Out of Bounds (4 page)

When Nancy pulled up to the Tylers' renovated farmhouse, Cynthia was sitting on the porch steps, looking as if she hadn't slept all night.

“Hop in,” Nancy called.

Cynthia practically flew into the Mustang. “Thanks for coming, Nancy,” she said. “I'm so nervous that I'd be afraid to drive, and I want to see him so much.”

Cynthia was really in love with Rob, Nancy thought. Automatically she started thinking about
her
boyfriend, Ned Nickerson. Even though Ned was away at Emerson College most of the year, she thought about him a lot. True love was the greatest, Nancy knew. She only hoped Rob was okay—and that he felt about Cynthia the way she obviously felt about him.

“Where are Bess and George?” Cynthia asked, cutting into Nancy's thoughts. Obviously she had just noticed they weren't there.

“George called and said they'd meet us at the
hospital—to save me a little driving. It's good they're going to do all these tests,” Nancy said, returning to the subject of Rob.

Cynthia nodded. “I just hope he's okay. He'll go crazy if he has to sit out the game next week.”

The minute Nancy parked in the visitors' lot and turned off the engine, Cynthia was out the door. Nancy trotted to catch up to her. In the Intensive Care corridor, Nancy and Cynthia spotted Dr. Gebel talking to a nurse.

“I'm so glad you've come,” the doctor told Cynthia as the two girls approached her. “I would have called but didn't know your last names.”

Cynthia's eyes widened in panic. “Why? What's wrong?” she stammered.

“Rob's gone. He left the hospital early this morning,” the doctor said simply.

“Gone? You mean, he's been released already?” Cynthia's face was stark white.

“No, I mean he left the hospital—without being released,” Dr. Gebel replied tensely.

“You mean—”

The doctor continued in a worried tone, “There could be internal bleeding, or a blood clot—anything could be wrong. Unless he readmits himself, Rob could be in very serious danger!”

D
O YOU MEAN
Rob might
die?”
Cynthia asked, clutching Nancy's arm and staring in wide-eyed panic at the doctor.

“I don't want to scare you,” Dr. Gebel said in a kindly but serious tone. “But neither do I want you to underestimate the risk. There have been cases in which athletes who thought they were perfectly fine did die at a later date from internal injuries.”

“When exactly did he leave?” Nancy asked anxiously.

“Before dawn. When the nurse came to prep him for his tests, he became very upset and left,” the doctor explained, glancing at the medical
chart on her clipboard. “He was gone by seven
A.M.
His parents haven't seen him.”

“I can't believe it,” Cynthia murmured breathlessly. “That isn't like Rob.”

The doctor arched her well-shaped eyebrows and shook her head. “If you find him, tell him that we're here to help him, not hurt him.”

“I will,” said Cynthia in a determined tone.

Nancy caught sight of Bess and George moving down the corridor toward them. “Hi, everyone!” Bess chirped. “How's Rob doing?”

George must have noticed the grim expression on their faces. “What's wrong?” she asked.

“Rob's gone,” Nancy said. “He walked out this morning. He didn't want any tests.”

“Why would he do that?” Bess exclaimed.

“Cynthia, I think you should go look for him right away,” Nancy said urgently.

“That's an excellent idea,” the doctor agreed, lowering her clipboard and giving Cynthia a supportive pat on the arm. “The sooner he seeks medical attention the better.”

“Thanks, Dr. Gebel,” Cynthia said as the doctor began walking away. “I think I know where to find him,” she added to her friends. “But I want to talk to him alone.”

“That's probably a good idea,” Nancy told her. “Oh, gosh. It's after ten-thirty, and I'm due at Touchdown at eleven. George, can you drive Cynthia?”

“Sure,” George volunteered.

“Thanks,” Cynthia said softly.

The girls all turned to leave the hospital. “Want to get together after my shift? I'll want to hear about Rob and what happened to him,” Nancy said.

“I may not be up for it—I'm pretty worn out,” Cynthia said.

“We'll meet you,” said George. “At Touchdown at seven?”

“Good,” Nancy replied. Then she turned to Cynthia. “I hope Rob will be all right.”

“And not
just
for his sake,” Bess added. “If he's really injured or sick or something, the Bedford Bears are in real trouble.”

“I'll bet that's what Rob's thinking,” said Cynthia, a trace of bitterness in her voice. “He wants to win the state championship so much, I don't think he'll let anything stand in his way.”

“Not even his health?” George asked gently.

“Not even his own health,” Cynthia echoed, her eyes filling with angry tears as she pushed open the wide hospital door. “Sometimes I wish he'd never started playing football in the first place!”

• • •

Touchdown wasn't quite as busy that Sunday afternoon as it had been the day before. Gray skies and threatening rain seemed to be keeping the customers away.

“I'm Nancy Edwards,” Nancy announced to Mark, who was standing at one of the big-screen TV's, watching a football game. “I'm here to work.”

“Oh? I'm Mark Gatwin, the assistant manager,” Mark told her.

Nancy smiled. “What should I do first?”

“Go see Pete,” Mark answered, looking her over with a pleasant smile. “His office is just past the rest rooms. First left.”

Nancy found the narrow corridor behind the rest rooms and knocked on the door. Through a small window in the door, she watched as Pete looked up from a ledger on his cluttered desk.

“Oh, it's you,” he said, opening the door for her. “Listen, I don't have time to break you in right now. Just tell Mark to get you a uniform jersey and let you take table service. I'll teach you how to work the registers after lunch.” With that he went back to his work, and Nancy went back out to the restaurant.

“All set?” asked Edgar Chessman, his paper serving hat comically askew.

“Not exactly,” Nancy admitted. “Pete told me to start out by serving tables. Mark's supposed to give me a Touchdown jersey and set me up.”

“He stepped out,” Edgar said. “But I can show you what to do. First I'll get you a uniform.” He reached into the kitchen, grabbed a jersey, and handed it to Nancy. Then he continued, “The
food orders come out over here, see?” He led her over to one end of the counter area. “They stick little footballs with numbers on them. Here comes one now—it's number fourteen. So you take it to table fourteen. See? Nothing to it. Just don't fumble.”

“Great. Thanks, Edgar.” Nancy had to smile. Edgar was one person who couldn't possibly be guilty of anything worse than telling a bad joke.

Business picked up, but after about an hour it slowed again, and the tables started to empty out. Nancy wondered how much money had been taken in that day so far. With all these crowds, there had to be a lot of cash in the registers. Catching Edgar sitting at a table on a brief break, she decided to chat with him.

“Edgar,” she began in a casual tone of voice. “I keep thinking about what Pete said to Cynthia yesterday. Do you think she really took that money?”

“Never!” said Edgar emphatically. “Once a ten-dollar bill fell out of my uniform, and Cynthia came running up to me with it. Would a dishonest person do that? For that matter, I don't think Erica was a thief, either.”

“Hmmm. How long have the thefts been going on?” she asked.

Edgar stood up, hooked his thumbs together, stretched his long, gangly arms over his head, and
yawned once. “A few weeks. It's really turned Pete into a raving maniac. You saw him yesterday. He flies off the handle about nothing at all. I guess he knows his days are numbered if he doesn't stop the thefts.”

“You mean the corporation will fire him if the stealing keeps up?” Nancy asked, following Pete behind the counter.

“Right. Wouldn't you if you were them?” Edgar winked.

“I guess so. Who'd be manager if Pete got fired? Mark?”

“He's Pete's assistant. I guess so,” Edgar said with a shrug. “Then this place would really be in trouble.”

“How's that?” asked Nancy.

“Mark isn't exactly Mr. Diligent. He lets people come and go as they please. He doesn't even seem to care if people show up for work!”

“That's weird,” Nancy commented.

“I guess he figures he's not to blame if things don't work around here—Pete is.”

“By the way, Edgar, how much money
has
been taken?” Nancy asked casually.

“Don't know,” said Edgar with a shake of his head. “You'd have to ask Mark or Pete that one, but I wouldn't ask, if I were you.”

“How come nobody's called the police?” Nancy asked.

“So many questions!” said Edgar, holding his hands to his head. “I just work here, remember? You know, you missed your calling, Nancy. You should have been a detective!”

Nancy was startled momentarily. “Maybe I should have,” she replied. “Thanks, Edgar. I guess I'd better get back to work.”

Later Pete checked on Nancy to see how she was getting along. To Nancy's relief, he seemed in a pretty good mood.

“Ready to learn the registers?” he asked, motioning her behind the counter.

After she learned to use the cash register, Nancy realized that if someone was taking money directly from the registers, the computer would have fingered the culprit by now. Every transaction was recorded for anyone to see.

“You know,” Pete admitted a little gruffly, “I'm sorry about what happened with Cynthia. She was a nice enough kid, but I can't keep a thief here.”

“Cynthia didn't steal anything from the restaurant,” Nancy said, meeting Pete's gaze directly.

Pete returned her stare and was silent for a minute. “I thought you didn't know her that well.”

“I know her friends,” said Nancy. “I trust their judgment in people.”

“Well,” said Pete, with a frustrated sigh. “That money was missing from
her
register.”

“Why don't you call the police?” Nancy asked as politely as she could.

Pete's face darkened. “Because I know her boyfriend. And I like to keep things in the family, that's why,” he growled.

“But what if she is innocent?” Nancy pressed gently. “That could mean the real thief is still here.”

“Let me tell you something, kid. Anybody who steals another dime from this place is going to have to deal with me—personally. Now, let's get back to work. Rule number one: don't waste time,” he said with a sudden scowl, heading back to his office. “You're on tomorrow from four to ten,” he called over his shoulder as he went.

Mark came up to Nancy. “Did the coach lay into you just now?” he asked with a comforting smile.

“I guess so,” said Nancy.

“Pete's in big trouble,” said Mark, with a gleam in his hazel eyes. “The way I figure it, there must be several thousand missing by now.” He seemed to enjoy spreading the information.

“Poor Pete,” said Nancy. “It's really driving him crazy, isn't it?”

“I don't feel too sorry for him, though,” Mark added. “It's not like it's his only line of work.”

Nancy's ears perked up. “Oh?” she said. “What else does he do?”

“Oh, he's got ten percent of—”

“Mark! Get over here!” Pete's voice blasted out. “Are you working today, or what?”

“Excuse me, please,” said Mark. With a little bow of his head, he left Nancy to her register.

The rest of Nancy's eight-hour shift was uneventful, except for the dull, throbbing ache in her legs. Stepping outside just after seven o'clock, Nancy was surprised that Bess and George weren't there to meet her. She checked the skies for the rain that had been threatening all day. A huge gray cloud was hovering overhead, so she decided to head on home and call Bess from there.

She was really curious about what could have happened to Rob—and where Bess and George were.

At least she'd learned a bit that day. Pete had a sideline of some kind, some source of extra income. Nancy wondered if it was the ballplayers he managed or something else. She also wondered why he didn't want the police involved with the thefts, even with his job on the line.

Nancy's thoughts turned to Mark. He obviously wouldn't mind having Pete's job himself. There was a lot left for her to find out, Nancy thought as she made her way through the parking lot to her Mustang. She reached in her purse for her keys and wasn't watching where she stepped.