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  “Nice try, Nickerson,” Matsuo said. “But your friend already knows that theory’s no good. No, it seems Ms. Ferraro has been stealing. The cameras in the department store finally caught her at it, and her boss called us this morning. We picked her up at work at ten-thirty, and since she couldn’t post bail, she’s been here all day.”

  Nancy nodded slowly. “So that’s where Michelle got the money to pay for all that stereo equipment,” she murmured, half to herself.

  “Very observant of you,” Matsuo said. Then he suppressed a yawn. “Okay, we’ll look into these attacks, Ms. Drew. But I’m sure you’ve made some enemies with all your past cases. You’ve sent a few criminals to jail in your time. Any one of them might be out to get you. I have to tell you, the fact that you ruined the evidence from the first car incident by not calling us in to look at it doesn’t make our job any easier. We’ll have to start from scratch and conduct this investigation in a logical way.”

  “But isn’t it logical to think the attacks on my car might have something to do with the case I’m working on right now?” Nancy asked evenly.

  “We’ll look into it,” Matsuo repeated. “And I would appreciate it if you’d keep out of it from now on and let the police do their job. Now ask Merriwell out there to give you a ride home. It’s almost one-thirty in the morning. I, for one, am beat.”

  Nancy and Ned got up and left the office. Outside, Ned turned to her. “I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the police,” he said, sounding frustrated. “All it did was get Matsuo on your back as well as mine.”

  “I’m sorry, Ned.” Nancy felt awful. He was right, she knew. In her eagerness to pin the crime on Michelle, she had jumped the gun.

  And who knows what clues I might have missed while I was chasing after evidence to fit my theory about Michelle? Nancy wondered miserably. Thanks to my mistake, the real criminal has had all this time to cover his tracks. How will I ever solve this case?

  She and Ned rode back to his house in silence. When they got there, Ned’s parents greeted them anxiously. Nancy listened while Ned gave them an edited account of what had happened at the police station. She noticed that he didn’t tell them that their prime suspect had just been cleared. Nancy guessed he didn’t want to upset them further.

  “Nancy, your father called,” Mrs. Nickerson told her when Ned had finished. “He’s waiting up until you get home. Can we drive you?”

  “Thanks for the offer, but if my car still runs I won’t need to bother you,” Nancy told her.

  Ned walked her out to her car and stood by while she started the engine. In spite of what it had been through, the Mustang seemed to be working all right. “I’ll call you in the morning,” she told Ned. “And, Ned—I really am sorry. I guess I blew it tonight, huh?”

  Ned gave her a weak smile. “Hey, it’s just a little setback, that’s all,” he said. “We’ll start again tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow, Nancy thought as she headed home. Tomorrow is Tuesday. Two days until the grand jury!

  • • •

  “What’s your next move?” asked Carson Drew the following morning as he and Nancy were having breakfast.

  Nancy swallowed a bite of toast. “I’m going to backtrack,” she said. She’d lain awake a good part of the night, going over the case in her mind. “I was too quick to drop the idea that Foyle was killed to prevent him from spilling the beans about the insurance scam. Michelle just seemed like such a perfect villain that I didn’t bother to do the things I should have.”

  “Like what?” her father wanted to know.

  “Like check Dr. Meyers’s alibi for the time of the murder,” Nancy replied. “Like find out how much money is in Foyle’s bank account.”

  Her father nodded approvingly. “Smart. If there’s a lot less than a hundred thousand dollars in there, that’s a clear sign that he split the payment with someone else.” He took a sip of coffee, then said, “But details about other people’s accounts aren’t freely given out. How will you get around that?”

  “Chief McGinnis can call the Mapleton police and find out for me—if I can talk him into it,” Nancy answered, grinning. “He said he owed me a favor, after all the times I’ve helped the River Heights police.”

  Nancy’s father grinned back at her. “Good luck,” he said. “And please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  After her father went to work, Nancy called the River Heights police chief and told him what she needed. As she guessed, he did resist for a while, but finally agreed to call his colleagues in Mapleton and find out what he could.

  Twenty minutes later he called Nancy back. “I had to wait for a while, but finally I managed to slip the question in,” he said. “It seems Toby Foyle had a grand total of twenty-five thousand two hundred and seven dollars and change in his account. Nowhere near a hundred grand.”

  “All right!” Nancy was elated by the news. At last, she thought, I’m on the right track!

  “Thanks, Chief,” she said fervently. “Now I owe you one!”

  The chief groaned. “Do me a favor,” he said. “Just stay out of trouble for a while.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Nancy told him, laughing. She hung up and immediately dialed Bess’s number.

  “Bess, I need you to use your acting talents again,” she said when Bess came on the line. “And George’s as well. Can you call her and have her come to your house at eleven? I’ll pick you both up.”

  “Sure thing,” Bess agreed. “Hey, do you think I’ve got a future in Hollywood?”

  “Absolutely,” Nancy said, chuckling.

  After she hung up, she called Information and got the address of Dr. Meyers’s office. Then she went upstairs to shower and dress. By a quarter to eleven she was on her way to Bess’s house.

  “Boy, your car looks as if it’s been through a war,” Bess commented as she and George climbed into the Mustang. “What happened?”

  On the drive to Mapleton, Nancy filled her friends in on everything that had happened the day before, concluding with the news that Michelle Ferraro was no longer a suspect in Foyle’s murder. Then she told them about the missing money from Foyle’s insurance settlement, and her idea that Foyle had split the payment with someone else.

  “So it looks as if the accomplice theory may be on target after all, huh?” George said.

  “Right. I’m going to revive my investigation of Dr. Meyers. That’s where you guys come in,” Nancy said. “I need to look at his appointment book to get the names of the patients he saw the morning of Foyle’s murder. And I also want to get into his office to see if I can find out where he banks.”

  “Let me guess,” Bess said, brushing her blond hair back from her face. “You need us to create a diversion while you sneak in.”

  “You got it,” Nancy replied with a grin.

  Dr. Meyers’s office was in a small brick building on Beechwood Street, right down the block from where Toby Foyle had lived. Nancy parked across the street, and the girls sat in the car until Nancy spotted Dr. Meyers leaving the building. She glanced at her watch. “Twelve-fifteen,” she said. “He must be going to lunch. Let’s hope he’ll be out for a while.”

  After getting out of the car, they went into the building, checked the directory, and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, where Meyers’s office was. Nancy paused outside his door.

  “Okay,” she said to Bess and George. “Give me a couple of seconds, then start making noise out here. Try to keep the receptionist occupied for at least five minutes.”

  Bess gave Nancy the thumbs-up sign. Smiling, Nancy opened the door and went inside.

  The office was empty except for a pleasant-looking Asian woman who sat in a little booth at one end. “May I help you?” she asked Nancy politely.

  “I’d like to make an appointment to see Dr. Meyers,” Nancy began.

  At that instant a bloodcurdling scream rang out from the hallway. “My hand! I think it’s broken!” Bess’s voice wailed. “You crushed it in the d
oor—I’m going to sue!”

  “It wasn’t my fault!” Nancy heard George yell back. “You got in the way!”

  The receptionist looked toward the doorway, alarmed. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “I think I’d better see what the trouble is.”

  “Of course. I’ll just wait right here,” Nancy said sweetly.

  The second the receptionist left the office, Nancy hurried into the booth. The doctor’s appointment book was lying open on the desk, and Nancy flipped back through the pages, hunting for the previous Saturday’s entries.

  “Here we are,” she murmured as she found the page. Meyers had had an appointment at eight-thirty the morning of Foyle’s murder and another at nine-thirty, she noted. Foyle was killed about nine-fifteen.

  Nancy frowned. Even supposing the first patient had left by nine, that didn’t give Meyers much time to get to the warehouse and into position to kill Foyle. The warehouse was a good ten-minute drive from the center of town.

  But it was still possible, she thought. She whipped out her notebook and copied down the names and telephone numbers of the two patients. She’d have to call and find out when they had arrived and left.

  Nancy paused to listen. Bess and George were still arguing in the hall, and now it sounded as if the receptionist had joined in, too. Nancy smiled and headed for Dr. Meyers’s private office.

  The small room was dominated by a heavy mahogany desk that looked as if it had seen better days. Also, Nancy noted with a triumphant feeling, there was a door in the far wall that clearly led out to the hall. A separate entrance—Meyers could have left without his receptionist knowing!

  Nancy quickly went through the drawers. In the second one she found a scrap of paper with the name T. Foyle scrawled on it. A phone number had been written down, then crossed out, and a new one written beneath it.

  Nancy pocketed the scrap. It wasn’t much, but it might help to prove that Meyers had had more than a professional acquaintance with Foyle. Doctors didn’t usually keep their patients’ phone numbers—their receptionists did.

  In the fourth drawer Nancy found what she was looking for—a book of checks from Meyers’s bank. She copied the name of the bank and the account number off the top check, then replaced the book in the drawer. Just as she slid the drawer shut, the door on the far wall swung open.

  Startled, Nancy looked up—and found herself staring into the furious eyes of Dr. Meyers!

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING in my office?” Meyers snapped indignantly.

  “Uh—I was looking for a pen,” Nancy improvised, hoping her alarm wasn’t noticeable in her voice. “There was no one here, so I thought I’d just help myself.”

  “A pen?” Dr. Meyers scoffed. His pale eyes surveyed her with cold disbelief. “There are pens at the receptionist’s desk. And you wouldn’t have had to enter an obviously private office to get one, either. No, Ms. Drew, you were snooping. I’m beginning to think you’re harassing me.”

  Nancy came out from behind the desk. “Are you going to call the police?” she asked evenly. Behind her back she crossed her fingers, hoping that she’d taken the right tack. If Meyers had anything to hide, he wouldn’t want to call attention to himself by bringing in the authorities.

  Meyers glared at her for a moment, but finally shook his head. “No, just get out of here,” he growled. “And don’t bother me again, or I will call the police.”

  Nancy stepped past him and out of the office. Her heart was pounding furiously, but she forced herself to keep a steady pace. She didn’t want him to know how startled she’d been by his sudden appearance.

  She went out into the waiting room, where the receptionist gave her a puzzled look. “Were you just in Dr. Meyers’s office?” she inquired.

  “Yes, I was,” Nancy told her. “He doesn’t think I need an appointment—all I have is a cold. So I guess I won’t be bothering you. Thanks, anyway.” She gave the receptionist a quick smile and ducked out of the door.

  Out in the hallway she breathed a sigh of relief. Bess and George were nowhere in sight—Nancy supposed the receptionist got them to quarrel outside.

  They were waiting for her at the car. “What happened?” George asked anxiously. “We were still carrying on when Dr. Meyers came back all of a sudden and went through a door down the hall. I guess he hadn’t left for lunch after all. Did he catch you?”

  “Red-handed,” Nancy confirmed, unlocking the car door and climbing in. “But he didn’t want to call the police on me. Now, don’t you guys think that’s interesting?”

  “Why?” Bess looked briefly puzzled. Then her blue eyes lit up. “Oh, maybe that means he’s got something to hide! Way to go, Nan. Did you find anything suspicious in his office?”

  Nancy shrugged. “Nothing major. I did get the name of his bank and his checking account number, though,” she said. “I’m hoping my dad will be able to pull some strings and find out if he’s made any large deposits lately. Come on. Let’s go to Ned’s house. I need to make some calls.”

  When they got there, Ned answered the door. His parents were out, and he was alone in the house. He seemed overjoyed to see them. Poor Ned, Nancy thought, he really hasn’t been able to leave the house for the past three days!

  After they’d settled in the living room, Nancy told him about the new angle she was investigating, and about her adventure at Dr. Meyers’s office.

  “So this case really does have something to do with the insurance scam after all,” Ned said excitedly. “That makes me feel like less of an idiot.”

  “It might, Ned,” Nancy said cautiously. “We still don’t have any proof, and I don’t want to jump to conclusions again.”

  Bess was sitting on the carpet. “Hey, do you think Meyers and Foyle planned the scam before Foyle’s accident?” she asked. “What if it turned out they rigged the whole thing, including the accident?”

  “That could be,” Nancy responded. “Or he might have had a real accident and then decided to take advantage of the situation to get the insurance money. But I am beginning to think Foyle wasn’t the main brain behind this fraud. He kept only a quarter of the money, don’t forget. Maybe he was just a pawn.” She sighed. “But before I start jumping the gun again, let’s see what my dad can find out for us.”

  Going to the Nickersons’ kitchen, she picked up the phone and dialed Carson Drew’s office number. “Dad,” she began after they said hello, “your friend Bill Graham is a bigwig with”—she consulted the name she had written down—“Second National Bank of Illinois, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, why?” Carson Drew wanted to know. “Do I sense that you’re about to ask me to do something that’s not quite kosher?”

  Nancy laughed. “You know me too well,” she confessed. “Listen, can you get some information about an account for me? All I need to know is if the person who has the account recently made any large deposits. To the tune of seventy-five thousand dollars or so.”

  Carson whistled. “Sounds like you’re onto something,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do, and I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” Nancy gave him the account number. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”

  Next Nancy called the woman who had the eight-thirty appointment with Dr. Meyers on the day Foyle was killed. From her voice, Nancy guessed the woman was elderly. She pondered for a while, then said she wasn’t sure when she had left Dr. Meyers’s office, but she didn’t think she could have been there more than half an hour.

  Nancy thanked her and hung up. Then she tried calling the woman who had the nine-thirty appointment, but there was no answer.

  So, Nancy thought, hanging up again, Dr. Meyers was alone for at least some time between nine and nine-thirty that morning. During that time he could have raced over to the warehouse, met Foyle, and killed him.

  A little later Nancy’s father called to report that his friend at the bank was in a meeting until later that afternoon. Nancy swallowed
her impatience and settled in to wait. Bess and George went out to buy sandwiches and sodas, and the three girls ate with Ned and talked about the case.

  At three-thirty the Nickersons’ phone rang again. Ned answered and passed the receiver to Nancy. “It’s your dad,” he said excitedly.

  “Dad,” Nancy said into the phone. “Any news?”

  “I’m not sure.” Carson Drew’s voice sounded puzzled. “Bill Graham tells me Meyers made several cash deposits to his account in the last two weeks. The total amount of the deposits is a little under twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  Nancy saw why her father was confused. “So where’s the other fifty thousand?” she asked. “The settlement Foyle got was for a hundred thousand dollars, but he kept only a quarter of it. Did Meyers put the rest in another account?”

  “Not in Second National Bank,” Carson told her. “Bill said Meyers has no other accounts there.”

  Nancy thought for a moment. “Well, maybe he put it in another bank. It would be foolish of him to keep it all in one place,” she said. “But we’ve finally got a real link between Meyers, Foyle, and the insurance scam! Dad, this is great! Thanks a million.”

  Nancy hung up and told her friends the news. Ned’s face lit up. “We’re getting close, Nancy,” he said. “I can feel it.”

  Suddenly George spoke up. “I don’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade,” she said hesitantly, looking across the kitchen table at Nancy, “but there is one thing about the case that’s bothering me.”

  “What’s that?” Nancy asked.

  “It seems so small-scale,” George began.

  Bess cut in with a little shriek. “You call a hundred thousand dollars ‘small scale’?” she demanded.

  “No, wait a second.” Nancy was struck by George’s point. “I see what you mean, George. Insurance claims can be much higher—in the millions sometimes. A hundred thousand is not that much money, especially when you’re splitting it.”