En Garde (Nancy Drew (All New) Girl Detective Book 17) (11 page)

By then Charlie and I had reached the Dumpster. The runner sank onto its lid. “Okay, I give up,” he moaned.

“Get down from there,” I demanded. “Tell me who you are and why you were trying to hurt that girl at the fencing studio.”

The young man cringed, hopped off the Dumpster, and looked up like a scared dog. “I would never hurt Una!”

“You know her?”

He hung his head. “Yeah, I know her,” he muttered.

“So you were lurking outside the salle, waiting for her?” I asked.

He nodded miserably. “She’s my girlfriend.”

That was a shocker. “She didn’t act like a girl meeting her boyfriend,” I said.

He sighed. “All right, she’s not my girlfriend anymore. She was, but . . . we broke up, a couple of months ago.” His pale face twitched with a painful memory. Then he looked at me, eyes blazing with passion. He really did have nice blue eyes, I had to admit, now that I was close enough to see them. “It’s all because of her dad! He broke us up. He doesn’t think I’m right for Una. He wants her to focus on college, on becoming a fencing champion. And he thinks I distract her.”

“Let me guess—you’re not a college student,” I said.

He shook his head. “I dropped out a year ago, to pursue my music instead. I’m in a rock band—the Sinners Syndicate.” He pushed back his long hair, and suddenly I saw his ratty clothes in a completely different way—like a rock-and-roll wardrobe instead of a homeless vagrant’s tatters.

“The Sinners Syndicate?” Charles repeated. “I’ve seen posters for your concerts. What’s your name? What do you play?”

“I’m Doug Calley,” he replied, trying to look modest, although it was plain he was pleased to be recognized. “I’m the lead guitarist, plus I write most
of the songs. We’ve been getting more gigs lately, and when I’m on the road I miss too many classes. It’s a waste of money to pay tuition if you don’t go to class. But Una’s dad didn’t see it that way. Yes, I’m really getting somewhere with the music, but that’s not good enough for his daughter.”

“And how does Una feel about that?” I asked, feeling sympathy for Raggedy Man all of a sudden.

Doug frowned. “I don’t know for sure. She seemed pretty upset when he broke us up, but she went along with it. She’s refused to see me ever since. She won’t take my phone calls, she won’t answer the letters I’ve written. I thought if she saw me face-to-face, she might feel differently.”

“So that’s why you were at the fencing meet on Tuesday,” I guessed.

Doug nodded. “But that was no good—her dad was there. I should have known; he goes to all her tournaments. And then I saw her get injured, which was upsetting.”

I remembered seeing Doug in the crowd surrounding Una during the suspension of her bout with DeLyn. It was true, he did look upset then.

“But you were hanging around Salle Budapest a week ago,” I recalled, “the first time I saw you. Why Salle Budapest? Una doesn’t fence there.”

Doug screwed his mouth to one side. “Well, I’d
heard through the grapevine that she was dating somebody else—another fencer. That worried me. Her dad would love her to have a fencing boyfriend. So I went to River Heights to check out this guy, Damon Brittany.”

“Damon?” Doug must have gotten his facts wrong. From the nasty comments I’d heard Damon make about Una, I’d say she was the last girl in the world he’d date.

Doug nodded. “I saw him with Una at a college meet, and he sure looked interested. But that day in River Heights, he left fencing class with another girl—a tall African-American girl. They looked pretty connected.”

“That was his twin sister, DeLyn,” I informed Doug.

“You’re kidding!” He frowned. “So he doesn’t have a new girlfriend?”

“If he does, it’s not her. But I don’t think it’s Una, either.”

Doug looked relieved. “So I still have a chance?”

“Una didn’t exactly welcome you with open arms back there,” I pointed out. “Any girl would be creeped out by having a guy stalking her.”

“I’m not stalking her!”

“I’m sorry, but that’s exactly what you’re doing,” I said. “And you could get arrested for it. She could
even have a judge issue a restraining order.”

Doug winced. “Really?”

“Absolutely. So take my advice—stop lurking outside the salle. Find another way to win Una back.”

“I think it’s cool that this rock musician is pining away for Una,” George said. “But can you imagine, he thought Damon was dating Una? Impossible. Damon can’t stand Una.”

I looked over at George as we drove back to River Heights. “I know, crazy, huh? Well, I wish Doug and Una good luck. But if he’s not a suspect anymore, we’re further than ever from solving this case. What’s more, we’re suspects ourselves now, at least in Paul Mourbiers’s eyes.”

I had been thinking. I hated the fact that Bela praised George to her face, only to put her down behind her back. I couldn’t let him get away with that. “George, I was just wondering—whenever Bela tells you how great you are, isn’t DeLyn usually nearby?”

“Well, yes—why?”

“Well, you know how coaches play mind games with their athletes. I wonder if Bela might not be . . . let’s say, exaggerating your ability, to motivate DeLyn.”

Immediately I wished I had kept quiet. George’s
mouth dropped open, and her eyes filled with tears. “What? Are you saying I’m not a talented fencer? Are you saying Bela lied to me? Nancy, I’ve never known you to act jealous like this.”

Jealous? Was she kidding?

I could feel the heat of George’s anger in the seat beside me. Luckily, we were getting close to her house. I apologized, but George still seemed furious when she got out of the car. She sure slammed the car door harder than usual. And she didn’t even look back as she strode into the house.

All the way back home, I felt lousy. Yes, my intentions had been good. All I’d wanted was to open George’s eyes. But the way she saw it, I was ruining her new passion. How could I do that to one of my best friends?

As I pulled up to my house, I saw something that drove all thoughts of our fight right out of my mind.

Something was sticking out of the front door of our house.

I pulled my car up the drive, parked, and jumped out, scarcely believing what I saw.

A sword was sticking into the wooden door, the afternoon sunlight playing off its gleaming blade.

The point had been stabbed through a stiff white fencing gauntlet, just like the one Una had worn at the meet on Tuesday. And like Una’s gauntlet, it had
a dark red bloodstain on the cuff. That red stain dribbled down the door.

On top of the glove, held in place by the sword, was a note, scrawled in thick black letters.
THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO BUSYBODIES
.

T
hat naked sword, slashing
my front door, was unsettling, all right. But it wasn’t the first anonymous threat I’d received in my career as a detective—and it probably wouldn’t be the last. If you want to scare off Nancy Drew, you have to try a lot harder than that.

In fact, I thought grimly as I yanked the sword out of the door, getting a threat always makes me more determined than ever to solve a case. I also see it as a sign that I’m getting close to a solution. Not that I felt anywhere close, but obviously someone was nervous about getting caught.

Now if I could only figure out who.

This was a time when three heads would be better than one. As soon as I went inside, I phoned Bess and Ned and asked them to come over to help. Normally
I would have called George, too. Four heads are even better than three. But I just didn’t feel I could call George right then.

“Didn’t George say there’s a college fencing meet tomorrow?” Bess asked as we sat around the kitchen table, eating the dinner Hannah had cooked for us.

“Yup,” I said. “It’s tomorrow.”

“That’s a perfect opportunity for the saboteur to strike again,” Bess said.

“We’ve got to be one step ahead of them,” said Ned. “We can’t wait to let somebody else get hurt.”

I nodded. “Why don’t we make a list of our main suspects? Then we can divide them among us and monitor their activities tomorrow. As soon as we see them doing anything suspicious, we can step in.”

“Good idea.” Ned picked up a notepad and a pencil.

“Top of the list is Paul Mourbiers,” Bess said.

Ned nodded as he wrote. “And right below him, Bela Kovacs.”

Bess frowned. “Do you still have it in for him, Ned?”

“No, Ned’s right—Bela is a suspect,” I said. “I know his salle has suffered from the bad publicity, but who knows—he may have some ulterior motive for damaging his own business. He hasn’t been physically hurt, and he’s had access to just about every place where there’s been sabotage.”

“Except for Salle Olympique today,” Bess pointed out.

“True, but at this point, we can’t get hung up on making every incident fit into the pattern,” I said. “Some may be simple coincidences. The defective lamé plug could have just been worn out.”

“Here’s another possibility,” Ned said. “What if Una damaged her own lamé on purpose, to throw us off the scent?”

“That’s possible,” I agreed. “I don’t see how she could have damaged the equipment at Salle Budapest—she’d be recognized if she showed up there—but write her down as a suspect.”

“And what about Doug Calley?” Bess asked. “His story about being Una’s old boyfriend is very romantic, but who knows what he’d do to get her back?”

“How would sabotaging both fencing salles help Doug Calley win Una back?” I wondered.

“He could show he supports her fencing career by hurting her rivals,” Bess pointed out.

“At the risk of hurting Una heself? Remember, she’s been hit twice by the sabotage.”

Bess looked thoughtful. “I see your point. Maybe it’s just that he’s mad at her—mad enough to hurt her. Being rejected can turn any love ugly.”

“Okay,” I said. “Add him to the list.”

“What about Damon and DeLyn?” Ned asked, jotting down Calley’s name.

I frowned. “Both of them have been hurt by the sabotage, but like you said, Ned, someone could stage an incident to hurt themselves, just to divert suspicion.”

“Or sometimes an act of sabotage backfires,” Ned said. “Suppose, for example, that DeLyn set up that incident at the tournament to hurt Una. She wouldn’t expect to be disqualified as a result.”

“Or suppose Damon put on DeLyn’s mask by mistake—,” I began, when the doorbell rang. “Hmmm, wonder who that could be?”

Believe me, I was surprised—and relieved—when I opened my front door and saw George. “Hey, Nancy,” she said hesitantly. “Okay if I come in?”

“Sure!” I said. “We’re talking over the case, and we could use your insight. Have you eaten yet?”

George inhaled. “Well, yes, but—is that Hannah’s roast chicken? I guess I could manage a second helping.”

I grinned. “Come on in.”

“I wanted to apologize, too,” George said. “I went home and thought about it. I was wrong to accuse you of being jealous. Why would you be jealous of my fencing? You don’t care about fencing.”

“I shouldn’t have told you all that stuff, though,” I said. “Maybe Bela really does think you are good—who am I to say?”

George sighed. “Nancy, I have to face facts. I lost my bout on Tuesday, and today Mourbiers easily parried my moves and scored lots of touches on me. The only person who ever says I’m good is Bela—and you’re right, he has reasons for deluding me. What he really cares about is his champion, DeLyn. I’m nowhere near her level.” She shook her head. “No, I have a long way to go to become a decent fencer. This sport takes years of training—look how long DeLyn has been at it! I’ll probably never be as good as her. Even Damon isn’t as good as she is, and he’s been fencing longer than she has.”

“You could still be a good fencer without being as good as DeLyn,” I said. “Don’t set your standards too high.”

George smiled and put her arm through mine. “And if I never turn out to be any good, so be it,” she said. “But I still care about the salle and my friends there. So what are we waiting for? Let’s solve this case!”

“There has been one new development,” I told George as we walked into the kitchen. “I found this stuck in my front door, with this note attached.”

George gave a low whistle as she looked at the sword. “That’s a saber,” she noted.

“Is it?” Ned said. “Where would you get that kind of a sword?”

George looked up at him, thinking. “Well—not
every fencer would own a saber. You’d only have one if you specialized in saber bouts.” She hesitated. “Damon and DeLyn are both saber fighters.”

I felt my stomach sinking. Everywhere we turned on this case, it kept circling back to DeLyn Brittany. The first act of sabotage was at her match on Tuesday. Her foil was missing its safety tip. Her brother had nearly been overcome by ammonia fumes. It was her rival, Una, who had been shocked by faulty wiring today.

And then, in a flash of intuition, I took the same facts and put them into a different pattern. A pattern where DeLyn was the victim, not the perpetrator. Someone else had wanted her bout on Tuesday to go wrong. Someone else had hoped she’d fence with a naked foil and hurt others. Someone else had caused DeLyn’s rival to get an electric shock.

And those ammonia fumes—they had been on DeLyn’s mask in the first place. Even if someone else ended up breathing them.

Suddenly it came to me in a flash. “It’s Damon,” I said.

George seemed shocked. “Damon? No way, Nancy! Damon would never hurt his own salle—or his own sister. He loves DeLyn.”

I shook my head stubbornly. “Damon has had the opportunity to commit every act of sabotage so far—except for this morning, and we really don’t know
how or when that lamé was damaged, do we?”

“Opportunity, yes,” Bess admitted, “but where’s his motive? Like you always tell us, Nancy, no one commits a crime without a motive.”

“I agree that he loves his sister and he wouldn’t physically hurt her. But he might hurt her another way—by messing up her fencing career. He’s jealous of her success. Even though it makes him feel lousy, he can’t help it. After all, he took up fencing first, and now she’s the star. Even his scholarship may be due to her.”