Dangerous Relations (7 page)

N
ANCY SWUNG
her bag with both hands. It deflected the animal. He backed off with a startled yelp, then came at her again. Fear zinging through her veins, Nancy swung her bag a second time.

Katrina ran around the side of the trailer. “Down, Hugo! Down!” She stamped on the free end of his leash. The dog jerked up short, unable to reach Nancy.

Nancy leaned shakily against the trailer. George raced to her side as Katrina dragged the dog over to the tree and hooked him to his chain.

The labrador quieted at Katrina's command and sat down. “Now, you stop that. Stop that growling!” she said firmly. Leaving him chained to the tree, she came back to Nancy and George.

“He's trained to act mean, but he wouldn't have hurt you. What are you doing here, anyway?” Katrina demanded, eyeing Nancy coldly.

“You didn't answer your front door. I thought maybe you didn't hear me, so I tried the back door,” Nancy said, thinking fast.

Katrina's eyes narrowed. “Snooping, huh?”

Nancy ignored the question and asked one of her own. “Katrina, do you know how to ride a motorcycle?”

“No. And I don't have time for your questions—I'm late for practice,” Katrina added.

“We'll walk you there,” Nancy said quickly.

Katrina shrugged and unlocked her door. When she came back out, she had her athletic bag.

“Was Natalia hurt?” she asked.

“No. But I think it was a deliberate attack. Where have you been for the past half hour?”

Katrina stopped in front of the outdoor ring and leveled an angry stare at Nancy. “Are you accusing me?”

“Do you have an alibi?” Nancy shot back.

“Why would I need one?” Katrina demanded.

Nancy folded her arms. “You hate Natalia. You read her mail. You told Marshall Keiser about the letter from Ringling, making it sound as if Natalia had already accepted. And then you caused her to fall from the trapeze.”

“You can't blame me for that. She missed her
trick, that's all.” Katrina resumed walking. Her strides were long.

Nancy kept pace. “She missed her trick because you greased the bar with petroleum jelly.”

“That's crazy!”

“Is it?” Nancy reached into her shoulder bag for the sash and the jar of petroleum jelly. “I found these in your garbage.”

Katrina's jaw dropped. Then she blustered, “You had no right to dig through my garbage! I'll tell Marshall! He'll throw you out!”

Nancy called her bluff. “Do that,” she said. “But first, you should know the towel Natalia wiped her hands on yesterday had petroleum jelly on it. I had the smudges analyzed at the crime lab. I can take this sash to the lab, too, and have these stains analyzed.” Nancy pointed out the blotches. “I think the results will be conclusive—even in Mr. Keiser's eyes.”

Katrina said nothing. Her face was pale.

Nancy folded the sash lengthwise and tied it around her waist. “The way I figure it, you hid a dab of jelly right here,” she said, sliding her finger into the space between the folds. “Then you climbed up the ladder. While the rest of us were talking below, you greased the bar.”

“Natalia went first. I didn't touch that bar,” Katrina said.

“Yes, you did,” Nancy said, knowing it was time to push. “I saw you. You held the bar
without swinging out on it. Then, when practice was halted, you said you were going to the cookhouse. But you didn't go straight there, did you?”

Katrina looked away, but Nancy didn't let up. “You went home and changed first. You couldn't risk someone noticing the stain on your sash. That's why you were late getting to the cookhouse.”

Katrina's mask cracked. “All right, so I did it,” she said. “I didn't want to hurt her badly or anything. I just thought if she landed wrong, she might sprain her wrist. Then Hayden and I could do the show alone, just like we used to.” Her voice broke. “I wanted him to see that the act didn't have to end just because Natalia was leaving. He still had me.”

So Katrina didn't know about Hayden's offer from Ringling! Hiding her surprise, Nancy pressed, “And this morning?”

“You can't pin that on me!” Katrina exclaimed, clearly alarmed. “I was walking Hugo on the beach.”

“Did anyone see you?” asked Nancy.

“I don't know. I don't think so.” Katrina's voice trembled, but she looked Nancy right in the eye. “But that's the truth. Really.”

Nancy stared at her for a long moment, then opened the arena door and held it for her. “They're waiting for you inside.”

The door closed behind Katrina. “What do
you think?” George asked, squinting in the sunlight.

Nancy sighed. “I think we can't rule out Katrina. But we can't rule out Mr. Keiser either. He has almost as good a motive as Katrina, and we don't know what his alibi is.”

“But he won't answer your questions. So how can we find out?” George asked.

Nancy gazed at the big top, where someone was working on sound equipment. Crackling, popping sounds spilled out over the grounds. Was Keiser in there? Had anyone seen him yet this morning? she wondered. Starting across the grass, she said, “Maybe someone else can tell us.”

Nancy led the way to the back door of the tent. The sun filtered through the red-striped top, casting a rosy glow on the ring in the middle of the tent. The smells of canvas, sawdust, and animals hung in the air.

The girls paused to watch a team of Hungarian acrobats who were practicing on a teeterboard. A dark-eyed man gave Nancy a gold-toothed smile and gestured, saying, “You try, pretty lady?”

“No, thank you. I'm looking for Mr. Keiser.”

He shrugged and went back to work.

Just then Nancy caught the eye of Morgan York, the performance director. Morgan left the crew at the sound board and strode over.

“Looking for work? You'll have to talk to Marshall Keiser,” she said, blinking at them from behind her glittery-framed glasses.

“Where can we find him?” Nancy asked without setting her straight.

“He's not here. He's buying parts for the sound equipment. Can't afford new. Low cash flow,” Morgan said, speaking in choppy phrases.

Nancy and George left through the back. Nancy waited until they put a little distance between themselves and the big top before saying, “If Mr. Keiser was out shopping when the attempt was made on Natalia's life, maybe a clerk will remember him. We can check that out later. Right now I'd like to see about that insurance theory.”

“Didn't Mr. Keiser tell you he didn't have life insurance on his performers?” George said.

Nancy had dealt with enough crimes to know never to take what a suspect said at face value. “He could be lying. If the show needs money fast, Natalia might be worth more to him dead than alive. Or it could be revenge. Or both. Maybe he figures that if she's leaving anyway, he might as well murder her. That way he'd have money
and
he'd have revenge. And since Mr. Keiser doesn't know yet about Ringling's offer to Hayden, he may be thinking that as long as he has Katrina and Hayden, he's still got an act,” Nancy reasoned. She opened the arena door.

In the main corridor, Nancy knocked on the door with Keiser's nameplate on it. No one answered. Nancy stepped back and assessed the lock with a practiced eye. “Piece of cake. Stand right here and knock if anyone comes.”

George nodded.

Nancy took a credit card from her wallet. After glancing up and down the hall, she slid the card between the plate and the lock and jiggled the card. The lock popped open, and she slipped inside and closed the door.

The office was dusty and cramped. There was a desk, some wooden chairs, and a number of filing cabinets. Nancy crossed to several tall closet-type cabinets crowded against one wall and flung open the doors. The first one was empty except for a dusty top hat, a sequined jacket, and a half-used container of carpet cleaner. The second was full of props and sound paraphernalia. The third contained old record books. Alert for George's warning knock, Nancy moved to the filing cabinets.

The filing system was alphabetical. She had no problem finding the file labeled Insurance. There were no key man life policies, though. Nancy was about to close the cabinet and leave when another idea occurred to her.

The old record books! Were any of them for payroll? If so, how far back did they go? Far enough to list Vera's real name? Or had she changed it even before asking Keiser for a job?

It was worth checking. Nancy scanned the cabinets. There were a dozen payroll books, so dusty they made her cough. Keiser kept thorough records, she thought. The books went back twenty years.

Quickly Nancy sorted through, finding the one from eighteen years earlier. The entries were self-explanatory. Date, name, type of service rendered, amount paid out. Hastily Nancy flipped through, looking for payouts to wardrobe employees. There were none until September.

The entry leaped out at her. “Vera Neverenko, Wardrobe, $100.00 paid in cash.” Neverenko! Vera
had
changed her name, Nancy thought. She shoved the books back into the cabinet. Then, after making sure she left the office just as she'd found it, she slipped back out to the hallway, where George was waiting anxiously.

On the ride back to the motel, Nancy filled George in. Once at the motel, they stopped at the registration desk to ask if any faxes had come in.

The woman behind the desk smiled at the girls. “I've got a pile right here.”

“Great!” Nancy picked them up and started away. But the woman called her back.

“Miss Drew! I almost forgot! Someone left this for you.” She handed Nancy a white envelope.

Nancy's name was typed on the front, but there was no address. She tore it open and pulled out a postcard.

A prickly sensation crawled up her spine as she saw a tombstone on the front with her initials typed on it. On the back, a typed message read:

“N.D. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Stop asking questions if you know what's good for you.”

W
ITHOUT A WORD
Nancy handed the card to George. Who would send such a warning? Marshall Keiser? Katrina? Vera?

George gave a low whistle. “You're making someone very nervous.”

“But who?” Nancy studied the card. “The typing is bad. Only two sentences and I count seven errors. And look at this.” She pointed out a letter
l
. “Every
l
is raised half a line.”

Nancy turned back to the desk clerk. “Did you see who delivered this card?”

“I'm sorry, I didn't. I stepped away from the desk a moment. When I returned, it was here.” The clerk smiled apologetically.

Nancy put the card on top of the pile of faxes, then followed George to their room. Bess was just hanging up the phone.

“Perfect timing. I just finished my last call,” she said.

Nancy held up the pile of faxed articles. “Bess, you're a treasure. There must be fifteen or twenty articles here.”

Bess beamed. “Talking's my specialty. But all that talking made me hungry.”

George went to get carryout food for their lunch, while Nancy and Bess got down to work. First, Nancy called Stephanie Cole and gave her Vera's real last name. Perhaps now Stephanie would be able to locate some information on Natalia's adoptive mother.

Next, Nancy and Bess divided the faxed clippings. Nancy went through her pile, scanning photos. Most were taken during performances. Faces were blurred and tiny. Disappointed, Nancy started through the pile again, reading each article.

Suddenly Bess yelped, “Hey! Look!” She held out a fax showing a photograph of Irina stepping out of a limousine in Times Square. The chauffeur was helping Irina out. The headline read, “Soviet Dancer Visits New York.”

It was so similar to the clipping in Natalia's scrapbook that Nancy thought for a moment it might be the same one. But no. That clipping had come from
The Washington Post.
This was from
The New York Times
, and the shot was clearer. But the car certainly looked like the same one!
Nancy thought. Perhaps even the driver was the same, though she couldn't be sure.

The chauffeur was smiling. Irina's head was thrown back, her eyes flashing with laughter. Who did those eyes remind her of? Nancy wondered.

“Natalia looks like her mother,” Bess remarked. “I'd die for cheekbones like that. And look at that chin!”

Of course, Nancy thought. She should have recognized the resemblance. She peered more closely at the photo and felt a tingling of excitement as she saw that the license number was legible, although not the state.

Just then George came back. “Dig in,” she said, setting hamburgers, french fries, and soft drinks on the table.

“I'm going to call Phillip Green first,” Nancy said, reaching for the phone.