Lost in the Everglades Read online

  desk, she stopped. She bent down, pretending to adjust

  the strap on her sandal. At the same time, she tried to

  eavesdrop on the woman's conversation.

  “This is Sandy from Mr. and Mrs. Drake's office, I

  want to talk to Robert right this second,” Nancy heard

  the woman say. “Robert, is that you? Why wasn't that

  package messengered over to the Herald this morning?

  What? What do you mean? I dropped it off myself

  hours ago.”

  There was a silence. Nancy continued fiddling with

  her sandal.

  After a moment Sandy said, “Fine, I'm coming right

  down. Stay there, don't move. If that package isn't

  found, Robert, you're dead meat! Eloise in Public

  Relations is gonna have a fit. We've been getting

  hammered with bad press lately, you know that.”

  Sandy slammed the phone down. She got up from

  her desk and marched down the hall. She passed

  Nancy just as Nancy was rising to her feet. Sandy didn't

  even seem to notice her.

  Nancy glanced over her shoulder. Sandy rushed into

  the elevator just as the doors were closing. Without

  wasting another second, Nancy headed down the hall

  to the office just beyond Sandy's desk.

  Actually, there were two offices. The office on the

  left was empty, but the office on the right was not.

  Nancy stood in the doorway of that office and

  peered in. An attractive older woman, probably in her

  fifties, was sitting behind a huge mahogany desk. She

  was dressed in a pale pink silk dress that

  complemented her short, gray-black hair.

  The woman was signing something with an ornate

  silver fountain pen. Nancy knocked lightly on the door.

  “Hi. Mrs. Drake?”

  The woman glanced up. “Yes, that's me. What can I

  do for you?” Her voice was friendly.

  “I hope I'm not intruding. Eloise in Public Relations

  sent me up,” Nancy fibbed. “I'm a reporter for the . . .”

  Nancy hesitated. She needed to make up the name

  of a local newspaper. She couldn't use a real paper,

  since Mrs. Drake might call to check her credentials.

  “The, um, Everglades City Beacon,” Nancy said

  after a minute. “I was assigned to do a story on your

  latest project.”

  Mrs. Drake started. “You mean Manatee Commons?

  Or one of our smaller projects? We have so many.”

  “Yes, Manatee Commons.” I hope that's the right

  one, Nancy thought. “I'm here to get your side of the

  story, Mrs. Drake,” she went on. “I know there's been

  some controversy, and I think the public deserves to

  hear the developers' perspective.”

  Mrs. Drake's face softened. She smiled at Nancy.

  “That is so refreshing to hear, Ms.—what did you say

  your name was?”

  “Drew. Nancy Drew.”

  “Sit down, Nancy.” Mrs. Drake indicated a white

  leather-and-chrome chair.

  “You know, I can see why the public gets upset

  about new development,” Mrs. Drake began. “Of

  course they're concerned about the environment,

  about endangered species, about southern Florida's

  water supply. What the public doesn't understand is,

  the Panterra Corporation is just as concerned as they

  are! That's why we at Panterra do all the impact studies

  necessary for each and every project. That way, we can

  design our projects accordingly and nip any problems

  in the bud!”

  Nancy sat down and pulled a pen and notepad out of

  her purse. She began scribbling down what Mrs. Drake

  was saying. She didn't understand all of it, but she

  could ask Susan about it later. Plus, she had to look like

  a real reporter. “Tell me more about Manatee

  Commons, Mrs. Drake,” she said with a smile.

  “It's a wonderful project, Tracy,” Mrs. Drake

  gushed. “It's going to be a million-acre shopping mall.

  Multistory, with shops and restaurants and a day-care

  facility so moms and dads can drop off their little ones

  while they shop. We at Panterra care about families!”

  “Why are you calling it Manatee Commons?” Nancy

  asked her.

  “We're naming it Manatee Commons in honor of

  the great manatee, which inhabits the Everglades and

  other parts of Florida,” Mrs. Drake explained.

  “Because you see, we at Panterra care about wildlife.

  Are you getting all this down, Tracy?”

  “Uh-huh,” Nancy said, scribbling furiously.

  While she was writing, Nancy tried to think of a way

  to segue the conversation to Jade Romero. She had to

  find out if there was a connection between Jade's

  disappearance and the new Panterra project.

  I could just come right out and ask Mrs. Drake if she

  knows Jade, Nancy thought. Or I could lie and pretend

  that Jade called me about Manatee Commons.

  After a minute Nancy decided to go for option

  number two. She stopped writing and glanced up at

  Mrs. Drake.

  “By the way, Mrs. Drake, a woman called me about

  a month ago about Manatee Commons,” she fibbed.

  “Maybe you know her, her name is Ja—”

  Nancy was interrupted by a loud, booming male

  voice. “Esther, did you forget all about the meeting?

  You're keeping a roomful of lawyers waiting. Come

  on!”

  Nancy's head shot up. A man was standing in the

  doorway. He was wearing a light gray suit that com-

  plemented his very tall, very broad-shouldered

  physique. He had a deep tan, white hair, and piercing

  blue eyes.

  “Oh, hello, Bill,” Mrs. Drake said cheerfully. “I'll

  just be a minute. Ask the nice lawyers to wait, will

  you?”

  Nancy realized that the man must be Bill Drake.

  Mr. Drake glanced from his wife to Nancy and back to

  his wife again. “Who's this?”

  “Darling, this very nice young reporter Tracy is here

  to talk to us about Manatee Commons,” Mrs. Drake

  explained. “She writes for the Homestead Heron. Or

  was it the Biscayne Banner?”

  “It's the Everglades City Beacon,” Nancy explained,

  smiling at Bill Drake.

  “Yes, well, whatever.” Mrs. Drake waved her hands

  dismissively. “Anyway, Tracy, this is my husband, Bill

  Drake—”

  “Never mind the social niceties, Esther,” Mr. Drake

  snapped. He turned to Nancy and glared suspiciously

  at her. “You're not really a reporter, are you? I know

  every newspaper in southern Florida. And there's no

  such newspaper as the Everglades City Beacon!”

  6. Danger on the Road

  Mr. Drake continued glaring at Nancy, waiting for an

  explanation. Oh, no. Mr. Drake is onto me! Nancy

  thought.

  Nancy's mind raced as she tried to figure out a way

  out of this dilemma. It was just her luck that Mr. Drake

  knew the names of all the southern Florida

  newspapers.

  Now what? she thought frantically.

  “Dearest, you cannot talk to people like that!” Mrs.


  Drake scolded her husband.

  She turned to Nancy with a sheepish look. “I

  apologize for my husband, Tracy. Obviously he got up

  on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

  Nancy took a deep breath in order to regain her

  composure. She plastered a big, fake smile on her face.

  “It's no problem, Mrs. Drake,” she said pleasantly.

  She turned to Mr. Drake. “It's a pleasure to meet you,

  Mr. Drake. I'm Nancy Drew. And, yes, I am a reporter.

  As I explained to your wife, I'm doing a piece for the

  Everglades City Beacon. You may not have heard of it

  yet. It's a small independently owned paper. Some

  friends of my father's just started it.”

  Nancy added, “They asked me to do a story on

  Manatee Commons. Specifically, they asked me to get

  your side of the story.”

  “Nancy—Tracy—I am so bad with names,” Mrs.

  Drake cried out. She turned to her husband. “In any

  case, my love, please try to be nice to this young lady.

  We wouldn't want her writing an article about how

  crabby and difficult you are, now, would we?”

  Mr. Drake didn't reply but continued staring coldly

  at Nancy. He seemed to be considering something.

  Nancy made herself keep smiling, all the while

  wondering if Mr. Drake planned to call the Everglades

  City Beacon to check out her story.

  Which would be a problem, since there is no

  Everglades City Beacon, Nancy thought nervously.

  Mr. Drake stuffed his hands into the pockets of his

  light gray suit. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered. “What

  do you want to know, Ms. Drew?”

  Whew, that was close! Nancy thought.

  She glanced down at her notebook. Where was I?

  she asked herself. Oh, yes, Jade Romero.

  “As I was saying to your wife, a woman called me

  about a month ago, wanting to talk about Manatee

  Commons,” Nancy said. “Jade Romero. Do either of

  you know her?”

  Nancy glanced up, waiting for the Drakes' reactions.

  Mr. Drake shrugged. “Never heard of her,” he said

  after a moment. “Who is she, one of those citizens'

  group nuts?” he added irritably.

  “Bill, really!” Mrs. Drake exclaimed. “Those citizens'

  groups people are not nuts, they are merely concerned

  about the environment and all that sort of thing. Just

  like us.” She smiled at Nancy. “I don't know this Jane

  Romero, either. What did she have to say about

  Manatee Commons, anyway? All good things, I hope.”

  “I got the impression she was opposed to the

  project,” Nancy improvised. “But as I said before, my

  piece is about your side of the story.”

  “Yes, well, I hope you don't plan to write anything

  bad about Manatee Commons,” Mrs. Drake said.

  “Of course not,” Nancy assured her.

  Nancy asked the Drakes a few more questions about

  Manatee Commons. As she wrote down their answers,

  she thought about the Drakes' reactions to her

  mentioning Jade's name. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Drake

  had shown any sign of knowing her.

  Of course, they could be good actors, Nancy

  thought.

  After a moment Mr. Drake said, “Look, Ms. Drew.

  Not to cut you short, but my wife and I really do have a

  meeting to attend. If you have any more questions

  about Manatee Commons, you can speak to Eloise in

  our Public Relations department.”

  “Must we, Bill?” Mrs. Drake said, sighing. “These

  meetings give me a headache. They're so long.”

  Mr. Drake ignored her. “Good day, Ms. Drew,” he

  said, glancing meaningfully at the door. Once again he

  seemed to be in a big hurry to get rid of her.

  The Café Blue Marlin was on a pretty, lively street

  overlooking the beach. The walls, tables, and chairs

  were painted turquoise and yellow, and tropical birds

  sat in cages, singing and squawking at the customers.

  Nancy walked into the main room and glanced

  around. Bess and George were sitting at a table near

  the window. Bess was staring longingly at a bunch of

  guys and girls who were inline skating down a

  boardwalk in their bathing suits. “Hey, Nancy!” she

  said. “Doesn't that look like fun?” she added, nodding

  at the skaters.

  “It looks like a blast,” Nancy agreed. She pulled up a

  chair and sat down. “We can do that later— after we

  solve our mystery.”

  A waitress came by and set two tall glasses in front of

  Bess and George. The glasses contained what looked

  like purple milkshakes, and they were decorated with

  pineapple slices and fresh flowers.

  Nancy laughed. “What's that?”

  “A purple passion smoothie made with grape juice,

  bananas, and raspberry yogurt,” George explained. She

  took a sip. “Mmm, it's good, you should have one.”

  Nancy ordered one from the waitress. After studying

  the menus, the girls also ordered conch fritters and

  shrimp Caesar salads for lunch.

  “Be right back with that, ladies,” the waitress said,

  scribbling down their orders.

  After she was gone, George leaned across the table

  and wriggled her eyebrows at Nancy. “Well? How did

  your undercover mission at Panterra go? Did you

  wrestle all their corporate secrets out of them?”

  “Well, maybe not all of them,” Nancy joked. She

  told the girls about her encounter with Mrs. Drake,

  then Mr. Drake.

  When she had finished, she said, “I asked them if

  they'd ever heard of Jade Romero. They both said no. I

  couldn't tell if they were lying or not. Mr. Drake has a

  pretty good poker face, and Mrs. Drake is just kind of

  giddy and cheerful about everything.”

  “Mr. Drake! Mrs. Drake!” a voice squawked.

  Nancy glanced up in alarm. Was someone eaves-

  dropping on their conversation?

  Then she realized that the voice was coming from a

  nearby birdcage. A green-and-red parrot was staring at

  her with its big black eyes.

  “Mr. Drake! Mrs. Drake! Squawwwwwwk!”

  “Oh, that is so cute!” Bess cried out.

  Nancy glanced around. Some of the customers were

  staring curiously at Nancy and her friends.

  “Yeah, but we'd better keep it down, or everyone in

  the restaurant's going to know what we're talking

  about,” Nancy told George and Bess in a low voice.

  “Anyway. That's how I did. How did you guys do? Did

  you find anything at the library?”

  “Did we find anything? Of course!” Bess reached

  into her bag and pulled out a file folder. She slid it over

  to George. “You want to do the honors?”

  George opened the file folder and took out some

  photocopies. Nancy glanced at them. They looked like

  newspaper articles.

  “We copied these for you from some of the local

  papers,” George explained. “See what you think.”

  Nancy leafed through the articles. George and Bess

  had done a good job. There were many articles
.

  Obviously, whatever the Panterra Corporation did was

  big news in these parts.

  As Nancy leafed through the articles, several

  headlines caught her eye:

  Panterra Corp.'s New Housing Complex,

  Delia Marina Estates, Runs

  into Controversy

  Panterra Corp. Investigated for

  Possible Environmental Violations

  Citizens' Group Forms to Fight

  Manatee Commons

  “What's this about a citizens' group?” Nancy asked

  curiously. She remembered the Drakes talking about

  citizens' groups.

  “CAMC,” George replied. “That stands for Citizens

  Against Manatee Commons. According to the article,

  they formed just recently to fight Manatee Commons.

  They're saying it's going to cause terrible

  environmental and ecological problems for the

  Everglades.”

  “Who's in the group?” Nancy asked. “Is it a bunch of

  people who work at the park, like Susan?”

  “It's citizens from all over the place,” Bess said,

  pointing to the article. “There's some leader guy— his

  name is in there somewhere.”

  Nancy scanned the article quickly. “Here he is. Jeff

  Kelly.”

  “Jeff Kelly! Jeff Kelly!” the parrot squawked.

  “Leader guy!”

  People turned to stare at Nancy and her friends.

  “Shhh!” Bess chided the parrot.

  The waitress came by with their lunch order. “Here

  you go, ladies,” she said, setting down three shrimp

  Caesar salads and a basket of fried conch fritters.

  “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you,” George said, popping a fritter into her

  mouth. “Mmm, these conch things are great!”

  “Like onion rings, but better,” Bess agreed.

  Nancy sampled one, too. It was yummy. She knew

  that conch—which the waitress had pronounced

  “conk”—was a local shellfish. She'd never seen it on

  any of the menus in the restaurants back home.

  As they ate their lunch, Nancy scanned the rest of

  the articles that George and Bess had copied at the

  library. They all seemed to point to the same few facts:

  the Panterra Corporation's various housing, office, and

  shopping complexes had all been built on the outskirts

  of the Everglades. And they had all contributed, or

  been accused of contributing, to the park's

  environmental and ecological problems.

  But did any of this have anything to do with Jade's

  disappearance? Nancy wondered.

  Nancy decided to get more information about Jade