Puccini’s was filled with people and the warm smells of pasta and garlic. Every table had a white paper tablecloth and a jar of crayons. A jukebox played funny old songs. Ned and Dave began singing along with one: “ ‘When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore—’ ”
“That’s ‘samoray’?” shouted George over their singing.
“Amore, George! It means ‘love’ in Italian,” Denise said. She caught Ned’s eye and smiled. “When you guys are done serenading us, you may want to take a look at the menu,” she suggested. “All the spaghetti dishes look great. And they have deep-dish and regular pizza.”
Nancy peeked over the top of her menu. George and Dave were excitedly rehashing the game, and Denise and Ned were arguing over whether to split a pizza or to get separate pasta dishes. Denise pointed out something on her menu to Ned. The two of them looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Suddenly Nancy wasn’t very hungry. Was she imagining the attraction between Ned and Denise? His eyes lingered on her an awful lot, and Nancy was beginning to feel like a fifth wheel.
“Why don’t we get two small pizzas and a few spaghetti dishes and all share?” suggested Denise.
“Sounds good to me,” Ned agreed. “What do you think, Nan?” He threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze.
That made her feel better. “Great. How about an appetizer of fried squid to start?” she said with a mischievous grin.
“Squid? You’re kidding, right?” asked Dave.
Ned laughed. “I hope so.”
The waiter took their order and returned with icy mugs of soda and two baskets of hot, crusty Italian bread.
“I’ll show you exactly how that play should have worked,” Dave said to George as he reached for the jar of crayons. He began making x’s and o’s on the tablecloth with a purple crayon.
“Hey, pass the crayons,” Denise said. She grabbed a handful and started drawing on the table. She worked quickly, and Nancy marveled at how, with only a few strokes, she had drawn a lively face and the beginnings of a background.
“Denise is an art history major at school, but she’s a great artist, too,” Ned told Nancy.
“I’m not a great artist. Those people up on the walls are great artists,” Denise said, brandishing a red crayon. She pointed it at the walls, which were hung with prints of famous paintings.
“Hey, isn’t that a Matisse?” asked Ned.
Denise nodded. “I guess you’re learning something in that art history class, huh? Or have you been reading that book on the Impressionists I gave you?” Denise asked.
Ned gave her a sheepish glance. “Well, I have been looking at the pictures.”
Nancy studied the other prints hanging on the walls. She couldn’t identify many of the artists, but she did see some things she liked.
“I like that,” she said, pointing to one that was hanging directly above Ned’s head. It was a picture of a clown tumbling into a pool. “The colors are beautiful.”
“Oh, that’s a Hockney,” said Denise. “It’s great—if you like that sort of thing. I prefer the old masters myself.”
Nancy was about to ask which old masters when she was interrupted.
“It’s a little early for a victory celebration, isn’t it?” a new voice broke in.
Nancy glanced up to see a dark, wiry boy smiling down at them. He met her eyes for a moment, then turned to hold out his hand to Ned. “I’m Tim Raphael. You guys played a great game,” he said.
Nancy was a little surprised that Tim was so relaxed and friendly. He had seemed angry and tense at the game. He couldn’t be in a very good mood after having been thrown out of the game and then losing to the Wildcats.
“I’m sure the next game will be a lot tougher with you in there the whole time,” said Dave.
“Yeah, Monday’s game will be sink or swim for us,” Tim said. “Well, have fun in Chicago. I’ll probably see you at the gym over the weekend.” He glanced at Nancy again.
The five of them watched as Tim walked back to his table. “That was pretty sportsmanlike of him,” George commented, sounding surprised.
Nancy recognized several other Eagles players at Tim’s table, along with a few well-dressed older people. They were seated on the balcony level, with a good view of the room. At least four waiters were hovering near their table. Their every need was being attended to by a different person. They must be bigwigs, Nancy guessed.
As if in answer, Denise said, “That guy next to Tim is Jeffrey Bleisch. He’s a really big art collector. That’s him, in the red bow tie. My father says he’s got the best private collection of Dutch and Flemish paintings in the world.”
“I wonder why Tim and the other Eagles are hanging out with an art collector,” Ned remarked.
“Well, I think Bleisch is a Chicago University alumnus,” Denise told him. “I don’t know the other people at that table, but none of them look very happy. Could be they’re upset by the Eagles’ loss.”
“Is it true that a lot of big, illegal bets are waged on these games?” Nancy asked. The others nodded.
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the food. It was brought to them not by their waiter, but by a man in a chef’s outfit.
“One mushroom, one sausage, and one with the works,” he said, placing the pies deftly on the table. “And the fettuccine Alfredo I will put in the middle. Buon appetito, my friends, enjoy. If there is anything you want, ask for me, Mario. And allow me to congratulate the winners of the first game of the tournament.” With a flourish, he went back to the kitchen.
“Mmmm,” Dave said. “Where to begin? This could be the toughest decision I’ve made all day.”
“Don’t wait too long or all the food will be gone,” Ned joked.
The rest of the meal was spent eating and talking about what there was to do in Chicago over the weekend.
“I’ve got to spend some time with my family,” said Denise between mouthfuls of the thick-crusted pizza. “My father’s got a big show coming in to his gallery, and he’s all hyper about it.
“By the way, do you two have a place to stay for the weekend?” she asked, turning to Nancy and George. “You could stay with me at my parents’. Ned and Dave are staying with the team on campus, but I don’t think they’ve made any arrangements for spectators in the girls’ dorm.”
“George and I are staying with friends of my father,” said Nancy. “But thanks for the offer.” She didn’t like being referred to as a “spectator.” It made her feel like a real outsider. She had to admit that it was nice of Denise to offer them a place to stay, though.
“That reminds me,” Nancy added. “I have to call the Sampsons and let them know what time we’ll get there. Is there a pay phone here?”
“Downstairs. I think I saw a sign when we came in,” Denise said. She was forking mounds of fettuccine onto Ned’s plate.
Nancy excused herself and headed for the phone. She was glad to leave the group for a few minutes. She hadn’t felt comfortable at all with Denise at the table. The cheerleader really did seem to be interested in Ned. The question was, was the feeling mutual? Nancy couldn’t tell.
She had left her purse at the table, but she found some money in her pocket. She lifted the receiver and dropped a few coins in the slot.
Suddenly a black-gloved hand snaked past Nancy’s shoulder and took the receiver out of her hand. Before she even had a chance to cry out, the hand was clamped over her mouth. Her wrists were seized together in a grip so tight, she could feel her circulation being cut off.
She was half pulled, half dragged out the restaurant’s back door. Heart pounding, she struggled to break free, but it was no use. Her captor had her in an unbreakable hold. He hustled her down a short flight of steps and shoved her into a dark-colored car that was waiting in an alley. What’s going on? she wanted to cry out, but her mouth was still covered.
Out of the corner of her eye Nancy thought she saw Mario, the chef.
He seemed to be smiling, but she wasn’t sure, because just then a blindfold was whisked over her eyes. The car lurched forward and she was thrown back against the seat.
I can’t believe this, she thought in horrified amazement. I’m being kidnapped!
Chapter
Three
TAKING A DEEP BREATH to try to pull herself together, Nancy lunged to her side. She was guessing at where the door handle might be. If only she could get it open, she might be able to roll out, or at least attract some passerby’s attention.
The gloved hand clamped down on her right wrist again, stopping her before she even reached the door. Nancy cried out in pain as her arm was twisted behind her back.
A second later a gag was forced into her mouth. Then her arms were both pulled behind her back and tied, tightly but not painfully.
Nancy’s mind raced. Why would anybody want to kidnap her? She wasn’t working on a case. She didn’t have any enemies out of prison—at least, none that she knew of. . . .
I’m in Chicago to see my boyfriend’s college basketball game, Nancy thought. She was forcing herself to think slowly and logically—it would be all too easy to give in to panic. Who even knows I’m here?
Suddenly a thought struck her. Was it even remotely possible? Would someone be crazy enough to kidnap her to sabotage the Wildcats’ chances of winning? Maybe someone was hoping to put Ned out of action. He was the cocaptain and one of the top players, after all. And with illegal betting there was a lot of money riding on the outcome of the tournament.
Her kidnappers rode in eerie silence. Nancy knew there must be at least two of them—one to drive and one to keep an eye on her. She wished they’d say something. Hearing their conversation, or their voices, might help her figure out who they were.
The car took many sharp turns, speeding up, then coming to sudden stops. Nancy tried to concentrate on where they were taking her. Right, then left, then left again . . . She quickly lost track of the turns. The only thing she could guess was that they must be winding their way through the streets of Chicago.
She began to feel slightly nauseated from all the stopping and starting. Well, at least they weren’t running any red lights.
Nancy could feel panic beginning to mix with her nausea. She needed to concentrate, she kept telling herself. If she was going to get out of this jam, she had to make some sense of where they were taking her.
The twisting and turning must have been intended to keep her from doing just that. Nancy wondered if they were being careful because they knew she was a detective.
A few minutes later she felt the car going down a sharp incline. It was bumpy, and although the windows were rolled up, she could tell that they were on a gravel road. Then the car stopped abruptly.
The back door opened, and at the same time Nancy heard the whine of an automatic door. Maybe we’re in a garage, she thought. She felt a hand grasp her upper arm and pull. Stiffly she got up from the seat and stepped out of the car.
She straightened up. By then she was sure they were in a garage. She smelled a faint reek of gasoline, and although it was cold, it wasn’t nearly so cold as it had been outside.
The hand still had hold of her arm. For a moment she was grateful for the firm grasp. She felt slightly unstable from the ride, and the blindfold was throwing off her sense of balance.
A heavy coat was slung over her shoulders. With it she caught a whiff of a man’s cologne. Nancy felt a little spark of triumph. They weren’t the most careful of kidnappers, she thought. It was a good sign. Maybe kidnapping was just a hobby and not a full-time job for these people, whoever they were.
Again she was led through a door. From the sudden change in temperature, she guessed she was inside now. Someone took back the coat from her shoulders. Nancy shivered. It felt drafty. She could hear the pop and crackle of a fire, but it was not in the room she was in.
She was pulled and prodded forward. She stepped slowly, feeling wooden floorboards that creaked under her feet in places. Once she almost tripped over a rug.
The kidnappers herded her into yet another room. A door clanged shut, and a motor and a grinding of gears began. The room started moving. Instinctively Nancy reached out to grab the walls, but all she grabbed was metal grating. A moment later she realized that she was in some kind of elevator. She could feel at least two other people in the elevator with her.
The elevator jerked to a stop, and an arm brushed against hers as one of her captors moved to the front to pull back the elevator door. Someone guided her out, and she smelled an overpowering chemical smell that was familiar. But from where?
Nancy was pushed down into an overstuffed chair. It was musty smelling, and the springs were broken. Nancy felt herself sink into its depths.
She heard a door open and close at the far end of the room—and then footsteps. They were slow, deliberate steps, and each one made her heart pound faster.
The footsteps stopped inches from her chair. The hairs on Nancy’s neck rose as she felt the silent gaze of whoever had just entered the room.
“You idiots.” She suddenly heard the voice of the newcomer. “You’ve got the wrong girl! Get rid of her.”
Before Nancy even had time to react, a handkerchief soaked in chloroform was clapped over her mouth and nose. Then everything went black.
• • •
The first thing Nancy heard when she woke up was the sound of water, of waves pounding against a shore. Her head ached, she couldn’t move her arms, and her face was freezing!
Where am I? she wondered groggily. What’s going on? Why am I so cold?
Gradually it came back to her—the kidnapping . . . the nightmarish car ride, blindfolded and gagged . . . the strange voice saying she was the wrong girl . . . and finally, the sweet, nauseating scent of chloroform.
Lifting her head slightly, Nancy saw that she had been wrapped tightly in blankets. That was why she couldn’t move her arms!
“At least they didn’t leave me to freeze to death,” she said out loud. It was comforting to hear her own voice.
Her eyes began to adjust to her surroundings. She was lying on sand, but she could hear the sounds of traffic coming from close by. She could make out streetlights and a sidewalk path not far from where she was lying. Where was she?
She struggled to unwind herself from the blankets. She had to roll back and forth to loosen them and found herself giggling in a light-headed way. She must look like a mummy trying to get out of its bandages.
Finally she wriggled free and immediately looked at her watch. It took a few moments to be able to read the dial in the dim glow of the distant streetlights.
It was nine-thirty. She had been gone from the restaurant for only forty-five minutes!
Nancy stood up shakily. Considering how little time had passed, she couldn’t be too far away from Puccini’s. She decided she was still on Chicago’s North Side. She knew she was on the shore of Lake Michigan, so the street to her right must be Lake Shore Drive.
She walked a short way down the beach to a cement stairway that led to the street. She glanced at the street sign. She had been right—the big, busy street was Lake Shore Drive. Now that she had her bearings, she headed for the next block over. It was brightly lit and had a lot of restaurants on it.
Standing at the crosswalk to cross over the drive, Nancy watched several cars go by, their headlights sweeping over her as they passed. One woman stared at her from the car window, looking horrified. Nancy glanced down at herself. She was covered with sand, and judging from the tangles she could feel, her hair was a mess. Detective work wasn’t pretty, she often told people. Well, now she was living proof.
At least she was alive. What about the girl the kidnappers had meant to grab? Would she be as lucky? Nancy wasn’t sure. She was sure of one thing, though.
She had to do everything in her power to find out who the kidnappers were—and stop them from striking again.
Chapter
Four
CAN I HELP
YOU, MISS?” asked a nervous hostess. Nancy had walked into the nearest restaurant to call Ned and the others. Unfortunately, she had chosen a classy French restaurant.
“I-I’ve had an accident,” said Nancy. It was much simpler than saying, “I’ve been kidnapped.” Besides, who would believe her?
“It’s nothing serious,” she added when she saw the shocked look on the hostess’s face. “I just need to use the pay phone.”
She reached into her pocket. There was one precious quarter tucked away, right next to the heart-shaped stone. Ned! She had to see him. She needed to feel his strong arms around her, right then.
The hostess pointed the way to the back of the restaurant. Nancy swallowed and tried to walk quickly through the room. It was a beautiful restaurant, with linen cloths and flowers on the tables. Most of the tables were for two, and many couples sat with their hands entwined as they chatted intimately in the dim, rosy light. Everybody turned and stared at the bedraggled girl walking through their midst. Nancy breathed a sigh of relief when she finally spotted the phone, right beside the swinging door to the kitchen.
She picked up the receiver and froze. So much had happened in the last hour—and it had all started with this same simple movement.
But nothing happened, and slowly Nancy’s feeling of déjà vu passed. Now, where would she find Ned? She decided to try Puccini’s. They would probably still be sitting at the table, wondering where she was.
Would they have been worried enough to call the police yet? She had been quiet during dinner, but Ned and George would know that it wasn’t like her to disappear without telling anyone.
She called directory assistance and got the number for Puccini’s. As she was dialing, wonderful smells wafted under her nose from the kitchen of the French restaurant. The nausea from the chloroform was almost gone, and she sniffed appreciatively.
“Puccini’s. How can I help you?” asked a male voice on the other end of the line. It was noisy, and Nancy could barely hear him. To make matters worse, waiters balancing huge, round trays were rushing in and out through the swinging doors at her left, and the clatter of the many kitchen workers was a definite distraction.
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