Bonfire Masquerade (9 page)

Nicole held out her hand and I placed mine in it, palm up. She stared at it intently for a moment.

“I'm getting a vision. The spirits are communicating with me.”

Nicole started taking in rapid, shallow breaths. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her grip on my hand became tighter and tighter. It started to hurt. Her whole body started to shake. I looked at Joe. He shrugged, a worried frown on his face. This was getting scary.

Nicole uttered a low, soft moan. When she started talking, her voice was a raspy whisper.

“You are not who you say you are. Your name is Nancy Drew. You are a detective from River Heights.”

I guess my disguise wasn't very good. I tried to pull my hand away, but her grip was like a vise.

“Your father is Carson Drew,” she continued. “He
has interests here—a client. A dead client.”

“How do you know all this?!”

Nicole stopped shaking. Her eyes came back into her sockets normally. But her grip on my hand didn't change.

“Because I'm not a fool,” she said, her voice normal again. “You think I didn't clock you the moment you walked into my store? I have a photographic memory, girlie. Helped me go from being just another street fortune-teller to the owner of the biggest chain of souvenir shops in all of Louisiana. I saw you at Daniel's party, and when I heard who you were, I looked you up.”

I had underestimated Nicole. She might look silly, but underneath her costumes was an impressive mind.

“Did your dad put you up to this? Or are you working on your own? I've read all about your impressive mystery solving. And you!”

Nicole turned on Joe.

“Who are you? Your face seems familiar. You and she have worked together in the past, haven't you? On a case involving that singer from the Royal We, and the mercenaries that were sent after her. What's your story?”

Yikes! The last thing I wanted to do was blow Joe's ATAC cover.

“He's just a friend. Really.”

Nicole didn't look convinced. But she let go of my hand.

“Well, regardless, you don't have to come around here anymore. I'm no longer interested in Daniel's old warehouse.”

This was news.

“What? Why?” said Joe.

“It no longer suits my needs. And as soon as I can get Aaron on the phone, I'm going to tell him that as well. Now if you'll excuse me, I have real customers to help.”

It sounded a little fishy to me, but that was all Nicole was willing to say.

“Do you think she's telling the truth?” I asked Joe.

“Maybe. But it certainly sounds suspicious. Why would it suddenly not be suitable? She doesn't seem like the sort of person who would bid on a building before she was certain it was what she needed.”

I had to agree. Nicole's strange behavior just added one more mystery to the mix.

CHAPTER
10

FRANK
THE CASE HEATS UP!

Getting to the New Orleans Police Department central station took over an hour, thanks to the Mardi Gras celebrations.

“I think this is the first time I've been in a traffic jam caused by people dressed as Vegas showgirls—at ten in the morning!” said George, marveling at the people on the streets.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “In Bayport, the showgirls don't usually block up traffic until noon.”

She laughed. I liked George. She was one of the few girls I knew who didn't make me feel like a total geek all the time—maybe because she was just as much of a geek as I was.

“Before I forget, take this.” I pulled a laminated
badge out of my backpack. It had a photo of George on it and said in big letters
TECHNOLOGY CONSULTANT
. There was no agency name on it—ATAC liked to keep a low profile—but if any police agency across the country scanned the badge, or called the number on the back, they would find that George now had higher security clearance than most police chiefs.

“What's this?” George asked as I passed it to her.

“It's your credentials. You'll need it to get into the evidence room at police headquarters.”

“Cool!” said George. “Man, in River Heights all we've ever had to do to get access to police headquarters was sweet-talk Chief McGinnis.”

We talked about the cases they'd worked on recently, and George told me all about the radio hookups and wireless microphones she'd built to help foil a pair of shoplifters. It wasn't often I got to geek out about spy stuff with someone my age who wasn't from ATAC.

“It's amazing how much you guys do!” I said admiringly. “I don't know if Joe and I would have been able to solve half your cases without ATAC's support.”

“Flatterer,” said George. “I'm sure you would have. You'd figure it out. You guys are pretty resourceful.”

We traded stories until the taxi finally made it to the police station. The desk sergeant recognized me at the door. I guess they don't see that many teenagers with national security clearance. He raised an eyebrow at
George, but once he scanned her badge, he waved us both in.

“What do you guys need?” he asked.

“Andrew Richelieu's phone. And if you have it, a spare office with a big desk?”

“It's Mardi Gras,” the desk sergeant grumbled. “Almost all the desks are empty, other than mine.”

“Sorry, man,” I said.

“So what's the story on this phone?” asked George, as we sat down in a bare office, home to a desk, two chairs, a single dead plant, and nothing else.

“It was stolen during a parade. Andrew didn't even notice it was gone until the police called him about it. Apparently, he's so rich, he has half a dozen different phones.”

“And you guys got something off it?”

“It wouldn't power up when the police found it, but Joe managed to get it on. The only thing we found was a video, which led us to the Bywater, and a dead end. Here, I'll show you.”

I powered up my laptop and played the video, which I'd copied off the phone just in case it stopped working entirely. Right as it finished, the desk sergeant appeared.

“One cellular phone, bagged and tagged. Make sure you put it back the way you found it.” He handed us a plastic bag. Inside was Andrew's phone.

George took it out and began examining it. She weighed it carefully in her hand.

“It's superlight,” she marveled. She looked at the make and model. She frowned. “Mind if I use the laptop for a second?”

“Go right ahead,” I said, pushing it toward her.

She tapped on the keyboard and pulled up a search engine. After a few seconds, she was deep into the world of technology blogs.

“That's what I thought!” she exclaimed.

“What?”

“The phone is so light, and I didn't recognize the make or model. So I did a little searching—it's a beta version of a phone that won't even be on the market until next year. A few have surfaced on the Internet, and people have been blogging about them, but this is definitely something you can't get in stores. This thing is worth a small fortune. I'm surprised it survived being stolen and dropped, really. These beta version phones tend to be pretty flimsy.”

“That explains why the thieves went out of their way to steal it. It breaks with their pattern, but they must have seen him using it and known what it was.”

Already I was glad George was there. I fired up the phone and showed George how most of the menus were inaccessible. Together, we began working on it, connecting it to my laptop to try and bypass its broken
operating system and get right at the data stored inside.

It was hours of painstaking work, trying different pathways, all of which ended unsuccessfully. But each time we came a little bit closer. Finally, after nearly four hours, we had a breakthrough.

“Got it!” I yelled excitedly. A bar popped up on the desktop, showing the download progress of Andrew's contacts, text messages, and recent calls. It was going v-e-r-y slowly. It would probably take at least an hour, and there was a good chance it would damage the phone's hard drive and wipe the information off it forever. But we had done it!

“High five,” said George.

“Want to leave that downloading and grab some lunch?” I asked.

Before George could answer, the door burst open.

“Hey! You're working on those robbery/arson cases, right?” the desk sergeant asked breathlessly.

“Yes, why?” I said.

“Because we just got a call, and there's one going down right now! We've got a squad car and a fire engine on their way, but they're stuck in Mardi Gras traffic!”

George and I shot out of our chairs. We got the address of the call from the sergeant, grabbed my laptop, and ran out the door.

To save us time on the busy streets, the sergeant lent us two New Orleans Police Department bikes. It was
much, much easier to navigate the busy streets full of partygoers, musicians, and performers on a bike than in a car. We went ten times faster than we had on our way to the station.

Finally we made it to the address we had been given, which turned out to be a small home in an area of town known as Tremé. It was right across the street from a large park.

The block was quiet, with only a few costumed revelers milling around on the street, the remains of a recent parade. There was no sign of a robbery, or of a fire.

“False alarm?” wondered George.

“I guess so,” I agreed bitterly. This might have been our chance to catch them red-handed.

Suddenly the door to the house burst open, and a stream of masked men came bursting out. They all wore very traditional costumes, like jesters with long-nosed masks. There were at least a dozen of them. In their arms and on their backs they had bags loaded down with possessions from the house. Behind them, a wave of smoke poured out of the door.

“Stop!” I yelled. Fat chance. They streamed off in different directions, creating a chaotic swirl that had clearly been planned ahead of time.

I reached out and grabbed the arm of the nearest one. He yanked back, nearly pulling me off balance.

“Not so fast, buddy,” yelled George, as she grabbed
him by the backpack. He pulled this way and that, but between the two of us, we had him firmly in hand.

I reached up to pull his mask off, and he head-butted his face directly into mine. The long beak nose of his mask slammed into my forehead. An inch to either side and he would have pecked out my eye. As it was, he managed to pull his arm out of my hand. He tried to run, but George still had a death grip on his bag. He fell backward to the ground.

Just then there was the sound of breaking glass from the house, and a scream. I looked up to see a small boy leaning out the window above the decorative balcony on the second floor.

“Help!” he screamed.

George and I hesitated, unsure of what to do. In that moment, the thief rolled away from us. I looked at George. We could still stop him—but who knew how long that kid had before the fire reached his room. Without a word, we both ran toward the house, hoping we weren't already too late!

CHAPTER
11

NANCY
HOT PURSUIT

On our way out of Nicole's Voodoo Emporium, Joe's phone rang. From the expression on his face, I could tell instantly it was important.

“That was the New Orleans Police Department,” he said as he hung up. “There's a robbery in progress that matches the MO of our suspects!”

“Where is it?” I asked.

“Not far,” said Joe, tapping away on his phone to pull up a map. “If we run, we might be able to get there in time to stop them.”

He took off through the crowd of costumed people. Every block in the city was a never-ending maze of shifting human bodies. Beads rained down on us from above. Live music and giant speakers assaulted our ears.

I grabbed Joe's hand so we wouldn't be separated, and we wormed our way through the congested city.

“Look,” said Joe, after about ten minutes. A plume of smoke was rising up from behind a house not far from where we stood.

“We're too late!” I said.

“Maybe not. Come on!”

We pushed harder, and finally popped out of the crowd of revelers onto a street that was relatively calm. Smoke was pouring from a small wooden house in the middle of the block, and the few people on the street were standing around staring. From inside, I heard a child scream.

“There's someone in there,” I yelled.

We ran for the house. As we did, Frank and George burst through an upstairs window carrying two unconscious small children. They teetered on a decorative balcony that was barely big enough to hold them. It didn't look very strong to begin with. With the fire raging inside, who knew how much longer it would hold up?

“Stand still,” yelled Joe. “We're coming.”

We stood beneath the balcony. There was no way we could reach them, and it would be impossible for them to climb down while carrying those children. I had an idea.

“Joe, if I get on your shoulders, they can lower the kids down to me.”

Joe squatted, and I swiftly climbed up his back and balanced carefully on top of him. One by one, George and Frank lowered the kids down to me, I passed them to one of the bystanders, and he set them on the ground. Once that was done, Frank and George climbed down quickly. Parts of the balcony were already beginning to collapse inward as they descended.

“What happened?” Joe asked. In the distance, we could hear the siren of an approaching fire truck.

Frank told us what we missed.

“They're gone now,” said Joe. “Darn! If only we had gotten here sooner.”

“We've still got a chance,” said George. “Quick, Frank, hand me your computer.”

Frank gave George a quizzical look, but he did as she asked.

“I slipped my cell phone into the pocket of the guy we tackled,” she explained. She pulled up a map of New Orleans, with one glowing blue dot.