031 Trouble in Tahiti Read online

  "That again." With a sigh, Manda set her papers on the coffee table. "Sometimes I don't think we'll ever hear the end of it."

  "I guess you've seen a lot working for the family all these years," Nancy commented.

  "Indeed I have." Giving Nancy a conspiratorial smile, Manda leaned forward. "I could tell you stories. Of course, it's not my place to gossip. But if you knew the truth about her . . .!"

  "Her?" Nancy echoed.

  "Kristin Stromm." Manda spat out the name as if it were poison. "You know, the night Lucin-da drowned, Kristin was nowhere to be found. She left her own party right after Brian and Lucinda quarreled. I wonder where she went. Don't you?"

  I could ask the same question of you, Manda, thought Nancy. She ignored the secretary's insinuations, though, and changed the subject. "You don't sound very happy with your job."

  "Oh! Don't get me wrong. I adore working for the family. Bree's a darling." Manda's gaze softened. "And Brian, he's such a wonderful man. Absolutely brilliant. A true cinema genius."

  "How did you get along with Lucinda?" Nancy asked carefully.

  "Fairly well, I suppose." Manda wrinkled her nose in distaste. "She was such a demanding woman. She bullied poor Brian unmercifully. Had the vilest temper I've ever seen. I'd have given my notice in a minute, if not for Brian." She tugged self-consciously at her skirt.

  "Her death was quite a shock to him. He was so lonely. If only he could have met the right woman—someone kind, thoughtful, even-tempered, intellectual, loving . . ."

  Nancy struggled not to smile. She could guess who fit that description.

  "Well, he does have Kristin," Nancy observed.

  "It's a travesty," Manda snapped, tight-lipped with emotion. "Brian and that— Ohhh!" Eyes narrowing furiously, she added, "Kristin Stromm is a shallow, man-hungry fortune hunter! She's been chasing Brian for years. The night of the party Lucinda had to drag him away from her. If you ask me, that woman is completely unfit to be his wife!"

  "Well, it's his choice," Nancy replied evenly.

  Manda stood quickly, an angry blush coloring her heart-shaped face. "How can you be so complacent about it? Bree's your friend. Don't you care that her father's marrying that—that tramp?"

  The passion in the secretary's voice startled Nancy. Clearly, hidden fires blazed within Amanda Withers.

  Just as quickly a cool mask descended on her features. "If you'll excuse me, I have some business to attend to." Performing a quick about-face, Manda marched out of the living room, head high, heels punishing the hardwood floor.

  Nancy watched her go, reflecting on the new factor that had been added to the equation. She felt bad for upsetting Manda, but the woman was clearly not very rational on the subject of the Gordon family.

  It took no special skill to see that Manda was head-over-heels in love with Brian Gordon. Beneath her prim exterior seethed a savage jealousy. She now hated Kristin Stromm as ardently as she had once hated Lucinda Prado.

  Nancy suddenly remembered something. Bree had told her that when she awakened at Faretaha, she had called for Manda. There had been no answer.

  Questions flitted through Nancy's mind. Why did Manda leave the estate that night? Where did she go?

  Suspicion provided some ugly answers. Manda was practically part of the Gordon family. She knew that Lucinda would never divorce her husband. What if she had taken advantage of the Gordons' quarrel that night?

  Manda might have followed her employer back to the yacht. Indeed, she'd lived aboard the Southwind too. She knew all about the anchor chain.

  How simple it would have been to cut the chain while Lucinda slept, to watch as the Southwind drifted toward certain destruction.

  Manda's motive would have been simplicity itself. With Lucinda dead, Brian would have been free to marry her!

  "Have you ever tried this before?" asked Bree, sliding a flipper onto her foot.

  "Once or twice." Nancy smiled. "You may have to refresh me."

  The girls were standing in the cockpit of a sleek twenty-foot runabout. Beside the boat, a red-and-white dive flag bobbed on its Styrofoam buoy.

  Bree went through a run-down as she boosted a tank rig onto Nancy's shoulders. "You'll be okay. Just remember to keep an eye on that air gauge."

  Nancy buckled the support straps. "What about sharks?"

  Bree tightened her weight belt. "Oh, forget all those movies. You rarely see sharks in the boat basin. Besides, they aren't that dangerous. They only go crazy if they smell blood. You leave them alone, they'll leave you alone."

  Nancy studied the sun-dappled water. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive." Bree grinned. "Sharks have their own body language. If you see a shark swimming in a tight circle, with his fins pointed straight down, that means he's angry and will attack."

  Gooseflesh rippled along Nancy's bare arms. With a weak smile, she mounted the gunwale. "Thank you, Bree, for knowledge I never want to use!"

  After putting the regulator in her mouth, Nancy backflipped into the sea.

  Warm waters closed around her. Air bubbles drifted through her floating hair. Waving her arms languidly, Nancy looked around, startled and delighted by the beauty of the lagoon.

  A school of bright red clownfish zigzagged through the turquoise water. Anemone strands soared upward from the coral reef, swaying in the mild current. A large sea turtle coasted along the bottom, making a wide detour around the girls.

  Bree, in her lemon yellow maillot, performed a graceful jackknife turn and headed for the bottom. Nancy, in her emerald swimsuit, followed close behind.

  Soon Bree and Nancy were cruising along the seabed, kicking in tandem, their air bubbles streaming to the surface. This is great, Nancy thought. I could stay down here forever—if I didn't have a mystery to solve!

  Halting at a broad, level spot, Bree pantomimed a shipwreck. Nancy nodded in understanding. This was where the Southwind had anchored.

  Together they searched the area. Nancy's fingertips probed the loose black sand.

  She thought of Tayo. How many times had he swooped down to this very spot, searching for the clue he knew must be there?

  Just then a shadow blotted out the sun. Looking up, Nancy saw a hull drifting overhead. Her brows knit in concern. Motorboats were forbidden to enter any area with a dive flag. What was the matter with that guy?

  Keeping her eyes on the boat, Nancy swam closer to Bree.

  A figure appeared at the transom. The hull rocked under its weight. Rippling water distorted the image. Nancy couldn't tell if it was male or female.

  The figure lifted a slender object to its shoulder.

  Nancy reacted instantly. Rolling in the water, she shoved Bree away with her flippered feet.

  Whizzz! A spear gun shaft zipped past Bree, burying itself in the sand.

  Nancy looked up. The shadowy figure was hurriedly reloading.

  Nancy looked frantically around, seeking cover but finding none. For the killer, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel.

  Nancy and Bree were trapped!

  Chapter Ten

  Nancy watched helplessly as the sniper lifted the spear gun again.

  Suddenly Bree tapped her shoulder. Whirling, Nancy saw the black-haired girl gripping her own weight belt. Her free hand tugged at Nancy's.

  The emergency release!

  Nancy pressed the tab with her palm. Instantly the weight belt slid past her thighs. Nancy left the bottom like an air bubble, Bree at her side, speeding to the surface. Remembering what Bree had told her about the possibility of bursting her lungs, Nancy was careful to exhale gradually, matching her breathing to the decreasing water pressure.

  Their swift ascent startled the sniper. His second shot went wild. Bree guided Nancy directly beneath the boat. Barnacled wood met Nancy's outstretched palms.

  Relief washed through Nancy's body. The perfect hiding place! So long as they stayed directly beneath the boat, there was no way the sniper could get at them.

  Suddenly the boat's twin
propeller began twirling. Its hull lumbered forward. Nancy pushed herself out of harm's way. The cruiser surged past, heading out to sea.

  As Nancy surfaced in its wake, she caught a glimpse of the gilt-edged name on the stern. Her blood seemed to freeze all at once. Sous le Vent.

  It was the boat from the scrap yard—the one that had departed right after the murder attempt.

  New questions flooded her mind. Was Henri Chaumette, the boat's owner, the one behind that stunt with the crane? She thought about those boat-shoe prints near the waterfall. Was he also the man behind the spear gun? And if so, why? Who was Henri Chaumette?

  Nancy treaded water, watching the boat speed away. There was nothing she could do to pursue it. As she headed back to their boat, a sudden realization made Nancy quicken her strokes. She had to return to the hotel. If the enemy was willing to risk another daylight attack, Nancy had to be on the right track!

  An hour later Nancy steered the Renault through the broad gates of Faretaha. Bree sat moodily in the passenger seat. Both girls had exchanged their maillots and scuba gear for tank tops and walking shorts.

  Setting the brake, Nancy suggested, "Why don't you wait here? I think I can get more out of Kristin if I face her alone."

  Bree gritted her teeth but said nothing. Nancy slammed the car door and bent to look through the window at Bree, a smile playing on her lips.

  Bree was too upset to respond in kind though. "Can you blame me for being angry?" She fell silent again.

  Nancy exhaled deeply. "I know how you feel, Bree. That's why you're going to sit here until you cool off. Kristin may be innocent, you know."

  Still fuming, Bree looked away. "I doubt it!"

  "Cool off—please?" Nancy added in a conciliatory tone. "I'll be right back."

  Bree nodded curtly, her mouth taut. Nancy wasn't at all sure Bree meant to stay put, but there was nothing she could do about it right then. Shouldering her bag, she strode purposefully up the walk.

  She found Kristin standing in the parlor, sipping a late-afternoon drink. The actress was wearing a sleeveless silk top and white silk harem-style trousers. Her lush blond hair curled loosely over shoulders. She glanced suspiciously at Nancy. "What do you want?"

  "I'm looking for Bree," Nancy replied, using the cover story she'd prepared. "I couldn't find her at the hotel, so I thought she might be here."

  Kristin smiled sourly. "I'm afraid the spoiled Miss Gordon spends as little time in my company as possible."

  Kristin's shoulder dipped awkwardly as she started across the room, and Nancy realized that the actress was limping! Her gaze moved to Kristin's slender ankle, where a pressure bandage was just visible under the trouser cuff.

  "How did you hurt your ankle, Ms. Stromm?" she asked, her mind racing. The spear-gun sniper had skidded in the mud while running away, according to those footprints Nancy had found. He or she could easily have twisted an ankle.

  Kristin seemed shaken by the question. A nervous smile molded her mouth. "I—I pulled a tendon playing tennis with Bree." Her fingers trembled as she fiddled with her pendant earring. "Surely you remember. You were there."

  Right, thought Nancy. And I was here at dinner the next night, when there was absolutely nothing wrong with your ankle! She made a mental note to find out whether Kristin owned a pair of boating shoes.

  Right now, though, there was another angle to explore. Nancy closed the door behind her and took a step forward. "I don't mean to be rude, but I can't help noticing that you and Bree don't get along very well," she said as tactfully as she could.

  "That's not my fault!" Kristin's hand brushed the silk cowl of her blouse. "Heaven knows I've tried to be civil to her. She resents me because I'm engaged to her father." A petulant expression marred her lovely face. "I wish she'd get over it! It's not as if I'd cast a net over Brian, you know. We fell in love with each other. Now, tell me, is that a crime?" Her blue eyes flashed fire. "You know what Bree's problem is? She's spoiled rotten. And she's just like her mother— stubborn, mean—"

  And that's the real reason you dislike Bree, Nancy realized. Every time you look at her, you see Lucinda.

  Keeping that thought to herself, Nancy offered a sympathetic smile. "You didn't like Bree's mother much?" she probed.

  "Lucinda Prado was a conceited, conniving witch!" Kristin burst out. "She was jealous of me, you know. She tried to ruin my career!"

  At that moment the door banged open, and Bree stormed into the room. "I heard that!" she cried. "Don't listen to her, Nancy. My mother had more talent in her little finger than Krissy'll ever have. The only thing Krissy's any good at is stealing other people's husbands!"

  Nancy was horrified. Bree was about to blow everything! She held out a placating hand. "Bree—" she began. But Kristin cut her off.

  "And just what is that supposed to mean, dear?" she purred. Her voice had a dangerous note.

  "You should know!" Bree flung back. "Everybody saw you draping yourself all over my dad the night Mother died. Everybody saw them fighting—over you. And everybody knows where you went later. In fact, if it hadn't been for you, my mother would be alive today!" Glaring at Kristin, Bree turned and left, slamming the door behind her.

  Nancy winced. Oh, Bree, she thought. Now you've made yourself a real enemy. And you've ruined my chances of getting any leads here!

  "Bree's just being silly, of course," Kristin put in before Nancy could say anything. She waved a careless hand. "I had—I had an appointment to keep that night."

  "An appointment at the Cafe Chat Noir?" Nancy asked in a casual voice. She watched Kristin intently to see how she would react.

  Her words had a dramatic effect. Kristin looked as if she'd just been slapped in the face. "Who's been spreading those lies about me?" she screamed. "If Manda—I'll kill that woman!"

  "It wasn't Manda," Nancy replied. "I saw you there myself."

  Kristin's pale blue eyes widened in alarm. "Who sent you to spy on me?" she shrieked. "Was it Rupert?"

  Rupert! Nancy was taken by surprise. Where did the producer fit in to all this? What was his connection to Kristin Stromm?

  A door slammed behind them. Turning, Nancy saw Brian Gordon in the entryway. His face seemed chiseled from stone.

  "Darling!" Kristin rushed into his arms. "Don't believe a word she says. It's all lies!"

  "Calm down, Kristin." Gently but firmly Brian moved his fiancee to one side. Then he bore down on Nancy. "I hear you've been snooping around, Ms. Drew."

  Nancy took a deep breath. She could tell this wasn't going to be easy. "I—"

  "I thought I made it clear to you that my wife's death was not open for discussion," Brian interrupted. His eyebrows tightened angrily behind his horn-rimmed glasses. "And yet I hear you've been working behind my back. Manda told me how you questioned her, and I can guess what kind of things you've been asking Kristin." His forefinger stabbed once at Nancy. "What's the story, Ms. Drew? Who are you? A reporter searching for an exclusive? Is that why you befriended my daughter? Or maybe you plan to write a book on the 'inside story' of the Southwind disaster?"

  Nancy could feel her own temper rising, and she had to struggle to keep it in check. In a level voice, she responded, "Wrong on all counts, Mr. Gordon. I'm—"

  "Save it!" Brian thrust his fist at the doorway. "I want you out of this house—now. And if you're still on this island at this time tomorrow, I promise you, you'll be the sorriest girl in the whole South Pacific!"

  Chapter Eleven

  "Dad!" Bree's voice rang out.

  Peering around Brian, Nancy spied Bree in the doorway. Obviously she had heard Brian shouting and come back to see what was happening.

  Brian frowned at his daughter. "This friend of yours has been stirring up a lot of trouble, Bree."

  "I asked her to, Dad." Features grim, Bree entered the parlor. "Nancy's a detective. I invited her here."

  Brian looked astounded. "What?"

  "Someone was sending hate mail to my dorm. They hinted that there wa
s something suspicious about Mother's death," Bree explained. "Whoever they were, they were right. Mother was murdered!"

  Brian's face paled. "That's not possible."

  Nancy grimaced slightly. Bree's tipping off her father—and Kristin—to the real reason for her presence probably would make her job harder. But there was nothing to do.

  "I'm afraid Bree's right, Mr. Gordon," Nancy said. "The two of us went looking for Tayo Kapali. Instead we found a package Tayo had hidden for Bree. In it was proof of your wife's murder. Someone cut the Southwind's anchor chain. Tayo found the chain, but he was killed before he could do anything about it."

  Brian's gaze traveled from his daughter to Nancy. In his eyes Nancy could see shock and pain warring with something else. Was this the look of a man who had murdered his wife? Nancy just couldn't tell.

  After a second Brian regained his composure. "Why come to Kristin?"

  "She was at the party that night, that's all, Mr. Gordon." Nancy knew she couldn't push her suspicions too hard at this point. She turned to the Swedish actress. "Ms. Stromm, won't you tell us the truth about where you went after you left your party?"

  "No! I can't!" Kristin shook her head stubbornly.

  "Why not?" Bree snapped.

  "She's not the police." Kristin's desperate gaze avoided Nancy. "I don't have to tell her anything."

  Brian hovered protectively beside his fiancee. "Believe me, Ms. Drew, Kristin had nothing to do with Lucinda's death. You're barking up the wrong tree."

  Nancy's lips tightened. She was tempted to ask Brian Gordon where he had gone that night. But, for Bree's sake, she held her tongue.

  Bree was under no such self-restraint. "Dad! What are you doing? Make Krissy tell the truth!"

  Kristin clutched his arm. "Brian! Don't let these girls badger me like this! Do something!"

  "Dad! Don't you care what happened to Mother?" Anguish sounded in Bree's voice.

  Nancy read the sheer helplessness in Brian's eyes. Bree's father seemed paralyzed by indecision, his gaze darting everywhere at once.