Hotline to Danger Page 8

  “That’s for sure,” Nancy said.

  He shot her a puzzled look. When the girls finished telling him all that had happened, he whistled softly. “Do you think Paul stole the check from the center?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy replied. “If he’d found a way to cash teen center donation checks, that would account for the five thousand he had stashed in his room. But then why would he give the check to Rachel to hand over to the police? It would only prove he was guilty of stealing.” She shook her head in confusion, then reached for the phone receiver. “Anyway, right now I want to check these phones. If someone has bugged them, we may be putting Rachel in jeopardy.”

  Unscrewing the cap on the end of the receiver, she checked inside.

  “It’s clean.” She screwed the receiver back together, replaced it on the phone, and checked the second one. “Nothing. Which means it must be tapped along the line somewhere.”

  “So what should we look for?” Bess asked.

  Nancy snapped her fingers. “Wait a minute. I remember a case where the main phone line was bugged. It was in an old building like this one, and the main connection panel was in the basement.”

  She swung her gaze to Tony. “Does this place have a basement?”

  “Yeah. But I’ve never been down there.”

  Nancy pulled her flashlight from her purse. “There’s always a first time.”

  “Bess and I will answer the phones until the hotline closes,” George said.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Tony asked Nancy as they went down to the first floor.

  Nancy laughed. “No. But I’ll figure it out as I go.”

  She followed him past the rec room and Mr. A’s office. The door was closed, and the only light still on was the one in the hallway.

  “The basement,” Tony said, pointing to the door beyond the director’s office.

  Slowly, he opened it. A wave of damp, musty air hit Nancy in the face.

  Tony ran his fingers along the wall, looking for a light switch. When he flicked it on, nothing happened.

  “Great,” he muttered. “This could be a scene from a horror movie.”

  Nancy grinned, pulled her flashlight out of her bag, then flicked it on. The beam lighted the wooden steps and the landing at the bottom. Cobwebs hung from the banister.

  “I’ll go first.” Nancy stepped onto the top step. It creaked eerily. Carefully, she made her way down into the dungeonlike room. She could hear Tony’s footsteps behind her.

  When she reached the bottom, she swung the beam in an arc. Shadows loomed in every corner. A lone light socket hung from the ceiling. Nancy aimed the flashlight on it.

  “Someone took the bulb out,” she whispered.

  Nervously, Tony stepped closer to her. “Let’s just hope whoever took it isn’t big and mean—and still here.”

  “Look!” Nancy pointed the beam at the wall on the right. Next to the furnace was the main phone panel, the box where all the phone lines in the building converged.

  Nancy scrambled over several dust-covered boxes to get to it. From the panel, a number of colored wires ran in different directions.

  “What are we looking for?” Tony asked.

  “Other wires spliced into these colored ones,” Nancy told him. “That means someone has tapped directly into the line. In newer buildings, the phone wiring is in a secured area. But in these old buildings it’s wide open—a wiretapper’s dream.”

  “Boy, this is more like a spy movie than a horror film.” Tony moved to Nancy’s right and began checking the wires that went toward the ceiling. Bending down, Nancy ran her fingers along the ones that headed behind the furnace.

  “Bingo!” she said triumphantly. She aimed her flashlight on a wire that had been cut in two. New wires had been taped onto each end of the cut wire. Nancy ran the flashlight beam down the spliced-on wires, following them all the way to a tape recorder concealed in a shoebox behind the furnace.

  “Whew.” Nancy whistled appreciatively. “Someone knows what they’re doing. I bet the recorder has a dropout relay. That means when the phone is used, the recorder automatically switches on.”

  Tony peered over Nancy’s shoulder, trying to get a better look. “So how do we know if it works?”

  “We try it out. Go up to the pay phone and call the hotline number. I’ll stay here and see if the tape recorder starts up.”

  Tony looked uncertain. “You’re going to stay down here—alone?”

  “Sure.” Nancy gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Once we know if this works, we’ll call B.D.”

  “All right.”

  Stepping away from the furnace, Nancy turned her flashlight toward the steps so Tony could see where he was going. He stumbled over a box, then hurried up the stairs.

  Nancy had to chuckle. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to get out of the basement as quickly as possible. Crouching down, she pushed her way behind the furnace as close to the recorder as she could get. Then she aimed the beam of light onto the tape inside the recorder. There probably wouldn’t be any sound, so she’d have to watch and see if the reels were activated.

  While she waited, she wondered who could have bugged the lines. Since anyone could come into the center, the suspects were limitless, although it did have to be someone who had knowledge of wiretapping and knew there was a basement.

  And someone who desperately wanted to find Rachel—which meant whoever set up the recorder was probably Paul’s killer.

  Nancy was deep in thought when she heard a creak on the top step. Startled, she jerked upright, then held her breath to listen.

  The basement was silent.

  Nancy clicked off her flashlight, plunging the room into darkness. A moment later she saw a beam of light at the top of the stairs. Her heart pounded with fear as she watched the light dancing on the steps.

  Someone was coming down the stairs, slowly and furtively. Nancy’s breath caught in her throat as a terrible thought shot through her mind.

  It could be Paul’s murderer!

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  NANCY GRIPPED her own flashlight tightly. She had to find a hiding place.

  Quickly, she racked her brain, trying to remember what the rest of the basement looked like. An image of boxes stacked on the far side of the furnace flashed into her mind.

  As the beam of light moved downward, it faintly illuminated the basement. Nancy could see the dark shape of the boxes.

  Ducking low, she crept from behind the dusty furnace. Then she flattened herself on the floor and inched her way behind a wide box on the other side.

  Just in time.

  The beam of light swung toward the furnace, then in the direction of the tape recorder. Nancy held her breath. Whoever was in the basement had to have been the person who bugged the phone!

  Nancy heard a click. She peered around the box, trying to get a glimpse of the person’s face. But the furnace was in the way.

  Then the light swung back toward the steps, and moving swiftly, the person made his or her way upstairs. Nancy jumped up, but all she could see were two shadowy feet disappearing up the steps. Then she heard the door close.

  Snapping on her own flashlight, Nancy pushed past the boxes. When she reached the furnace, she aimed her light on the tape recorder. The person had taken the reel of tape!

  “Just great,” Nancy muttered. Turning, she tiptoed upstairs. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of whoever it was.

  When she reached the top step, she paused. She heard the footsteps in the hallway. Quickly, she banged open the door.

  “Ow!” The door caught Tony on the elbow. “What’s going on?” he asked when he saw her face.

  “Did you see anyone?” Nancy asked as she glanced down the hall to the foyer.

  “No. Why?”

  Without answering, Nancy raced to the front door, which was slightly ajar. But when she jerked it open and ran outside, there was no one on the sidewalk or street.

 
; “What’s going on?” Tony asked from the doorway. He was staring at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Someone came down into the basement and took the tape,” Nancy said as she came back inside. “Was anyone around when you came upstairs?”

  “No. But since I was on the phone in the rec room, I couldn’t see,” Tony explained.

  Nancy blew out her breath. “Then we lost him—or her. It does tell us one thing, though. Whoever bugged the phones knows when the hotline closes down. That must be why the person took the tape. He or she knew Rachel wouldn’t call after eleven.”

  Turning, Nancy headed up the stairs. “We’d better tell Bess and George what happened.”

  “And I need to lock up the hotline office,” Tony said, following her.

  When they got upstairs, Kyle was sitting on the edge of Bess’s desk, talking to her. From the expression on his face, Nancy could tell they’d been discussing something important.

  “Hi, Kyle,” Nancy said. “You didn’t happen to see anyone dash out of the teen center when you came in, did you?”

  “No, why?” Kyle asked.

  Nancy and Tony told Bess, George, and Kyle all that had happened.

  “Whew.” Kyle rubbed his chin. “You guys do have exciting nights. Bess was telling me all about the guy in the leather jacket at the trash cans.” He looked pointedly at Bess. “At least that’s why she said she forgot to call me.”

  Nancy looked over at her friend, who had flushed pink. Then Nancy laughed. “Yeah, that’s why she didn’t call you. She was too busy driving the getaway car.”

  Kyle stood up and reached for Bess’s hand. “Well, let’s see if we can fit in a romantic late dinner before I take you home. After all, we only have a few more days together. Let’s make the most of them.”

  “Sounds great.” Bess grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair. She pulled her keys from her purse and tossed them to Nancy. “Just leave my car in your drive, Nan. And call me in the morning to let me know what happened.”

  When the two left, George turned her attention to Nancy. “So who do you think bugged the phone?”

  “Someone who knows his or her way around the center,” Nancy replied, suppressing a yawn. “Listen, guys, it’s late. I’ll have to call B.D. from home and tell him what happened. First the attacker, then the envelope, and now the phone bug—this case is getting more complicated every minute!”

  • • •

  An hour later Nancy was sprawled on her bed, studying the page from the account ledger. She’d showered and changed into her nightgown, but still she couldn’t sleep. There were too many unanswered questions.

  What was Paul trying to tell the police with the page from the ledger? she wondered. Nancy scanned the sheet, looking for answers. Most of the entries in the columns were abbreviated. There was no heading saying where the page had come from, and although the entries were dated for December and January, there wasn’t a year. For all she knew, it was an assignment from one of Paul’s business courses.

  Setting down the page, Nancy glanced at her bedside phone. She wished B.D. would call. She’d left a message for him a half hour ago.

  With a frustrated sigh, Nancy picked up the check for one thousand dollars. It had to be a donation to the teen center, she decided. Had Paul been stealing checks? And if so, why had he told Rachel to give this one to the police?

  Suddenly it hit Nancy. What if Paul had a partner, and the two of them had been embezzling money from the center? Only something went wrong—the partner got greedy or Paul decided to quit the scam—so the partner decided to kill him. That’s why Paul had given Rachel the check. If he was killed, it might tip off the police about the identity of his murderer.

  The partner would have to be someone who was streetwise enough to know how to sneak into the center and bug a phone.

  Someone like Kip DiFranco.

  Nancy’s mind buzzed excitedly. It all made sense. If Kip and Paul’s partnership had gone sour, maybe that was one reason Paul ratted on Kip about the burglary. If so, Kip would have had two reasons to murder Paul.

  Nancy glanced at the phone again. “Hurry and call, B.D.,” she whispered aloud.

  Then another question hit her. If Kip was the murderer, how did the page from the account ledger fit in?

  Nancy held the sheet up to the light. Maybe it did bear a message in invisible ink, as Bess had suggested. She turned it over. In the left-hand corner, she saw numbers written lightly in pencil.

  Sitting up, she pulled out the drawer of her bedside table and reached for her magnifying glass. When she looked at the paper under the glass, a series of numbers jumped out at her—1287028216. After the numbers someone had printed “Chicago B & T.”

  Nancy got up and padded downstairs to her father’s office. She switched on the light, then went directly to his bookshelf where he kept a pile of phone books. She pulled out the heavy book for the Chicago area and opened it on his desk. Turning to the listings that began with Chicago, she ran her finger down the page. The answer leapt out at her—Chicago Bank and Trust!

  Nancy glanced down again at the numbers on the back of the page from the ledger. They had to be an account number, she told herself excitedly.

  The phone rang next to her. Nancy reached for the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Nancy, this is B.D. I got a message that you called.”

  “B.D.,” Nancy said breathlessly, “wait until you hear my news! I think I just found the evidence you need to crack this case.”

  B.D. chuckled. “Slow down. We may both have cracked the case.”

  “What do you mean?” Nancy asked. “What did you find out?”

  “You tell me your information first.”

  “Okay.” After taking a deep breath, Nancy launched into her tale about the attacker, finding the envelope, and locating the tape recorder.

  “Wow. You really were busy,” B.D. said. “That was good work finding that phone bug. My hunch is we shouldn’t disturb it. I’ll see if I can get an officer to watch the center. We may be able to nab our culprit trying to put in a new tape.”

  “Good. And there’s more,” Nancy continued. “There was a check made out to the teen center and a page from an account ledger in the envelope. I figured out that the check was an uncashed donation to the center.” Nancy told the detective her hunch about Paul and a partner working together. “What if the partnership soured?” she added. “Paul might have decided to go straight. Or the partner got greedy, so he killed Paul.”

  “Uh-huh. And who might this fictitious partner be?” B.D. asked.

  “Kip DiFranco, of course, which means you were right all along.” Nancy told him all the reasons why Kip was a likely suspect.

  “Hmmm.” There was silence on the other end. “So maybe Paul was about to double-cross Kip a second time by taking his information about the scam to the police?”

  Nancy nodded. “Right. But all this is just speculation. I found one more clue that may finger our killer for sure. Written on the page from the ledger was an account number and the name of a bank—Chicago Bank and Trust. I’ll bet if you can trace the holder of that account, we’ll have the name of our killer!”

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  GOOD WORK, DETECTIVE DREW!” B.D. said on the other end of the phone. “Give me the account number. I should have a name for you by the morning.”

  “Now, what’s your information?” Nancy asked eagerly.

  “This evening the lab confirmed that the mud from Mrs. Thackett’s car and a sample of mud from the scene of the crime are a definite match,” B.D. said. “Plus, we just finished questioning Mrs. Thackett. At first she was pretty cooperative, then we told her about the usher seeing her leaving the theater. Well, she quickly clammed up and called some high-powered lawyer. But before she did, we found out one interesting piece of news.” B.D. paused. “That money stashed in Paul’s room? It was a payoff from Rachel’s dear mother.”

  “You mean Mrs. Thackett pai
d Paul not to see her daughter?” Nancy gasped.

  “Right. My guess is Paul met Rachel’s mother at the warehouse to tell her he was keeping the money and that he was still going to see her daughter. Might be motive enough for murder, don’t you think?”

  “Might be.” Nancy frowned. “And that blows my whole theory about Paul’s money coming from stolen checks.”

  B.D. chuckled. “Yeah. I knew you’d be disappointed. Still, I’ll find out about that account number, so you be down at the police station first thing in the morning.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy said, suppressing a huge yawn. “I will.”

  • • •

  “The account belongs to J. R. Communications,” B.D. told her the next morning. It was nine-thirty, and Nancy was standing in front of the detective’s desk. B.D. was leaning back in his swivel chair, his feet in their cowboy boots propped up on the top of his desk. His brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail.

  “J. R. Communications? Who’s that?”

  B.D. shrugged. “Some company. They have a post office box number in Chicago, but they’re not listed in the directory.”

  With a frustrated groan, Nancy sat down on a chair in front of the desk. “And I was so sure that account belonged to the killer.”

  “It’s never that easy.” B.D. chuckled. “But I think with a little more evidence, we’ll be able to arrest Mrs. Thackett.”

  “You mean evidence like Rachel fingering her own mother?” Nancy asked.

  “Right. Which brings me to the really good news—we traced the phone number to a booth on Fourteenth and Main Street. Early this morning, two of my men located a clerk at a hotel near that intersection who thinks Rachel might be staying there. They’re waiting for the manager, to see if he can ID her. They should be calling in any minute.”

  Nancy’s eyes brightened. “Can I come with you?”

  “Yes. I want you there since Rachel seems to trust you. We need to get her into the station, take her statement, and close this case.” B.D. pounded one hand on the desk for emphasis.