Poison Pen

by Carolyn Keene

  “Of course. Why not?” Nancy murmured. It made sense, in a sick way. Both Mr. and Mrs. Keating had married thinking that the other partner was rich, and Nancy’s investigation had shown that both were disappointed. But instead of trying to kill each other, they had teamed up to remedy the situation!

  It all clicked. “That’s why Mrs. Keating didn’t want the police to come when she had the accident with Brenda,” Nancy said aloud. “That’s why she wouldn’t confide in Rick after she saw Brenda’s letter in the paper. She wasn’t afraid her husband was trying to kill her—she was afraid Brenda had found out about the plot to fake her death and collect that million dollars in insurance! She was afraid of being caught!”

  That also explained the way Mrs. Keating had been staring behind Nancy just before Mr. Keating knocked her out. Nancy shook her head in amazement. She sure had misread the situation. Now that Nancy thought about it, she realized that the odd look on Mrs. Keating’s face hadn’t been panic—it had been expectation.

  She was just waiting for her husband to sneak up on me, Nancy thought angrily. And I thought she was in trouble!

  The roar of the Mustang’s engine made Nancy look down at the driveway again. Mrs. Keating had started the car. As Nancy watched, she drove away.

  Hey, that’s my car! Nancy wanted to shout. But she didn’t think it would do much good. Besides, she had more immediate problems. Obviously, the Keatings planned on getting rid of her. She had to get both herself and the unconscious Chris Trout out of there before Mr. Keating came back to finish them off!

  Still feeling unsteady, Nancy went over to the study door and tugged on the knob. It didn’t turn. The door was locked, of course. She’d expected as much.

  She bent down and examined the latch. Not pickable. She couldn’t see the locking mechanism, but from the look of it it was the sort where a section of the doorknob turned, too. A one-way lock. Strange—usually those were set up so that a person could lock and unlock the door from inside the room.

  I’ll bet Mr. Keating just took this one off the door and switched it around, Nancy guessed. It wouldn’t be hard, and it would keep us in here very efficiently.

  Going over to one of the windows, she struggled to raise the sash, but it didn’t budge. Then she noticed that two stout nails had been driven into the wooden sill from the outside. They were holding the window shut.

  She gazed out through the glass. If she broke the window, maybe she could shout loud enough to get someone’s attention. . . .

  That hope faded as she remembered the thick belt of trees that surrounded the Keatings’ property. The place was isolated. From where Nancy stood, she couldn’t even see any other houses. No one would hear her cries.

  Just then another wave of sick dizziness swept over Nancy. She gripped the doorknob, but the whirling feeling grew stronger. Gasping, she slid down the wall to the thickly carpeted floor and put her head between her knees.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it, but if anything, she felt worse than she had five minutes earlier.

  Suddenly she caught a whiff of that same bitter scent that she had smelled right before she lost consciousness. It was strangely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Nancy racked her fogged brain. I know that smell, but from where?

  Just then a scene flashed into her head of her high-school chemistry lab. The teacher was holding up a beaker of some liquid and lecturing about it. “Quite dangerous . . . highly explosive . . .” And that same acrid taint hung faintly in the air. . . .

  “Ether!” Nancy cried, snapping her fingers.

  So that was what Keating had used to knock her out. He must have left some of it in the house, and the fumes were seeping into the air as it evaporated.

  Nancy stood up and sniffed. The smell was strongest around the door and near the ceiling, so the ether was probably in the attic.

  That was bad, she realized with a sinking heart. Besides the fact that the fumes were making her progressively weaker, if there were any sparks or open flames going anywhere in the house they might set off an explosion. . . .

  Suddenly the war story she had heard Keating tell the other day in the bank rang in her ears with a dreadful significance. He had built ether bombs during the war. All it took was a bottle of ether and a lit candle. She could hear his voice, saying, “A few hours later the ether fumes reached the candle flame, and—boom!”

  Nancy had a sudden, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “So that’s how he’s going to do it,” she whispered.

  The entire attic is a bomb, and when it goes up, Trout and I go with it! The authorities will find a demolished house—and two very demolished bodies.

  It was a horribly clever plan. Not only were the Keatings getting rid of Nancy, but they were also providing themselves with a stand-in for Mrs. Keating’s body. Because all that would be left of Nancy were some unidentifiable remains!

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  THAT’S WHY Mr. Keating had all those clippings about microbursts,” Nancy said, thinking out loud.

  She knew she was talking to herself. Over on the sofa Chris Trout still hadn’t stirred. Somehow, though, hearing her own voice made her feel a little less alone.

  “It was research,” she said. “He’s going to pretend that a minitornado touched down and demolished the house. It’s perfect. No one can predict those things, and they touch down so fast that it’s easy to miss them. Besides, there are no neighbors close enough to be witnesses.

  “And that’s why the ether bomb is up in, the attic,” she continued. “The house has to be wrecked from the top down, so that the microburst story will be convincing.” She glanced over at Chris Trout. “And poor Mrs. Keating and her brother-in-law just happened to be in the study upstairs when it happened,” she added grimly.

  It was a horrible thought. Nancy shuddered. “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  She did have one thing going for her, she realized. She was sure Keating hadn’t expected her to regain consciousness before the blast came. That was why he hadn’t tied her up. He’d secured the doors and windows to minimize the risk, but he couldn’t chance tying Nancy’s arms and legs. If rope fragments were found in the wreckage, that might raise awkward questions.

  She glanced over at Trout again. Still out. She couldn’t count on his help—he might not wake up as long as they remained inside. The ether fumes were keeping him under.

  How much time do I have? Nancy wondered desperately. She thought about Keating’s story again. He’d said the ether bomb took a few hours to detonate. But the tunnel Keating had blown up must have been huge, big enough to hold an entire convoy of trucks. The Keatings’ house was much smaller. Even if the candle flame was downstairs on the first floor, the ether fumes would reach it much more quickly.

  Nancy felt a bone-chilling shiver. Groaning, she sat down on the leather recliner and dropped her head in her hands.

  But then anger swept over her. “Get up, Drew!” she told herself. She’d been in tight spots before. And she’d always found a way out. Nancy shook her head to clear it of useless doubts. She had no choice. She had to get them both out.

  She stood up, ignoring the spots that were beginning to dance in front of her eyes. Grabbing Bill Keating’s maple desk chair, she dragged it over to the nearer of the two windows.

  All she had to do was pick it up and swing it through the glass. Come on, you can do it! she told herself.

  But it looked so impossibly heavy, another part of her moaned.

  “Do it!” she said out loud in a harsh voice.

  With a tremendous effort Nancy picked up the wooden chair and heaved it forward, smashing it into the glass pane. Sparkling shards flew outward, showering onto the sloping porch roof.

  Nancy stuck her head out the window and greedily gulped air into her lungs. It was warm and tangy, but at least it didn’t have ether in it!

  After wrapping her hand in the velvet curtain, she knocked the remaining splinters of glass out of the windo
w frame. Then she crossed the room and stood over Chris Trout, who still hadn’t budged. This part was going to be really hard.

  “Okay, Mr. Trout, are you ready?” she asked him. He didn’t answer.

  “Shall I take that as a yes?” Nancy giggled, suddenly light-headed. “Well, ready or not, here I come—and here you go.”

  She stooped, grabbed Trout’s limp arms, and hauled him up to a sitting position. His head lolled to one side. “Boy, you’re a heavy sleeper,” she chided him.

  Twisting around so that her back was to him, she draped his arms over her shoulders and clasped her hands around his wrists. Then, slowly and laboriously, she began dragging him toward the open window. It was incredibly hard. Trout’s muscular frame was heavier than it looked, and Nancy was already quite weak.

  Suddenly she felt resistance. Looking down, she saw that one of Trout’s dragging feet had gotten stuck between two pieces of furniture. Not now, Drew. You don’t have the time or strength!

  Nancy had to put him down to free him. She had such difficulty lifting him again that for a few dreadful moments she thought she might not be able to do it.

  “Come on, Mr. Trout,” she pleaded, gasping for breath. “Can’t you help?” But he didn’t stir.

  Finally she got him onto her back again. Perspiring from the exertion, she lugged him the last few feet and draped his limp form over the windowsill. Then she reached for his feet and unceremoniously shoved him forward. He slid through the window and landed in a heap on the porch roof.

  “Okay, me next,” Nancy panted. She climbed through the window and out onto the roof. “Phase one complete,” she murmured.

  Next Nancy grabbed Trout by the feet and slid him down the gently sloping roof. It was easier than dragging him across the carpet, but Nancy was already thinking ahead to what had to come next. She wasn’t certain she could handle it. Somehow she had to get him off the roof without breaking his neck—or her own—in the process.

  Leaning over the edge of the roof, she peered down. Good. The drop didn’t look to be more than eight or nine feet. Directly below her was the front lawn, and the grass looked soft and springy. That’s the first thing that’s gone right today, she thought with a wry smile.

  She sat back and took a deep breath. Then she turned Trout over so that he was lying on his stomach with his feet pointing toward the edge of the roof.

  Inch by inch she lowered him over the edge of the roof. At last, when his legs and lower torso were dangling, Nancy could no longer hold him. She let go, and he slid the rest of the way off the roof, landing in the grass with a thud.

  Without pausing, Nancy sat on the edge of the roof and then pushed off with her hands. She dropped heavily to the ground beside Trout.

  Her muscles were aching, but she couldn’t rest yet. She knew they were still too close to the house. If the attic was to go up now, they could still be seriously injured. Gritting her teeth, Nancy grasped Trout’s hands and began to drag him away from the house, toward the thicket of trees and bushes that surrounded it.

  They had crossed the driveway and were nearly at the trees when the explosion hit. A muffled thud came through the air from the attic. It sounded strangely soft, and at first Nancy didn’t know what it was. Then the shock from the blast knocked her right off her feet, sending her sprawling in the grass. She threw her arms over her head to protect herself.

  Peeking up, Nancy watched as the top of the Keatings’ house erupted. It was as if the attic were a huge balloon that had been filled too full and had burst. Chunks of roof flew straight up into the air, and bits of wall blew out in every direction. Brick, mortar, and wood hailed down onto the lawn.

  When the dust settled, Nancy saw that the entire upper half of the house was gone. Here and there orange flames shot up out of the ruins. She gulped. If we’d still been in there, she thought. If we hadn’t gotten out . . .

  Nancy started at the sound of a car door slamming behind her. Had someone come to rescue them? Maybe Ned—

  As she got to her feet and turned around, the welcoming words died on her lips.

  Mr. Keating had come back! He stopped on the driveway, giving her a cold smile. “Miss Drew, isn’t it?” When she nodded, he shook his head, and said, “It’s a good thing I came back to check the damage. You keep popping up when I don’t expect you,” he said. “It was you on the bridge last night, wasn’t it?”

  Again Nancy nodded. She knew he planned to kill her. Her eyes darted around her, but she couldn’t think of any way to escape. After what she’d been through, she knew she was far too weak to struggle against him.

  Come on, Drew! her thoughts clamored. You just got yourself out of one of the worst messes you’ve ever been in. Surely you can come up with some way to outwit this goon. At least you can stall him until Trout comes around!

  “Who’d have guessed, when you came to me for approval of that withdrawal the other day, that you’d be causing me so much trouble in such a short time?” Keating said, sighing.

  Nancy raised her head and forced herself to smile. “I can be quite a troublemaker,” she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. “And I think you’ve already found out that I’m very hard to get rid of.”

  “Mmm, yes.” Keating looked thoughtful. “I don’t know how you managed to get this far, but I do congratulate you. You’re a resourceful girl.”

  Nancy didn’t like his smug tone. He knew he had the upper hand, but she wasn’t about to just buckle under. “Well, Mr. Keating,” she said firmly, “it looks as if your plan has failed.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Keating said coolly. He glanced up at the house. “No, I think the situation can still be repaired.”

  “How?” Nancy asked. She didn’t really want to know, but she needed to keep distracting him.

  “I saw enough in the war to know that the body of someone who’s been in a fire is very difficult to identify. And there does seem to be a flame or two up there.” Keating pointed up at the second story of the house. “I think I’ll just put you back there and let nature take its course. It will be easy to claim your body as my wife’s.”

  He turned toward her. Horrified, Nancy tried to back away, but the combination of fear and exhaustion had made her muscles utterly useless.

  He was coming at her, and she couldn’t move!

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  NANCY STARED HELPLESSLY as Mr. Keating began to cross the driveway toward her.

  The sound of a car engine made her turn, and Nancy saw her blue Mustang roar up the drive, heading straight for Mr. Keating.

  He leapt backward with a shout. “What the—?”

  The Mustang’s door flew open, and Mrs. Keating stepped out. Her gaze lit on Nancy, and Nancy thought she saw relief in the woman’s eyes. Then Mrs. Keating turned to her husband and said in a shaking voice, “We can’t do this, Bill.”

  “Listen to your wife, Mr. Keating,” Nancy called to him. “She’s trying to save you from a life behind bars.”

  Keating ignored her. “Maggie, what kind of nonsense is this?” he demanded of his wife. “You know we can’t stop now. We’re in way too deep.”

  “No, Bill,” Mrs. Keating pleaded. “You’re wrong! If I let you kill these people, then it’ll be too late. Cheating the insurance company was one thing, but I can’t go along with murder!”

  “You already have,” Keating snapped. He gestured toward Nancy. “If this girl hadn’t managed to get out before the house went up, you’d be an accessory after the fact right now. So don’t get self-righteous with me.”

  Stepping around the car, he continued toward Nancy. She tensed, but she knew she couldn’t hold him off for long—she was still too weak. “It’s up to you, Mrs. Keating,” she called. “You’re the only one who can stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life.”

  “She won’t stop me,” Keating scoffed. “My wife is in this up to her neck.”

  Just then tires squealed on the Keatings’ winding driveway, causin
g Mr. Keating to glance over his shoulder. A second later a green Chevy sedan came into sight. Ned!

  As the car screeched to a halt, Nancy felt a rush of relief so intense that she thought her knees would buckle. As Ned leapt out of the car, Brenda’s red sports car pulled up with Bess, George, Rick, and Brenda all crammed inside. All five of them raced over to Nancy.

  “Am I glad to see you guys!” Nancy cried. But then, looking over Ned’s shoulder, she saw the desperate look on Mr. Keating’s face. In a flash he turned and started across the lawn at a run.

  “Don’t let him get away!” she cried, pointing.

  Ned and Rick caught up to him in a flash and wrestled him to the ground. Keating’s face twisted with fury. “You punks!” he growled, still struggling. Then Ned stunned him with a well-placed blow to the jaw.

  As Keating went limp, Ned rubbed his fist and looked satisfied. “That was for last night,” he said. Leaving Rick to handle his uncle, Ned rose to his feet and rushed back to Nancy, putting his arms around her. “Are you okay?” he asked tenderly.

  Nancy hugged him as hard as she could. “How in the world did you know I’d be here?” she asked.

  “I called your house, and Hannah told me you’d gone tearing out ten minutes earlier shouting something about stopping a murder,” Ned told her. “Well, I know my Nancy,” he went on, grinning affectionately. “I figured you had either gone here or to Brenda’s. I called Brenda, and you weren’t there, so that left here. So I told Brenda to call Bess and George for backup, and then I drove over. I want you to know I broke the speed limit all the way.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Nancy said, giggling. She felt giddy now that she was out of danger, but she knew it wasn’t over quite yet. Turning to Bess and George, she said, “Guys, there’s some rope in the trunk of my car. Maybe we should tie Mr. Keating up, just in case he wakes up and wants to go somewhere.”

  “Okay, boss.” George made a salute and headed for Nancy’s Mustang. “I’ll run to a neighbor’s and call the fire department, too.”