw such a wing-ding, but all that shaking and wobbling—well, I guess it sort of panicked me, especially after that scary note we found on the windshield!”