Perfect Plot (5 page)

T
HE VOICE
fell silent as mysteriously as it had begun.

Nancy and George stared at each other, wide-eyed. When George started to say something, Nancy held her index finger to her lips as a warning to be silent. She scanned the room. The voice had seemed to come from near Dorothea's desk. Nancy crooked a finger to George, and the two of them began to tiptoe in that direction.

Suddenly a noise came from beyond the desk. It sounded like a door closing, followed by the click of a lock. It seemed to come from near a small table set against the wall. The table was bare.

Frowning, Nancy knelt down and peered under the table, then motioned for George to do the
same. Set into the base of the wall was a louvered heating vent. The voice had obviously traveled through the heating duct from some other room.

Nancy touched George's shoulder and pointed to the door of the room. She didn't want to say anything, in case their voices traveled back through the vent to the other person, giving them away.

Once outside Nancy told George her theory, then asked, “Did you recognize that voice?”

George shook her head. “To tell the truth, I'm not even sure it was a man or a woman.” She was worried when she asked, “Do you think the person was talking to us?”

“I doubt it,” Nancy replied. “He or she would have to know we were in the study just now
and
know which heating duct came in there. No, my hunch is that we overheard someone threatening to expose the person who stole Dorothea's gold figurines. If we only knew where the voices came from and who was talking to whom, we could probably crack this case.”

She started to add something, but a yawn took her by surprise. Glancing at her watch, she said, “It's too late to track them down now, though. We'd better turn in. Tomorrow I want to hunt down the plans of the house and trace that duct.”

• • •

On Saturday morning Nancy awoke when a sunbeam slid through the crack between the
velvet curtains and hit her face. She rolled over and covered her head with the pillow, but it was too late. She was awake.

Seeing that George was still sound asleep, Nancy got quietly out of bed and dressed in jeans and a turtleneck. She grabbed her leather jacket and tiptoed out of the room. It was still early, before eight. Maybe a walk in the garden would help her to think clearly about the theft of the jeweled figurines.

She left the mansion by way of the sun room and walked through the rose garden toward the end of the house that was under repair. It was a perfect Indian summer day—the sky was a flawless blue, and the sun was beginning to take the early-morning chill from the air. Nancy breathed in the scent of rich loam and dew-wet grass.

As she walked past the side of the house, she noticed what looked like the entrance to an old-fashioned maze. She strolled over to it. The boxwood hedges that made up the walls hadn't been trimmed in a while. Just inside the entrance, some of the branches were broken, making the maze look like a thicket.

Nancy decided that exploring the maze could wait for another time. In spite of the rising sun, the hedges were too dark and cold to be inviting.

Nancy wound around a pile of lumber, making her way toward the front corner of the mansion. She paused next to a flagstone path that made its
way between flower beds that were ablaze with autumn color. Nancy followed the path down into a hollow with a tiny stream at the bottom. The house was out of sight now, hidden by the rise. Ahead, a set of stone steps led up to the white summerhouse she had glimpsed from her room the day before.

As she started up the steps, one of the summerhouse windows reflected a blinding flash of sunlight into Nancy's eyes, causing her to stumble. She closed her eyes until the black spots faded from her field of vision, then shaded her face with her hand and looked curiously up at the summerhouse. None of the windows caught the sun now.

Hmm, that's odd, Nancy thought. She took a step to each side, but still the windows mirrored only sky. What had caused that flash? Had a window been shifted by the breeze? There didn't appear to be any breeze, though, judging by the motionless branches of the trees near her.

Nancy shrugged and started up the steps again. The world was full of mysteries. She couldn't expect to solve all of them.

Near the top of the steps, she stopped short. She watched as the door to the summerhouse was pulled open from the inside, squeaking as it went.

Nancy recognized Erika's short blond hair as the young editor backed out of the summerhouse
to pull the door shut. Erika hitched the handles of a canvas tote bag higher up on her shoulder and turned. When she saw Nancy, she gasped.

“You startled me! I didn't know anyone was here.”

“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you,” Nancy said with a smile. “It's good to know I'm not the only early riser. Pretty day, isn't it?”

Erika peered around her absently. “Yes, it is. Chilly, though,” she said. She bent down to brush a patch of dust from her navy blue skirt, then buttoned her matching blazer.

Nancy decided to ask a few roundabout questions. Maybe she could uncover some clue to the theft of the figurines. “It's fascinating being here at Mystery Mansion,” she said lightly. “Did you know Dorothea well?”

“I certainly did,” Erika replied. “I started writing her fan letters when I was still in high school. The amazing part is, she answered them. In college, I organized the Dorothea Burden Society and invited her to come speak to the members. That was the first time we met in person.”

“But not the last,” Nancy guessed as they started back toward the main house. Erika seemed to take a lot of pride in her relationship with the late novelist.

Erika gave a smug smile. “Not at all,” she said. “I even spent a couple of weekends here at
Mystery Mansion. Dotty loved to give her guests guided tours.”

Nancy said, “You must know the house really well then. It's—well—it's very unusual.”

Erika stopped walking abruptly and turned to meet Nancy's eyes. “You've heard about the secret passages, haven't you?” she demanded. “Here's some free advice. Stay away from them. They can be really dangerous, even for people who know their way around in them. And there aren't many of us now that Dotty's gone.”

“I'll remember that,” Nancy said. She wondered why Erika had become so unfriendly.

They were making their way past what looked like a gardener's shed, when something purple and green came hurtling around a corner of the shed and slammed into Erika. She crashed to the ground, and her tote bag went flying.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Patrick said, catching his breath. “I was jogging and wasn't paying attention to where I was going.”

Erika seemed dazed as Patrick and Nancy helped her up. She glanced around at the scattered contents of her tote bag, then started scuttling around picking up what appeared to be hundreds of typed pages.

“Oh, thanks,” Erika said breathlessly as Nancy and Patrick bent to help her. Taking bunches of pages from them, she stuffed them hurriedly in the tote bag. “I brought a manuscript with me to
work on this weekend. I hoped to steal some time before breakfast today.”

“What's this for?” Nancy asked, picking up a black flashlight that had also fallen out of the bag. “Were you worried that you wouldn't have enough light to read by?”

Erika reddened. “I always carry a flashlight,” she said defensively. “I have problems with the dark.”

Nancy studied her through narrowed eyes. The editor was definitely hiding something, and Nancy was determined to find out what it was.

• • •

“Look who has attached herself to Patrick,” George said to Nancy in a low voice a half hour later. The two girls were just entering the dining room, where a buffet-style breakfast had been set up.

Nancy noticed Erika learning close to Patrick at one end of the table, toast and coffee in front of her.

“Not that you care, right, George?” Nancy teased, fixing herself a bowl of cereal and fruit.

George raised her head from the eggs and bacon she was spooning onto her plate. “I really don't—not the way you mean, anyway. He is a nice guy, and she's so . . .”

“Whiny?” Nancy supplied. “Well, I'm sure Patrick knows how to take care of himself. Come on, we've got a case to solve.”

The two girls sat down next to Vanessa, who was sitting across from Kate and Julian Romarain. Professor Coining and Bill Denton were also there, sharing a newspaper.

Turning to Vanessa, Nancy said, “You knew Dorothea Burden very well, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you think when you heard about her will?” Nancy continued.

Vanessa took a sip of coffee before answering. “You mean that she had left everything to the foundation?” she said. “Well, all her friends were surprised. I guess none of us expected her to cut Patrick off the way she did. She had always treated him as if he were her own son. Personally, I think she may have become just a tiny bit gaga toward the end.”

The conversation ended as Kate tapped a fork against her water glass. “Good morning, everyone,” Kate said. “As you know, our first event this morning is an informal talk by Maxine Treitler, entitled ‘Editing Dorothea.' That will take place right after breakfast, in the library.”

From outside came the sound of tires on gravel, followed by the slamming of car doors.

“Oh, good,” Kate added. “That must be the minivan with the participants who are staying in town. I'll go welcome them and show them to the library. Please join us there as soon as you're done.”

Nancy and George hurriedly ate their breakfasts. Taking their coffee cups with them to the library, they found a dozen newcomers gathered around a big oak table, enjoying coffee and pastries. Wooden shelves filled with leather-bound books lined the walls, and reading chairs were scattered throughout the room. Kate was passing out name tags, introducing people to one another, and urging everyone to take a seat for Maxine's talk.

Professor Coining was standing near Nancy, holding a pastry on a paper napkin. When Kate suggested he sit down, he replied, “Yes, of course. As soon as our speaker arrives.”

Kate seemed surprised. “Isn't Maxine here?” she asked, glancing around the room.

“I haven't seen her yet today,” Nancy said.

“She wasn't at breakfast,” George added.

“Oh, no, she must have overslept,” Kate moaned. “Nancy, would you mind running up to her room and reminding her about her talk? She's in the Rue Morgue room. You can't miss it. I'd go myself, but I have to stay and play social director.”

“I'll go with you,” Patrick offered.

The two of them went upstairs and down the hall. He stopped at a door with a small blue enamel plaque that said Rue Morgue. He tapped on the door. There was no answer.

Patrick knocked harder. This time the latch
clicked and the door swung open an inch or two. Nancy met Patrick's startled gaze.

“I'll wait here,” he said with a smile. “If Maxine has overslept, she might be scared to find a man in her room.”

“Okay.” Nancy pushed the door open a little wider. “Maxine? Are you here?” she called. “It's Nancy Drew.”

Silence.

“I'll take a look,” she told Patrick. Stepping inside, she saw that the room was empty, and the curtains were open. “Maxine?” Nancy said again. Then she called back to Patrick, “There's no one here.”

He followed her in. “The bathroom door is open, and the light's on,” he pointed out.

Nancy crossed the room to the other side of the bed—and pulled up short. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

Maxine was lying faceup on the carpeted floor. She was wearing a blue dress and matching blue pumps. Her eyes were open wide, staring at nothing. One look at the bruises on her throat told Nancy what had happened.

Maxine was dead. Someone had strangled her.

P
ATRICK STARED PAST
Nancy and took a deep breath. Is she—?”

“I'm afraid so.” Nancy turned away from the body with a shudder. Her mind instantly raced into action. “Go downstairs, tell Kate what happened, and ask her to get the police here right away, okay?” she told Patrick. “I'll stay here and make sure nothing is disturbed. Oh—and please don't touch the doorknob on the way out of the room. The killer might have been careless enough to leave fingerprints. Tell everyone to remain downstairs.”

“Sure, right away,” Patrick said. He seemed glad to have an excuse to leave the room.

As soon as he was gone, Nancy made a note of
the time—9:27. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to take a good look around.

In the bathroom, one of the towels was hung neatly on the rack, but the other was rumpled and damp. Droplets of water remained in the bathtub. On the ledge over the bathroom sink were several containers of makeup. The lid of a small jar of foundation was resting on the jar, not screwed down. A blush compact was also open, and its brush lay in the sink, where it had apparently fallen.