Fatal Attraction Page 3

“You through with this?” the waitress asked, coming up with a tray.

  Mike nodded. The waitress scooped up the glass and Mike stood up.

  “See you later, huh?” he said, and walked to a motorcycle parked in the lot. Nancy was left staring at the waitress. Should she try to rescue the glass? No, she couldn’t be sure now which one it was, of the half dozen on the tray. Great, she thought disgustedly. Now she’d have to look for another way to get the fingerprints. But she had the pictures, and that was what really mattered.

  Nancy got into her Mustang and put the camera into her glove compartment. It wasn’t noon yet—if she dropped the film off at the photo lab downtown, she could get the photos back in a couple of hours and put them on the wire to Dirk this afternoon.

  As Nancy drove by McBride’s Drugs, she screeched to a stop. There were a few things she needed to pick up, and she wouldn’t be passing any drugstores on her way home from the lab. It’ll just take a minute, she told herself as she got out of the car and stuck her keys in her pocket.

  When she returned, she was surprised at how warm the car had gotten in such a short time. It was probably a good idea to take the camera from the glove compartment and put it someplace cooler.

  Nancy felt around inside the cluttered glove compartment. Where was that camera, anyway? She pulled out a few maps, some old napkins, an empty pack of gum.

  A sick feeling twisted inside her stomach. The camera—with the precious pictures of Mike—was gone. The glove compartment was empty!

  For a moment, Nancy just stared at the empty glove compartment, stunned—and then angry—at her carelessness in leaving the car unlocked. But how could she have known someone would act so quickly?

  Nancy sat back in the seat, biting her lip, remembering that the publicity photos had been stolen from Charlie’s. There was a distinct possibility that the thief had been watching her earlier. And there was also the possibility—maybe even a probability—that the thief was someone who wanted the film, and not the camera. Could it have been Mike himself? Doubtful. He’d obviously been intrigued with the idea of Flash magazine doing a feature on him. What was it he’d said? Something about finally being able to get away? Get away from what?

  Nancy didn’t have time to pursue this line of thinking any further. A tomato-red car breezed past. The driver was looking straight ahead, but Nancy didn’t need to be a detective to recognize the vehicle and the driver’s long black hair. So Brenda Carlton was in the neighborhood! Had she been at Charlie’s, too, and spotted Nancy and Mike? Had she decided to steal the camera as a signal to Nancy to stay away from Mike?

  Nancy shook her head. It was possible—but not very likely. She knew that if Brenda wanted the pictures, she wouldn’t steal the camera. She’d make a noisy scene, demanding that Nancy return the film. No, much as she hated to admit she was sure that Brenda wasn’t the thief.

  Now that her plan to get a picture had been blown, Nancy knew she had to come up with an alternative quickly. But she couldn’t count on being able to con Mike into posing again. She slumped down in the car seat, frowning. How was she going to get that photo?

  • • •

  “So you want us to make like groupies and take Mike’s picture,” George said from the back seat of Ned’s car. The four of them—Nancy, Ned, Bess, and George—were on their way to the club later that night, after Nancy had filled them in on the details of the case.

  Beside George, Bess smiled dreamily, adjusting the collar of her brand-new blue blouse. “Maybe we can make it a close-up,” she suggested, “with me.”

  “A close-up would be great,” Nancy said with a grin. She leaned over the front seat. “In fact, if you sat beside the stage and pretended to be a couple of ardent fans, you could whip out your camera and—”

  “You’re sure that Mike McKeever isn’t going to object?” George asked cautiously. “I don’t want anything to happen to my camera.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Ned reminded George, pulling into the lot and parking. “We won’t go in, because it might blow your cover. But we’ll be out here if you need us.”

  Wish us luck,” Bess said as they got out of the car. To George, she added, “Do you suppose he’ll sign an autograph for me?”

  “How long do you think this is going to take?” Ned asked after the two had disappeared into the club. They were parked under a single bright security light that lit the entire parking lot. It had been drizzling, and the rain made a halo around the light.

  Nancy shrugged. “Not too long,” she said. She stretched. “Unless Bess gets starry-eyed over Mike and forgets why they came.”

  “Well, then, we could have a lot of time, couldn’t we?” Ned laughed. “Maybe it’s our turn to do close-ups.” He put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her close, gently, his lips touching hers. “Perfect,” he sighed. “Now, if only somebody would cut that light—”

  Almost by magic, the light went off, and the parking lot was shrouded in drizzly darkness.

  “How’d you do that, Ned?” Nancy asked.

  “Wishful thinking.” Ned kissed her again.

  With a happy sigh, Nancy gave herself up to Ned’s kiss and the comforting circle of his strong arms. All she could feel was the warmth of his lips on hers; all she could hear was her own heart thudding in her ears.

  Then, suddenly, it wasn’t just her heart she was hearing. Out in the dark parking lot, there was a long, shrill scream that sent shivers up Nancy’s spine. She and Ned looked up and saw a tangle of shadowy figures, struggling. Quickly, Ned flipped on the headlights. The bright beams bathed the struggling figures in light. Nancy could make out a bright blue blouse.

  “It’s George and Bess!” she exclaimed frantically. “They’re being attacked!”

  Chapter

  Five

  LET’S GO!” NED shouted, shoving open the car door and jumping out. Nancy was right behind him as the two of them raced across the wet asphalt toward the tangle of struggling bodies. In the eerie illumination of the headlights, Nancy saw with a gasp that the short, stocky attacker had the wizened, hideously distorted face of a mummy. Then she realized it was only a Halloween mask, and she let out her breath. She saw the attacker yank the camera as George tried to wrestle it away from him.

  Ned lunged into the assailant as hard as he could, knocking the man onto the wet pavement. Nancy darted forward to snatch off the mummy mask. She saw that the man had gray hair and a short-clipped gray beard.

  “Grab him, Nancy!” Bess screamed.

  But Nancy was off-balance, and the attacker rolled away from her and scrambled to his feet. He ran a few yards, to an old green car parked in the shadows. The engine roared to life and the car sped away, tires screeching.

  “Sorry,” Ned said. “That push should have stopped a horse.”

  “At least we got this,” Nancy said, picking George’s camera up off the pavement.

  “And I got this,” Bess moaned, putting a hand to her face. A long scratch ran across her cheek. “Am I bleeding?”

  “It’s not too bad,” Nancy said, examining it tenderly. “We’ll get you home and put some iodine on it.” She turned to George. “How about you?”

  “Some bodyguards you two turned out to be.” George held her hand to her eye with a rueful grin. “I think I’m going to have a black eye.”

  Nancy thought guiltily of the fun she and Ned had been having when they should have been watching for George and Bess. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just didn’t expect—”

  “I know,” George broke in. “I didn’t either. He jumped out of the shadows.” She looked around. “That’s funny—wasn’t there a security light?”

  Ned nodded. “It went out a few minutes ago. Whoever jumped you must’ve cut the power to the light so he could do his dirty work in the dark.”

  “That means he must know his way around Charlie’s,” Nancy said. “The switch box is probably inside somewhere.”

  “An employee, maybe?” George asked.


  “Wouldn’t it be a good idea if we discussed this in the car?” Bess asked plaintively. “We’re getting wetter.”

  “You know,” Nancy said as all four of them started back toward Ned’s car, “I’ve got the feeling that I’ve seen that guy before. Short, stocky, with a gray beard—” Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “It’s the guy who dumped our table and spilled coffee all over Brenda!”

  Ned stared at her. “Hey, you’re right,” he said. “Maybe he’s making a career out of crashing people’s parties.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Nancy said grimly. “But he’s connected with this mystery somehow. Since he was so anxious to keep us from getting a picture of Mike, I’ll bet he’s the same guy who broke into my car and stole the camera. And took the publicity photo out of the file cabinet, too!” She shook her head in puzzlement. But what was his motive? And how was he tied to Mike McKeever?

  • • •

  “So you’re up to your eyebrows in bad guys again, eh?” Carson Drew asked, putting down his morning paper. “What’s the crime?”

  Nancy, dressed in khaki pants and a safari shirt, sat down at the breakfast table and helped herself to Hannah’s pancakes. “I wish I knew,” she said. “And right now, I don’t know what all these things are leading up to.” She told her father briefly about the case.

  “So what’s your next step?”

  “Getting some film developed. Then Bess and George and I are going on a reconnaissance mission to pick up a set of fingerprints.”

  Carson Drew folded the paper and pushed back his chair. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to pull it off,” he said with cheerful confidence. He bent over and kissed his daughter. “Be careful while I’m away in New York, Nancy. I want to find you in one piece when I get back.”

  Nancy grinned. Her father, who was used to dealing with criminals in his law practice, knew exactly what kind of dangerous scrapes she sometimes got herself into.

  “I will,” she promised. She finished her pancakes hurriedly, then went to the phone. It was after nine. Mr. Carlton ought to be in his office by now.

  “I’m not surprised,” Mr. Carlton growled when Nancy had told him about Mike’s false identity. “But I’m afraid that the fact that this guy is using a phony name isn’t going to be enough to convince Brenda to drop him.”

  Nancy nodded. If Brenda sensed any pressure from her father to drop Mike, she would become even more stubborn about him.

  “Right,” she agreed. “But there’s something else, too—or maybe I should say someone else. This gray-haired man—he’s connected to the case somehow. When we’ve figured out what that connection is, we’ll know a whole lot more.”

  After she said goodbye and hung up, she took the film out of the safe in the den and tucked it into her purse. She’d been relieved last night to discover that the film hadn’t gotten wet. That would have been a real disappointment, after all the trouble they’d had getting the pictures.

  An hour later, Nancy had already dropped the film off at the photo lab and was heading toward the Ridgeview Motel with George and Bess.

  “Ooh,” George groaned, leaning over to look at herself in Nancy’s rearview mirror. “Not only does this black eye look awful, but it hurts every time I blink!” She dabbed at the green and purple bruise that her makeup barely covered.

  “So what’s the game plan?” Bess asked. Her scratch was already beginning to heal.

  “We’re going to the Ridgeview Motel,” Nancy told them. “To search Mike’s room.”

  “What are we looking for?” Bess asked.

  “Fingerprints—and anything else we can find,” Nancy said. “We’re really short of clues in this case. Not only that, but we’re short of the real crime, when you get right down to it. We know that Mike McKeever definitely isn’t who he says he is. But we’ve got no reason to think he’s a criminal.”

  She pulled up in front of Mason’s Office Supply, around the corner from the motel. There was a pay phone directly in front of them.

  “Wait here a minute,” Nancy instructed her friends. “I’m going to call Mike. If there’s no answer, we’ll assume the coast is clear.”

  In a moment she was back. “Okay, come on,” she said. “He’s gone.”

  Mike’s room was on the second floor of the cheap, run-down motel. The locked door, with a window next to it, opened onto a long balcony that ran in front of all the rooms. Near the stairs, they found a maid’s pushcart, loaded with cleaning supplies and dirty linen.

  “Tell you what,” Nancy told Bess, “why don’t you get that cart and park it in front of the door. It’ll be a good cover for us.”

  With the cart partially shielding her from view, Nancy took out her lockpick kit and stealthily set to work. Seconds later, the lock clicked, the cylinder turned, and she pushed the door open. Leaving Bess standing guard, she and George went in.

  The room held a queen-size bed, blankets tossed back, a scratched dresser with a TV set on it, and a small table. The carpet had a musty smell, as if it hadn’t been well vacuumed. A cheap picture hung crookedly on one wall.

  Nancy pointed to the unmade bed. “The maid hasn’t cleaned yet, so we’ll have a better chance of getting some prints.” She gestured toward the closet, where a half-dozen shirts and jackets hung untidily. “Why don’t you search those clothes, George. But hurry. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to, in case Mike comes back.”

  While George was hastily going through Mike’s pockets, Nancy looked around. On the table there was an empty glass. Good—maybe it would yield the fingerprints she needed. Quickly, she dusted it for prints, realizing with disappointment that she wasn’t going to get much. There was only one print, a thumbprint. She transferred it with fingerprint tape onto an index card and slid the card into an envelope.

  She turned to go into the bathroom. The faucet would be a good source of prints. “What are you finding?” she asked George.

  “Not a lot,” George said. “Just this ticket stub—no, wait, here’s something else.” She handed Nancy a ticket stub and a folded-over piece of pink notepaper.

  Nancy opened the note. The script was feminine, the i’s dotted with little circles. The faint smell of floral perfume clung to it.

  “Dear Mike,” she read. “I just have to tell you how much I miss you when we’re not together, and how much I love you. I pray that we’ll never, ever be separated from one another, just the way you promise. Love and kisses, Darla.”

  “Mmmm,” George said, “so Brenda’s not his first love.”

  “And not likely to be his last,” Nancy added with a little shudder, “unless we do something about it. This could be more than just a simple love-’em-and-leave-’em scheme.” She hated the idea of somebody going around collecting girlfriends like bumper stickers. It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for Brenda—and certainly for Darla, whoever she was. She glanced at the blue ticket stub George had handed her. It was from the Batesville County Fair.

  “Didn’t you say that Mike had a job in Batesville?” George asked.

  Nancy nodded. “That’s what Brenda told us.” Carefully, she put both the love note and the ticket stub into her purse. “Listen, let me check the faucets for prints. I have a feeling we ought to get out of—”

  “Pssst!” It was Bess, just outside the door. “Somebody’s coming up the stairs.”

  “Quick,” Nancy whispered, going to the door. “We can’t let anybody see us!”

  Bess was standing beside the cart. She had found a maid’s cap, and she was just putting it on. “Jump in!” she whispered, gesturing toward the hamper. “Hurry up, before he gets here!”

  With a mad leap, both Nancy and George jumped into the large hamper of dirty linen and pulled the sheets over their heads.

  “I don’t believe we’re doing this,” George said, in a muffled voice.

  Surreptitiously, Nancy raised one corner of a sheet and peered out as Bess hurriedly lowered her head and pushed
the cart—with her friends in it—past the man who was walking down the balcony.

  Nancy held her breath, staring at the short, stocky man as they passed close enough to touch him. He had gray hair and a gray beard! It was the same man who had jumped George and Bess and tried to steal the camera!

  Chapter

  Six

  NANCY BIT HER lip, praying they wouldn’t be discovered. But to her relief, the man seemed intent on his own business. As Bess pulled the cart around the corner, he paused in front of Mike’s room, took a key out of his pocket, opened the door, and went in. There it was—the connection she’d been looking for. The man had a key to Mike’s room!

  In a moment, Nancy and George were climbing out of the laundry cart.

  “Whew, that was a close one,” George said, pulling a dirty pillowcase off her head.

  Bess took off the cap and turned to Nancy, her eyes round. “Wasn’t that the same man—” She swallowed.

  Nancy nodded grimly. “Yeah,” she said. “It was. It’s a good thing you put that cap on. I don’t think he recognized you.”

  George looked at them. “Recognized her?”

  “Right,” Nancy said. “The man who just went into Mike’s room is the same person who tried to beat you guys up last night.”

  “Wow.” George touched her black eye reverently. “I don’t want to have anything more to do with him.”

  “What are we going to do?” Bess asked anxiously. “Did we get what we came for?”

  “We got only one print,” Nancy said. “But maybe that will be enough.” She looked thoughtfully back along the balcony. It was deserted. The man was still in Mike’s room.

  “You two stay here,” Nancy commanded, making up her mind. “Whistle if anybody comes. I’m going to have a look.”

  Nancy pressed against the wall beside the window and peered intently into the room. The man was sitting on the unmade bed, dialing the phone. But although the drapes were open, the window was closed, and Nancy couldn’t hear a thing. Frustrated, she leaned farther forward, risking discovery. It was no use—she still couldn’t hear anything. She could only see that the man’s gray hair was thinning and he had a scar on one cheek.