Sweet Revenge Read online

  “It’s only been about three minutes,” Nancy protested as she pulled open the closet door. “Just give me a chance to—”

  Nancy froze.

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  Tucked into the back of the closet, behind a pair of leather tennis shoes, was the jar of sweetener.

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  NANCY PICKED UP the small jar and hurried back into the hall. “Guys, I hit the jackpot!”

  Bess’s mouth fell open. “In Samantha’s room? I don’t believe it.” In her surprise she seemed to forget they could be found out any minute. But George grabbed her arm and dragged her down the hall.

  A minute later they were back in their suite with the door safely shut. Bess plopped down on the couch. “I just don’t believe she put that jar there, Nan,” she said again. “Someone’s framing her. Why would she hold on to something so incriminating? Besides, Samantha wouldn’t poison a guy she used to be in love with.”

  Nancy went to get her purse from her room and tucked the jar of sweetener safely inside. “I hope you’re right, Bess.”

  “I hope so, too,” said George. “But how are you going to prove it, Nan?”

  “I’m not sure. Right after lunch I’ll take the jar to the police lab. I want them to tell me whether it’s actually got calomel in it before I start talking to Samantha.” She checked her watch. “We’re already late. We’d better get down to the dining room.”

  • • •

  “You were right, Nancy,” said Officer Sherbinski, coming into the waiting area of the police lab. She held up the jar of sweetener Nancy had given her. “This sweetener has been laced with calomel. I’m afraid this may implicate Samantha.”

  Nancy nodded. She’d been waiting for the better part of the afternoon, but it had been worth it.

  “By the way, Tim Krueger has been released,” the technician added.

  “Why? Lack of evidence?” Nancy asked.

  The officer nodded. “This jar of poisoned sweetener is our best evidence.”

  “It’s not enough to arrest Samantha, though,” Nancy put in quickly.

  “No. But it gives us a very good reason to question her further.”

  After thanking Officer Sherbinski, Nancy went back outside.

  If I could only find the jar of calomel itself! she thought as she climbed into her car and switched on the ignition. But whoever had found the calomel originally had surely gotten rid of it by now. But then Nancy would have thought the poisoner would have thrown the sweetener away, too.

  It was almost six-thirty by the time Nancy reached the inn again. When she opened the door to her suite, Bess and George weren’t there, but something else was. Nancy saw that a note with her name on it had been slipped under the door. It was printed on cheap stationery that had been folded in half. Nancy unfolded it and read the message inside.

  If you want to know more about the poison, meet me in the east wing at 7:00 P.M. tonight.

  It was signed “A Friend.”

  The handwriting was utterly without character. Nancy couldn’t begin to guess whether it had been written by a man or a woman.

  Note in hand, Nancy walked toward her bedroom. What the—

  She hurried over to her bed and snatched up a second piece of paper. This note was from Bess and George.

  Nan,

  We’re down in the dining room. Don’t skip dinner just for a case! Meet us there!

  B&G

  Nancy grinned to herself. She was going to skip dinner. But she’d slip down to the dining room first to ask them to cover for her.

  But Nancy didn’t get to leave the dining room as fast as she’d planned.

  “Tim!” Nancy exclaimed. He was walking toward the Tagleys’ table arm in arm with Samantha.

  “It’s great to be back,” Tim said warmly. “I never would have thought I’d miss the Chocolate Festival. But it only takes a second or two of being in police custody to make you appreciate what you’ve got.”

  “When did they release you?” Nancy asked.

  It was Samantha who answered. “Last night,” she said happily, giving his arm a squeeze. “He’s had a twenty-four-hour vacation from the festival, so now he’s extra-ready to help me out again.” She leaned teasingly against her boyfriend and ruffled his dark hair. “Aren’t you? Now can we please eat? I’m starving.”

  They continued on to the table, but Nancy stayed rooted where she was. A horrible thought had just struck her.

  “Nancy! The appetizers are on their way!”

  Bess’s voice shook her back to reality—sort of. She started toward her friends, who were sitting at a table by themselves.

  “And they’ll be a lot more appetizing if they’re not made of chocolate,” said George as Nancy reached the table and pulled out a chair. “I’m getting a little sick of eating dessert before my main course—”

  Suddenly she stopped speaking and peered more closely at Nancy. “What’s the matter, Nan?”

  “I just talked to Tim,” Nancy said.

  “But—but it’s great that he’s not being held anymore, isn’t it?” Bess asked.

  “Yes,” Nancy said slowly, “but he was released last night—not today.”

  “So?” Bess bit into a chocolate-iced roll.

  “So he could have been the one who poured that flour all over me. He had plenty of time.”

  “Oh, no,” said George. “I was really hoping Tim wasn’t a suspect.”

  “Me, too,” Nancy agreed. “But I guess we can’t rule him out yet.” She sighed. “This is terrible. I have too many suspects!”

  “Maybe eating something will make you feel better,” suggested Bess.

  Nancy shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m not eating. I’ve got a rendezvous instead.”

  “A rendezvous?” echoed George.

  In a low voice Nancy explained.

  “Nan, you can’t meet a total stranger,” Bess protested in a worried voice. “It could be the murderer!”

  “What murderer?” asked Nancy. “No one’s dead that I know of. It’s probably just someone who wants to tell me something about the case in a place where we’re not likely to be overheard. Now, come on. Can you guys really see me not meeting this person, whoever it is?”

  Both of her friends shook their heads.

  “Would you guys cover for me again?” Nancy asked. “If anyone asks for me, don’t tell them what I’m doing, okay?”

  “No problem,” George assured her. “Want us to save you something to eat?”

  “No, thanks. I can call room service later.” Nancy chuckled. “Maybe Mrs. Reames will have some more gossip for me.”

  • • •

  If the Tagleys’ living quarters had been a little creepy, the east wing at night was positively frightening. The moonlight streaming through the windows gave the only light. It shone down onto the huge, empty rooms filled with signs of construction—ladders, scaffolding, cans of joint compound and paint, and ghostly white tarpaulins draped here and there.

  Nancy shuddered. Don’t get nervous, she reminded herself. You’re here for a reason. But she still didn’t know exactly where in the east wing she was to meet her invisible “friend.”

  Nancy squared her shoulders resolutely as she walked from one dark, deserted room to another. She was so determined to stay calm that when the noise first sounded, she told herself she hadn’t heard a thing.

  But then it happened again. And this time Nancy knew she wasn’t imagining things.

  It was a soft, gentle tapping. In broad daylight it would have sounded like nothing more than a child knocking on a door. In the darkness it sounded like a ghostly summons beckoning Nancy forward.

  “Stop it,” Nancy scolded herself aloud. “It’s just the floors settling or something.”

  Tap tap . . . tap tap . . . tap tap . . .

  No, that was too regular to be the floors. Someone was making that sound. Could it possibly be a signal luring her to the meeting?

 
Nancy tiptoed toward the doorway of the vast, empty room she was standing in and poked her head out into the corridor. There was no doubt about it—the sound was coming from down the hall.

  Moving as silently as she could, Nancy slipped down the hall. Always the tapping seemed just a few feet ahead of her, but she couldn’t seem to reach it. She followed the sound down the hall, around the corner, and into yet another shadowy room. Then, abruptly, there was silence.

  Nancy took a tentative step forward—and froze in fear.

  Just in front of her the room’s floor had been ripped out. The space was like a bottomless black pit. A few more steps, and she would have plunged into it!

  Nancy’s heart was pounding. I’ve been led into a trap! Someone lured me here to—

  Just then there was a scrabbling sound behind her. Nancy whirled around—and screamed.

  From out of the darkness a razor-sharp wood chisel was hurtling straight at her!

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  NO!” NANCY SCREAMED. She jumped out of the chisel’s deadly path and felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. She was plummeting through the gaping hole!

  It all happened in a flash. Almost before she realized she was falling, Nancy’s flailing arms had grabbed a beam and she jerked still. Gasping for breath, she clung to the beam. She didn’t dare look down. Below her, she knew, yawned the cavernous space of the subbasement. The only thing that would keep her from smashing to the stone floor below was her own strength—and already her muscles were shrieking with agony.

  As the panic subsided, she realized something was stabbing into her hand—probably a nail sticking out from the beam. Carefully Nancy moved her hand a fraction to the right. Better. Then, warily, she raised her eyes.

  She couldn’t hear her assailant anywhere. Was he—or she—lurking above her, waiting for her to drop? Waiting to kick her hands off the beam if she made a move?

  Nancy suddenly remembered something else. The chisel! She desperately searched her memory to see whether she had heard it drop through the floor, but she couldn’t remember. Had her attacker found it? Was the chisel poised to strike again?

  She listened again—and heard no sign of anyone else nearby.

  I can’t hang here forever, Nancy told herself. Even if someone was up there, the risks of climbing back up were a lot better than what would happen if she dropped into the subbasement.

  But getting up on the beam was easier said than done. It took three agonizing tries before Nancy was able to hoist herself onto it. Precariously balanced, and feeling as if she might fall with every movement, she began to creep to safety.

  The hand that had been pierced by the nail was throbbing now, and her muscles ached. Nancy felt sick with pain and fear. But inch by dreadful inch she moved along until at last she had reached the edge of the hole.

  Trembling with relief, she crawled onto solid ground and collapsed onto the floor. For a minute all she could do was lie sprawled against the floor, breathing deeply. Then she pulled herself together and sat up.

  She peered down the shadowy hallway. There was neither sight nor sound of her attacker. Whoever had set this trap was gone.

  That had been a close call. But if her assailant thought she’d back off now, he—or she—had another think coming!

  Trying to kill her that way had been a desperate move. And now that the culprit was desperate, it was time for Nancy to make her own move—one that would send the criminal over the edge.

  • • •

  “Nancy, you missed the best mocha sorbet—” Bess’s smile turned to a look of shock. “What happened to you?”

  Nancy had come directly to the dining room from the east wing. Luckily the dining room was nearly empty now. But a few late diners were staring at Nancy’s dusty clothes and bloody hands. At least the Tagleys, Samantha, and Tim were gone, Nancy noted with relief.

  “You look as though you’ve been crawling through construction or something,” George added.

  “That’s pretty much what I have been doing,” said Nancy wearily as she dropped into a chair. “I’ll fill you in in a second. Just let me catch my breath.”

  “Did you meet whoever sent you that note?” asked George.

  “Well, yes and no. I think that now it’s time to get tough.”

  “How?” Bess asked.

  Just then a waiter walked up to the table. “Can I get you anything?” he asked Nancy politely.

  “Just some information. Were you working here when Brock Sawyer was poisoned?”

  “No, but another waiter on duty tonight was. Do you want me to get him?”

  “That would be great.”

  A young waiter with dark, spiky hair appeared shortly. “Do you have time to talk to me for a second?” Nancy asked him.

  “I guess so,” he answered with a quick glance around the dining room. “Things seem to be winding down here.”

  “Thanks a lot. This won’t take long,” Nancy assured him. “I understand you were on duty when Brock Sawyer was poisoned?”

  “I was. What a horrible thing!”

  “It looks now as though an artificial sweetener that Brock used in his tea and coffee was what poisoned him,” Nancy went on.

  The waiter’s eyes grew wide. “You mean that powdery stuff? Boy, I’m glad I didn’t try any! I never trust health food.”

  Nancy couldn’t help laughing a little. “Actually, someone added the poison to the sweetener,” she explained. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. You didn’t notice anyone besides Brock handling the jar of sweetener, did you?”

  The waiter thought for a moment. “Besides Mr. Tagley, you mean?”

  “Mr. Tagley?” Nancy asked incredulously.

  “Jake, that is. He likes the staff to call him Mr. Tagley.”

  “I didn’t realize that,” Nancy said, half to herself.

  “Well, anyway, Mr. Tagley took it out to the kitchen. Day before yesterday, I’m pretty sure. He said it needed a refill.”

  Nancy shot her friends a meaningful glance. That was the day Brock was poisoned.

  “Do they keep refills of Brock’s sweetener in the kitchen?” asked George in surprise.

  “I’ve never seen any,” the waiter said, shrugging, “but Jake must know the kitchen a lot better than I do. He came back with the refill right away.” The waiter glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “I should really get back,” he said. With a quick smile, he walked away.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” Nancy said to Bess and George as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “We’ll be able to talk a lot more easily without people leaning over our shoulders.”

  “So Jake refilled the sweetener,” Nancy mused thoughtfully when the girls were in the elevator heading upstairs. “I wonder if—”

  “You’re not accusing him of being the poisoner, are you?” Bess cut in. “Because I just know he’s not.”

  Nancy smiled slightly. “If it were up to you, Bess, no one would be the culprit.” The elevator door slid open, and the girls started down the third-floor hallway. As soon as they reached their suite, Nancy began peeling off her grimy clothes.

  “Anyway, I’m not accusing Jake of anything,” Nancy continued. “It does seem significant that he handled the sweetener just before Brock was poisoned. But I’ve got to take a shower and put some disinfectant on my hand before I even think about this case.”

  Fifteen minutes later—showered, dressed in clean shorts and a T-shirt, and feeling a hundred percent better—Nancy sat down in the suite’s living room with Bess and George and told them what had just happened to her.

  Bess’s blue eyes were full of tears when Nancy finished. “Nan, you could have been killed!”

  George didn’t seem to even hear her cousin. Her brow was furrowed as she asked, “Remember the night we saw Jake playing darts?”

  Nancy nodded. “So?”

  “So someone aimed that chisel pretty well, that’s all,” George answered.

  “
You’re right!” Nancy exclaimed. “I didn’t even think of that, George!”

  Bess was angry. “You don’t have a shred of proof, either of you!” she stated emphatically.

  “That’s right, we don’t,” agreed Nancy. “That’s why I came up with a new plan while I was in the shower. It ought to help us even if we don’t have any proof.”

  “Well, what is this plan?” asked George. “How can we help?”

  “First, did you guys notice anyone in the Tagley family leave the dining room during dinner?” said Nancy.

  “Let’s see,” George said thoughtfully. “They were all in and out. Weren’t they, Bess?”

  “Except Jake,” Bess said with a triumphant smile. “He came in a couple of minutes late, then stayed for the whole meal. But both Mr. and Mrs. Tagley left a couple of times, and so did Samantha. Come to think of it, Tim did, too. He was bringing in some kind of speaker system for the dance tonight. I think we should definitely go to that, by the way. It’ll probably be fun.”

  “I doubt we’ll have time to get to the dance,” Nancy said apologetically. “I have a feeling we’re going to be busy this evening.

  “But I’ve got to make one call to set things up for my plan,” Nancy went on. She opened the local directory that lay next to the phone on the coffee table and looked up the number of the hospital. Then she picked up the receiver and began to dial.

  “Hello, may I please speak to Brock Sawyer?” she said when the hospital switchboard answered. After a short pause the actor’s voice came on the line.

  “Hello, Brock? This is Nancy Drew. . . . Fine, thank you. And you? . . . Oh, that’s good. Listen, Brock. I’ve come up with a plan to trap the person who poisoned you, but I’m going to need your help. And I think I’m going to need a doctor’s permission, too.”

  A few minutes later Nancy hung up and turned excitedly to her friends. “Now we’ll run through my plan—and then we start rehearsing.”

  • • •

  The living room clock was just striking nine as Nancy walked gravely into the room and closed the double doors behind her. Waiting for her were Bess, George, and the group of people who had assembled at Nancy’s request.