Intruder (Nancy Drew (All New) Girl Detective) Page 8

  Luther cleared his throat and said, “I’m afraid so, Nancy.”

  “Any idea why anyone would want to break in to this old place after all this time?” I asked him, taking a different approach. “Did the bootlegger keep all his money hidden in the tunnel or the basement somewhere?”

  “They confiscated several thousand dollars when they made the arrest,” Luther explained. “That was quite a stash in those days. The police found the money in old canning jars down in the basement.”

  “That explains why the intruder has been moving the shelves with the canned goods all around,” Bess declared.

  “And when he didn’t find anything down in the basement, he started exploring the rest of the house using the dumbwaiter,” I added.

  Luther’s eyes lit up. “You have a dumbwaiter?” he asked, turning to the Olsens.

  Mrs. Olsen smiled. “Indeed we do. Karl, show Mr. Eldridge the dumbwaiter while I put on some coffee.”

  Knowing that the Olsens would be busy satisfying Luther’s curiosity for quite some time, I turned to Bess and said, “I feel a sudden urge to meet Charlie’s oddball customer, Davy Reeve.”

  “Not without me,” Bess insisted. “Your dad wouldn’t want you going there alone.”

  I nodded, then scribbled a brief note for Officer Madison, telling him where we were going and asking him to relay the news about the tunnel’s discovery to the chief. Mrs. Olsen promised to give the note to the police officer as soon as he and George returned to the house.

  Bess and I made our way to Davy Reeve’s apartment building. We took the elevator to the third floor and knocked, but no one was home. I wasn’t really surprised. There was no bright yellow car in the parking lot.

  “Try one more time,” I said to Bess. She knocked harder. This time a door across the hall opened and a white-haired old woman peered at us from around the door.

  “Mr. Reeve’s not home,” she said. “Don’t usually get in before eight at night.”

  Bess and I exchanged quick glances. We both knew that a nosy neighbor could often be a great source of information.

  “I was afraid of that when I didn’t see his cute little yellow car in the parking lot,” I said, smiling in a friendly way. She merely gave me a shrug and started to close her door.

  “Has Davy shaved off his beard yet?” Bess asked cheerily. “I told him he should.”

  This time the woman opened her door wider and exclaimed, “I’ve told him he needs to shave that thing off too! A decent, respectable man should be clean shaven, and so I told him—more than once.”

  “We couldn’t agree with you more,” I said with a firm nod. Bess had luckily hit upon one of the woman’s pet peeves, and I needed to take advantage of it. “Where’s Davy working now? Do you know? Don’t know who’d hire a man with a beard like that.”

  “He works at the old folks home,” the woman said.

  I stiffened. Quickly recalling the name of the home where Emily Spradling’s husband was employed, I asked, “You mean Fern Terrace?”

  “That’s the one,” she said with a brisk nod. When the woman started to launch into another tirade about bearded men, I interrupted her with a hasty thank-you and pulled Bess down the corridor to the elevator.

  “Is that important—the nursing home?” Bess asked. “And how’d you know about it?”

  “Ms. Waters told me that Emily’s husband, Doug Spradling, works there,” I replied.

  “Hmmm, the plot thickens,” Bess muttered. “Too bad Davy Reeve wasn’t home. I know you have a long list of questions for him.”

  “Maybe Emily can answer one or two of them for me,” I said. “Mrs. Olsen gave me her address earlier. Let’s just stop by and see how she’s doing. She did call in sick, remember?”

  “She should be at home, then,” Bess replied.

  The street address Mrs. Olsen provided was not all that far from Davy Reeve’s apartment. As we rounded the second corner, Bess gasped and cried, “Nancy, look!”

  I slowed down and looked at where she was pointing. There, parked along the curb in front of Emily’s house, was a little yellow car.

  12

  Nonsense and Sensibility

  Just then my cell phone rang. It was Chief McGinnis. “Nancy, Officer Madison gave me your message, and I wanted you to know that we did that background check on Davy Reeve. The man’s got a minor criminal record. I don’t want you anywhere near the guy. Do you hear me?”

  Ignoring his question, I asked one of my own. “Do you know that Mr. Reeve works at Fern Terrace?”

  The chief confirmed that Reeve was an orderly there. “I don’t want you talking to him—on the phone or in person,” he warned. “I’m taking over the investigation here. Are we clear on this?”

  Reluctantly I said yes. Then I told Bess what Chief McGinnis had said. Bess glanced over at Davy’s little yellow car. “I know there’s nothing you’d rather do than charge up to that front door and bust Davy Reeve,” she told me. “But you can’t. He’s a criminal, Nancy. And your dad would never forgive me if I let you get hurt. Besides, look at the time.” She showed me her watch. “You’ll be late for dinner—again. And so will I if you don’t get me home a.s.a.p.”

  I sighed. Bess was right. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “I’ll be right back,” I said. Opening my car door, I dashed across the street to Davy Reeve’s vehicle. I peered into the window on the driver’s side. Sure enough, the front seat was littered with junk, including several packs of strawberry flavored bubble gum.

  “Davy Reeve must be the Cardinal Corners intruder,” I told Bess as I got back into my car.

  “But is he working alone or with someone else, like Doug Spradling, for instance?” she asked.

  We discussed the case until I pulled into the Marvins’ driveway. As Bess got out of the car and waved good-bye, another sudden thought came to me. I called directory assistance on my cell and asked for the number of the Fern Terrace Nursing Home. I was punching in the number when Bess turned around and came over to my side of the car. She was scowling as she tapped on the window.

  “What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’m calling the nursing home,” I told her.

  “Nancy, you promised!” she said.

  “I promised not to talk to Davy Reeve,” I reminded her. “But the chief didn’t say I couldn’t talk about him. I’m calling his boss.”

  Unfortunately the director of the home had left for the day, as had the personnel coordinator. I was advised to call back in the morning around nine to make an appointment.

  “Go home,” Bess commanded. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Bess was right. There was nothing more I could do today. Waving good-bye, I backed out of the driveway and drove home. There was a battered pick-up truck parked across from my house. It looked vaguely familiar. Then I noticed Juan Tabo sitting in the driver’s seat and realized I’d seen this same truck parked at the Olsens’ each time I’d been out there.

  Wonder what he wants, I thought. I guess I’ll just have to ask. But as I got out of my car, Juan took off with a lurch and disappeared down the street and around the corner.

  I stood staring after the truck for a moment before going into the house.

  “Did you see that truck parked across the street, Hannah?” I asked after making my way to the kitchen, which was filled with the delicious aroma of lasagna baking. Hannah nodded and then replied, “That old battered thing? It was there for nearly twenty minutes before you arrived. I noticed the lawn mower in the bed of the truck and thought perhaps the driver was coming to mow the lawn for someone on the street. But he sat there so long, I decided he must be waiting for you or your father to come home.”

  “The driver was Juan Tabo, the Olsens’ gardener,” I told her. Helping myself to an olive from the antipasto tray, I added, “If he was waiting to speak with me, why did he take off when I got out of the car?”

  “Well then, maybe he came to see Mr. Drew,” Hannah proposed.

&
nbsp; “Hmm, why would Juan Tabo need a lawyer?” I mused aloud.

  “Maybe he’s stalking you,” Hannah proposed nervously. “Maybe he’s your mysterious caller.”

  I shrugged and popped another olive in my mouth. When the phone rang a moment later, I answered it while Hannah put garlic bread in the oven. It was Ms. Waters calling to tell me about her conversation with Luther Eldridge. Chuckling, I told her that Luther had driven out to Cardinal Corners and “delivered” his information personally.

  “When I left this afternoon, the Olsens were giving him the grand tour of the old place,” I said. Briefly I told her about the discovery of the tunnel and thanked her for her help. Because Hannah was listening, I left out the part about being conked on the head. I didn’t want her to worry, and I sure didn’t want her to tell my dad about the incident either.

  “A secret tunnel!” Hannah exclaimed. “How exciting!”

  I repeated the story again for my dad during dinner. Intrigued, he and Hannah listened wordlessly as I told them about the storm cellar in the woods, the crawl space in the Olsens’ basement, and the dumbwaiter. My dad raised an eyebrow when I mentioned that we’d caught the gardener eavesdropping too.

  “Juan Tabo isn’t one of your clients, is he?” I asked, passing him the basket of garlic bread.

  “No, he’s not,” my father replied. “Why do you ask?”

  “Hannah told me that he was parked outside for some time,” I said. “When I pulled into the driveway, he took off. I wondered if he’d wanted to see you and then decided not to wait.”

  “If he calls the office tomorrow or drops in, I’ll certainly let you know,” my dad said. “Do you suspect him of having anything to do with the vandalism? I thought you’d pretty well decided that this fellow Davy Reeve is your intruder.”

  I nodded. “But there are a few things about Juan that bother me. He hasn’t exactly been friendly, and he has reason to be upset with the Olsens—he didn’t get the raise he asked for.”

  “And he listens at keyholes,” Hannah pointed out, bringing in lime sherbet for dessert.

  “Dad, do you think Chief McGinnis will pick up Davy Reeve?” I asked.

  “Only for questioning,” he replied. “You can’t arrest someone just because you think they are guilty. You have to have proof.”

  “But we don’t have any,” I said. “Except for the bubble gum wrappers.”

  “That’s called circumstantial evidence,” my father reminded me. “They won’t arrest Reeve for that.”

  Immediately after dinner, I called Mrs. Mahoney and told her about the discovery of the tunnel and everything else that had happened that day.

  “With the storm cellar padlocked and the dumbwaiter disabled and the new security system installed, I’m sure nothing else will happen between now and Saturday afternoon,” she said. “On behalf of the entire committee, I want to express my heartfelt thanks, Nancy.”

  I murmured an embarrassed “you’re welcome” and decided to take a long, hot shower. I washed my hair, too, being very careful not to press too hard on the bump at the back of my head, which was still tender. I kept thinking of what my dad had said about evidence. Even if Chief McGinnis brought Davy Reeve in for questioning, he couldn’t arrest Reeve on circumstantial evidence. Reeve would have to confess, and what were the chances of that happening?

  I had just wrapped my hair in a towel when the phone rang. I picked up the extension on the night table beside my bed. “Hello?” I said.

  “Nancy Drew?” The deep voice belonged to a man.

  “Yes, this is Nancy,” I replied cautiously. “Who is this?”

  “Never mind—this is your second warning to stay way from Cardinal Corners. There won’t be another one.” The man’s voice was unmistakably threatening.

  “Is this Davy Reeve?” I asked boldly.

  There was complete silence on the other end of the line and then a loud click. My anonymous caller had hung up. Lost in thought, I did the same.

  So my hunch was right, I thought, chewing on my bottom lip. The intruder or intruders were determined to get their hands on something inside the Olsens’ house. A padlock on the storm cellar doors would not deter them. He—or they—would try again.

  But I had an idea. Picking up the phone again, I tapped out a number I knew as well as my own.

  “Ned, it’s Nancy and I need a favor,” I said.

  13

  Old Wives’ Tales

  First thing the next morning I called the Olsens. I wanted to make sure there had been no break-in during the night.

  “Everything’s fine, Nancy,” Mrs. Olsen assured me. She sounded quite cheerful. “The padlock on the storm cellar door must have worked.”

  “I’m not so sure it was the padlock,” I told her.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” I said.

  After breakfast I dressed carefully in my new suede skirt and matching blue blazer and made my way to the Fern Terrace Nursing Home. I had no trouble at all getting a spur-of-the-moment appointment with the director, Mattie Burney. She was a plump, middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense manner.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked, removing her glasses. She indicated a chair across from her desk and motioned for me to have a seat.

  “My name is Nancy Drew, and I’m looking into vandalism that has occurred at the Cardinal Corners bed-and-breakfast,” I told her.

  “That’s where the fund-raiser is going to be held, isn’t it?” she asked. “I have two tickets.” Then on a more serious note, she added, “I wasn’t aware that the place had been vandalized. I haven’t heard or read anything about this in the news.”

  “The Olsens don’t want any unfavorable publicity,” I explained.

  “I don’t see how I can help you,” Mrs. Burney said. She relaxed in her leather chair and folded her hands in her lap.

  “One of your employees, an orderly named Davy Reeve, is a suspect in the case,” I said.

  Mrs. Burney raised an eyebrow.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about him,” I continued.

  “But I do mind,” she replied curtly, sitting up straighter. “I’m not certain that my board of directors would approve of me speaking to you about any of our employees. Personnel records are private and confidential. When and if the police come here with a warrant for Mr. Reeve’s arrest, I’ll answer their questions at that time—not before.”

  She pushed her chair away from her desk and stood up. I was clearly being dismissed.

  “Thank you for your time,” I said, trying to conceal my frustration. A moment later I was standing in the lobby idly watching elderly residents and nurses moving up and down the corridors. What a waste of time! I thought angrily. Now what?

  Just then an orderly passed me in the hall. He was pushing an old man in a wheelchair. I suddenly remembered that Doug Spradling, Emily’s husband, was an orderly here too. I hadn’t promised Chief McGinnis that I wouldn’t speak to him, so I asked a passing nurse if he was on duty now and where I could find him.

  “Down the hall I think,” she told me vaguely before hurrying on.

  I hesitantly peered into a number of rooms. Then I saw a large swinging door. When I pushed it slightly open, I could see a tall, broad-shouldered orderly preparing to assist an elderly man into the tub. I quickly stepped back and closed the door. I was not going to interrupt Doug Spradling now. Besides, that single glance at his broad back and beefy arms convinced me that Spradling was much too big to squeeze into the Olsens’ dumbwaiter. He couldn’t be the Cardinal Corners intruder. Of course he could still be an accomplice, I reasoned.

  I had every intention of speaking with him later, but I didn’t want to hang out in the corridor. Director Burney would not be pleased if she caught me. With a sigh, I made my way to the visitors’ lounge. It was sunny and spacious, with several couches, comfortable chairs, and a big-screen television. Two very old ladies sat hunched at a table playi
ng cards.

  As I paused in the doorway, one of them called out, “Are you looking for your granny, sweetheart?”

  I smiled and walked over to their table. “Good morning,” I said cheerily. “I’m waiting to speak with an orderly.”

  “Have a seat, honey,” one of the women said. “My name is Maude and this is my sister, Thelma.” Both had wispy white hair, and their pink sweaters matched.

  “My name’s Nancy,” I told them, walking toward their table. “I’m here to see Doug Spradling.” I watched them carefully, looking for some reaction.

  “Sure, we know him,” Thelma said. “Big fella.”

  “He could hunt bear with a stick, that one,” Maude put in.

  “Runs around with that little squirt called Davy,” Thelma added. “He has a nasty beard.”

  When the two old ladies started talking disapprovingly about other staff members with facial hair, I began to wonder how I could gracefully slip away. It was obvious that they weren’t going to be much help.

  But then Thelma spoke up. “Doug’s wife works at the old Rappapport place, doesn’t she?”

  That caught my attention, and I spoke up quickly, “The bootlegger’s house, right?”

  Maude and Thelma nodded. I pulled up a chair and sat down. “I’ve been out there,” I said casually. “The new owners are fixing it up. Someone told them that there’s probably money hidden in canning jars all over the basement.”

  “Sure, old man Rappapport didn’t trust banks, you know,” Thelma said. “He stashed wads of money in every nook and cranny.”

  “Our daddy used to buy hooch from him during the Prohibition years,” Maude explained. She chuckled reminiscently. “Bathtub gin,” she added with a smirk.

  “I heard that the police confiscated all the money when they arrested Mr. Rappapport for bootlegging,” I said.

  Maude cackled. “Don’t count on it—Leon was a clever old fox. Our father said so.”

  “Don’t put all your eggs in one basket,” Thelma added with a knowing wink.

  “People snooped around that place for years looking for Rappapport’s secret stash,” Maude said.