A Talent for Murder Page 4

  Nancy replaced the notes in the envelope and returned it to its hiding place. The police would certainly find it when they looked. A blinking light on a bedside table caught her eye. Ursula’s answering machine had unplayed messages on it.

  She pressed the playback button, and a man’s voice came on, hoarse and desperate: “Ursula, I have to see you. I can’t go on without you. Please, call me. Please!”

  There was a beep, and then another voice, this one businesslike: “Ursula, it’s Marty. Call me when you can.”

  That must be Marty Prince, Nancy figured.

  Another beep, and then the first voice was back, but this time it sounded ugly: “Who do you think you are? You can’t treat me like this. You’ll be sorry—you just wait!”

  There were no other messages.

  The kitchen was undisturbed. A wastebasket with a pedal-operated lid stood by the sink. Nancy pushed the pedal and peered in. Nested in crumpled paper was a large object. Taking a handkerchief, Nancy reached down and picked it up.

  It was a mallet with a ten-inch handle and a broad, flat head of heavy, hard wood banded with metal. It didn’t look like a kitchen tool. Carved on the handle was the letter S. Nancy looked more closely at the head. It was scarred and battered from heavy use. There was a brown stain on one end. Could be blood, she thought. She replaced the mallet in the wastebasket.

  Nancy knew the police would be showing up soon. It was time to get out. She crossed the apartment, opened the door—and leaped backward.

  A hulking man stood in the shadows. His legs were planted wide, his arms crossed. Nancy backed away hastily. The man’s face was twisted into an ugly scowl. His light blue eyes bored into her with a nasty mixture of suspicion and anger.

  “Who are you?” he growled. “And what are you doing in my girlfriend’s apartment?”

  Chapter

  Six

  THE BURLY MAN stepped in and closed the door.

  Nancy swallowed hard. She recognized his voice from the answering machine—he was Sean McKearn, Ursula’s ex-boyfriend. He was six feet tall and muscular. His jeans were grimy, and the rolled-up sleeves of his denim shirt revealed brawny forearms. His brown hair was unkempt, and he hadn’t shaved in days. He had an aura of barely suppressed violence that set Nancy’s nerves on edge. She fought to stay cool and composed.

  “I asked you a question,” he demanded. Looking past Nancy, he saw the scattered papers and books, and his hands clenched into fists.

  “You’ve ransacked the place!” he growled. “What are you, some kind of thief?”

  When Nancy didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist. His grip was like an iron vise, and pain shot through her arm. “Start talking!”

  “Take it easy,” Nancy said, trying not to show pain or fear. “The apartment was like this when I got here, and the door was open.”

  Nancy tried to pull free, but he was too strong. From the way his nostrils flared she sensed anger building up in him. Better be careful, she thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a heavy glass paperweight on the coffee table. Maybe she could use it as a weapon.

  “Be cool, Sean,” she urged. “You don’t want more trouble.”

  He dropped her arm and stared, head tilted to one side. “How do you know my name?”

  “I heard that Ursula used to date a guy named Sean,” she explained cautiously.

  Pain replaced the anger in Sean’s face. “All that stuff about us breaking up was just temporary. She’d have come back. How do you know so much? Are you a cop?”

  “No, I . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized Sean wasn’t listening. He had begun to pace the living room like a caged animal.

  “The cops were all over me this morning,” he muttered. “Did you sic them on me?”

  Having worked himself into a rage again, he whirled toward Nancy, who braced herself for an attack. When he took a swift step toward her she lunged for the paperweight.

  “She didn’t lead us to you, McKearn,” came a new voice. The burly young man spun around, and Nancy dropped the paperweight as she spotted Lieutenant Antonio in the doorway.

  “Your winning personality makes you a natural suspect,” the lieutenant said. He looked around the room, noticing the disarray and shaking his head. His lips tightened into a thin line. “Playing detective, were you, Ms. Drew?”

  “I didn’t do this,” Nancy stated firmly.

  “You’re in the apartment of the victim of a violent crime,” Antonio said. “Doesn’t your amateur detective’s handbook warn against messing up evidence in a police investigation?”

  “I know it looks bad—” she began.

  The lieutenant held up a hand to stop her. “You,” he said to Sean. “Out. Beat it, before I haul you in on a trespassing charge.”

  Sean glared at Nancy for a moment, then stormed out.

  Antonio closed the door behind him and turned to Nancy. “We sealed this place last night.”

  “The door was open when I got here, and the place was trashed,” she explained. “I didn’t do it.”

  Lieutenant Antonio’s steely look didn’t soften. “I told you not to get in my way.”

  “Jane Zachary asked for my help. She’s worried that her clients are being pressured—”

  “By Marty Prince,” the policeman finished. “I got that angle from Jane Zachary yesterday. But it’s all rumor, nothing concrete.”

  Nancy decided that total cooperation might put her in a better light and deflect the lieutenant’s anger. She decided to come clean.

  “I may as well tell you, I had a look around,” she admitted. “I didn’t disturb anything and I was careful not to leave prints. But I found a few things of interest.”

  She took him into the kitchen and pointed out the mallet in the trash. The lieutenant took it out and studied it, holding it delicately with a cloth. He peered at the brown stain.

  “It might be blood,” Nancy suggested.

  He nodded. “The lab will run a test on it.”

  She showed him the envelope behind the mirror. Taking out the notes, he read them, then tossed them on the bed and shook his head.

  “What does this prove?” he asked. “There are some signed notes from Prince and some anonymous threats. Where’s the connection?”

  Nancy shrugged. “Ursula must have thought there was a connection. She kept them together.”

  Antonio pulled out a pocket notebook and jotted a few lines. “All right. I’ll get samples of Marty Prince’s handwriting to compare with the handwritten notes. And we can see if any typewriters at Top Flight match the print on the anonymous notes.”

  He led Nancy to the front door. “The forensic team is on its way here. They would’ve been here sooner, but they’re shorthanded this week. My point is, this apartment is off limits to civilians, including you. Is that clear?”

  Nancy nodded, adding, “I told Jane Zachary and Evan Chandler that I’d try to find out why JZA is losing clients. That’s my focus, not Ursula Biemann. I don’t know if there’s a connection. But if I do come across anything you should know, I’ll call you right away. Will that do?”

  The lieutenant sighed. “For my money, Jane Zachary is crazy to bring in an amateur for a case like this. But that’s her affair. Now, let me get on with my job.”

  Nancy returned to Jane Zachary Associates, hoping to find Ned and have lunch. Several good-looking guys were in the reception area, all in checked shirts and jeans. The receptionist called to her, holding out a message.

  It was from Ned. He’d called from the wardrobe designer’s to say that he was going straight to the photographer’s studio, then on to another audition. He would meet Nancy back at Laurel and Evan’s house that evening.

  Nancy crumpled the note. The vacation wasn’t working out as she’d hoped. Ned’s life had suddenly become very full, and she wasn’t a part of it. She had thought that having Ned work on this case would help to bring them together. Instead, it was keeping them apart.

  “Who’s next for the
Rancho Chips commercial?” Evan called from the doorway. Nancy saw one of the guys in western gear stand up just as Evan noticed her. “Hey, Nancy. You get Ned’s message?”

  “Right here,” she said, holding up the paper.

  Evan lowered his voice. “You asked about Nelson Taylor, the guy Sean tangled with? That’s him.” He pointed to a guy with wavy black hair and blue eyes, which were fixed on Nancy. He grinned at her, showing off his even teeth.

  Evan beckoned, and Nelson joined them. “Nancy Drew, meet Nelson Taylor. Nelson, would you mind talking to Nancy for a few minutes?”

  “Would I mind talking to a beautiful girl? No problem,” Nelson said, flashing her a brilliant smile and tossing back his hair. This guy is too vain for words, Nancy thought.

  “Use my office,” Evan suggested.

  Trying to be gracious, Nancy led Nelson to Evan’s office. As she closed the door, Nelson leaned against the desk.

  “You must be new around here,” he said. “If I’d seen you before, I’d definitely remember.”

  “I’m just visiting. I was wondering—”

  “Do you want my special guided tour of the city?” Nelson strolled over to her, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. “We’d have a blast! I know this cozy restaurant where we could—”

  “I don’t think so, thanks. My boyfriend would feel left out,” Nancy said. Ignoring Nelson’s sigh, she added, “I hear you got into a scrape with Sean McKearn over Ursula Biemann.”

  “That dude.” Nelson scowled. “He’s crazy, you know? Ursula and I, we just worked together. Not that I’d have minded dating her, but she wasn’t interested. I wished her happy holidays at a party, and Sean blew a fuse. I’d have decked him right then, but I didn’t want to upset people.”

  Nancy doubted that Nelson could have taken Sean on, but she didn’t comment. “So you didn’t provoke Sean? You weren’t making a play for Ursula?”

  “I don’t have to steal girls,” he insisted. “I do fine on my own. No, it was innocent, and only a nut case like Sean would think different.”

  “Has Marty Prince ever been in touch with you?” Nancy asked. “This is just between us.”

  Nelson’s smile vanished as if he’d flipped a switch. “I won’t talk about him. He’s bad news.”

  “Did he ask you to sign with Top Flight?”

  “Yeah, but I turned him down. He tried again and I said no. Then—no, forget it. That Marty has sharp ears and long arms, you know?”

  “It’s important,” Nancy urged. “Could you just give me some idea of—”

  “I said no!” Nelson snapped. “I usually cooperate with gorgeous women, but I want to stay healthy and handsome for a while. Understand?”

  Nancy nodded. “Thanks for your time.”

  Nelson’s brilliant smile returned. “Listen,” he cooed, “if you and your boyfriend ever break up, that tour offer is always available.”

  Not a chance, Nancy thought as she thanked him and ducked out of the room. She went to Jane’s office, where Jane and Evan were waiting.

  “Any progress?” Jane asked.

  “I checked out Ursula’s place.” Nancy glanced at her watch. She felt ravenously hungry. “Have you two eaten yet?”

  Evan picked up the hint. “Why don’t we have lunch?” he suggested. “I’m starved, myself. We can introduce Nancy to Mimi’s. They have the best seafood at Fisherman’s Wharf. We’ll talk there.”

  Soon Nancy was sitting over a steaming bowl of clam chowder in a glass-enclosed dining room overlooking the blue bay. Taking a hunk of crusty sourdough bread from a basket, she described what she had found at Ursula’s place, and her encounters with Sean and the lieutenant.

  “Can you tell me more about Sean and his fights with Ursula?” Nancy asked Evan. She bit into the bread, which was warm and delicious.

  “He’s a sculptor who’s never been able to sell anything, so he makes his living as a carpenter,” Evan said, then took a spoonful of his chowder. “He had a hard time accepting the fact that Ursula was more successful than he was. Right, Jane?”

  Jane nodded agreement, her fork poised over a salad. “Also, he couldn’t stand her working with good-looking guys. That was what started the fight at the Christmas party.”

  “You don’t know anything about why he was arrested?” Nancy asked.

  Jane and Evan shook their heads. Nancy resolved to find out more about the arrest. “I’d really like to meet Marty Prince,” she said, “if I can figure out a good excuse.”

  Just then a waiter whisked away Evan’s bowl, replacing it with a main course.

  Evan beamed. “Aah, abalone. Ever try it?”

  Nancy laughed. “I think I’m about to.”

  “That’s right,” Evan said, giving her a piece. “Oh, about dinner tonight. Laurel suggested that the four of us try a German restaurant on Telegraph Hill. Good food. Tramway ride. How about it?”

  “It sounds fine,” Nancy said. A romantic dinner might be just what she and Ned needed.

  After lunch, Nancy drove to a shopping district Laurel had mentioned, on Union Street. But even the funky boutiques couldn’t put her in a shopping mood. So she arrived back at the Chandlers’ house by midafternoon.

  She went through her clothes, looking for exactly the right outfit to wear that evening, and settled on a soft sheath of deep purple. She laid it on the bed and looked out the window. A white curtain of fog was coming in off the Pacific, already hiding the bridge. Hearing a car pull up, Nancy glanced down at the street below.

  A cute red convertible with the top down had parked in front of the house. Ned sat in the passenger seat, laughing and animated.

  The driver was Amanda.

  Nancy wanted to turn away. She felt as if she were spying on Ned. But she stood there, rooted, watching Ned and Amanda chat.

  They look as if they’re in a commercial right now, she thought.

  Then, as Ned started to reach for the door, Amanda leaned across, slipped her hands over his shoulders, and kissed him on the lips.

  Chapter

  Seven

  NANCY TURNED AWAY, feeling a wrenching pain in the pit of her stomach. She sat on the bed, uncertain about what to do. Downstairs, the front door opened and closed, and she heard Ned speak. Then Laurel called up from the foot of the stairs.

  “Nancy! Ned’s back.”

  “Coming!” Nancy called. She decided to say nothing to Ned. She hated the notion of looking jealous, even if that was how she felt. Anyway, the kiss just proved that Amanda was attracted to Ned. It didn’t mean Ned was interested in Amanda—did it?

  Ned was sitting at one end of the long, overstuffed living room couch when Nancy met him downstairs. Across from him, Laurel was pouring iced tea from a pitcher.

  “What’s this I hear about another audition?” Nancy said, crossing the room.

  “Don’t get too excited.” Ned took a glass from Laurel as Nancy sat next to him. “The audition was a waste of time. They wanted a guy who would fit into this giant plastic bleach bottle, and I was too tall.”

  Laughing, Laurel handed Nancy a glass. “A giant bleach bottle? Evan tells me stories like that, but I always find them hard to believe.”

  “And those head shots,” Ned added. “Now that was a hassle. They took forever to set up the lights, and then the photographer started fussing with my hair and my clothes. The lights were so hot, it felt as if I were being microwaved.”

  Nancy shook her head sympathetically. “And you were in that wool blazer, too.”

  Ned nodded. “Finally they started shooting, and they took hundreds of shots—with my jacket on, with it off, with my tie loosened and my collar open, sitting, standing, smiling, looking serious.” Ned demonstrated his expressions, getting giggles from Laurel and Nancy.

  “Have any trouble getting back here?” Nancy asked.

  “No problem,” Ned said. “I got a ride.”

  Nancy took a sip of iced tea, waiting for Ned to mention Amanda, maybe even joke about how she made a play
for him and how he set her straight. But he said nothing further.

  “Did you get any information?” Nancy asked.

  “Information?” His face was blank.

  “You know,” Nancy said. “About Top Flight or Marty Prince or actors getting threatened?”

  “Oh.” Ned looked a little embarrassed. “No, not really. Everything was so hectic—I just didn’t have the chance to bring it up. Sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Nancy replied, not meeting Ned’s eyes. He had obviously forgotten what he was supposed to do. Was it because he had been so caught up with what he was doing with Amanda?

  A few minutes later Evan arrived, and Nancy went upstairs to change for dinner. As she slipped on her purple dress, she realized that Ned hadn’t asked how her day had gone. Was he so wrapped up in Amanda and his new career that he’d lost interest in Nancy? There was only one thing that Nancy was sure of: Something was wrong.

  • • •

  The tram ride up the mountain was a fun way to begin the evening. Once they arrived at the top of the hill, Nancy was glad to get out of the night air and step into the warm, cozy restaurant.

  A rustic mountain cabin perched on a rocky shoulder of Telegraph Hill, the restaurant provided stunning views on all sides. The lights of San Francisco stretched below like ribbons of jewels. The dining area was very homey and pleasant, with low-ceilinged, half-timbered rooms and a gigantic hearth in which a fire crackled.

  Evan’s and Laurel’s sunny humor had a warming effect on Nancy and Ned. Before long they had loosened up, laughing and enjoying Evan’s anecdotes about his work and Laurel’s stories about Ned when he was little. Finally beginning to relax, Ned reached for Nancy’s hand and held it while they waited for dessert. Nancy started to feel better about how things stood between them.

  As they dug into rich pastries, Laurel turned the conversation to Nancy. “Evan says that you found some clues in that model’s apartment today.”

  Nancy told Ned and Laurel about what she’d found in Ursula’s apartment. “I don’t know what it means. As Lieutenant Antonio pointed out, the threats were anonymous and the notes signed by Marty were innocent. The fact that they were all in one envelope is suggestive, but not incriminating.”