Perfect Plot (7 page)

George raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“Remember last night when Maxine got into that argument with Bill? She was hinting that he'd been embezzling money from Dorothea. Bill was very upset to hear that she had a taped conversation with Dorothea. What if he went to her room last night to talk to her? She could have been telling him that she knew he'd been stealing from Dorothea.”

George slapped her palm on the table. “Sure! So he killed her to make sure she'd never tell anyone else about it.”

“It fits,” Nancy said. “But it's all just supposition. What about that scarf and the footprint I found in the secret passage? What we need to do now is find out whether the heating duct in Dorothea's study is somehow connected to the one in Maxine's room. There should be a plan around somewhere, but it might take us months to find it. I wonder if Kate could get us one.”

Both girls looked up as the door opened slightly. Erika peeked in, then slipped into the library and shut the door behind her.

“Nancy, you've got to help me!” she said in a low, urgent voice. “The police are going to arrest me for murdering Maxine, I just know it!”

Seeing how distraught Erika was, George said, “Please sit down—here, next to me.”

The blond editor did and took a deep breath to try to calm herself. “I know what you all think, but it's not true. I didn't kill her!”

“Then why do you think the police are going to arrest you?” Nancy asked.

Erika glanced down at her hands. “That scarf,” she said. “Bill Denton was right—it
is
mine. Or at least, it's just like mine and mine's missing.”

“How did it get into Maxine's room?” George asked gently.

“I don't know!”

Nancy checked out Erika's feet. She was wearing soft black shoes. Nancy couldn't see the soles, but she decided to take a chance.

“There's more to this than you're telling us,” she told Erika. “You were in Maxine's room this morning, weren't you? And I know how you got in. By the secret passage.”

Erika stared as if Nancy had just sprouted wings and a tail. “How—? You can't know that!”

“Yes, I can. And I imagine the police found the same clues that I noticed this morning.”

“Fingerprints?” Erika said almost to herself. “I thought I was being so careful—”

“So, you admit it!” George exclaimed. She edged away from the young woman.

“I'm not a murderer!” Erika insisted. “I'm a thief. There, I said it!”

“You
stole the figurines?” George asked.

“Figurines?” Erika repeated, puzzled. “No, no.
Crooked Heart
—the manuscript for Dorothea's last book. I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about it. So early this morning I crept into Maxine's room and lifted the manuscript from her bedside table.”

Nancy watched the editor carefully when she asked, “Where was Maxine? Asleep?”

Erika shook her head. “Her bed was empty. The bathroom door was closed, and I could hear the shower running. It's not like I stuck around to chat or anything. I just grabbed the manuscript and ran back into the secret passage.”

“What time was that?” George asked.

Erika tugged at a lock of short, blond hair. “Eight? Just a little before I met you in the garden.”

In her mind Nancy played back her meeting with Erika. “So that was Dorothea's manuscript that fell out of your tote bag?” she guessed.

“Yes. I nearly died! I was sure you'd see what it was.”

“What about your scarf?” George asked, leaning forward in her chair. “Were you wearing it when you went to Maxine's room?”

Erika hesitated. “I—I might have been. I don't remember. Do you think the killer found it there and used it to frame me?”

“That's one possibility,” Nancy replied. She
didn't bother to mention the more obvious one—that Maxine had discovered Erika in her room, and Erika, in a panic, had strangled her.

“I didn't kill her!” Erika repeated as if she knew what Nancy was thinking. “But I
know
they're going to arrest me. Will you help? You're the only one here I can turn to.”

“I'll do my best to get to the bottom of Maxine's murder,” Nancy hedged. “If you're innocent, the best way we can prove it is to find out who's guilty.”

“Oh, thank you!”

“But,” she added, holding up her hand, “I need your full cooperation. For starters, I want that manuscript. I'll see that Kate gets it back.”

For half an instant Erika looked as if she might say no. Then she sighed, stood up, and said, “Okay, let's go.”

Erika's room was decorated like a set from a 1920s detective movie. She walked straight across the room to a mirrored vanity table and pulled open the center drawer. She froze, staring down into it.

“Oh, no!” she said in a horrified whisper. “It's gone! Somebody stole it!”

Nancy and George ran to Erika's side. Sure enough, the drawer was empty.

“You're positive this is where you left it?” Nancy asked. “Could you have remembered wrong?”

“It was in this drawer,” Erika insisted, rapping her knuckles on the vanity.

Nancy studied Erika's face. She was obviously distressed, but that didn't mean she was telling the truth. Nancy was about to probe further when there was a tap on the door. Lieutenant Kitridge poked his head inside.

“Ms. Olsen? I've been looking for you,” he said. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask you to come with me. A number of questions have come up about your part in the death of Maxine Treitler.”

Erika stared wordlessly at the police officer. Then her eyes rolled upward, and almost in slow motion, she started to slump to the floor.

A
S
E
RIKA'S KNEES
crumpled, Nancy and George reached out to stop her from falling. Lieutenant Kitridge called over his shoulder to the hallway. “Sergeant Wilensky? Give me a hand, will you?”

Erika's eyes fluttered open after a moment. She stared dazedly at Nancy and George, who were still holding her up. The sergeant Nancy had seen that morning came in, and the three of them helped Erika into a chair. “Put your head down in your lap,” the sergeant advised. “It helps to get the blood back to your brain.”

After a few minutes Erika was sitting up and the color had returned to her cheeks.

“Are you okay, Ms. Olsen?” the lieutenant asked.

Erika nodded and got to her feet to start for the door. As she was leaving the room, she turned to Nancy with an imploring look.

With a frown Lieutenant Kitridge asked, “Are you starting to take sides, Nancy?”

Nancy shook her head. “I'll tell you what I told Erika. The best way to show she's innocent, if she is, will be to find out who's guilty.”

“Her scarf was the murder weapon,” Kitridge said. “The fibers we found under the victim's fingernails match. And I'm willing to bet those shoes she's wearing will match up with that footprint we found in the hidden passage.”

“She admitted that she went to Maxine's room this morning,” Nancy told him.

The lieutenant stared at Nancy with narrowed eyes. “You'd better tell me about that,” he said.

When she'd finished, Kitridge rubbed his chin. “So now she says the manuscript is missing from her room,” he said. “Do you buy that story?”

“I don't know,” Nancy said truthfully. “She certainly wanted the manuscript badly enough to steal it. Maybe she's hidden it somewhere and intends to retrieve it later.”

“If the evidence against her keeps piling up this way,” the lieutenant said grimly, “ ‘later' for her is going to be a whole lot later. Figure twenty years to life.”

With that, Lieutenant Kitridge left.

“Oh, I left my notes down in the library,”
Nancy said to George. The two girls made their way back downstairs. Nancy retrieved the notebook, then crossed over to the long windows to look outside.

A dark-colored sedan was just pulling out of the driveway. Sergeant Wilensky was driving with Erika in the backseat beside Lieutenant Kitridge. “There they go,” Nancy said.

George didn't answer. When Nancy swung around George wasn't there. At the far end of the library a narrow door set between two carved bookcases was standing partially open, though.

Nancy started for the door, but before she reached it, the door swung wide open and George reappeared. She had a folded piece of blue paper in her hand and a grin on her face.

“Where were you?” Nancy asked. “What's that?”

“I decided to check out where that door goes,” George replied. “It leads into Dorothea Burden's study. Now look what I found in her file cabinet—a blueprint of the heating system.”

“Great!” Nancy helped unfold the large sheet of paper, and together they studied the diagram.

“Here's the library,” George said, pointing. “And this must be the heating duct. It comes up directly from the main duct in the basement, right below us. And from here, it goes up to the second floor—”

“ ‘R.M. room,' ” Nancy read, squinting at the faint printing. “Rue Morgue—Maxine's room!”

George let out a low whistle. “So, our guess must be right. That mysterious voice last night
was
Maxine's.”

Nancy nodded her agreement. “Which means, if we can find out who stole the figurines, there's a good chance we'll have found Maxine's murderer at the same time.”

“Let's think about everyone's alibi,” George said. “What are the important times again?”

Nancy's brow furrowed as she thought back. “According to Kate and the professor, the figures went back into the safe at noon,” she said. “And at eight they were gone. The study was empty, and maybe locked, from noon to one-thirty. It was unlocked from one-thirty on, but Kate was in and out a lot. From about five until we got together before dinner, Maxine was in there alone.”

“So unless the figurines were stolen by Kate or Maxine, they were probably taken between noon and one-thirty,” George said. “Do you remember where people said they were during those times?”

“I'm not sure,” Nancy admitted. “Maybe we'd better talk to everyone again and try to pin down where they were.”

As they came out of the library, Nancy saw
Patrick at one of the doors down the hall. He had his back to her, and he seemed to be fiddling with the lock. Just as she and George drew near, he straightened up and the door swung open.

“Hi,” Nancy called.

Patrick stiffened, pulling the door quickly closed again. He turned and gave them a dazzling smile. “Hello,” he said, slipping a large key into his pocket. “Did you hear about Erika?” he asked.

“We were with her when the police took her in for questioning,” George replied. Nodding toward the door, she said, “That's the display room, isn't it?”

“That's right,” Patrick said.

“I didn't really get a chance to inspect the displays last night,” George said. “Do you think we could take a peek?”

“Maybe later,” he said with another big smile. “I was just locking up.”

He shook the door handle, to make sure it was closed. Then he took the key from his pocket and turned it in the lock.

“We're still checking into the theft of the figures,” Nancy told him. “Can you tell us where you were yesterday, from noon on?”

“Let me see. Julian and I got together with Kate at about twelve-fifteen to work out the details of some of the staged crimes for the weekend. We did that until about two. After that
I was alone for a while. At about four Professor Coining and I had a cup of tea together, and I stayed with him until Bill and you came a little before five. From then on, I was with someone every moment until Kate and I went to get the figures from the safe.”

Nancy said, “Thanks, Patrick.”

As they moved away, George whispered, “He lied to us, Nancy! He wasn't closing that room, he was opening it.”

“I noticed,” Nancy whispered back. “I wonder why?”

The girls peered into an empty living room before continuing on to the sun room. Professor Coining was there, stretched out on a chaise longue. An open book was resting on his stomach, his eyes closed.

“Professor Coining,” Nancy said softly.

He awoke with a start, and his eyes darted around the sun room. “Hmm? Yes, what is it?”

Nancy asked her question. The professor told her that he had eaten a sandwich with Kate and Maxine from noon to twelve-thirty. He had walked Bill to his car at around one and had had tea with Patrick at four. “In other words, young lady, you could drive a truck through the holes in my alibi,” he concluded with a chuckle.

After tracking down Julian, Kate, Bill, and Vanessa, Nancy and George went to their room to tally up all the accounts.