Fatal Ransom (7 page)

“Be my guest,” Lance said. “Uh—I wouldn't go upstairs if I were you. Monica's up there.”

“I understand,” Nancy said.

• • •

In a few minutes she'd rejoined him on the driveway. “Someone will be here in an hour,” she said. “To either start the car or tow it away, or something. I'll just wait out here until they come.”

“Get in,” Lance said, pointing to his Maserati. “I'll drop you off at the mall on my way to the bank. It's almost on the way.”

“Thanks, Lance,” Nancy said gratefully.

Lance got in beside her, put the key in the ignition, and turned it. Then he slapped his forehead. “Wait a minute,” he groaned. “Now
I've
got to go back inside. I forgot to get a briefcase to put all that money in.”

Nancy smiled and shook her head as he disappeared into the house. The morning was really getting messed up. What else could possibly go wrong?

As if on cue, a car honked. Nancy turned around and saw Bess pull up and park farther down the driveway. Bess jumped out of her car and waved frantically at Nancy.

“What's she doing here?” Nancy said to herself. Something must have happened to George! Quickly she got out of Lance's car and ran toward Bess.

Suddenly there was an explosion behind her, and Nancy was hurled into the air.

W
HEN THE DUST
settled, Nancy was facedown on the driveway, and the first thing she heard was Bess screaming, “Are you all right? Nancy? Are you all right?”

For a minute Nancy didn't move.

“Nancy!” Bess shrieked.

Nancy turned over and looked at the smoke rising from Lance's car. “I'm all right,” she said, staggering to her feet. “If you hadn't pulled up and honked when you did, though, I wouldn't have been. Good timing, Bess!”

As Nancy walked toward the wreckage of the Maserati, Lance came rushing out of the house. His face was white.

“What happened?” he demanded. “I—I don't understand—”

“It's pretty clear,” Nancy said matter-of-factly. “Somebody bombed your car.”

“Somebody—my car—”

Lance looked as if he were going to be sick.

“Obviously these guys are not going to stop at kidnapping,” Nancy said.

Bess finished the thought. “They're out for murder.”

“But—but this doesn't make sense,” Lance said. “Why try to murder me now? They don't have their money yet!”

“Well, they obviously wanted you out of the way for
some
reason,” Nancy pointed out.

Suddenly Bess gave a gasp. “Or they were after you, Nan!”

“No,” Nancy said. “If they'd wanted me out of the way, they would have bombed
my
—wait a minute,” she whispered. “My car wouldn't start. That's why I was in the Maserati!”

She ran over to the Mustang and lifted the hood. Then her jaw tightened. She reached in and grabbed a loose wire.

“Here's the problem,” she said. “Somebody pulled one of the wires off the distributor cap. Whoever did this tried to fix it so that they could get me and Lance at the same time!”

All Nancy could think was that the kidnappers
must be on to her. And if they were, that made everyone's job more dangerous.

Nancy decided to keep the thought to herself. There was no point in making Bess and Lance any more scared than they already were.

“Do you have another car?” Nancy asked Lance.

He nodded. “I always keep a spare or two around,” he said, winking flirtatiously at Bess.

For a minute Nancy wondered how he could joke at a time like that. But she decided he was probably just trying to lighten things up a little.

“Go on ahead to the bank,” she told him. “I'll cancel the auto club and fix my car, then go to the mall. I'll get back as soon as I can.”

Bess stuck to Lance like a wad of gum until he finally pulled out of the driveway. When his car was out of sight, she sighed. “I can't believe it! He was so lucky he forgot that briefcase and had to go back into the house.”

“We were both lucky,” Nancy reminded her.

“Ned will be so glad you're safe,” Bess went on. “He must be worried sick about—Why are you looking at me like that, Nancy?”

“Ned doesn't know about this case,” Nancy said, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

“He doesn't
know?
You're involved in something this big and you haven't even bothered to tell him?”

“Ned had a big paper to do this week,” Nancy told her. “I just didn't want to bother him.”

Now Bess sounded almost angry. “Bother him! Nancy, you know I try to stay out of your love life—”

“I know, and I'm grateful to you for doing it, Bess—”

“But don't you think he'd rather know about it when you're in danger?” Bess went on. “He won't care much about getting an A on a paper if he never gets the chance to say goodbye to you.”

“Oh, stop being melodramatic, Bess!” Nancy exclaimed. “This isn't that dangerous. And I'd just like for once to give Ned a break and
not
drag him into a case.”

“Not dragging him in is one thing. Not bothering to tell him someone is trying to murder you is another. I think it's kind of an insult to leave him in the dark. Wouldn't you want to know if he were in trouble?”

She would, Nancy knew.

And suddenly she realized that Ned's paper wasn't the only reason she didn't want to tell him about this case. Ned wouldn't have wanted her to take on something so dangerous without the help of the police. They would have argued about it. And Nancy just wasn't up to another confrontation with him.

“There's plenty of time for him to find out later,” she said. Then she changed the subject. “What are you doing here anyway, Bess? Weren't you supposed to be at the mall watching George?”

“Oh! Yes. That's what I came to tell you,” said Bess. “George has found that tall, skinny kid with the Mohawk. The last time I saw them, they were gazing into each other's eyes over a couple of burgers.”

“So why did you leave her?”

“Well,” Bess drawled, “I guess I could have called you to tell you that. But then I wouldn't have been able to see Lance.”

Nancy folded her arms and stared up at the sky, fighting to keep her temper.

“You'd better be glad I didn't call,” Bess said defensively. “If I hadn't shown up, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. You wouldn't be having a conversation with anyone right now—not on this earth, anyway.”

“Okay, Bess,” Nancy said. She glanced at her watch. With all the excitement the morning had raced by.

“I've got to get back to check on George,” Nancy said. She patted Bess on the arm. “Say, would you mind staying here? Someone should be here to handle any messages that may come in—and if you see Monica, you can keep an eye on her too.”

“All right,” said Bess reluctantly. “But if she gives me any problems, I'm going to deck her.”

“You do that,” Nancy said, and laughed.

• • •

When Nancy arrived at the mall, she went into the hamburger place. George and the kid with the Mohawk were nowhere to be seen.

Nancy walked for what seemed like miles before she spotted the two. They were standing in the corridor looking into a store window. Nancy's skin crawled when the kid with the Mohawk took George's hand.

As Nancy eased her way through the crowd to get a closer look at the pair, her heart began to thunder. George could be in real danger if this boy were connected to the Hal Colson kidnapping! But Nancy held back. George knew what she was doing, and she didn't show any outward signs of nervousness.

Nancy was deciding what to do when she saw Bess coming toward her. “Bess! Why aren't you at the house?” she asked.

“This is why,” answered Bess, handing Nancy a neatly folded letter.

Nancy opened it. It was on stationery with Lance's letterhead. In neat handwriting it said, “Ms. Drew: I can take care of things myself. I don't need a baby-sitter. Especially one with eyes for my man.” The note was signed “Monica Sloane.”

Before Nancy could say anything, Bess blurted out, “Imagine the nerve of that woman! Calling me a baby-sitter. And accusing me of—why, she almost threw me out of the house!”

Nancy was reading the note again. Absent-mindedly she ran her fingers over the fine texture of the paper.

“Well, aren't you going to say anything?” Bess asked.

Nancy barely heard the words. A half-buried memory was forcing its way to the surface, and she was struggling to identify it. The note—the notepaper . . .

After fishing through her purse, Nancy pulled out the first ransom note Lance had received. She held it up to the sun and stared at it. The paper was fine-textured linen, with a swan watermark on it.

Then Nancy held up Monica's handwritten note—and smiled wryly. “Yep,” she said. Monica's note had the same watermark.

Holding the two papers side by side, Nancy saw that the ransom note was shorter than Monica's. The Colson letterhead had been cut off the ransom note.

“Nancy, what is it?” Bess asked.

Nancy grabbed Bess's arm and pointed her toward George and the guy with the Mohawk.

“You stay here and keep an eye on George,” she said. “I'm going to talk to Monica Sloane!”

• • •

“Well, Monica?” asked Nancy half an hour later as she confronted Monica with Lance, who had just returned. “What's the connection between your note to Bess and Hal's ransom note? I'm sure we'd all like to know.” She was watching Monica's eyes for any sign that might give her away.

“You're a stupid little thing,” Monica said. She stalked across the room and threaded her arm through Lance's. “Lance, are you going to stand here and let her talk to me that way?”

Lance shook his arm free and moved toward Nancy. He was staring at Monica as if he'd never seen her before.

“I'm sorry to do this,” Nancy said to him. I know it has to come as a shock to you. But Monica's a prime suspect in this kidnapping.”

“And
you
are insane,” snarled Monica.

“Both of you, be quiet!” Lance said, raising his voice slightly. Fighting to regain his composure, he turned to Nancy. “Nancy, I know you think this is true, but it really isn't. I know Monica. She doesn't like Hal, but she wouldn't do something like this.”

Monica was smirking at Nancy from across the room. Nancy decided to ignore her. “Then
how else do you explain the fact that both notes were written on your personal stationery?” she asked Lance.

“Simple. Monica got a piece of letterhead off my desk to write you that note. The other paper was probably in Hal's car. He was always borrowing my good stationery for stupid little things. We've even argued about that very thing.”

The story wasn't what Nancy wanted to hear, but it made sense.

“I bet the kidnappers found some of my stationery in Hal's car,” Lance continued.

Nancy nodded, but in her mind things still weren't adding up. Why would the kidnappers have bothered to cut the letterhead off the paper? What difference would it have made? If they'd deliberately intended to use this special paper, why not just use it as it was?

Nancy turned and paced the room, her back to Lance and Monica. There was no point in talking to Monica any further. And it was clear that Lance didn't share her suspicions, so she couldn't take it any further with him. But as far as she was concerned, Monica was still one of her main suspects.

Monica had all the reason in the world to want Hal out of the way. With him gone, Monica could try to put her relationship with
Lance back together again. If she could marry him, she'd be able to tap into a huge fortune—one they wouldn't have to share with Hal.

Monica began whining again and the sound broke into Nancy's thoughts. “Why don't you kick her out, Lance?” Monica asked. “She's not going to find Hal for you.”

“Go upstairs, Monica,” Lance answered quietly, patting her arm. “You're upset.”

Monica was silent for a second. Then she started to shriek.

“Of course I'm upset!” she screamed. “You bring that little brat and her bratty little friends in here and let them walk all over me! You accuse me of kidnapping your rotten nephew! You—you—” Her face became contorted by rage. Suddenly she twisted away from Lance and grabbed a poker from the fireplace.

“I'll get you, Nancy Drew!” she screeched, charging straight at Nancy with the poker straight out in front of her.