Circle of Evil (12 page)

So Zach and Rita hadn't really meant to shoot her. Not right there in the massage room, anyway. Rita must have found some nerve in her neck that was guaranteed to send her straight to sleep. A pretty good trick, Nancy admitted. I'll have to learn that one myself someday.

But why hadn't Max wanted her killed yet? Nancy wondered. Well, of course, it was obvious. They could hardly haul a body through the crowded country club. They had stashed her someplace, and when they were good and ready, they'd come back and “wrap it up,” as Zach had said.

That must mean I'm still at the club, Nancy thought. It would be too hard to get me out of
here dead or unconscious. There are just too many people around.

But where in the club was she? Was she still downstairs, maybe in the massage room? It was possible. Rita could have closed up for the day and gone to join the holiday crowd.

Nancy tried to see anything that would give her a clue to where she was. The cabinets in the massage room were gleaming white metal, she remembered, and the tables were covered with white pads. Her eyes should have adjusted enough by then to see white, even with the lights off. But all she saw were black and dark shades of gray.

Cautiously, Nancy tested her wrists and ankles again. The ropes seemed to have loosened a little; she might be able to get free if she didn't rub her skin raw.

Moving slowly, Nancy sat up with her legs out in front of her. She decided to try to slip her arms under her legs and then shove her feet through the loop her arms made. That way, her arms would be in front of her, and she could untie her feet.

Digging at the knots with her fingernails, Nancy did eventually loosen them. When her legs were free, she discovered that they had gone to sleep, and she kicked them to get the circulation moving. Her foot struck something metallic.

She reached out with her feet again, and this time the metal gave a little. She scooted closer to the wall and shoved her foot against it as hard as she could. The cover moved as if it were on hinges.

As it flapped open, Nancy noticed thin lines of yellow light leaking in. When she realized what it was, she felt like smiling. She was looking through the back end of a locker. Zach and Rita had put her in the passageway between the locker rooms.

But suddenly, Nancy didn't feel like smiling. The time must be getting very close to when they would come back for her. The yellow light meant that it was night. The locker rooms and weight room were closed for the day. Nobody would be interested in using them, anyway; they were all outside, dancing and eating and waiting for the fireworks. No wonder no one had heard her when she yelled.

Max and Rita and Zach were probably up there, too, Nancy realized. And once the big bash was over and the club was deserted, they'd come for her. She didn't know exactly what they had in mind, but she had a feeling she'd be found the next day at the bottom of the swimming pool or out on the golf course, the victim of an accidental drowning or a bad fall. Of course, Ned and Bess and George would tell the police about her investigation.
But they wouldn't know whom she suspected. And by the time they figured it out, those two would be gone. And Max would be back at the tennis courts, making bets on games. He'd never be caught. He could even wait awhile, recruit more people to help him, and then start his whole operation all over again. I'm the only one who knows, Nancy thought. I'm the only one who can stop him.

Aware that she didn't have much time, Nancy bit down on the ropes holding her wrists and began pulling at the knots. The task was too difficult, and she felt like weeping. But then she remembered the light bulbs. She stood and walked down the passageway until she reached the end. It was the wrong end, though. Turning around, she worked her way back until she stumbled into the light bulbs stacked in front of the weight room door.

Breaking a bulb against the wall, Nancy put the base of it into her mouth and sawed at the rope on her wrists with the jagged, broken glass. Eventually, the rope frayed, and she pulled her hands free.

The door to the weight room was locked, naturally. But Nancy banged on it a few times, hoping that someone might hear her. No one came.

On her hands and knees again, Nancy felt around the floor, hoping to come across something
she could use to pick the lock. She turned around and crawled in the other direction, sweeping her hands across the floor in front of her. By the time she reached the far end, she had picked up nothing but a lot of dust.

Nancy sat down and leaned back against the end wall, trying to decide what to do next. She heard something. Sitting up straighter, she listened closely. There it was again—the sound of cheering and clapping. Could the fireworks have started already? If they had, then time was really running out. She listened again. People were still laughing and cheering, but she didn't hear the pop or whine of firecrackers. They were probably just clapping for the music and laughing at their own jokes. Now, if she could just find a way to get out, she could join them.

Frustrated, Nancy banged at one of the locker backs with her fist. It swung in smoothly, just like all the others. Inside, she saw a pale blob of something. Pulling it out, she discovered it was a pair of much-used sweat socks. She started to stuff them back in and then realized how stupid she was being.

These are lockers, you idiot, she told herself.
Storage
lockers. Find something like a belt buckle or a barrette, and you just might be out of here.

Five minutes later, Nancy was a quarter of the way down the passage, rifling what must have been her fiftieth locker. So far, she had found a belt with the wrong kind of buckle, a deck of playing cards that were too flimsy to wedge open the lock, several combs and brushes, three dozen tennis balls, and enough dirty towels to start a laundry service. But she hadn't found anything that would help her get out.

Just keep going, Nancy told herself. There has to be something in one of these lockers that I can use. After all, people leave their keys in them; maybe they leave their credit cards, too. Or maybe a pocket knife or a nail clipper.

Pushing open yet another locker back, Nancy dragged out the usual wadded-up towel and then stretched her arm deep inside, hoping that this time she'd be lucky.

Suddenly, there was a screech of metal, and the thin lines of yellow light grew wide. Nancy's eyes had become so used to the dark by then that she squinted as if a floodlight had been turned on. Then she finally realized that the locker door had been yanked open—from inside the locker room. Before she had a chance to react, a hand had closed over her wrist, the fingers tightening in a powerful grip.

N
ANCY TRIED TO
pull her arm back, but the hand only grasped tighter, the fingers digging into her arm and pushing it painfully against the sharp metal lip of the locker.

It would probably do her no good, but Nancy yelled, anyway.

“Hey!” a voice cried out. “Pipe down. This place is like an echo chamber, and you're breaking my ear drums!”

Ignoring the voice, Nancy started to yell again, and then a flashlight blinded her. Gasping, she put her free hand over her eyes.

“Well, well,” the voice said. “You do get
yourself into the strangest predicaments, Ms. Drew.”

Nancy gasped again, not because of the light but because she had suddenly recognized the voice. It was Detective John Ryan's.

Nancy let out her breath in relief. She wouldn't have to go poking through any more lockers, and she wouldn't be the victim of some “tragic accident” after all. She was safe.

After a moment, though, she realized that Ryan was still gripping her wrist and shining the flashlight in her eyes. She was relieved and happy that he was there, but she couldn't help feeling annoyed with him.

“Since you know who I am,” she said, “why don't you stop trying to break my arm? And while you're at it, you might turn that flashlight off. I've been in this dungeon for hours, and my eyes have become very sensitive.”

The detective immediately let go of her wrist and turned the flashlight away from her eyes. Nancy could see the knot of his dark red tie and the cleft in his strongly shaped chin, but his handsome face was in shadow. Then she heard a dry, throaty sound, and she realized that he was giving his imitation of a laugh.

“I'm glad you're enjoying yourself,” she said wryly. “Do you want to share the joke, or is it private?”

“I'm afraid it's very private, Ms. Drew,” he said. “In fact, I'm laughing at myself.”

“Oh?” Nancy was surprised. Detective Ryan didn't seem as if he were the kind of man who could laugh at himself.

He didn't explain, though, and Nancy decided not to waste any time asking about it. “Never mind about the joke—whatever it is. How did you find me?”

“I got a call,” he said.

“An anonymous call?”

Nancy saw his head shake.

“No, this one was very un-anonymous,” the detective said. “Three people called me, and they all identified themselves. Bess Marvin, George Fayne, and Ned Nickerson. I assume you know them all?”

Nancy smiled. “Yes, I know them,” she said. “They're my friends, and they called you because they knew I was in trouble.”

“So they said,” Detective Ryan commented. “Well, you can't say I didn't warn you.”

Nancy could hardly believe it. She'd been threatened with a gun, tied up, and thrown in a dark, dusty passageway, and all he could say was “I told you so.” She took a deep breath. “Aren't you interested in what I've found out?”

The detective's head moved up and down in
a quick nod. Nancy decided he was just too proud to admit that she might have solved his case and that his nod was the only hint she'd ever get that he really did want to know what had been going on. Quickly, but without leaving out any important details, she told him everything.

“Fletcher Electronics,” Detective Ryan said when she'd finished, sounding completely disgusted. “It was right in front of my eyes.”

“Mine, too,” Nancy said. “Anyway, all I care about now is catching those creeps. How about getting me out of here so we can do it?”

The detective nodded, and after Nancy told him about the door in the weight room, he had it open in about three minutes.

“I think I know what solitary confinement means now,” Nancy said as she stepped into the weight room. “Thanks for getting me out.”

“Right. So give me a description,” Detective Ryan demanded.

Nancy sighed. The detective obviously wasn't going to apologize for ignoring her for so long or thank her for helping to solve his case. Well, she told herself, I guess that's not as important as catching the thieves.

“I'm waiting,” he said.

Quickly, Nancy described Zach and Rita and Max. “Listen, I know you've got a job to
do. But we could finish it together. I think we ought to try to cooperate, at least until it's over. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said after a couple of seconds. Together, the two of them raced for the stairs.

When they reached the lounge, they stopped and checked to see if Zach was at his usual place behind the bar. He wasn't.

“I guess that would have been too easy,” the detective remarked. “Let's start checking the rest of the place.” Without waiting for Nancy, he headed for the sliding doors that led to the pool.

At first, Nancy was so glad to be outside, breathing fresh air, that she couldn't decide what to do or where to begin looking for the culprits. For a moment, she just stood still, enjoying her freedom. When a hand touched her arm, she jumped and yelped.

“Steady,” Ned said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “I'm one of the good guys.”

“That's for sure,” Nancy said, hugging him. “Thanks for calling the detective. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd have before Rita and Zach came back for me.”

“So it
is
those two,” Ned said with a frown. “When that lifeguard came back outside, I gave him the third degree, but he had about fifty witnesses to prove that he'd just gone to
the locker room for some zinc oxide for his nose. George stayed with Cindy the whole time, and the girl didn't try to make a move. I figured it must be the bartender, but by that time it was too late.”

“It doesn't matter now,” Nancy said. “But it's three people, not two. The third one is Max Fletcher, and he's the brains behind the whole thing. Tell George and Bess, so they can look for him, too.”

“Right,” Ned said. “I'm going to check downstairs again, just to make sure they didn't slip back in there while we weren't looking. You might as well look around outside, but it's not going to be easy, Nan. It's almost time for the fireworks, and this place is a madhouse.”

“Don't worry,” Nancy said. “If they're here, we'll find them.”

After Ned took off, Nancy looked around again. Now she knew what he meant by madhouse. The lounge, the deck around the pool, parts of the golf course, every place was filled with people waiting for the fireworks to begin. They weren't waiting quietly, either. Some were milling around with paper plates in their hands, some were dancing, some were swimming, and they were all talking and laughing at the top of their lungs.