Tall, Dark and Deadly

by Carolyn Keene

  “Thanks,” Nancy said. “Did Luke write any large checks recently, by any chance?”

  “No, no checks written,” the man said after a moment. “No activity in the last day or so, of course.”

  “I see,” Nancy said. “Is there anything else unusual?”

  “Well, he withdrew the amount in person.”

  “He withdrew the five hundred dollars?” Nancy asked, astonished. “When?”

  “On the next business day, which was Monday,” the bursar replied. “He didn’t even leave it long enough to earn interest.”

  Nancy’s pulse quickened. Monday was the day she had met Luke Jefferies! “He came to the bank in person?” she asked. “Do you know when?”

  “The withdrawal was recorded at four o’clock.”

  Nancy thought hard. She’d seen Luke between two and three that afternoon. That meant he withdrew the money right after their conversation.

  Nancy mulled the situation over as she walked back to the dorm. If the money was a payment for switching Ava’s date, then maybe Luke got scared and pulled the money out when Nancy began poking around. He wouldn’t have been able to hide it, however, because it was already recorded as a deposit. Maybe he went to the kidnapper, threatening to expose the crime. Or he could have tried to give the money back. Whatever he did, Nancy realized grimly, it probably cost him his life.

  When she got to her room, she found a note from Bess under her door, asking her to stop by. Nancy grabbed the slip of paper she had found in Ava’s backpack and headed down to Bess’s room.

  “Hi,” Bess said, putting down the romance novel she was reading. “It seemed silly to go to class when there’s so much going on. So I thought I’d wait and get an assignment from you.”

  “What’s going on at the Elderly Assistance program?” Nancy asked.

  “It’s a dead end,” Bess complained. “The woman I was supposed to help yesterday wouldn’t even let me in! Apparently she dropped out of the program and no one bothered to tell me.

  “Dropped out?” Nancy asked quickly. “Why?”

  “Her daughter came home,” Bess said, “and I guess she didn’t want to pay for the program anymore.”

  “Did she say anything about a box?”

  “Of course not,” Bess said. “I would have told you right away if she had. Anyway, she wasn’t one of Ava’s clients, and she doesn’t know her.”

  “So you haven’t really begun the program.”

  “I’m not that lazy,” Bess protested. “I went to see another client. We made cookies.”

  Nancy smiled. “That’s not so hard. And?”

  “And no boxes. She likes Ava, and she likes Peter and Maia, too. She’s not very particular.”

  “Well, let me know if anything happens today,” Nancy said, rising. “Meanwhile, I need a list of places in town that have safe-deposit boxes. Do you want to make some calls?”

  “Sure,” Bess agreed. “Where are you going?”

  “To Pussy Willow Drive,” Nancy said.

  “What’s there?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” Nancy said.

  • • •

  After consulting a map of the town, Nancy drove her blue Mustang slowly through the chilly morning air. Soon she found herself in a beautiful wooded neighborhood. The houses were set on large rolling lawns covered with snow and marked with children’s footprints, tire tracks, and other signs of daily living. Not exactly student housing, Nancy thought, checking the mailboxes for names and street numbers.

  She missed number 555, even though she was still driving slowly. After backtracking, she saw the problem—there was no house number on the roadside mailbox. She pulled into the driveway and got out in front of a rambling two-story Victorian house with a wraparound porch. She was still looking for the owner’s name when she heard footsteps coming to the door.

  A bolt slid open, and the door swung wide. Nancy came face-to-face with Maia Edenholm.

  Maia was dressed in a stunning strapless evening gown. Her pale skin and bright hair glowed against the blue fabric. A sapphire bracelet hung from her delicate wrist, and her bare feet peeked daintily out from under the dress. Standing there, she reminded Nancy of a fairy-tale princess.

  “Hi,” Nancy said, admiration in her voice. “You look wonderful. Are you going out?”

  “One of these days,” Maia said, more to herself than to Nancy. She gave Nancy a half smile. “I’m just trying this dress on for a party we’re giving soon. Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” Nancy said, casting around for a reason for being there. “Remember when I came by the office? I thought your program was terrific.”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I want to write about it for the school paper,” Nancy improvised, borrowing Darien’s alibi. “About the importance of helping people and all that. It could help me get a place on the staff. That is, if you don’t mind.”

  Maia seemed amused. “You want to interview me?” she asked.

  “Ah, I was hoping to talk to Mr. Hoffs.”

  “He isn’t here right now,” Maia told Nancy. “But come on in, anyway.”

  Nancy walked into a huge living room. An overstuffed couch squatting in front of the large picture window was the only piece of furniture in the room. Through the window she could see a large pond behind the house and a cottage perched along the shore on the other side.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Is all this part of the property?”

  “Yeah.” Maia crinkled her nose. “It would be nice if we could go skating, but the ice is thin in places. Peter likes it, though. That’s his fishing cottage.”

  “This is a great place for a party,” Nancy said, looking around the living room. “There’s so much open space.”

  “You mean, where is all the furniture, don’t you?” Maia asked. “We don’t like things cluttering the place up. It’s too hard to clean.

  “Besides,” she continued, “we’re going on vacation tomorrow for three weeks. I put everything valuable away in case of break-ins.”

  “Well, it certainly is quite a spectacular house. Is it yours?”

  “Oh, no! We could never afford anything like this. It belongs to an old college buddy of Peter’s. We’re only house-sitting.”

  “House-sitting?” Nancy asked. “Is the Elderly Assistance program new, then?”

  “We’ve been here a year,” Maia said. “We have a long-term lease. Want to see the place?”

  “I’d love to,” Nancy replied politely.

  “I hear Peter is a craftsman,” she said casually as they walked through the big house. “Does he have a workroom here?”

  “A craftsman?” Maia asked blankly.

  Nancy nodded. “Someone told me about a statue he made for one of your clients. It’s such an unusual talent.”

  “Oh, that.” Maia dismissed its importance with a wave of her hand. “Who told you that?”

  “One of the girls.” Nancy pretended not to remember who it was. “Peter has a lot of admirers.”

  “He sure does,” Maia said grimly. “Every time a new girl signs up with the program, we go through the crush stage.”

  “It must happen with your clients, too,” Nancy said.

  “The old ladies love Peter,” Maia agreed. “But some of the old men think he’s a young upstart.”

  “Well, I’m sure Peter’s interest in people is what makes him so good at his job, and he has so much to offer,” Nancy said mildly, before changing the subject. “I’m sure Ava Woods loves this house.”

  “I really don’t know what you mean,” Maia said, a chill in her voice. “Ava’s never been to the house. None of the girls have been here.”

  “But I got the address from Ava,” Nancy said. “I wonder why she had it?”

  “Maybe Peter asked her to drop something off,” Maia said. “I don’t know what you’re trying to suggest, but I trust Peter. I can assure you he’s not interested in college girls.

  “You know, Peter hates p
ublicity,” she went on, making it clear that Nancy was no longer welcome. “He says charity is its own reward. I’m sure he’d think your story was a bad idea.”

  Seeing she would get no further, Nancy thanked Maia for her time and left.

  Maia was awfully jealous, Nancy thought as she headed back to the dorm. But somehow she didn’t believe Peter Hoffs had swept Ava off her feet and spirited her away. Even if Peter and Ava had a relationship, that wouldn’t be a reason for him to kidnap her. And why ransack her room? Why kill Luke Jefferies?

  When Nancy got back to Hartley, the girl at the front desk stopped her. “You’re Nancy Drew, right? Someone is looking for you—a Bess Marvin. She’s called three times in the last ten minutes.”

  “Did she leave a number?” Nancy asked.

  “No, she said she’d just keep trying. I’ll page you when she calls again.”

  Bess must have found something, Nancy realized. “Maybe I’ll just sit here for a few minutes,” Nancy said. “In case she calls again.”

  “Good idea,” the girl agreed. “She sounded pretty anxious.”

  Nancy sat in the lobby and tried to read a magazine. Giving up after a page, she went to the bulletin board and stared at the announcements posted there. When the phone rang, she jumped.

  “Hartley Hall,” the girl at the desk answered promptly. “She’s right here.” She handed the phone to Nancy.

  Through the receiver Nancy heard street noises. “Bess? Are you okay?” She tried to keep the tension out of her voice. “Where are you?”

  “I’m better than okay,” Bess said eagerly. “You were right about the safe-deposit box!”

  “You mean ‘the box’ is a safe-deposit box?” Nancy asked. “Bess, where are you?”

  “I went to help a woman in the program,” Bess explained. “And you’ll never believe what happened. She gave me an heirloom ring and the key to her safe-deposit box. I’m taking a taxi to the First National Bank to deposit it now.”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  HANG ON. I’m coming with you,” Nancy said. “What’s the address?”

  Bess gave it to her and hung up. Nancy took the stairs two at a time and raced down the hall to her room. She grabbed Ava’s key and headed down to meet Bess at the First National Bank.

  If the key was a clue, Nancy thought, tossing ideas around in her mind, what did it tell her? The key could belong to Ava. That would mean Ava had something in her safe-deposit box—something that someone else wanted badly. Then again, she thought, one of Ava’s clients could have lent her the key, as Bess’s client had. If so, why did Ava still have it? Had she stolen it? Or had she stolen something from the client’s safe-deposit box? Nancy tried to arrange her thoughts. The phone calls had given her the feeling that Ava was involved in some kind of conspiracy with the woman caller. But what kind of conspiracy?

  And how did this fit in with the person who had ransacked Ava’s room? It was too big a coincidence if the two weren’t connected somehow.

  If the kidnapper was looking for the key that Nancy now held in her hand, then Ava was probably still safe. But if the kidnapper was looking for something else, there was a small chance that he or she had found it in Ava’s room. Nancy sighed. If that was the case, then Ava was no longer of any use to the person. And since Luke was dead, Nancy was afraid Ava might be, too.

  Nancy pulled into the parking lot at the First National Bank. Bess, bundled up in a hat and a down coat, was standing in front of the building, almost dancing with excitement.

  “Mrs. O’Connell keeps everything valuable in her safe-deposit box,” Bess said in a low voice as the two girls entered the bank. “And guess who told her it was a good idea? Peter Hoffs!”

  The two girls approached the bank manager’s desk, and Bess held out her key. “Box one forty-three,” she said, showing him the key.

  “You must be one of the Elderly Assistance girls,” the man said. He handed her a logbook. “Sign here, and put EA next to your name.”

  Bess followed his directions, then filled in the columns for the box number and date as well. When she was done, the manager picked up the logbook.

  “I’ll be with you in a jiffy,” he said, bustling through a door in the back. Returning a moment later, he put the logbook on the counter.

  “How did you know I was from Elderly Assistance?” Bess asked.

  “Mr. Hoffs advises many of his clients to use our deposit boxes,” the manager said. “I’ve come to expect college-age people to be here for his clients. It’s an excellent idea, I must say. Old people are easy prey for burglars.”

  Nancy looked at the man’s name tag. “Excuse me, Mr. Taggert, is this one of your keys?” she asked, holding up Ava’s key.

  The manager took the key from Nancy’s hand. “No,” he said, handing it back almost immediately. “The tab is green. That’s not ours. Also, the number is too high. We only have about two hundred boxes here. You don’t know where it’s from?”

  “I found it,” Nancy explained. “I’m trying to return it to the proper bank.”

  “Better take it to the police,” Mr. Taggert advised. “Someone’s going to think you stole it if you keep flashing it around like that.”

  “Good idea,” Nancy said. “But I couldn’t get into someone else’s safe-deposit box, could I? I thought they were very secure.”

  “Oh, they are,” he said. “You have to have an authorized signature and, of course, the key. Without that, even the owner can’t get in.”

  Nancy nodded. “Who authorizes the signatures?”

  “The person who rents the box does. All the EA people have given Peter Hoffs permission to open the boxes. And, of course, you kids can get in, too, once your signature is authorized.”

  “I haven’t had my signature authorized yet, I guess,” Nancy said.

  “But Miss Marvin has,” Mr. Taggert said. “I checked her signature against the signature card in the back. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to let you in.”

  He pointed toward the vault. “I’ll show you the process. Ordinarily, only Miss Marvin would be allowed in the vault. But I’ll make an exception for you girls this once.”

  Mr. Taggert opened the lock on the vault and ushered the girls in. Along two facing walls were rows of small doors in three different sizes—they were the doors to the safe-deposit boxes. A table stood in the center of the vault.

  “See, the door to each box has two locks. When you rent a box, you get the key to just one of the locks.”

  “Does the bank keep a copy of the key?” Nancy asked.

  “No,” Mr. Taggert replied. “The bank has the key to the second lock only. That way someone from the bank can’t open the door unless the box holder—or someone the box holder authorizes—is present.”

  The bank official held out his hand. “If you give me the key for the box you want, I’ll open it for you.”

  Bess handed him the key for Mrs. O’Connell’s box. Mr. Taggert checked the number and located the box. He inserted the key and turned it, then inserted a key of his own in the other lock and turned that, and the small door swung open.

  “What happens if I lose the key?” Bess asked as Mr. Taggert drew out a long, narrow metal box and handed it to her.

  “Well, we can always drill open the lock, but we’d have to charge you,” he answered. “Now, would you like to open that in the private room?”

  “What’s the private room?” Bess asked.

  Mr. Taggert pointed to a closed door on the back wall of the vault. “You can open your box in there. Or, if you like, you can open it on the table here.”

  “Gee, I don’t know,” Bess said. “What does Mr. Hoffs do? We want to do the right thing.”

  Mr. Taggert looked amused. “Mr. Hoffs is a busy man. He doesn’t come in here just to drop things off.”

  “But I thought you said he did,” Nancy said.

  “I said his signature was authorized. But since you kids are the ones who help these people each day, you’re th
e ones who come in. Mr. Hoffs would have to go see his client, pick up the key, come down here, run the errand, and return the key to the client. He can’t always take care of those little details.”

  “So Mr. Hoffs doesn’t have keys to the Elderly Assistance boxes, then?” Nancy asked.

  “No, he insists that his clients keep both keys. That way they can be sure no one is poking around in their boxes without their permission.”

  So Peter couldn’t get into the boxes, Nancy thought. They certainly seemed secure.

  “I think we’d like to open the box in the other room,” Bess said, exchanging a glance with Nancy.

  “No problem,” Mr. Taggert replied, walking to the door in the rear of the vault and opening it for them. The room beyond was a small cubicle with a ledge on one wall and a chair. Poised above the ledge in one corner was a surveillance camera.

  Mr. Taggert saw Nancy looking at the camera as Bess set the box down on the ledge. “Extra security,” he said proudly. “Let me know when you’re done, ladies.”

  When Mr. Taggert had left the room, Bess turned to Nancy. “What do you think we’ll find?” she asked. “Do you think it’s full of treasures?”

  “It could be, if Mrs. O’Connell is rich,” Nancy offered.

  “Or maybe it’s empty,” Bess continued, her thoughts leaping. “Maybe Peter and Maia got their clients to put all their valuables in one place so they could steal them.”

  Could that be it? Nancy wondered. She remembered Maia’s slinky dress and the expensive-looking bracelet she was wearing when Nancy had stopped by earlier. Maia had said that she and Peter couldn’t afford such an extravagant house, but Nancy wondered if they were richer than she claimed.

  She shook her head. “Too many missing pieces,” she said. “Just open it.”

  “Okay,” Bess said. She lifted the lid and gasped.

  “What is it?” Nancy asked. “Is it empty?”

  Bess shook her head mutely, and Nancy looked inside. The box was full of cheap-looking jewelry and some yellowing letters from friends—the only treasures in Mrs. O’Connell’s life.

  • • •

  The two girls left the bank and went out to the parking lot.