The Stolen Show

by Carolyn Keene

  “Describe the rest of the room,” George said.

  So I told her, in detail, what I’d seen. When I mentioned the massive machine, George’s eyes lit up. “The pulping machine,” she said. “Do you think it still works?”

  “That would depend on whether the factory is still getting power. . . .” I rubbed my chin in thought. “Yes! It must be. They were sitting under a light, and they didn’t look like they were freezing to death, so there must still be electricity running through the place. What were you thinking?”

  George grinned. “I’m sure that huge, rusty machine suddenly screeching to life would be enough to get their attention, don’t you?”

  I nodded. “You think you can figure out how to turn it on?” I asked.

  “Nancy!” George put her hands up, feigning shock. “Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  “Oh, all right.” I chuckled. “So sorry I ever doubted you!”

  Using the clocks on our phones, we planned to wait five minutes before executing the plan. George would sneak in through a back entrance that faced the machine; she was an expert when it came to lock picking, so we had no doubt she would find a way in. Meanwhile I would go through one of the loading bays and make my way to the main room through a hallway that let out near Bess. Once the machine had been activated and the men were distracted, George could escape, I could free Bess, and we could get out together the same way I’d come in.

  That was the plan. I wasn’t sure if it would work. But I was sure we were going to do it anyway.

  Running lightly across the snow-covered ground, I made my way over to the loading bay and climbed the flight of steps into the factory. The place was cold, but the absence of wind made it easier to breathe. It was dark, and mice skittered in the corners as I walked down the empty hallway. I pressed myself up against the wall as I reached the portal into the factory floor, keeping to the shadows. The sounds of voices reached my ears.

  “Ach . . . I fold,” one of the men was saying. He threw his hand of cards down on the table in disgust, while the other man chuckled and gathered up the stack of coins between them. The first man was lean and had a sharp, angular face and short brown hair that fell in front of his eyes. In any other circumstances, I would have said he was handsome. I guessed he was the charming wolf man from the ball. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were counting cards, David.”

  “Such a sore loser, eh, Jeffrey?” David said. He was a smaller man than his partner, with a short, dark brown beard and a buzz cut. “If I were you,” he continued, his voice a threat, “I wouldn’t make any accusations that you can’t back up with evidence.”

  I swallowed. Despite the man’s size, I could tell that he wasn’t someone you messed with. I had to be careful. Really careful.

  Jeffrey huffed in disgust. “Just deal the cards,” he spat. As David shuffled, I heard movement from near where I was standing.

  “Hey!” Bess called out. “Please, it’s been hours. My friends are probably worried sick. Just let me call and tell them I’m all right—even a text would be enough. I know you both have a heart, so please just—”

  “Save it,” David said, cutting her off. “Rules are rules. No calls, no texts, no nothing—not until Sapphire gives us the okay. Then you’re free to go.”

  Sapphire? I gasped. But I’d thought it was Surefire! Had Interpol had it wrong all this time? My mind whirled with the potential impact this had on the case, but I didn’t have time to think about that right now. My phone indicated that the diversion I was waiting for would happen in exactly forty-five seconds. I had to be ready.

  “Just keep quiet and eat your sandwich, honey,” Jeffrey told Bess. “Going on a hunger strike is only going to make you cranky.”

  After that comment, I could hear Bess muttering words that made me question my sugary, rose-scented image of her. Clearly, she had had enough.

  “We’re coming,” I whispered to myself, watching the seconds count down.

  “I can’t wait for this job to be done,” Jeffrey said, looking at his new cards. “I’m a thief, not a kidnapper. This whole business with the girl makes me nervous. I don’t like it.”

  “Yes, well—Sapphire doesn’t care if you like it or not,” David replied. “If we want our share of the money, we do it. Anyway, it will all be over tomorrow. Then you can go and see your superhero movies or whatever. Okay, pal?”

  “Listen,” Jeffrey said, pointing a finger in his partner’s face. “You watch your mouth. I take my superhero movies very seriously.”

  David sighed heavily and picked through his own hand. “Just hit me, will you?”

  “I’m about to,” Jeffrey replied, and begrudgingly handed David a card.

  The job will be over tomorrow, I thought. That must mean the handoff of the jewels is happening at the finals of the dog show. I’ve got to figure out which one of the finalists is Sapphire before the handoff!

  That line of thought was interrupted by a deafeningly loud grinding, screeching sound coming from the factory floor. George had done it!

  “What the—?!” David shouted, as he and Jeffrey covered their ears with their hands and jumped up from the card table.

  “The machine! Something’s triggered it!” Jeffrey yelled over the din. “Quick—turn it off!” The two men ran over to the machine’s control panel at the back, and I watched as George, unseen, sneaked back out the door that she’d come in. While the men shouted at each other and pushed buttons, the machine continued to squeal and belch clouds of smoke and paper fibers into the room.

  “I’ll check the fuse box outside!” David said, running out a back door.

  Now was my chance.

  I ran low into the room and knelt at Bess’s side. “Don’t scream,” I whispered to her, pulling off the blindfold. “It’s me, it’s Nancy!”

  Bess’s blue eyes widened as they focused on me. “Oh!” she whispered back. “Nancy! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!”

  “C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” I said, and quickly got to undoing the ropes around her hands. Once those were untied, I started working on the ones around her ankles.

  “The ignition key is missing! I can’t turn it off!” Jeffrey was bellowing.

  Aha, I thought. George must have taken that with her. Good thinking!

  “I’m going to go shut off the power to the whole place!” Jeffrey shouted. “It’s the only way!” I heard quick footsteps, and then—

  “Hey!”

  My blood ran cold. We’d been spotted.

  The final rope fell away from Bess’s ankles, and she leaped to her feet. “Go!” I urged, shoving her toward the hallway that led outside and lurching out after her. “That way! I’m right behind you!”

  “Oh, no you’re not,” said a growling voice behind me, and a strong hand closed around my forearm, jerking me back. I whirled to find myself face-to-face with Jeffrey, his eyes glinting in the dimness of the factory. I tried to pull away, but his grip held firm. “Should have thought twice before wandering into the wolf’s den, Little Red. Nothing but trouble to be found here.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Snowbound

  FIGHT OR FLIGHT.

  It’s the choice we, and all other animals in the world, have to make when faced with a threat. And it’s the choice I was facing as I stood in an abandoned warehouse in the middle of a blizzard, my arm in the grip of a criminal, one of the men who’d kidnapped my best friend.

  What would he expect me to do? Obviously, he would expect me to run, I thought. To try and wrench my arm away and fly from that place of danger. But if I’d learned anything in all my years of facing down bad guys, it was this: when in doubt, do the unexpected.

  Remembering a move I’d learned in a self-defense class, I circled my hand on the arm Jeffrey was holding until I was able to grab his wrist. Then I spun toward him, bringing my elbow up and clocking him across the face.

  “Ah!” he cried out, ducking his head away from the blow. I took the opportunity
to yank my arm out of his grasp, but before I could take more than a step back, he was lunging at me again, his handsome face red with rage. “Bad move,” he muttered. “You’ll pay for that.”

  Clang!

  A second later, that face was hit by a large metal pole.

  Bess was standing behind him, panting with the effort of lifting the pole and hitting Jeffrey’s head with it. Her beautiful blue dress was torn and soiled beyond repair, and her blond hair was sticking out at all angles. She checked to make sure he was still breathing before adding, “That’s for ruining my evening,” she said. “And don’t call me ‘honey’!”

  “Bess,” I said with feeling. “I’m so glad to have you back. Now let’s get out of here!”

  “Jeffrey, what the heck is going on in here?” another voice said from across the room.

  Oh no—David had returned!

  The small bearded man looked our way and took off running toward us.

  “Go!” I said, and Bess and I ran down the hall and out the door as fast as we could.

  The moment we passed through the door, we were hit by a wall of white. Blasts of snow and ice flew into my face and eyes, and a gust of wind blew me almost back into the hallway. “Stay behind me!” I said, hoping to shield Bess from the worst of it. She didn’t even have a coat. We tore out into the parking lot and around the building, me leading Bess, half-blinded by the blizzard. “George!” I shouted into the storm. “Where are you?”

  For a few terrible seconds, I heard nothing but the winds howling through the building and the trees, but then—the roar of a motor coming to life.

  “Over here!” a voice ahead yelled.

  I ran toward the sound, and soon George’s dark figure came into view, her red coat like a beacon. She was standing astride the ATV that we’d seen parked in the lot when we’d arrived. “Bess!” she exclaimed, and folded her cousin into a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay. Here . . .” George began to take off her coat, but Bess stopped her.

  “No, you need it just as much as I do,” Bess shouted.

  “But you’ll freeze!” George replied.

  “We don’t have time to argue!” Bess shouted back. “The kidnappers are coming!”

  “How did you get this thing to work?” I asked George.

  George smiled. “Left the keys in the storage compartment,” she replied. “Classic. I found these, too.” She bent down and handed each of us a black helmet, pulling on one for herself.

  “Do you know how to drive one of these things?” Bess asked her, adjusting the helmet under her chin.

  George shrugged. “How hard could it be?”

  Bess and I gave each other a worried look and climbed on behind George. We put Bess in the middle and pressed in close, hoping to keep her protected from the biting cold. While George familiarized herself with the controls, I whipped out my phone and shot a text to Charles: PERPS AT PAPIER NOUVEAU—SEND BACKUP. I prayed that I had enough of a signal during the storm for it to go through.

  “Hey! Stop!” came a shout, and through the haze of the storm I could see David and Jeffrey racing through the snow toward us, their faces thunderous with anger.

  “Go, George! Floor it!” I shouted.

  “I’d love to,” George said, “but there’s no gas pedal!”

  Bess huffed and said, “Put the gear control into drive and release the brake!” She pointed at the various parts of the ATV, and George hastily obeyed. “The throttle is by your right thumb!” George pressed it hard and the ATV shot forward like a bolt of lightning, straight toward a metal Dumpster in front of us. “Turn! Turn!” Bess shouted, and George wrenched the handlebars to the left. The ATV swerved sharply, and I could feel the whole vehicle start to tip over. “Everyone lean to the left, quickly!” Bess ordered, and we did. The ATV managed to right itself before we all toppled onto the ground with it on top of us.

  “How do you know so much about these things?” George spluttered.

  “I rode them a lot at the ski lodge with my family,” Bess replied, breathless. “I guess I picked up a thing or two. . . .”

  “Maybe you should drive,” George said, her face pale with shock.

  “Maybe I should!” Bess agreed, and clambered to the front. George wrapped her arms around her cousin and Bess hit the throttle just as Jeffrey came running up to us, showering him with a spray of dirty black snow.

  “Augh!” he yelled as we sped away.

  The ATV raced out of the parking lot and down the empty city streets, the storm buffeting our bodies so hard that I had to hold on to George as tightly as I could just to keep from falling off. “Where am I going?” Bess shouted.

  “Turn left here!” George replied, pointing at the next intersection. “We have to get back to the Château Frontenac!” We took the corner wide, and Bess pulled back on the throttle to stop us from sliding too much across the snow.

  I heard a noise behind me and turned around to see a black sedan lumbering toward us. “Guys!” I called out. “The kidnappers—they’re tailing us! We’ve got to lose them!”

  With effort, George pulled her phone out of her pocket and squinted at it, wiping the screen off repeatedly with her sleeve. “Okay . . . Bess, do you think you can manage a sharp right on this thing?”

  “I think so,” Bess said. “Why?”

  “There’s an alleyway coming up between those two buildings up ahead.” She gestured toward a couple of old row houses with a narrow passageway between them. “If we go through there, it will open up to the main thoroughfare back to the hotel! And the car won’t be able to follow us.”

  “They’re gaining!” I shouted as the car revved its engine and pulled up right behind us. They were close enough that I could see David’s and Jeffrey’s furious faces in the front seat.

  “I’ll do my best!” Bess called back to us, and I could see her body tense with concentration. Just as we approached the alleyway, she wrenched the handlebars sharply to the right, and the back of the ATV swung out to the left, skidding along the slippery street. Bess shouted, “Lean to the right! Lean! Lean!” and then turned the handlebars left into the skid. George and I both leaned our bodies to the right, hugging the turn, and the ATV shot into the alleyway, narrowly missing the garbage cans that lined the wall and terrifying a few pigeons into flight.

  I turned to see the black sedan screeching to a halt—they hadn’t expected us to turn and were trying to compensate. But the car couldn’t handle the snow-covered street as well as our ATV could, and I watched as it spun out of control and into a light pole on the corner. David jumped out of the car and banged his fist on the hood as he saw us speeding away.

  “I think we’re safe for now,” I told the girls, and George directed Bess to take the first right out of the alleyway.

  “I can see the hotel up ahead!” George called. “We’re almost there!”

  Bess drove the ATV up the inclined road until finally, we made it under one of the overpasses and found ourselves back in the courtyard of the Château Frontenac. Bess pulled into a parking space and gently applied the brake.

  I jumped off the ATV once it came to a stop, my heart hammering with relief and excitement. “Bess, you did it! You got us back!” But she didn’t move. She remained where she was, her bare hands gripping the handlebars tightly. Only now did I realize that they were bright red and trembling.

  “Bess?” I said, my stomach turning over. “Bess!”

  “I’m . . . so . . . cold . . . ,” Bess murmured, barely audible in the moaning winds.

  “George,” I said, tearing off my coat and draping it around Bess’s bare shoulders. “We’ve got to get her inside.”

  George nodded, her face pale, and helped me uncurl Bess’s hands from the handlebars. We each draped one of Bess’s arms around our shoulders and carried her between us through the doors to the hotel.

  “Help!” I cried out as soon as we got inside. “Someone call an ambulance!”

  A concierge ran up to us and looked at Bess’s l
imp, shivering form with alarm. “What happened?” she said.

  “She’s suffering from exposure,” I told her. “Frostbite—we need to warm her up.”

  The concierge nodded rapidly. “But, mademoiselle, I don’t think we can get an ambulance up here in the storm.”

  “I’m trained in first aid,” said Charles, appearing in front of me. I looked up at him and saw that his face was a mixture of frustration and relief. He turned to the concierge. “Get blankets and something warm for her to drink. Hot chocolate—she needs sugar. And some bandages. Quickly!” The concierge nodded and took off down the hallway.

  “Sit her down, here.” Charles motioned toward a plushy chair and helped us maneuver Bess into it. “Get her feet elevated. It’s her extremities that are in the most danger.”

  The concierge returned in a few minutes, accompanied by two other hotel attendants, their arms piled with supplies. George knelt by Bess’s side and helped her sip the steaming cup of cocoa that they’d brought for her.

  Charles pulled me aside. “Mademoiselle Drew,” he whispered roughly. “I cannot stress enough how utterly foolish it was of you to launch this reckless rescue mission! You could have been killed!”

  “We weren’t,” I whispered back. “And I wasn’t going to wait for Interpol to get around to saving Bess, not when I could do it myself.” Charles huffed angrily and rubbed his eyes with his hands. I noticed there were purple circles under them. “Look, I’m sorry if you were worried—but what’s important is that we succeeded.”

  Charles shook his head, muttering to himself. But finally he sighed. “Alors, what’s done is done. Now tell me everything.”

  So I described George triangulating the source of the text message, our trip to the paper factory, and all about our run-in with the two kidnappers. Charles asked for their names and asked me to describe them and the car they were driving in detail. Once I was done, he immediately got on the phone with Interpol headquarters in Montreal and gave them all the information. He had already dispatched agents to the paper factory as soon as he received my text message, but just in case the criminals didn’t come back there, he wanted to launch a wider search. “Get additional agents out tracking these men right away,” he said to the person on the line. “I don’t care about the storm. Do it, maintenant.”