031 Trouble in Tahiti

by Carolyn Keene

  "Actually, they caught me aboard their boat, the Sous le Vent," Nancy explained. "The cafe is their home base. They had a batch of Japanese computer parts in there earlier. Now they've loaded them onto a ship bound for South America." Nancy felt a small rush of pride as the officer gave her a look that said he was impressed.

  Captain Mutoi ordered two men to the waterfront to search the ship. Then he walked Nancy out of the cafe.

  "After I talked to Mademoiselle Gordon, I had the lab take a look at that anchor chain. They tell me it was cut," he said matter-of-factly. "I hope you'll accept my apology—for doubting you, that is." A wry smile unfolded on his handsome face.

  "That's quite all right. I understand."

  Captain Mutoi's smile turned thoughtful. "Now that you've helped me with my big case, perhaps I can return the favor. How are you making out on the Prado murder?"

  Nancy quickly brought him up-to-date. When she was finished, he commented, "Who did you say the Sous le Vent belonged to?"

  "Henri Chaumette, the smuggler's brother."

  "Brumaire was making a joke," Captain Mutoi replied. "I know those two. Chaumette has no brother. The name Henri must be an alias."

  A frown creased Nancy's brow. An alias? That put a different light on things.

  The connections were still there. The killer owned the Sous le Vent under an assumed name. The two smugglers used the boat, as well. All three were tied to the Chat Noir.

  And so were Kristin, Pierre, and Rupert. Fatigue washed over Nancy like a tidal wave. She was too tired to puzzle it out now. Stifling a yawn with her palm, she murmured, "I'm afraid I'm ready to drop."

  Captain Mutoi gestured at a waiting police cruiser. "I'll drive you back to the Taravao. In the morning we'll see if we can't get to the bottom of this mystery."

  The following day Nancy, Bree, and Captain Mutoi drove out to Faretaha. On the way Bree explained that her father had chosen to stay there overnight rather than return to Papeete.

  Nancy said nothing. She could see how this case was affecting Bree. The girl's eyes were red rimmed, and her face was a mask of sheer misery. Suspicion had opened an ugly breach between father and daughter.

  On arrival they walked up the front lane together. Then Captain Mutoi's fist sounded a brisk tattoo on the oak door.

  Manda Withers answered the door. She had obviously accompanied her employer. Surprise flickered in her brown eyes. Brian Gordon appeared behind her, looking older than his years. Behind him, Kristin sat on the sofa, watching apprehensively.

  Brian cast Nancy a somber glance. "So you've brought the police. I figured you would."

  Captain Mutoi held out his right hand. "I shall have to ask you and Mademoiselle Stromm to surrender your passports, monsieur."

  Brian reached into his inside pocket. Sighing, he handed the document over. "For what it's worth, I didn't kill my wife."

  Kristin swallowed hard. "Brian, please don't tell them. Think—think of the humiliation."

  "Sorry, Krissy." Drawing his shoulders back, he gave Bree a long look. "But if my daughter's going to hate me, she might as well hate me for the right reason."

  Nancy realized that Bree might be hurt by the answer. Still, the question had to be asked.

  "Mr. Gordon, where were you the night your wife was killed?"

  He took a long moment to answer. "I was with Kristin."

  Bree let out an anguished gasp.

  "It's not what you think." Brian's shoulders seemed to sink under a heavy weight.

  Lifting his head, Brian sighed once more. "Kristin came up to me at the party. She asked me to help her. Lucinda saw the two of us talking and lost her temper. I told Lucinda she was being rude. Next thing you know, we're going at it hammer and tongs again. Then she stormed out." He rubbed the back of his neck gingerly. "The party broke up after that. I had a cigarette in the garden. Then I ran across Kristin. She was crying. I sat her down on a bench—asked her what was wrong."

  Nancy glanced at the actress. Tears were welling up in Kristin's eyes.

  "Krissy has always liked to gamble," Brian added. "Five years ago, however, she got in way over her head. She thought she was going to lose Faretaha. Then Rupert Holmberg entered the picture."

  Rupert! Excitement prickled along Nancy's neck. "Go on."

  "Rupert found out about Krissy's debts," Brian explained. "He paid them himself. Then he offered her a special business arrangement. He

  would cancel her debts if she signed an exclusive, three-year contract with him."

  "What were the terms of the contract?" asked Nancy.

  "He wanted Krissy to do five movies for him, working at union scale—the lowest wage possible," he explained. "Krissy's career was just starting to take off back then. Horizon of Desire had just made a bundle. Rupert would have owned Krissy outright."

  Nancy made a guess. "So you two went to see Rupert."

  "I couldn't just stand there and see Krissy's career destroyed," Brian said, lifting his chin in pride. "So I confronted Rupert, tried to pressure him."

  Captain Mutoi scribbled in his notebook. "And then what happened?"

  "Rupert and I argued for a couple of hours. I threatened to blow the whistle on him. He said he'd turn Krissy's debts over to people who wouldn't be as considerate as he was. We finally hammered out a deal. I promised to direct one of his future films, and Lucinda would star in it. We signed a memorandum of agreement to that effect."

  Nancy nodded in understanding. Now she could see why Brian had been so reluctant to discuss his wife's death.

  "You must believe me." Brian stared directly at his daughter. "I loved your mother very much. Kristin was only an acquaintance then. I was a

  long time getting over Lucinda's death. I didn't know I was going to fall in love with Kristin. It just happened."

  Eyes downcast, Bree turned her face away.

  "One thing puzzles me," Nancy observed. "If Rupert is such a sleaze, why are you still friends with him?"

  Brian bristled at that. "I'm not friends with him, Nancy. I put up with him, that's all. Technically speaking, I still owe him a movie."

  Captain Mutoi cleared his throat. "Monsieur, would you happen to have a copy of this memorandum of agreement?"

  "It's with my other papers." Brian led them all to the library. Kristin hobbled along behind them. "I had Manda bring them out here this morning. Figured I'd get a little work done while I was here."

  But as they entered the library, a stunning sight met their collective gaze.

  Manda was standing beside the fireplace, a manila folder in her left hand. Her right gripped a silver cigarette lighter. Its wick burst into flame.

  "Manda!" shouted Brian, too late.

  Manda's quaking hand shoved the lighter against the folder. All at once a sheet of fire rippled up its side!

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rashing forward, Nancy knocked the blazing folder out of Manda's grasp. It fluttered to the carpet. Nancy stamped out the flames.

  Stooping, she flipped open the charred folder. The letter was brown around the edges but still readable. The Holmberg Cinema Productions logo ran across the top of the page.

  Nancy's gaze skimmed the typescript.

  This document certifies and attests that Brian Gordon shall direct, and Lucinda Prado shall star in, a film project for Holmberg Cinema Productions within the next seven years. In return for the services listed heretofore, Rupert Holmberg will destroy all instruments of debt in his possession relating to Kristin Stromm. The undersigned readily and without reservation agree to consent to the provisions listed above.

  Brian and Rupert's signatures punctuated the text, Nancy checked the date. Brian hadn't lied. This memorandum had been drawn up the night of the SouthwincTs fatal collision.

  Captain Mutoi studied it over Nancy's shoulder, then gave Brian an ironic smile. "You are most fortunate, monsieur. It's still clearly readable."

  "You idiot!" Brian grabbed his secretary's shoulders. "What are you trying to do?"r />
  Manda burst into tears. "I—I thought I could help you by destroying the evidence."

  "That evidence is the only thing that can clear me!" Deeply shaken, Brian pointed at the door. "Out, Manda! You're fired!"

  "It may clear you, Monsieur Gordon— if this man Holmberg backs up your story." The captain ushered Bree and. her father outside. "Why don't you all wait in the hall? Mademoiselle Drew and I will speak to this woman alone."

  Nancy held the door for Kristin. "If you don't mind another question—how did you sprain your ankle?" she asked quietly.

  Embarrassment painted Kristin's face a deep crimson. "I twisted it running away from the cafe the other night. I—I didn't want to be arrested in the police raid."

  Why hadn't she guessed? Nancy smiled to herself as she closed the door and rejoined the captain.

  Manda sat on the armrest of a couch, looking like a little girl on her way to the principal's office. Grim-faced Captain Mutoi made a good stand-in for the principal.

  "How could he do it?" Manda sobbed. "How could he fire me that way?"

  "Mademoiselle, believe me, that is the least of your problems," Captain Mutoi said sternly. "You were caught in the act of destroying evidence in a murder case. For that alone you could spend the next year in our prison."

  Wailing in misery, Manda buried her face in her hands.

  Nancy cast a sympathetic look at the weeping woman. "What about extenuating circumstances, Captain?"

  Captain Mutoi offered her a quizzical look. "You know the reason for her behavior?"

  Nancy nodded slowly. "Manda's in love with Bree's father. She has been for years. That's why she tried to burn Rupert's memo. And that's why she sent those unsigned letters to Bree."

  Guilt turned the secretary's face pale. "H-How did you know that?"

  "It wasn't too hard to figure out, Ms. Withers," Nancy replied. "Especially knowing how you feel about Brian. Those letters all had Tahiti postmarks. You knew Bree would recognize your handwriting, so you used a ruler to disguise it."

  "I seem to have missed something," Captain Mutoi remarked dryly.

  After explaining about the letters, Nancy added, "Ms. Withers thought Kristin was all wrong for Brian. So she mailed those letters to Bree, hinting at some nasty secret about her mother's death. She figured that if she could turn Bree against Kristin, Bree would persuade her father to call off the wedding."

  "I-I'm sorry." Manda sobbed. "I c-couldn't stand it, seeing Brian with Kristin—"

  "And people in love do crazy things sometimes," Nancy concluded softly, kneeling before the couch. She smiled in sympathy. "I think you'd better tell us everything."

  Captain Mutoi stepped closer. "Unrequited love can be a powerful motive for murder." He looked down at Manda. "Did you kill Lucinda Prado?"

  All color fled Manda's face. "No! I swear it!"

  "Ms. Withers," Nancy said gently. "You were missing from Kristin's estate that night." At Manda's shocked gaze, she explained, "Bree woke up in the middle of the night. She went looking for you, but the house was deserted."

  Wiping away tears, Manda murmured, "You're right. After the others left, I went looking for Brian. I saw him in the garden—with Kristin!" Her fists clenched angrily. "I was so furious. If he wanted comforting, why didn't he come to me?

  "I drove back to Papeete, intending to make

  him pay. I planned to row out to the Southwind and tell Lucinda." She looked thoroughly chastened.

  "I walked up and down the beach, looking for a dinghy. There weren't any. My nerve began to fail me. What would happen if I told? Lucinda had such a temper, you see. I was afraid she might hurt him physically! I—I only wanted to make life a little bit miserable for Brian. I didn't want him hurt! So I changed my mind and left." Her voice began to break. "That's why I tried to burn those files. I couldn't bear the thought of Brian being hurt. I love him."

  Nancy thought back to her interviews with the Southwind witnesses. So Manda was the mystery woman Alistair Pendleton had seen that night.

  Nancy shook her head. She had thought she was on the brink of unraveling the mystery, but this new revelation raised more questions than it answered. According to Manda and Pendleton, there were no small boats left ashore after Lucinda departed for her yacht. If that were true, then how did the killer get out to the Southwind?

  "Manda, what time did you get to the beach?" asked Nancy.

  "Two o'clock, I think."

  Nancy's brows knit thoughtfully. "You're certain that you didn't see any dinghies ashore?"

  "None. The beach was deserted." Pursing her lips painfully, Manda aimed a timid glance at the captain. "Will I have to go to prison?"

  "That depends." Captain Mutoi squared his shoulders. "We shall see what the judge says, eh?"

  Nancy and the captain left Manda in the library alone. After saying goodbye to the Gordons and Kristin, they headed back to the car.

  "I think this eliminates Manda as a suspect," Nancy said as they walked along. "Mr. Pendleton saw her leave the beach before the Southwind was cast adrift."

  "Which leaves us with Gordon, Holmberg, and the Stromm woman," Captain Mutoi put in, nodding.

  "Not to mention Pierre Panchaud," Nancy said, smiling wearily. "Don't forget. He was on board the Southwind all along."

  "Ah! But Panchaud has no motive. And he was belowdecks the entire time, remember? He had to be on deck to cut the anchor chain."

  Nancy grimaced. Captain Mutoi was right. Pierre had a tight alibi.

  "I think, Nancy, we should pay a little visit to Monsieur Holmberg."

  Once they reached the car, Captain Mutoi radioed the gendarmerie, requesting the location of Rupert's boat. Four minutes later the dispatcher's voice crackled through the receiver. At last report Rupert's boat, the Sea Nymph, was moored in Arue.

  To Nancy's surprise, Arue turned out to be the very same village where she had seen the Sons le Vent. After parking along the waterfront, Nancy and the captain checked the canal. The smugglers' boat was gone!

  Next, Nancy and Captain Mutoi sought out the dockmaster. The young Tahitian pointed out Rupert's boat to them.

  A white forty-foot trisail motor schooner with blue trim, the Sea Nymph was moored at the main pier. Sunshine gleamed on the boat's brightwork. Her first sight of the elegant vessel surprised Nancy. The Sea Nymph didn't seem to fit Rupert's personality at all. And then she remembered that it was an identical copy of the Southwind, a craft Rupert had very much admired.

  They found Rupert in flashy sunglasses and swim trunks, enjoying a drink as he sprawled on a chaise lounge. Unused scuba gear rested beside the vessel's cabin.

  "Look who's here—Nancy Drew." Rupert took a quick sip of his drink, then flashed a welcoming grin. "Who's your friend?"

  "Captain Mutoi. He's with the police." Nancy gestured at her companion. "Do you have a minute to talk?"

  "Sure." Rupert removed his sunglasses and smiled at his visitors, but Nancy sensed there was nothing friendly in the expression. "I hope this isn't going to take too long. I feel like a swim."

  Nancy cast a look at the inviting blue-green water, then turned back to the producer. "I guess Tahiti's been pretty good to you, Mr. Holmberg."

  He leaned back, his smile wider than ever. "Truer words were never spoken, Nancy. Hot sun. Sparkling sea. Friendly people." A contented sigh passed his lips. "Heaven!" Opening his eyes again, he glanced at Captain Mutoi. "I'm getting an idea. I think I'll make a Foreign Legion movie. Yeah! What do you say, Nancy? You and your cop friend want to be extras in a remake of Under Two Flags?"

  Nancy shook her head. "No thanks. I'd rather talk about your friend—the maitre d' at the Cafe Chat Noir."

  Rupert's smile vanished. His heavy body sat up slowly.

  "Me? In the Chat Noir?" Rupert let his hand drift over the side of the lounge chair. "Now, where did you ever get a dumb idea like that?"

  "I guess it comes from being at the cafe myself last night and seeing you pay off Marcel," Nancy replied evenly.<
br />
  Rupert turned the pale gray of a clamshell.

  Nancy confronted him. "Mr. Holmberg, why did you pay him off?"

  The producer's hand closed around a spear gun. With a snarl, he swiveled toward them. In an eyeblink the spearhead's razor-sharp tip was pointing at Nancy's throat.

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Back off!" Rupert barked, jabbing with the spear gun.

  Nancy obeyed at once, her breath caught in her throat. Her shoulder blades brushed an upright object. Reaching behind her, she ran her fingertips along its fiberglass length. A fishing pole!

  "Looks as if I've worn out my welcome in Tahiti." Rupert's shifty gaze flitted from Nancy to Captain Mutoi. "No matter. Once you two are tied up, I can be on my way."

  Suddenly Captain Mutoi lunged at him. Rupert pointed the spear gun at the officer. "Stay back!"

  Nancy saw her chance. Grabbing the fishing pole by its heavy end, she caught Rupert sharply on the wrist with the metal reel. Rupert howled. The spear gun clattered to the deck.

  Captain Mutoi pinned the yelping producer to the deck. Then, after slipping a pair of handcuffs off his belt, he locked Rupert's wrists behind his back.

  "What are you doing?" Rupert hollered. "Hey, I'm a big man in Hollywood!"

  "You may have worn out your welcome in Tahiti." Captain Mutoi hauled the producer upright. "But we'd just love to have you at our jungle prison camp in the Tuamotus."

  "P-prison?" Sweat trickled down Rupert's face. "Come on, you guys, where's your sense of humor? It was a joke. Honest!" He gazed imploringly at Nancy. "I only wanted to shake you up a little. It was a gag! Ha-ha—ha-ha-ha— See, I'm laughing."

  "I'm sure you'll have all the guards in stitches." Captain Mutoi sat him back on the lounge chair. "The young lady asked you a question a moment ago, monsieur."