Fatal Attraction (5 page)

“Tell you what,” Nancy told Bess, “why don't you get that cart and park it in front of the door. It'll be a good cover for us.”

With the cart partially shielding her from view, Nancy took out her lockpick kit and
stealthily set to work. Seconds later, the lock clicked, the cylinder turned, and she pushed the door open. Leaving Bess standing guard, she and George went in.

The room held a queen-size bed, blankets tossed back, a scratched dresser with a TV set on it, and a small table. The carpet had a musty smell, as if it hadn't been well vacuumed. A cheap picture hung crookedly on one wall.

Nancy pointed to the unmade bed. “The maid hasn't cleaned yet, so we'll have a better chance of getting some prints.” She gestured toward the closet, where a half-dozen shirts and jackets hung untidily. “Why don't you search those clothes, George. But hurry. I don't want to be here any longer than we have to, in case Mike comes back.”

While George was hastily going through Mike's pockets, Nancy looked around. On the table there was an empty glass. Good—maybe it would yield the fingerprints she needed. Quickly, she dusted it for prints, realizing with disappointment that she wasn't going to get much. There was only one print, a thumbprint. She transferred it with fingerprint tape onto an index card and slid the card into an envelope.

She turned to go into the bathroom. The faucet would be a good source of prints. “What are you finding?” she asked George.

“Not a lot,” George said. “Just this ticket stub—no, wait, here's something else.” She handed Nancy a ticket stub and a folded-over piece of pink notepaper.

Nancy opened the note. The script was feminine, the
i
's dotted with little circles. The faint smell of floral perfume clung to it.

“Dear Mike,” she read. “I just have to tell you how much I miss you when we're not together, and how much I love you. I pray that we'll never, ever be separated from one another, just the way you promise. Love and kisses, Darla.”

“Mmmm,” George said, “so Brenda's not his
first
love.”

“And not likely to be his last,” Nancy added with a little shudder, “unless we do something about it. This could be more than just a simple love-'em-and-leave-'em scheme.” She hated the idea of somebody going around collecting girlfriends like bumper stickers. It was almost enough to make her feel sorry for Brenda—and certainly for Darla, whoever she was. She glanced at the blue ticket stub George had handed her. It was from the Batesville County Fair.

“Didn't you say that Mike had a job in Batesville?” George asked.

Nancy nodded. “That's what Brenda told us.” Carefully, she put both the love note and the
ticket stub into her purse. “Listen, let me check the faucets for prints. I have a feeling we ought to get out of—”

“Pssst!” It was Bess, just outside the door. “Somebody's coming up the stairs.”

“Quick,” Nancy whispered, going to the door. “We can't let anybody see us!”

Bess was standing beside the cart. She had found a maid's cap, and she was just putting it on. “Jump in!” she whispered, gesturing toward the hamper. “Hurry up, before he gets here!”

With a mad leap, both Nancy and George jumped into the large hamper of dirty linen and pulled the sheets over their heads.

“I don't believe we're doing this,” George said, in a muffled voice.

Surreptitiously, Nancy raised one corner of a sheet and peered out as Bess hurriedly lowered her head and pushed the cart—with her friends in it—past the man who was walking down the balcony.

Nancy held her breath, staring at the short, stocky man as they passed close enough to touch him. He had gray hair and a gray beard! It was the same man who had jumped George and Bess and tried to steal the camera!

N
ANCY BIT HER
lip, praying they wouldn't be discovered. But to her relief, the man seemed intent on his own business. As Bess pulled the cart around the corner, he paused in front of Mike's room, took a key out of his pocket, opened the door, and went in. There it was—the connection she'd been looking for. The man had a key to Mike's room!

In a moment, Nancy and George were climbing out of the laundry cart.

“Whew, that was a close one,” George said, pulling a dirty pillowcase off her head.

Bess took off the cap and turned to Nancy, her
eyes round. “Wasn't that the same man—” She swallowed.

Nancy nodded grimly. “Yeah,” she said. “It was. It's a good thing you put that cap on. I don't think he recognized you.”

George looked at them. “Recognized her?”

“Right,” Nancy said. “The man who just went into Mike's room is the same person who tried to beat you guys up last night.”

“Wow.” George touched her black eye reverently. “I don't want to have anything more to do with
him
.”

“What are we going to do?” Bess asked anxiously. “Did we get what we came for?”

“We got only one print,” Nancy said. “But maybe that will be enough.” She looked thoughtfully back along the balcony. It was deserted. The man was still in Mike's room.

“You two stay here,” Nancy commanded, making up her mind. “Whistle if anybody comes. I'm going to have a look.”

Nancy pressed against the wall beside the window and peered intently into the room. The man was sitting on the unmade bed, dialing the phone. But although the drapes were open, the window was closed, and Nancy couldn't hear a thing. Frustrated, she leaned farther forward, risking discovery. It was no use—she still couldn't hear anything. She could only see that
the man's gray hair was thinning and he had a scar on one cheek.

Nancy was concentrating so hard that she almost didn't hear George's low, piercing whistle. When she did, she glanced behind her, over the balcony, just in time to see Brenda climb out of her red car and slam the door. She jumped back hurriedly and dashed around the corner, out of sight.

“What do you suppose
she's
here for?” Bess whispered.

“Guess.” George giggled.

Careful not to be seen, Nancy looked around the corner. Brenda, wearing a sleeveless, tightly belted blue tank dress, was knocking confidently at the door. “Mike,” she called in a low, honeyed voice. “Mike, it's me, Brenda.”

The door opened. “Yeah?” The man's tone was abrupt. He was obviously angry at the interruption. “What do you want?”

“Oh, uh, pardon me,” Brenda said, flustered. She cleared her throat and stepped back. “I must . . . I must have the wrong room. I . . . I'm looking for Mike McKeever.”

“He's not here,” the man said.

“Oh, well, uh, it's okay.” Brenda shifted nervously. “I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd drop in.”

“Yeah. I'll tell him you were here.” The door
shut in Brenda's face. Looking confused, Brenda went down the stairs, got into her car, and drove off.

After a few minutes, the door to Mike's room opened again and the gray-haired man stepped out, closing the door behind him. He hurried down the steps and climbed into an old green car parked in the lot.

“Come on,” Nancy said as they watched him start the motor. “We're going to tail him!”

The three girls raced down the stairs and around the corner to Nancy's car. She started it up just as the man pulled out of the lot, onto Ridgeview in front of them.

“There he goes!” Nancy exclaimed. “Hey, that's a neat old car—a Buick, I think. We won't lose
him
easily.”

Staying a few car lengths back, Nancy followed the green Buick as it drove quickly down Ridgeview. She'd gone about four blocks, hanging back in the traffic so that the driver wouldn't spot them, when she checked the rearview mirror—and found herself staring right at Brenda Carlton! Brenda's face was twisted into a mask of rage, and she was hunched furiously over the steering wheel. Her tomato-red car was hugging Nancy's bumper. Was she going to rear-end them?

Nancy speeded up slightly to keep Brenda
from hitting them. “Don't look now, gang,” she said, “but we're being followed.”

“It's Brenda!” Bess exclaimed, swiveling around. “Is she trying to hit us?”

“The Buick's making a left on Albert Drive,” George reported, pointing. She took a quick look behind her. “Is Brenda tailing us, or him?”

“Let's hope she's after
us,”
Nancy said, turning left. “Otherwise, she'll give us away, for sure. If we can stay between her and the green car long enough, maybe our target will show us where he's headed. Then we can shake Brenda.”

The green car led them toward the main business district. It turned into the parking lot of the public library, and the driver got out and walked briskly toward the library.

“Great!” Nancy breathed a sigh of relief. “It doesn't look like he spotted us.” As she drove past the library and on down the street, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Brenda was still tailing them, looking even angrier than before. “Now, let's lose Brenda!” She speeded up.

At that second, the stoplight just ahead turned yellow. Nancy stepped on the gas and squeaked through the light. Brenda, who was caught momentarily off guard by the Mustang's sudden speed, was left several car lengths behind. Still, she didn't hesitate. She accelerated, right through the red light.

“Hey, look!” George said triumphantly, watching Brenda through the back window. “There's a cop!” George pointed to a police car pulling out of the cross street, its red light flashing.

“That's one way to stop her!” Bess noted.

Nancy glanced back. The red car had pulled over to the curb, and the officer was out of his patrol car and strolling toward it. She was sure that Brenda's face was as red as her car.

“Beautiful!” cried George. “That was great driving, Nancy.”

“I'd give a month's allowance to hear
that
conversation,” Bess added.

Smiling, Nancy headed back to the library, where she parked on a side street.

“You know, that guy didn't exactly look like the intellectual type,” Bess remarked as they got out of the car. “I wonder what he's looking for in the library.”

“There's only one way to find out,” Nancy replied. “But we'll have to stay out of sight. We were lucky he didn't recognize us at the motel. We don't want him to spot us now.”

The man was at the main desk, talking to the librarian. Then he went to the reading room. While Nancy and the others watched from behind a bookshelf, he pulled several documents from a filing cabinet and took them to a table,
where he pored over them. Then, with a satisfied look, he put the documents away and walked out.

When the man had gone, Nancy went up to the main desk. The librarian was a woman she had known ever since she started checking out mysteries by the dozen. Recently, though, she'd been too occupied with
real
mysteries to think much about fictional ones.

“Hello, Miss Howard,” she said.

“Why, Nancy Drew,” the librarian said. She put down the file cards she was checking and smiled at Nancy over gold-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you?”

“Well, maybe,” Nancy told her. “Actually, I'm interested in the man who spoke to you about fifteen minutes ago. He looked familiar. I'm curious—what was he looking for?”

Miss Howard nodded. “Oh, yes, that one. I didn't get his name. He's a distant cousin of the Carltons, and he wanted to check on the family history. I suggested that he go to the River Heights Historical Society. But he wanted more current information, so I sent him to the files where we keep that data.”

“What was he interested in?”

Miss Howard frowned. “That was the funny part. Usually when people are checking on their family trees, they're more interested in who their relatives are than in how much they make.”

“So he was after
financial
information.”

“That's right. I guess he found what he was looking for, since he didn't ask any more questions.” She smiled, leaning forward. “Now,” she said, “can I interest you in a good mystery?”

“Thanks,” Nancy replied with a rueful grin. “I think I've already got one.”

“Well,” Nancy said as the girls hurried down the library steps, “it's beginning to look like we're on to something. Obviously, since this guy has a key to Mike's motel room, the two of them are connected. And we know that they're interested in Brenda for more than just her pretty face.” She glanced at her watch. “It's nearly lunchtime. After lunch, I'll call Mr. Carlton and bring him up to date. We probably haven't got enough to persuade Brenda to break off with Mike, but we're getting close.”

Bess grinned. “Did you say something about lunch?” she asked. “The Creekside Patio has terrific shrimp salads.”