My Deadly Valentine (3 page)

“Oh, no!” Bess cried. “Is she . . . dead?”

“She's got a pulse,” Nancy answered, “but we have to call an ambulance.”

“There's a pay phone just inside the union,” Kristin said, backing away.

“I'll go with you,” Bess volunteered.

Nancy watched the two girls run up the hill,
then sat back on her heels to check out Rosie's injuries.

From the trickle of dried blood in Rosie's hair, it appeared that she'd been hit on the head. Nancy could see that she was breathing normally, but her face was ashen. “We've got to elevate her feet,” Nancy told Ned.

He looked around, then slipped the knapsack off his shoulder. “This should do it.” Gently, he lifted Rosie's feet and tucked the knapsack under them.

As he did, Nancy noticed something on the heels of Rosie's shoes. “Look at this,” she said, carefully lifting a foot again. The cream-colored suede heels were smudged with black streaks. “It's some kind of soot,” Nancy said.

“Could be dirt from the garden,” Ned guessed.

Nancy nodded. “But see how the dirt runs up the shoe's heel? She was dragged. Probably attacked someplace else, then brought here.”

Nancy looked at the note that was pinned to Rosie's lapel. In the light from one of the overhead lamps that dotted the campus, Nancy read it aloud: “ ‘You will pay for the heart you broke.' ” The note was signed “Cupid.”

Ned shook his head. “Sounds like a sicko with a vendetta.”

“Or an angry boyfriend,” Nancy said.

The note was attached to Rosie's coat by a safety pin. Nancy studied the handwriting. Wide,
square, block-printed letters—not as easy to identify as script. Carefully, with her gloves she turned the white slip of paper over and was surprised to find part of a printed diagram on the back. “Check this out,” she said.

Ned glanced over her shoulder. “It looks like a wiring diagram,” he said.

“ ‘Heating-Cooling Subbase,' ” Nancy read the captions aloud. “ ‘Fan Relay. Contactor Coil.' ” She glanced up at Ned. “Sounds like a diagram for some type of furnace.”

“It's a strange piece of evidence,” Ned said.

Nancy nodded. “The police will definitely want it.” Just then Bess and Kristin appeared at the bend in the footpath.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Bess shouted, her breath forming puffs of mist. “We called the police, too.” As the girls joined them at Rosie's side, Nancy rubbed the girl's hands between her own, trying to keep her warm.

“Oh, Rosie,” Kristin said, thinking aloud. “Who did this to you?”

“If all goes well, she'll recover completely,” Nancy said. “Then she can tell us who attacked her.”

In the distance, the wail of sirens cut through the night air. “They'll be here soon,” Nancy said, glancing up at Kristin. “In the meantime, talk to her. The sound of your voice might draw her out of her unconscious state.”

Nancy gave Bess the job of massaging Rosie's
hands. Then Nancy stood up and nodded at Ned. “Let's search the area for clues.”

They circled Rosie's body, looking for footprints, drag marks, or any loose objects, although Nancy knew that the lamplight probably wasn't bright enough to reveal anything significant.

She and Ned combed the garden all the way to the wall of the building, where she noticed a steel door. “Where does this lead?” she called to Kristin.

Kristin looked up and shrugged. “I'm not sure. Probably to an office or conference room on the ground floor of the union.”

Nancy tried the knob, but the door was locked tight. What was on the other side? she wondered.

“Any idea who might have done this?” Ned asked her as they continued combing the area.

Nancy sighed, realizing that Ned wouldn't want to hear the answer. “I know he's your friend, but considering the note, the most obvious guess is Casey Thompson.”

“Casey's not a bad guy,” Ned said forcefully. “Okay, so he was mad when he left the locker room—but do you really think he'd do this to Rosie?”

“Maybe it was a crime of passion,” Nancy said. “He was upset about losing the game. He was mad at Rosie. She told him to take a hike. And didn't she say something about his temper? Apparently tonight wasn't the first time Casey's flown off the handle.”

“The guy does have a short fuse,” Ned admitted. “I know that much from being his teammate.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an ambulance, escorted by a campus police officer. The vehicles pulled to a stop in the small lot beyond the garden. Dean Jarvis arrived a minute later, huffing and puffing from jogging across campus.

“A student has been injured,” Nancy said, standing back to give the medical squad room. She pointed out the note to the campus security guard, who carefully unpinned it and placed it in a handkerchief.

Everyone watched silently as the paramedics loaded Rosie onto a stretcher. The medics lifted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, then got inside and closed the doors. The van rolled down the campus lane toward the hospital, its red lights flashing.

“We're lucky you found her,” Dean Jarvis told Nancy and Ned. “No one can survive these freezing temperatures for long.” He rubbed his gloved hands together briskly. “Now, let's gather whatever evidence we can find out here,” he said to both the campus policeman and Nancy and her friends. “Then we'll head into the union and wait for the Emersonville police.”

Forty-five minutes later Nancy, Ned, Kristin, and Bess sat in the pit, a sunken lounge inside the
student union. A few students trickled in and out of the building. Some stopped to stare at the cluster of police before they moved on.

The teens had been questioned by Dean Jarvis, the campus security staff, and the Emersonville police.

The black tape from Rosie's mouth and the Cupid's note were collected as evidence by the police. Their search of the crime scene had turned up nothing, although Nancy suggested that they send someone to the hospital to get Rosie's shoes.

“Okay,” Emersonville Police Sergeant Weinberg said as he launched into a review of the evidence. “We have reason to believe the victim was attacked elsewhere, then dragged to the garden. And these young people witnessed an argument between the victim and her boyfriend, Casey Thompson.”

“That about sums it up,” Dean Jarvis said.

“We'll interview this Casey Thompson first thing in the morning,” Weinberg told Dean Jarvis.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” the dean said. “I'm really hoping that Rosie will be able to identify her attacker. But please keep my office updated.”

As the police and campus security began to clear out, Dean Jarvis turned to Nancy. “And I assume
you'll
notify me about any progress you make,” he said firmly.

Nancy smiled as she zipped up her parka. “What makes you think I'm going to investigate?” she asked, her eyes twinkling.

“There was never a doubt in my mind, Nancy,” he said with a wry smile.

Nancy nodded. “If I learn anything, I'll let you know,” she promised.

Tired and somber, the teens went back out into the cold night and returned to the Theta Pi house. Bess and Kristin went inside, while Nancy stayed outside to say good night to Ned.

“I have classes all morning and one in the afternoon,” Ned told her, “but I can meet you in between for lunch.”

“Sounds good,” Nancy said. “Where should we meet?”

“How about at the student union snack bar around noon?” Ned suggested.

“See you then,” Nancy said, and kissed Ned goodnight.

Nancy went inside and climbed the stairs of the dark, quiet sorority house. Everyone else had gone to bed, which was just as well, she thought. The news about Rosie would wait until morning. Maybe by then they would have word from the hospital that she was conscious and feeling fine.

As she crawled into bed, Nancy hoped for the best. But she had trouble falling asleep with so many questions nagging at her.

I wonder where Cupid got the paper for his note, she thought as she rolled over. The block
printing would be hard to trace, but the diagram wouldn't. Why would someone hurt Rosie? Had anyone else seen the attack? And what did “Cupid” really want?

• • •

“I can't believe it! I just can't believe it!” Mindy shook her head as she placed a platter of cinnamon toast on the kitchen table.

Bess and Nancy were eating breakfast along with Mindy and Brook, who had kitchen duty that morning. Kristin was on the phone, talking to the hospital. A few other girls had passed through earlier, before their Wednesday morning classes. Everyone was stunned and alarmed when they heard what had happened to Rosie. Several of the sisters wondered if Casey could be responsible.

Kristin hung up the kitchen phone. “The nurse on Rosie's floor says that she regained consciousness last night, but she's asleep right now.”

“What about injuries?” Nancy asked.

“Her arm is broken, and she has a concussion,” Kristin answered, pouring a glass of orange juice.

“Thank goodness it's not worse,” Bess said.

“A concussion can be pretty serious,” Nancy pointed out. “They'll have to observe her for a few days.”

“Poor Rosie,” Mindy said. “But
you
don't believe Casey would hurt Rosie, do you?” she continued, passing a platter of eggs. “First, he
was her boyfriend. He's crazy about Rosie. And second, he left the gym hours before she did.”

Nancy served herself some eggs. It was possible that Casey had lain in wait for Rosie to come along. But most girls didn't travel across campus alone at night. “Does anyone remember what time Rosie left the party?” Nancy asked. “And did she leave by herself?”

“I saw her leave just before midnight,” Brook said. “She was with Fitz.”

“The police will want to question him,” Nancy said. She would have to notify Dean Jarvis.

“Wait a minute,” Kristin said. “You're not saying that Fitz could have hurt Rosie, are you?”

“It's possible,” Nancy said.

“No way!” Brook said.

“Fitz is like our brother,” Mindy added. “He's not the guy the police should be grilling.”

“But he may have been the last person to see Rosie before the attack,” Bess pointed out.

“This whole thing gives me the creeps.” Kristin stared at her plate before turning her hazel eyes on Nancy. “I know this is supposed to be your vacation, but could you do a little investigating?”

“You'd have an edge over the police since you're right here on campus,” Brook pointed out.

Nancy nodded.

“I just hope that Rosie will be able to identify her attacker,” Bess said. “Then the mystery will be solved.”

“In the meantime,” Nancy said, “does anybody have any idea who might want to hurt Rosie?”

“The whole thing seems pretty obvious to me,” Mindy said. “Think about it. Rosie was injured just after she was crowned. Now it sounds as if she won't be out of the hospital in time for the Sweetheart Ball, which means the first runner-up will become Sweetheart. And that just happens to be Tamara Carlson, Rosie's rival from Delta Zeta!”

“But the note sounds like it came from an old boyfriend,” Bess pointed out. “Cupid . . . and a broken heart.”

“Could be a smoke screen,” Mindy persisted. “There's bad blood between them, and Tamara can be vicious.”

“Tamara Carlson—vicious?” Bess asked. She and Nancy exchanged a look of disbelief.

Mindy nodded. “Do you know her?”

“We've met her,” Nancy said, shrugging. “Another time when we were here. She never seemed vicious to me.”

Bess nodded in agreement.

“Well,” Mindy said, “let me give you a juicy example. Last week we were eating in the dining hall when word came over the P.A. system that Rosie had won the Sweetheart election. Tamara was fuming. When Rosie got up to bus her tray, Tamara stuck out her foot and tripped her. Dishes shattered, and Rosie fell flat on the floor.”

“That sounds pretty nasty,” Bess said.

Nancy agreed, and decided to have a talk with Tamara.

The opportunity came sooner than Nancy had expected. At noon she and Bess walked into the student union snack bar, looking for Ned. Instead Nancy spotted Tamara Carlson moving through the line.

“Why don't you grab us a table?” Nancy murmured to Bess. “I'll be right back.”

She joined Tamara in line and tapped her on the shoulder. “Tamara, remember me?”

The girl studied Nancy, then she smiled. “You're the detective, right?”

“Nancy Drew. I'm here to spend Sweetheart Week with my boyfriend,” Nancy explained, trying to set Tamara at ease.

“That's nice,” the girl said, sliding a slice of pie onto her tray. “But aren't you investigating the attack on Rosie Lopez?”

Nancy glanced away. News traveled fast on a college campus. “Not officially,” she answered. “What do you know about it?”

“Just that she's in the hospital.” Tamara paid the cashier, then turned to Nancy. “I'm sorry about what happened to Rosie. It sounds awful. But I admit, I want to be the next Sweetheart. Her bad luck could be my big break.” She turned and walked to a table.

Nancy followed her. The chairs at the table were covered with Delta Zeta jackets.

“Just one more question,” Nancy said before Tamara had a chance to pull out a chair and sit down. “Where were you last night after the party, say, after eleven-thirty?”

Tamara's face puckered in anger. “What is this—an interrogation?”

“No.” Nancy was surprised by Tamara's tone, but she wasn't backing off. “It's just a simple question.”

“Tell her what I was doing last night,” Tamara said, glancing at her sorority sisters, who were just arriving at the table with their food-laden trays.