Fatal Attraction (9 page)

“There's the bike,” she said. “He must be inside that trailer.”

Swiftly they made their way through the shadowy space between the closely parked trailers. In a few seconds, they were standing just below the trailer's small louvered window. Inside, Mike was talking to somebody.

“You mean that strawberry blonde with the great legs?” he was asking incredulously. “You're crazy, Felix.”

“Look.” The other voice was exasperated. “Nancy Drew just happens to be a hotshot detective. I read a newspaper story about her and a helicopter crash up in Canada. She not only survived the crash, but inside half an hour
she'd arrested the woman who sabotaged the chopper.”

“Yeah, but—” Mike said.

“Wait, there's more. I found out that a former mayor of this very town is breaking rocks somewhere upstate because of this girl. He had everybody in this town fooled about a murder for twenty-five years, until she got on the case. She's had more people busted than you've got fingers and toes.” There was a disgusted snort. “And you let
her
get a picture of you! That was really
stupid
.”

The silence stretched out. “Maybe we'd better pull out now,” Mike offered at last, “before she gets on to us.”

“Nah, we're too close. Besides, we need the cash. That job in Batesville didn't pay off the way it should have. Fortunately, there're no mug shots of you, so the picture shouldn't hurt us too much. But Brenda practically gave Drew a road map to everywhere we've been. If I hadn't bumped the table and dumped that coffee in her lap, no telling what else she might have spilled. And now that Drew's got the photo, you can bet she'll take it somewhere where people will recognize you and talk.”

“So what's the big deal if she does?” Mike retorted. “So we picked up a a few bucks from some rich kids' parents. Most of them were more than willing to give me that money. And they'd
be too embarrassed to say anything about it now. You're making it sound like we're wanted for murder.”

There was another long silence. Nancy stood on an old wooden crate and peered through the window. Mike was glaring at the gray-bearded man—Felix—across a small table. There was barely room on the floor for a huge, short-haired dog lying at the older man's feet.

Nancy waited for Felix to respond but he only said, “Look, the way I figure it, we still have a couple of days before Nancy Drew gets enough on us to cause real trouble. That should be enough time for you to sweet-talk the Carlton girl into making her move. Time for me to do my work, too.” His voice dropped threateningly. “And don't get involved, like you did with Darla.”

Mike laughed harshly. “Felix, you've got to be kidding. Get involved with Brenda Carlton? Not a chance. Yeah, she's pretty, but—”

At that second, the dog lifted its head and growled menacingly. Startled, Nancy shifted her weight and the crate she was standing on collapsed with a crash. The dog gave a low, rumbling bark.

“There's somebody out there!” Felix said in a half whisper.

Ned pulled Nancy to her feet. “Come on,” he said, “we've got to get out of here.”

Together, they began to run into the darkness at the back of the trailer park. From the sound of the dog's frenzied barking, it had been set loose and was closing in on them.

Her muscles straining, Nancy ran harder, a pace or two behind Ned. But the ground was littered with junk—boxes, old tires, broken auto parts—and she had to weave in and out through the rusty piles. The breath burning in her throat, she cast a look back over her shoulder. The dog was gaining, its lips laid back in a snarl, its sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

Then, just ahead in the darkness, Nancy could make out the webby shadow of a tall chain-link fence. If only she could reach the fence, she'd be safe. But behind her the huge mastiff made a giant lunge, his fangs bared. He was just inches away!

G
IVE ME YOUR
hands, Nancy,” Ned said urgently. He was straddling the top bar of the six-foot-high fence, reaching down.

Nancy held up her hands and Ned grabbed her wrists, half lifting, half dragging her over the top. Nancy felt as if her arms were being pulled out painfully at the shoulders, and below her she could hear the dog, snapping viciously as he jumped for her.

Over the fence, Nancy and Ned faded into the shadows as the mastiff threw himself against the wire, snarling in furious frustration. Felix was a dozen paces behind the dog, a club in his hand.

“Did you get them?” Nancy heard Mike shout as he ran up beside Felix.

“Nah.” Felix spat out the word in disgust. “They got away.” For a moment he paced along the fence, with the dog sniffing at the wire. Then he called the dog and went back to the trailer.

“Do you think they saw us?” Nancy whispered. They were crouched in the shadow of a dumpster, surrounded by the smell of rotting garbage.

“I hope not,” Ned whispered back fervently. They crept out of the shadows and down a dark alley toward the car. Ned unlocked it and they climbed in.

“We really hit the jackpot tonight,” Nancy said, ticking off what they had learned on her fingers. “We managed to track Felix down. We know for sure now that he and Mike
are
in cahoots, and that they've been involved with at least three girls—Laura, Darla, and Brenda—and who knows how many more. We know that they had something to do with the Darla DeCamp case in Batesville, and that it didn't pay off the way it was supposed to. And we know that Mike was personally involved with Darla—who is now dead.”

Ned started the car and they drove off. “Uh-huh,” he agreed, checking the rearview mirror to be sure they weren't followed. “But Mike
said something back there that sounded like he knew they
weren't
wanted for murder.”

“I heard that too,” Nancy replied, nodding. “Felix was telling him how stupid it was for him to let me get his picture, and he said, ‘You're making it sound like we're wanted for murder.' I don't think he would have said that if he'd been responsible for Darla's death.”

“Well, we still don't know how Darla DeCamp died,” Ned reminded her. “Maybe she fell out of a fishing boat.” He shuddered. “Or maybe she committed suicide.”

“We've got to find out,” Nancy said. “Tomorrow I'm going to Batesville.”

“Do you want me to come?” Ned asked, turning onto Main Street.

“No, there's plenty to do here,” Nancy told him. “We promised Mr. Carlton we'd protect Brenda, and that means keeping an eye on Mike.”

“If it's all the same to you, I'll stick with Mike.” Ned turned to grin at Nancy.

“Okay.” Nancy nodded. “George and Bess can double up on Brenda. It takes two to watch her, anyway. I'll give them a call when we get home.”

Ned glanced at her. “Any idea how long it's going to take to wrap this thing up? I seem to remember something about a vacation that got postponed almost a week ago.”

Nancy shook her head. “I can't say when this thing is going to end. Somehow, we have to convince Brenda that Mike is only after her money. And we have to get firm evidence that will take these guys out of circulation. We need something so clear that even Brenda can't miss it.”

“Just be careful, Nancy,” Ned said. “There's something fishy about the way the Batesville chief handled your call. I don't trust him. And it sounds like you're on Felix's hit list already.”

“Don't worry—I'll keep my eyes open,” Nancy said grimly.

• • •

“I'm sorry, Ms. Drew,” Chief Saunders said in a flat, expressionless voice, after Nancy was seated in his bare office on Friday morning. “I'm not in a position to reveal any of the details of the DeCamp case—not even the cause of death.” He was a ruddy-faced man with chilly blue eyes. Those blue eyes were fixed on Nancy now as he leaned back and folded his hands across his belt. “In fact, I'm wondering why you're so interested in this business.”

“I told you over the phone,” Nancy said, trying to sound more patient than she felt. “I'm investigating a case in River Heights that involves two men, a younger guy using the name of Mike McKeever and an older one named Felix.”
Nancy studied the chief's face as she spoke. Was there a flicker of interest in those cold blue eyes as she mentioned Felix?

Nancy went on. “These two have been involved in a similar case in Silver Hills. And I think they're connected to Darla DeCamp.”

“I see.” Chief Saunders leaned forward. “And what is your evidence?”

Nancy hesitated. “I found something in Mike McKeever's possession,” she said slowly, “with Darla's name on it. And a ticket to the Batesville County Fair.”

The chief leaned back again. “I hope you'll forgive me if I say that your evidence isn't very conclusive,” he remarked. “What else?”

“I know that Felix made a phone call to Batesville,” Nancy said, watching the chief carefully to see his reaction. She could have added “to this number,” but she didn't. What if Saunders were involved in this somehow?

“Hmm,” the chief said, picking up his pencil. He looked at Nancy and his blue eyes were even chillier. “Well, if you'll tell me where I can find these men, I'll look into it.”

“But that's not what I had in mind,” Nancy said, frustrated. “I need to find out how Darla DeCamp died.”

The chief stood up. “I'm sorry, Miss Drew,” he said pleasantly, “but that's the best I can do.”

“I see.” Nancy stood up too, and cast a mistrustful
look at the chief. “Thank you,” she muttered, and left.

• • •

Well, there's more than
one
way to crack this thing, Nancy told herself as she got back into her Mustang. If the chief wouldn't cooperate, she'd try something else. She stopped at a phone booth and checked the directory. There was a Howard DeCamp listed at 135 Crown Drive.

Crown Drive was on the outskirts of the peaceful little town, and the DeCamp house was at the end of it. The brick house was large and imposing, with a long graveled driveway bordered with roses. It was a house that had been built by somebody who had plenty of money, and it had a peaceful, serene air. But Nancy had the feeling that the peace and serenity were only an appearance. Underneath, there was something else. Darla had lived here, and now she was dead. And Nancy suspected that the last few weeks of her life had been anything
but
peaceful and serene.

Nancy rang the doorbell. After a few minutes, a thin, dark-haired man opened the door a crack. His hair was disheveled and it looked as if he hadn't shaved for a week.

“If you're a reporter, go away,” he said gruffly. “I won't talk to you.”

“I'm not a reporter,” Nancy told him. “My name is Nancy Drew. I'm a private detective from River Heights. I know that this is a very
difficult time, but I'd like to ask you a few questions about your daughter, if you don't mind.”

The man's eyes narrowed. “I
do
mind,” he said, and began to close the door.

“Please, Mr. DeCamp,” Nancy pleaded. “I know this is hard for you, but with your help, justice can be done and—”

“Justice!” Mr. DeCamp spat out the word. “My daughter is dead! Justice can never bring her back again! Don't talk to me about
justice!”

“Perhaps I can help,” Nancy said softly. She opened her bag and pulled out the photo of Mike, holding it up. “Can you identify this man?”

Mr. DeCamp stared at the photo, the color draining from his face until it was pasty white. “Yes,” he said, swallowing hard. The Adam's apple bobbed up and down in his thin neck. “That's the man who killed my daughter!”

S
O SHE
WAS
murdered,” Nancy said softly.