Hotline to Danger Read online

  Outside B.D.’s office, phones rang, and police officers bustled back and forth, but Nancy didn’t notice any of it. “B.D., if Mrs. Thackett’s the murderer, then how do you explain the N slashed on Paul’s shirt? And what about the person in black who attacked me and the phone-bugging and the stuff in the envelope?” Nancy shook her head. “If you ask me, it doesn’t add up.”

  “You’re right,” B.D. agreed. “But my job is to take the evidence and make the best sense out of it I can.”

  Nancy frowned and, making a steeple with her fingers, rested her chin on them. “That’s what I’m trying to do, too. You know one of my theories was that Mrs. Thackett hired someone to help her. I figured—”

  B.D. dropped his feet onto the floor and let out a whoop. “That’s it, Drew!” He jumped up. “There are tons of private detectives out there who’d do anything for a buck. I’m going to get some officers on it. If we can prove that Mrs. Thackett hired someone to do her dirty work, we’ll really nail her!”

  Before Nancy could say anything, he gave her the thumbs-up sign and strode from the office.

  When he left, Nancy’s frown only deepened. A hired detective still didn’t explain the information in the envelope.

  Reaching into her jacket pocket, Nancy slid out the envelope and reread the name and address on the check. The address was for a posh area in River Heights. Nancy had assumed the thousand-dollar check was a donation. But what if it wasn’t?

  There was one easy way to find out. Nancy got up and hunted around B.D.’s office until she found a local phone book. Then she looked up Mrs. Johnson’s number and dialed.

  “Hello. Mrs. Johnson? This is Nancy Drew from the teen center.”

  “The teen center!” The woman chirped on the other end. “What a wonderful place. What can I do for you, Miss Drew?”

  “We wanted to thank you for your generous donation,” Nancy replied.

  “Oh, there’s no need to thank me,” Mrs. Johnson gushed. “Thank you for all the fine work you folks do at the center. I know my checks for December and January funded some excellent projects. So you tell Mr. A that if he keeps up that wonderful work, my next check will arrive right on time!”

  Nancy thanked her, then said goodbye.

  She looked at the check again. It was dated February 24. Last month. And Mrs. Johnson had already sent checks for December and January.

  Hmmm. December and January were the months covered in the accounting ledger.

  Could there be a connection?

  Slim chance, Nancy thought, still—

  She unfolded the ledger page and scanned the columns. On the accounts payable side someone had written “nls, lmbr, sw, hmmr, Shtrk,” then a monetary amount.

  Nancy studied the abbreviations. If you added vowels, the words were nails, lumber, saw, hammer, Sheetrock, items that had been bought for the renovation of the dorm in the teen center.

  A prickle of excitement raced up Nancy’s spine. Was the page from a teen center ledger? If Paul and Kip were partners in some kind of financial scam, what better place to embezzle money from than the teen center? Mr. A had said Paul helped with the paperwork, so he probably had had access to the books.

  Nancy grabbed a piece of scrap paper, and started writing down the first four entries in the accounts receivable column, adding vowels as she listed them: Henry Dorset and Family—$2,000; Lions Club—$1,240; G. D. Hopkins—$400; Women’s Auxiliary—$560.

  It had to be a list of donors, Nancy decided. That meant the page could definitely be from the teen center account ledger!

  Quickly, she added up the sums in the accounts receivable column. In two months, the center had taken in over ten thousand dollars in donations. Yet, adding up the accounts payable side showed that the center had spent only two thousand dollars in that same period of time.

  Where was the other eight thousand dollars? Nancy wondered. Was Mr. A saving it for the new dorm? Except, when they’d been on the third floor, she clearly remembered the director telling her that funds had dried up.

  Again, Nancy studied the accounting page. She made another discovery: Mrs. Johnson’s donations for December and January weren’t listed on the sheet!

  Nancy reached for the phone and dialed Mrs. Johnson. “Excuse me for bothering you again,” she said. “But did we send you a receipt for your donation?”

  “Receipt? Oh, that’s not necessary,” Mrs. Johnson replied. “That’s what I told that fine young man when I gave him the last check.”

  “You mean Paul?” Nancy asked, her mouth going dry.

  “Why, yes. I told him that the best receipt the center could give me was the assurance that my money was helping send some poor child to college.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy said politely. Only I think your money was helping some crook get rich, she thought. Someone could even have stolen checks right out of the teen center mailbox.

  Just then B.D. burst into his office. “Mission accomplished. I’ve got two guys ready to shake down every private eye in the area.”

  “Great, B.D.,” Nancy said. “Only look at this.” She held out the page from the ledger. “I think I’ve finally figured out what Paul was trying to tell us.”

  “What’s that?” B.D.’s brow furrowed as he glanced down at the sheet she was holding out. But when Nancy started to explain about the missing donations, he strolled around his desk, sat down, and propped his feet up again.

  “Look, Nancy,” he finally interrupted. “From what I’m hearing, someone was probably stealing checks from the center, and maybe there was a little creative accounting going on, too. But that’s a job for the fraud unit. This is a murder investigation.”

  “I know, but this all ties into my hunch that Paul was working with a partner who—”

  The phone rang on B.D.’s desk, cutting Nancy off.

  “Detective Hawkins,” B.D. answered. “Yeah.” As he listened, the detective’s eyes flashed excitedly, and he dropped his feet to the floor. “We’ll be there in five minutes.” Grinning, he slammed down the phone. “Let’s roll,” he told Nancy as he jumped up and grabbed his jacket from the hook on the wall. “They’ve found Rachel!”

  Ten minutes later B.D. pulled to the curb in front of the Chestmont Hotel. As Nancy climbed out, two plainclothes officers immediately approached the car. While B.D. talked with them, Nancy studied the hotel. It was a narrow, three-story brick structure with ornate molding and cornices that told her it had once been quite grand. Now the paint was peeling, and the bricks were gray with soot.

  “She’s in room 3B,” B.D. told Nancy. Taking her arm, he escorted her into the lobby of the hotel. “Both the day clerk and the manager have identified her.”

  As they climbed the stairs, Nancy’s heart pounded with excitement. When they reached the third floor, B.D. directed one officer to stand in front of the stairs and the other officer to wait at the end of the hall.

  “Okay, Nancy. This is where you do your thing,” B.D. said, pointing to 3B.

  Nancy nodded, took a deep breath, then rapped on the door. “Rachel?” she called. “It’s Nancy from the hotline.”

  When there was no answer, Nancy pressed her ear to the door. “Rachel? I know you’re in there. And I know you’re scared. Let me help. Please.”

  This time Nancy heard shuffling sounds, as if someone was walking slowly to the door.

  “Nancy?” a voice whispered.

  “Hi, Rachel.” Nancy tried to sound cheery. “Won’t you let me in?”

  There was a long silence. Then Nancy heard the sound of a deadbolt turning. She glanced up at B.D. He nodded, then flattened himself against the left side of the door.

  The door opened a couple of inches. Rachel peered through the crack. Nancy could see that the girl’s red hair was a tangled mass of curls and that her eyes were bloodshot. “Are you alone?” Rachel asked.

  Nancy gulped. She knew if she lied, she might lose Rachel’s trust. “No. But—”

  Before the door could slam shut, Nancy stuck
her foot in the crack. Then B.D. whirled to her side and shoved the door open with both hands.

  Rachel fell backward onto the bed. With a cry of pain, she raised her arms in front of her face as if to shield herself from a blow.

  “It’s all right!” Nancy rushed to the girl’s side, slid her arm around her shoulders and held her close. “This is Detective Hawkins, Rachel. He’s here to help you.”

  B.D. leaned down. “Hey. I’m a good guy.” He grinned at her.

  Lowering her arms, Rachel laid her head on Nancy’s shoulder and started to cry with exhaustion. Nancy hugged her closer, then glanced around the tiny room. The bed took up most of one side. On the other side was a narrow closet, and next to it, a door leading into a bathroom. The bedroom had a window that opened to a fire escape.

  “I’m sorry,” Rachel sobbed. “I guess I really am glad to see you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but—now I’m so tired and hungry and confused, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  B.D. jumped up and waved to the officer in the hallway. “Get us something hot and nourishing to eat. Soup, tea, whatever. And make it quick,” he called, then sat down on the other side of Rachel. “Hey. You need to quit running and let us help. That’s what we’re here for.”

  “I know.” Rachel sniffed. Nancy pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it to her.

  Rachel wiped her cheeks, then blew her nose. “Only I’m not running from the police,” she whispered. “I’m running from that night. From that horrible nightmare. Because—” She shuddered and her eyes filled with tears. “I saw my mother kill Paul!”

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  YOU ACTUALLY SAW your mother kill Paul?” Nancy exclaimed.

  Rachel dabbed her freckled cheeks with the tissue. “No. But I know who it was. Paul came to Billie’s apartment on Monday night. He was really upset. He said he had a meeting with someone at ten o’clock. When he said it was by the warehouse, I got really worried because that’s where the members of his old gang hang out.”

  She gulped, then went on. “But I didn’t have a car, so I had to call a cab. By the time I made it to the back of the warehouse, all I saw was my mother standing over the body. The headlights of her car were on, so I saw her clearly.”

  She looked up at B.D., then at Nancy, tears filling her eyes again. “I knew she wanted to kill Paul. She hated him because she thought he was the reason I wouldn’t come home. She’d already tried to pay him off with five thousand dollars!”

  Rachel’s shoulders stiffened. “Monday morning I went up to Paul’s room. He showed me the money. I couldn’t believe it! For eighteen years she’s run my life as if I were a prize show dog. Now she was trying to pay off the first guy who ever liked me just for myself.” She gave Nancy a sad smile. “Paul told me he was giving the money back to her.”

  Then abruptly, she stood up, her cheeks flushed with anger. “So when he came over to Billie’s apartment that night, I figured it was her he was meeting behind the warehouse. When he gave her back the money and told her he was still going to see me, she must’ve been so furious she killed him!”

  Her arms wrapped protectively around her, Rachel looked first at Nancy, then at B.D. with an expression of despair. “I knew my mother would do anything to get me away from Paul, but I didn’t think she’d kill him.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” B.D. asked.

  “I couldn’t turn in my own mother!” Rachel exclaimed. “I knew I had to report the murder, so I called the hotline, hoping Billie was on duty and she’d know what to do. When Nancy answered, I panicked and ran.” Her shoulders slumped. Turning, she stared vacantly out the window. “Only now—now I see that if my mother’s guilty, she has to be punished.”

  B.D. slapped his hand on his thigh. “Well, case closed,” he announced.

  A rap on the door announced the arrival of Rachel’s food. Minutes later, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, wolfing down a ham sandwich, french fries, and a chocolate milk shake. B.D. was perched on the windowsill, eating a hamburger.

  When Rachel finally leaned back on the bed with a satisfied sigh, Nancy asked the questions that had been bothering her.

  “Rachel, why do you think Paul gave you that envelope for the police? And when did he give it to you?”

  “Monday night, when he came over to Billie’s apartment. He told me about the meeting, then handed me the envelope. He said to give it to the cops if something happened.”

  “Did you know what was in it?” Nancy asked.

  “Look, Nan,” B.D. said as he threw his trash away. “Let’s get Rachel down to the station where we can do this officially. She’s got a lot of questions to answer.”

  Nancy jumped up. “Wait, B.D. If Paul gave Rachel the page from the teen center account and the check and told her to go to the police if anything happened to him, then it has to have something to do with why he was murdered.”

  Nancy swung her gaze to Rachel. “Was your mother in any way involved with the teen center? Did she ever make a donation?”

  Rachel snorted. “No way. My mother hates any kids who don’t look like they’re headed to Harvard.”

  “See?” Nancy grabbed B.D.’s arm. “There’s more to this case than Rachel’s mom. Paul must have found out that something shady was going on at the center. Maybe he was even in on it, but then changed his mind.”

  B.D. looked unconvinced. “You already explained all that, Nancy. But now that we have Rachel’s testimony, my job is to arrest Mrs. Thackett for Paul’s murder.”

  “But what if there’s a chance the killer isn’t Mrs. Thackett?”

  B.D. crossed his arms and gave Nancy a wary look. “All right. What do you have in mind?”

  “Since the phone tap and the tape recorder are still hooked up, we need to have Rachel call the hotline and tell the volunteer where she is.”

  Now Rachel looked confused. “But you already know where I am.”

  “Only B.D. and I know,” Nancy explained. “Whoever tapped the phone has obviously been looking for you, too. My hunch is when the real killer hears the message on the tape recorder, he or she will rush over here, pronto!”

  “And we’ll nab him.” B.D. suddenly looked interested.

  Even Rachel brightened. “I’ll do anything to help, especially if there’s a chance the murderer isn’t my mother.”

  “No. You’ve done enough.” Nancy touched Rachel lightly on the hand. “I’ll stay here and pretend I’m you.”

  B.D. jerked his head up. “No way, Drew. You’ve done some crazy things before, but the police department has trained officers for situations like this.”

  “Only there’s no time to get one up here and brief her,” Nancy protested. “Besides, you’ll be here to protect me,” she added, smiling convincingly.

  B.D. rolled his eyes. “Oh, boy. Why do I let you talk me into these things?”

  “Because you know I’m right,” Nancy teased. “Come on, Rachel, let’s make that call, then we’ll switch clothes.”

  • • •

  An hour later Nancy was crouched behind the closed bathroom door. She had the water running in the sink as if she were washing up. B.D. was hiding in the tiny closet, his gun drawn, the door cracked open.

  Nancy was glad that Rachel was safe at the police station. She was also glad B.D. had gone along with her plan. She knew that he had enough information to arrest Mrs. Thackett. And since they’d been waiting an hour and no one had shown up, she was beginning to think he was right—that the bookkeeping page and the check in the envelope weren’t related to the murder.

  Nancy grimaced as she rubbed a cramp in her left calf. Then she stuck a finger under the red wig she was wearing and scratched her scalp. Lucky for her, one of the undercover cops at the station had had it in his locker and was able to bring it over.

  Suddenly, the bedroom door opened with such a loud bang, Nancy almost fell over.

  “Rachel!” Mrs. Thackett’s voice boomed through the room. “T
hank goodness I—”

  Her voice was abruptly cut off by the sound of B.D. charging from the closet and yelling, “Halt! You’re under arrest for the murder of Paul Remer!”

  Mrs. Thackett screamed.

  For a second Nancy was stunned. So Rachel’s mother had killed Paul. Slowly, she stood up. She could hear Mrs. Thackett protesting shrilly.

  When she went out into the room, B.D. was handcuffing the woman. Two other officers had rushed to the doorway when Mrs. Thackett screamed.

  “I want my lawyer,” Mrs. Thackett was now demanding loudly. “You police have harassed me enough. Take these handcuffs off, right now.”

  “Lady, if you were innocent, you wouldn’t be here,” B.D. said. He handed her over to the tall officer. “Read Mrs. Thackett her rights, then take her down to your squad car. I’ll be with you in a second.”

  Still complaining noisily, Mrs. Thackett was led out the door.

  “Well, Nancy, can we finally close this case?” B.D. asked her.

  She nodded. “Yes. Still, it’s hard to believe Mrs. Thackett hated Paul enough to kill him.”

  “Let’s just say she loved her daughter too much,” B.D. replied, shaking his head. “And you may be right. She might have hired someone who researched Paul’s background and knew he’d had a run-in with the Nighthawks.” He sighed. “I’m sure the whole story will come out soon enough.”

  “Yes, but I sure feel sorry for Rachel,” Nancy said. “She’s been through a lot, and now there’s even more in store for her.”

  “I know. Can I give you a lift?”

  Nancy glanced around the tiny room. She’d noticed some of Rachel’s things in the bathroom. “Let me just get Rachel’s stuff, and and I’ll be down.”

  B.D. smiled, then left the room.

  Nancy started toward the bathroom doorway. A loud thunk outside the bedroom window made her freeze in her tracks. It sounded as if someone had jumped onto the metal floor of the fire escape.

  She held her breath. Nothing. Exhaling with relief, Nancy pushed open the bathroom door the same second a black shape hurtled through the bedroom window.