087 Moving Target Read online

  "Okay. Give them about an hour. I should have something for you by then. Oh, and Ms. Drew?"

  "Yes."

  "Lieutenant Easterling is worried about you. He said to tell you to be careful."

  "Thanks," Nancy said. "I appreciate his concern, and I am being careful. I do have one more question for you," Nancy continued. "It's kind of off-the-wall, though."

  "Try me," the sergeant said, laughing. "It can't be any more off-the-wall than some I've fielded in this job."

  Nancy smiled at her good humor. "Have you ever heard of a beauty shop in Emersonville called Cassie's Crowning Glory?"

  "Heard of it?" The officer chuckled. "Cassie gets a chunk of my paycheck every month."

  "Great!" Nancy said. "Not about your paycheck," she added quickly. "About my question. Do you know if Cassie's shop is open evenings? Like, would she be open Friday nights?"

  "Maybe not regularly," the woman answered. "But Cassie's pretty flexible. Her shop's in her home. She pretty much opens up any time that anyone wants to have her hair done. She's a widow. Not many demands on her time, except for her customers."

  Nancy's thoughts were whirling as Sergeant Telfer talked. That meant that Jennifer could have had her hair bleached on Friday night. And she could have made a spur-of-the-moment decision to do it, which would explain why she had called in sick to work at the last minute and why

  Erik had made a comment about her hair on Saturday morning.

  "One more question," Nancy said. "Can you give me the dates of the previous burglaries?"

  "Easy," said the officer. "They're burned into my memory."

  Nancy squinted at the scrap of paper in her hand as Sergeant Telfer quickly cited the dates. Each deposit in Jennifer's account came two or three days after each of the three burglaries, previous to the Friday night break in. Was it coincidence, or was there a pattern that would link Jennifer Bover to the Emersonville burglaries?

  "Are you still there, Ms. Drew?"

  The woman's voice brought Nancy back from her thoughts.

  "Yes, sorry. I was just checking those dates against some bank deposits made by Jennifer Bover. She's one of the riders on our bike trip."

  "Bover," the sergeant repeated. "She's someone Lieutenant Easterling checked on for you, right?"

  "Right," said Nancy. "But there was nothing on her. Look, would you do me a favor? He offered to check Bover with the campus police, and I told him it wouldn't be necessary."

  "Change your mind?" the officer asked.

  "Yes," Nancy said. "Could you please see if they have anything on her?"

  "Sure. I'd be glad to."

  The beam of a flashlight on the slope caught Nancy's attention, and she stretched the metal-coil phone cord to its limit as she leaned out for a better look. The singing had stopped, and in the glow from the fire, she could see figures outlined as they walked up the hill.

  "I've got to go!" Nancy said urgently. "I'll call back." She slammed the receiver back on the hook and gave a loud piercing whistle as she glanced toward Jennifer's cabin. She saw that it was dark. George must have already left, she thought.

  Nancy shoved the scrap of paper into the pocket of her jeans and stepped outside the booth. As she did, there was a crackling of leaves behind the phone booth and the sound of footsteps.

  Someone was running toward the woods. And, Nancy realized, that person must have been hiding nearby, listening to her conversation!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nancy rounded the booth to chase the eavesdropper, but the person had already disappeared into the trees. How much had the person heard? Did the person know she had been talking to the police? She glanced back over her shoulder. The people coming up the hill had drifted off to their cabins, but another figure was running toward her. George! What was she doing out here?

  "To your left!" George yelled.

  She must have seen the person, too, as she was coming out of Jennifer's cabin. Between the two of them, maybe they could cut him or her off.

  As Nancy ran, her sneakers kept sliding on the slippery pine needles. Just as Nancy ducked under a low-hanging branch and veered to the left, she heard a thud. She stopped and turned.

  George had fallen! Nancy changed direction immediately and ran to her friend.

  "Oh, rats," George wailed. She was sitting on the ground, hugging one leg, which was bent at the knee. The other was stretched straight out in front of her. "I can't believe how stupid I am!" She boosted herself up, putting her weight on one leg, and winced. "That stupid root or whatever it was. I didn't even see it."

  "Of course you couldn't see it," Nancy said, quickly putting her arm around George's waist to support her. "It's dark, and it was covered with pine needles. Can you walk?"

  "I'm not sure," George said. "Talk about a big-time klutz. We almost had that person." Gingerly she put her weight on the sore leg.

  "I'm going to get Mr. Kipling," Nancy said.

  "No," George said. "Just give me a hand back to the cabin."

  Nancy nodded. "Okay. Drape your arm over my shoulder. We'll take it slow. Did you find anything in Jennifer's room?"

  "No." George shook her head. "Nothing. I was out of there before they started back up from the beach. I was coming to get you when I heard you whistle. I thought I saw something, so I hid in that clump of bushes over there. That's when I saw him running."

  "Or her," said Nancy.

  "Or her," George repeated.

  Supported by her friend, George half hopped, half hobbled back to their cabin.

  "I'll be fine in a few minutes," she said, sitting down on the bed.

  "I'm going over to the big house to get you some ice," Nancy said. "And I'm locking you in."

  George nodded her thanks. "That'll help more than anything," she said. "The ice, not being locked in, I mean." She gingerly reached forward and circled the sore knee with both hands. "It hasn't started to swell," she said. "Maybe it won't. Nancy, could you tell who it was?"

  "No," Nancy replied. "We'll talk when I get back. I'll hurry."

  "Watch yourself out there," George cautioned, but Nancy was already out of the cabin. George heard the lock click.

  When Nancy returned with a plastic bowl full of ice, George was sitting in a chair by the window, with her leg propped up on another chair. She had a towel in her hands.

  "Do you have any idea who it was?" George asked Nancy again, as she put the ice in the towel, then wrapped it around her knee. "Was it a man or a woman?"

  "I don't know," said Nancy. "And I don't know how long the person was there. I didn't realize anyone was listening until I went to leave the booth."

  "Probably overheard your whole conversation," George said morosely. "What did you find out?"

  "Not much," said Nancy. "The information from Florida hasn't come in yet. The place where Jennifer got her hair done is open Friday nights, and each of the big deposits in her checking account was made a couple of days after the three other Emerson burglaries. Which isn't exactly evidence of guilt. But. . ."

  "But what?" George asked.

  "But I have a hunch that somehow Jennifer is connected." She looked over at George and waved her hands in a frustrated gesture. "I just don't want to believe it of her, I guess. She doesn't seem like the type to be mixed up in anything criminal."

  "I know," George agreed. "She seems so wholesome. I mean, showing off that picture of her brothers and sisters. You can tell she really cares about her family."

  Nancy nodded. "Yes, and kids seem to gravitate to her, like those little boys on the swings at lunchtime yesterday."

  "And I heard her trying to talk Kendra into doing volunteer work with her at the Women's Shelter on Saturday afternoons."

  Nancy sighed. "Dad says that often the ones who appear to be most innocent are the most guilty. I just hate to think Jennifer's mixed up in anything bad."

  George sat up straighter and leaned over to peer out the window. "Somebody's coming up the path."

  Nancy turned off the l
ight and joined her at the window. "It must be Erik," she said. "He stayed down at the beach after the others left to help Mr. Kipling clean up. They were coming back when I went to get the ice."

  A door slammed, and then a light went on inside Erik's cabin, showing him clearly.

  George sighed. "I guess that lets him out as an eavesdropping suspect," she said. "Even the great Erik can't be in two places at once."

  Nancy nodded. "Right. And after our talk today, I don't think it was Kendra. She was very frank with me. She wouldn't have any reason to eavesdrop on a phone call. By the way, since you're the designated peeping Tom, has she come back to her cabin yet?"

  "Home and probably all tucked in by now," George reported. "Michael walked her to the door while you were getting ice, and then took off."

  Nancy nodded. "I noticed that his van was gone," she said.

  George gingerly stretched her leg out and shifted the ice pack. "This is feeling a little better," she said. "I'm going to try to put my weight on it." She stood up and took a few cautious steps. "Not bad. Not great, but not bad." She turned to face Nancy, who was still standing at the window, looking out. "Nan, if you've ruled out Kendra and Erik, that leaves us with Michael and Jennifer."

  Nancy nodded, without turning her head. "Take a look at this," she said, motioning to George.

  George moved cautiously to the window and followed Nancy's gaze. In the moonlight a solitary figure was moving stealthily away from the cabins toward the wooded area.

  "It's Jennifer," Nancy whispered. "I'm going to follow her. Keep the light off."

  "Keep the light off?" George repeated, dramatically looking around. "Who are you talking to? I'm going with you!"

  "Not with that knee," Nancy said.

  "But we're not running this time," said George. "We're sneaking. And my knee is always up to sneaking."

  "Sorry," Nancy said firmly. "I'm going solo. I won't be long. Stand guard." She opened the cabin door and exited before George could answer.

  The light in Erik's cabin went off as Nancy passed by. The rest of the units were already dark. Nancy stayed a safe distance from Jennifer, taking care not to make any noise in the loose underbrush as she entered the woods. The moon, covered intermittently by slow-moving clouds, provided enough light for her to watch, as Jennifer stopped in a small clearing, crouched down,

  and began to dig. She had the small shovel from the barbecue pit, and it was clear to Nancy that she was burying something. But what?

  She watched in silence as the blond girl took something from her fanny pack, placed it in the hole she had dug, covered it with dirt, and carefully brushed pine needles over it. Then she reached for a rock and planted it to one side of the burial site. After looking furtively around, she straightened up and hurried back to the path that led to the cabins.

  Nancy waited until she heard the door to Jennifer's cabin close before she moved into the woods. Unsure whether someone else might be lurking nearby, Nancy looked around warily, her ears straining for any foreign sounds in the hush of the night. Finally satisfied that she was alone, she took the rock that had been left as a marker and used it to scoop out the soft dirt, uncovering a small felt bag with a drawstring closure.

  Nancy pulled the drawstring open and dumped the contents of the pouch into her palm. Her breath caught in her throat, and she stared in disbelief.

  "The emeralds," Nancy whispered, staring at the glittering jewelry. "The stolen emeralds."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nancy stood up slowly, the jewelry still clutched in her hand. She felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

  She was beginning to understand the reasons behind the accidents of the past forty-eight hours, but she was disappointed. She had hoped that Jennifer was not involved. That possibility was now out of the question. She slipped the jewels back into the pouch, pushed the pouch into her jacket pocket, and slowly walked back to the cabin.

  "Well?" said George expectantly, turning on the lamp as Nancy softly closed the door behind her and locked it.

  "Well," said Nancy, reaching into her pocket, "she was burying this." She opened the pouch and took out the emerald jewelry.

  George gasped. "Can I see them?' 5 she whispered, reaching out and picking up the necklace from Nancy's hand. "This is gorgeous." She held it up. Even in the dim lamplight, the expensive stones glittered with rays of green. The center square-cut gem was flanked by four other square-cut emeralds, smaller in size but equal in brilliance, set in gold filigree. The matching bracelet had six graduated emeralds and fastened with a gold clasp. Each of the delicate drop earrings consisted of three tiny gems, strung on gold chains. "They must be worth a fortune," George said.

  "Fifty thousand," Nancy replied. "And Lieutenant Easterling said they're heirlooms."

  She slipped the earrings and bracelet into the soft doth bag and held it open for George, who carefully slid in the necklace. Nancy pulled the drawstring taut, tucked the pouch into her jacket pocket, then peered out the window into the night. "I have a feeling that we may not have been the only ones who had an eye on Jennifer."

  "Possible," George replied. She leaned over and turned off the light. "Now we know why Jennifer wore that fanny pack all the time. She was carrying the emeralds in it."

  Nancy nodded. "Yes, and the emeralds may have been the reason she was looking for a post office, too. But where would she mail them? She knows that Palumbo's in jail."

  "Maybe she was going to mail them to herself," George suggested.

  "Good thought," Nancy acknowledged.

  "And since she couldn't get to a post office," George continued, "she thought she'd catch a bus and run away with them."

  "That doesn't hold up," Nancy said. "She could have left Emerson with them as early as Wednesday. They came from a burglary Monday night."

  George nodded. "I guess you're right," she said. "I know this sounds crazy, but do you actually think that Jennifer is the fence for Palumbo? I mean, we know that she knows him, but how would she know where to peddle stolen jewelry? Or anything else, for that matter. She's a college student majoring in early childhood education. Not exactly top qualifications for a jewelry fence."

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Nancy smiled. "I just don't have the answer to that," she said. "Yet."

  "So what do we do now?"

  "I'm going to call Sergeant Telfer again. The police need to know that we've recovered the emeralds. And the report from Florida might shed some light on this, if it's in. You're going to stay here with the door locked and the lights out and watch for any activity around the cabins."

  "And guard the emeralds," George added.

  "No," said Nancy. "The emeralds are going with me."

  "That's not fair," George protested. "You're setting yourself up as a target. If you won't leave them here, at least let me go along to protect you."

  "George," Nancy said gently. "You're the one who needs protection. You see, if someone is after these emeralds, whoever it is is looking for a young woman who's tall and has dark hair. Jennifer used to look like that before she had her hair bleached. You fit the description. But I don't. The emeralds go with me."

  "I never thought of that," George mumbled. She sat down on the side of the bed. "Nan, be careful out there."

  Nancy nodded. "I will. I promise. If you see Jennifer leaving her cabin, whistle at me. If you see anything, whistle at me!"

  "Okay."

  "When I come back, I'll knock twice, and then twice again. That way you'll know it's me."

  Nancy pulled the door firmly shut behind her and listened for the lock to catch before she started down the path to the phone booth. Off in the woods to her left she could hear the plaintive hoot of an owl, the only sound to break the silence of the night. With one hand in her jacket pocket, she fingered the soft fabric pouch that protected the emeralds, and tried to visualize the women who'd worn them and the occasions on which they'd been worn.

  She glanced back up at their dark ca
bin, where she knew George was watching at the window, and a vague feeling of uneasiness came over her. She'd be glad when the bike trip was over and they were safely home, Nancy sighed. One thing was certain. George was in grave danger.

  She gave one final look around and stepped into the phone booth. Headquarters answered on the second ring, and within moments Nancy was connected with Sergeant Telfer.

  "I thought you were never going to get back to me," the officer said as soon as Nancy identified herself. Without waiting for Nancy to reply, she continued. "I called the lieutenant about the Florida report as soon as I read it." Sergeant Telfer's voice was tense with excitement. "Ms. Drew, you are in imminent danger. The lieutenant says you are to take every precaution if the man you know as Michael Kirby joins your group again. He also goes by the name Kirby Stanton, and he's wanted by the police in four states, including this one and Florida."

  "Kirby Stanton," Nancy repeated. "K.S. Those were the initials on the briefcase in his van."

  "He has a long record of vehicular theft, assault, and armed robbery, and must be"—she repeated the words—" must be considered armed and dangerous. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," Nancy replied. "I understand. He left the campground an hour ago. But I'll be careful. Does he have any connection with Stephen Palumbo?"

  "Yes, he and Palumbo served time together in Florida, and we think they were partners in three jewelry store robberies in Texas. Texas authorities think Stanton was the fence, but they couldn't prove it."

  "The fence!" Nancy said. "So it's probable that he's the fence for Palumbo in the Emerson ville burglaries, too." She paused and then spoke, almost to herself. "So where does Jennifer fit in?"

  "I don't know," Sergeant Telfer said. "We believe Kirby Stanton's the fence, but Palumbo hasn't admitted it."

  "Sergeant, I have the emeralds from one of the Emerson ville burglaries." Nancy could hear the woman gasp on the other end of the line. "It's a long and complicated story," Nancy continued, "but I think that's what Michael Kirby, or Kirby Stanton, is looking for. They were in the possession of Jennifer Bover, one of the cyclists. Were the campus police able to give you anything more on her?"