Bess and George went downstairs to rummage in the refrigerator for lunch. Before following them, Nancy called Mr. Terner. She asked him outright if he had received any ransom calls for Emily.
Mr. Terner was first astonished, then annoyed. “You’ve got an overactive imagination, young lady,” he said harshly. “There’s nothing mysterious about Emily’s disappearance.”
Nancy didn’t think it would do any good to argue with him. “Sorry. I’m just trying to cover all bases,” she said before saying goodbye. At least she had planted the idea. If anyone did contact him, maybe he’d let her know.
She ran down the stairs and into the spotless white kitchen, where George was putting together a huge shrimp salad. Bess stood at the counter slicing bagels. Eloise and Seth were gone.
“Mr. Cooper had to get back to his boat,” Bess explained in response to Nancy’s questioning look. “I think he made a conquest, don’t you?”
“It did look that way,” Nancy agreed. She snitched a shrimp from George’s bowl and went to the window. The weather had finally broken and there were patches of blue in the sky. The sun was drying up the puddles on the flagstone walk.
As she stood there lost in thought, Sasha rode into view. Dismounting in a single motion, he unlatched the front gate and wheeled his bike toward the house. Nancy’s heart beat faster as she took in his long muscles and lithe walk. He glanced up and saw her looking and blew her a kiss.
Nancy sighed and went to the door. What am I going to do about him? she asked herself. I’m going to have to settle this—and I’ve got to do it before Ned gets here on Tuesday!
Clearly, right then wasn’t the time. Nancy had more immediate things to talk about with Sasha.
Over lunch, Nancy filled him in on Emily’s disappearance. Unlike Bess and George, Sasha was ready to believe Emily could have been abducted.
“It must be,” he declared firmly. “She is rich, she is beautiful, she is an only child—and men like Mr. Terner always have enemies.”
George snorted. “How would you know? You’ve never even met Mr. Terner,” she said, but she smiled at Sasha as she said it. Even levelheaded George was won over by the Soviet dancer’s charm.
“True, but I know his type. Cold, harsh, imperious. I have read about men like him in—”
“In your detective novels,” Bess finished for him, laughing. “Right, Sasha?”
“Right,” Sasha agreed with an undaunted grin. “I have learned much about America and Americans from my detective novels. Besides that, I know Nancy is not often wrong. Remember, I have worked on cases with her, too.” He turned to Nancy. “What will you do next?” he asked.
Nancy hesitated. Sasha’s enthusiasm made her doubt her logic. His talk about Mr. Terner’s enemies sounded pretty silly.
“I don’t see what I can do,” she said at last. “Except keep posted on the rescue efforts. I’d like to stretch my legs now, though. Anyone want to bicycle over to the coast-guard station with me?”
“Not me!” Bess said promptly. “I’d rather go out to the beach. Maybe I can catch up with some of the people we couldn’t reach on the phone this morning.”
“I’ll go with Bess,” George said.
“I’ll go with you, Nancy. Maybe we will find some clues,” Sasha offered.
Nancy smiled. “Maybe,” she said.
The day had become beautiful, with puffy white clouds blowing across a clear azure sky. Nancy felt her spirits soar. She smiled at Sasha, and their gazes locked for an instant in strong attraction.
The sun had dried most of the water on the road, but there was one- stretch of sticky reddish mud where the road was torn up for repairs, right outside the town of Montauk, the farthest point out on the island. Nancy and Sasha dismounted and walked their bikes around the repair, but even so, Nancy got a long red smear of mud on her shorts from her bike’s tire. She tried to brush the smear off, but it clung.
“Roland Lyons lives right there,” Sasha said, pointing to a huge, modern glass-and-wood house set well back from the road. “See, his name is on the mailbox. You could ask him to let you clean the mud off inside.”
Nancy grinned. “No, thanks,” she said. “If he’s half the villain Emily says he is, he’d cook us both for dinner. Let’s just go on. Maybe there’ll be good news.”
But the visit to the coast-guard station was disheartening. The big switchboard sparkled with the lights of incoming calls. The busy petty officer on duty was polite, but it was clear that he didn’t have much hope of finding the Swallow.
“We haven’t had any radio contact,” he explained. “Without any idea of where she’s been or which direction she’s heading, we’ve got practically no chance of finding her. We’ve put out the word to boats in the area, but there’s not much else we can do. We’re spread pretty thin at the moment. I’m doing double duty myself, answering distress calls and the phone. Excuse me—it’s ringing right now.”
Discouraged, Nancy and Sasha left the man frantically pushing buttons on the switchboard. Outside, a cloud hid the bright sun. Nancy shivered. Even though the sun came back out, the light was gone from the whole day.
• • •
“Well, it seems the battle is over,” Eloise Drew said. “I just got off the phone with Dana Harding. She says the community board voted in favor of Roland Lyons’s condo plan this morning. He signed the contract at eleven.”
It was Monday, and Nancy and Eloise were on the deck in back of the house, relaxing in the sun. Bess and George were upstairs suiting up to go swimming, and Nancy was waiting for Sasha to finish rehearsing so they could go out in her aunt’s small day-sailer.
“That’s too bad,” Nancy said sympathetically. “But I guess you knew it was coming, huh?”
“I suppose so, though there certainly were enough people here opposed to it. Not the people that counted, though.” Eloise sighed, her brown eyes somber. “I keep thinking of poor Emily. She was so dedicated to stopping Lyons.”
Nancy nodded glumly. It had been almost seventy-two hours since Emily had disappeared, and there had been no sign of her or the Swallow. It was beginning to look as if she hadn’t survived the storm.
Nor had there been any ransom note or demand. Nancy felt awful for even having suggested it to Emily’s father. In his anguished state, it was probably the last thing he had needed to hear.
A car horn sounded, and Nancy jumped up. “See you later,” she told her aunt. Tying her tropical-print sarong firmly around her hips over her bathing suit, she ran down the front path.
Sasha was striding up the path, wearing red-white-and-blue bathing trunks, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. Behind him a car pulled away from the curb. Nancy could see Sasha’s Soviet chaperon, Dmitri Kolchak, hunched over the wheel of the tiny compact. He stuck a huge hand out the window and waved a friendly greeting before driving away.
“Dmitri gave me a ride over. He is very jolly these days,” Sasha said. “I think he likes America, though he would never admit it.”
Nancy drove them to the marina; then they sailed out into Hampton Bay. She was at the tiller. Sasha had sailed only once before, so Nancy coached him on how to handle the foresail, or jib, while she took the mainsail.
He did well, though often he would neglect his job and stare at Nancy instead of the yarn “telltales” that told when the wind was flowing properly over the jib. After a while she started calling for a tack, or turn, every time she noticed him staring. Sasha caught on quickly and concentrated on his job.
They sailed in companionable silence for an hour or so, sticking close to the shore and heading upwind toward Montauk. It was when they sailed by a sheltered cove that Sasha broke the silence.
“Nancy!” he said urgently, pointing.
Nancy followed his finger and spotted the thirty-foot sloop, rocking on the tide with no anchor or mooring lines visible. Its mainsail flapped loosely in the wind, and the boat looked deserted.
“Let’s get a closer look,” she said. Dropping the mainsail so t
he little boat would lose speed, she guided it up to the stern of the sloop. She gasped as she read the emblazoned name.
It was the Swallow!
The boat’s dinghy was gone—the rope trailed in the water. Nancy grabbed it and pulled herself up so that she could see over the stern.
A slight figure was sprawled unmoving on the cockpit floor. A tangle of honey-colored hair hid the face, but Nancy knew in an instant who it was.
Emily Terner.
Chapter
Five
NANCY BIT BACK A CRY when she saw that Emily’s chest was moving. She was alive!
“Drop the jib and hold us in close, Sasha,” Nancy commanded. Then she hauled herself over the stern of the drifting sloop.
“Emily!” she called softly. She shook the unconscious girl’s shoulder. Emily’s hair was matted, and her face was pale—even her golden summer tan seemed faded. She moaned, moving her head from side to side. Nancy gasped as she saw the ugly purple bruise on Emily’s temple.
Sasha climbed over the rail and joined her. “I tied our boat to that extra line back there,” he explained. “Is she all right?”
“I hope so,” Nancy answered worriedly.
Emily’s eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?” she asked weakly. Then she spotted Sasha and Nancy. “Where did you come from?” she asked. She tried to sit up, but Nancy gently pushed her back.
“Take it easy,” Nancy cautioned. “You’ve had a rough time, from the looks of it.”
“Emily, what has happened to you?” Sasha blurted out. “You look awful. Where have you been for all these days?”
“I wish I knew,” Emily said, her green eyes darkening. “You’ll never believe what happened,” she added, glancing back and forth between Nancy and Sasha. She took a breath. “I think I was kidnapped!”
“What?” Nancy could hardly believe her ears. She had been right after all!
“Who—?” Sasha began excitedly, but Nancy gripped his hand and signaled him to be quiet.
“Start from the beginning,” she commanded Emily.
“Well, I came in from my practice sail when the wind really started gusting, around nine Friday night. Keith was supposed to crew for me, but after what he did at my party, I didn’t want him. So I was alone,” Emily told them. “I guess I missed the race,” she added, sounding regretful.
“It’s been postponed until next week,” Nancy told her, hiding a grin. If Emily was already thinking about the race, she must be okay.
“Oh, good!” Emily exclaimed. “I’d hate to have missed beating Seth Cooper.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I cleaned up the boat and left the marina by about ten-fifteen. Ms. Hanks had gone, but she knows I’ll lock up if I’m the last one out. I drove home and was getting out of my car when somebody grabbed me from behind and held this piece of wet gauze over my face. Ugh!” She shuddered at the memory. “It smelled sort of sickly sweet.”
“Chloroform,” Sasha said darkly.
“Probably,” Nancy said. “Did you see the person who grabbed you?” she asked Emily.
Emily shook her head. “I didn’t even know anyone was there. I tried to scream but the chloroform must have knocked me out.”
Nancy nodded. “It works fast,” she said.
“When I woke up, I was here on board the Swallow,” Emily said. “I was in the cabin, and the hatch was bolted from the outside. The communications equipment had been ripped out, and all the portholes were sealed up and covered with those.” She pointed to a pile of dark plastic garbage bags with bits of duct tape on them. “I probably should have left them on, as evidence, but I didn’t think of that until it was too late. Anyway, a corner had come loose on one of them, so a little light came in. I could tell that it was early morning. And the wind was pretty high.”
“I know,” Nancy said, remembering Saturday morning, when Emily’s disappearance had been discovered.
“Well, I banged on the hatch and yelled,” Emily resumed, “but no one answered. Still, I could tell there was someone else aboard, because it felt like we were sailing a steady course.”
Emily paused and put a hand to her head. “Boy, do I have a headache,” she murmured.
“No wonder,” Sasha commented. Nancy got a can of soda out of the cooler in her boat and handed it to Emily. Emily drank it thirstily and then continued her story.
“I don’t know how long we sailed,” she mused. “But finally we bumped against something that felt like a dock, and he—whoever was there—started mooring the boat. So I yelled some more, but no one answered. After a while whoever it was just walked away and left me,” she concluded. Suddenly she looked startled. “How long have I been gone? I don’t even know what day it is.”
“It’s Monday afternoon,” Nancy told her. “You were missing all weekend.”
“Everyone thought you’d been lost in the storm,” Sasha added. “We began to fear . . .” He trailed off, but Emily understood what he meant.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed. “He’s probably got the navy out looking for me. I have to tell him I’m safe.” She struggled to a sitting position.
“Wait,” Nancy said, holding out a restraining hand. “You can’t do any active sailing with that bruise on your forehead. Sasha and I will do it—you just shout orders from here, okay?”
“Okay,” Emily agreed with a shaky grin. “I don’t feel so great, now that you mention it.”
Nancy went on. “You haven’t told us how you got that bruise—or how you survived, locked in the cabin for three days, or how you got out.”
“There may be some evidence or clues to the identity of your kidnapper around here. If we know what to look for we may find out something,” Sasha put in. His eyes were bright with excitement as he turned to Nancy. “Am I right?”
“You’re right,” Nancy acknowledged, smiling warmly at him.
With an effort she broke the spell of his gaze and turned back to Emily. “Just a few more minutes,” she said apologetically. “Then we’ll get you back in record time, I promise.”
“Okay,” Emily grumbled. “But I doubt you’ll learn anything. I have no idea where the boat was moored.”
“Just tell us what you do know,” Nancy urged.
Emily sighed. “Okay,” she repeated. “Whoever kidnapped me must’ve planned ahead, because he left me a week’s worth of food—sandwiches, cans of juice, stuff like that.
“He was also nice enough to leave me a flashlight and some extra batteries,” she went on. “There were a few paperbacks lying around, so I read them, and that helped pass the time. Being alone in that little cabin, in the dark, with no idea why I was even there—well, it was pretty horrible.”
There was a brief silence. Seeing that Emily was upset, Nancy didn’t push, but waited patiently until the girl could go on.
“The—the kidnapper came back a few hours ago,” Emily resumed at last. “It was the same as before, no talking. I realized he was there when the engine started and woke me. We motored awhile, and after about half an hour he turned off the engine. Then he started unbolting the hatch.”
“But I thought you never saw him,” Sasha interrupted with a puzzled frown. “If he let you out, how could this be?”
“He didn’t let me out,” Emily replied. “He only undid the bolts about halfway. Then I guess he climbed into the dinghy and rowed away.”
Nancy twined a lock of red-blond hair around one finger, her mind racing. The kidnapper had arranged it so Emily could escape, with a little work. Who would do such a thing, and why? This story was getting stranger and stranger.
“I finally got the hatch open, working from the inside with a butter knife. It wasn’t easy! My poor wrist will never be the same,” Emily said, rubbing it. “It felt like it took hours. By the time I got out, the kidnapper was long gone. And all that time, the Swallow was just drifting on the tide. For all I know, I could have been anywhere along this stretch of coast. And that’s the story. Can we go now?”
“All right,” Nan
cy agreed. She picked up the mainsheet. “I doubt we can learn anything more by staying here. You could have drifted miles. Now, can you manage to steer while we raise the sails?”
“But, Emily, how did you get that big bruise?” Sasha asked as he fed the mainsail into a slot in the mast. It rose smoothly. “Were you struck?”
Emily looked sheepish. “Oh, that,” she murmured. “I guess that’s my fault. I was trying to sail back home after I got out. I was standing on deck, and before I could even get the mainsail up, the boom swung across and hit me on the head. Knocked me right out. That must have been just before you two came along and found me.”
Laughing, Nancy took the wheel and turned the boat until it caught the wind. “We won’t tell unless we have to,” she assured Emily.
Emily returned the smile, but her mind had turned elsewhere. She didn’t even notice that the jib was flapping freely.
“Trim the jib, Sasha,” Nancy called.
Sasha saluted. “Aye, aye, sir,” he teased. Then he turned his attention back to the sail.
With the wind behind them, they made excellent time going back. But Emily’s preoccupation seemed to deepen the closer they got to the marina. She began to look quite nervous.
“Is something wrong, Emily?” Nancy asked her.
Emily started. “N-no, nothing’s wrong,” she answered after a minute. “Only . . .”
“Only what?” Nancy prompted. “Come on, you’ve been in a daze for the last half-hour.”
“I’ve thought a lot about who might have kidnapped me,” Emily said slowly. “And I guess I thought . . .” She trailed off again.
“You thought what?” Nancy urged.
Emily looked unhappy. At last she spoke. “Well, I keep coming back to one person. Keith!”
Chapter
Six
KEITH ARTIN A KIDNAPPER? Nancy shook her head. It was logical to suspect him. But why didn’t it seem one hundred percent convincing?
“Is Keith a good-enough sailor?” she asked.
Deep Secrets Page 3