Sam closed the file folder and opened the door to usher them out.
"Just a minute," Nancy said. "Can you tell us the name of the suspect?"
Sam shook his head. "Nancy," he said, "you know I can't do that. No names until charges have been filed. Right now we're just investigating."
"Thanks, Sam," Nancy said. "We won't say anything."
Sam put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick hug as he walked them toward the door. "I trust you," he said. "See you around!"
Nancy and George walked to the car without talking, each thinking over the information they'd just been given.
George slammed the door and fastened her seat belt. "Are you convinced that Edwin Wright isn't involved?" she asked Nancy as they drove away.
Nancy shook her head. "No," she said. "I think he's smart enough to create a perfect cover. He kidnaps his own grandson and then reports it, so he appears innocent. But at this point the police aren't willing to consider him a suspect."
George sighed. "Right, but they're hot on the tail of a friend of the mother, someone who may or may not have made that call to Edwin Wright. And I'm afraid we both know who that prime suspect is. Are we headed for Kamla's now?"
Chapter Six
NANCY AND George drove along in silence until Nancy turned the comer of the street where Kamla lived and eased into a parking space across from her apartment building. As she did, a police car pulled away from the curb and drove off.
"If she was upset earlier, imagine how she'll be after being questioned," George said.
Quickly, she and Nancy climbed the stairs to Kamla's second-floor apartment. The drapes were drawn, but the glow from a lamp in the living room showed through. Nancy knocked on the front door. There was no answer. She knocked louder and put her ear to the door.
"She's in there," Nancy said to George. "I can hear her talking."
"Talking?" George repeated. "Who's in there with her?"
"Kamla!" Nancy called out. She rapped again. "It's Nancy and George."
After what seemed like hours, the door opened a crack. "Nancy?" Kamla said. Her voice was hoarse, and Nancy could tell she'd been crying.
"Yes. Let us in, Kamla."
Kamla slipped the security chain off and opened the door. Inside, the small apartment was alive with bright colors. Large tasseled floor pillows in gold and orange silk were heaped in one corner, and a red-and-black tapestry was thrown over the back of the couch. The walls were decorated with ornately carved brass plates, and brass bowls and pitchers graced the coffee and end tables. A set of three thin silver knives with carved handles were mounted over a teak desk in the comer. It was a cozy room, reflecting Kamla's Indian heritage.
"Nice place," George said, looking around.
Kamla sniffed. "Thanks," she said in a whisper. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she blew her nose as she motioned for them to sit.
Nancy looked through the open door to the kitchen. "Is someone here?" she asked. "I thought I heard you talking."
"I was on the phone," Kamla replied. "I was calling Jodi." The words caught in her throat, and she started to sob. "I wanted to tell her about Jeremy . . . and about the police being here." She wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. "But I couldn't reach her. I have her private number, but her answering service picked it up. She's off on location in Mexico. Oh, Nancy, I'm so frightened! What's going to happen to Jeremy? What's going to happen to me?" The tears started again. Nancy moved to her side and put her arm around the diminutive woman.
"Come and sit down," Nancy said, "and tell us what the police said to you."
Kamla sat opposite them on one of the floor pillows and toyed nervously with a silver bangle around her wrist.
"Well, they said they just wanted to ask me a few questions."
"About Jeremy?" George asked.
Kamla shook her head. "No, about Jodi."
"Did they say anything about Jeremy? I mean, did they say he was missing or anything?"
"No, not even when I asked them if he was."
George and Nancy glanced at each other. In her innocent fervor to protect Jeremy from his grandfather, Kamla may have brought suspicion on herself.
"What else did the police ask you?"
"Silly things!" Kamla threw up her hands in exasperation, and the bangle rolled across the floor. George stopped it with her foot and handed it to Nancy to pass to Kamla.
"Nice bracelet," George said, admiring the braided silver.
Kamla nodded. "It was my grandmother's."
"What did they ask you?" Nancy prompted.
"Oh, things like, was I in this country legally? Was I able to support myself? And then, before they left, they said they might want to talk to me again, and not to leave River Heights. I feel like a criminal! What's going to happen to my job? Are the police going to talk to the principal about me?"
"They'll check the school for information about Jeremy," Nancy told her. "That's part of their job."
"So he is missing," Kamla said.
"Yes," George replied. "And his disappearance was reported to the police—by Edwin Wright."
Kamla gave her a shocked look. "No," she said slowly. "That man is extremely crafty."
"Yes," Nancy agreed. "Look, we have to go now. We're going to do some checking on our own, and we'll be in touch tomorrow. Get some rest, because worrying isn't going to solve anything."
"I know," Kamla said, standing up and straightening her shoulders in an effort to compose herself. "I've got a big day tomorrow, too. Tomorrow evening is the spring Open House program for parents. Well, let's hope that by then this charade has ended and Jeremy is found safe and sound." She managed a weak smile. "Thanks for coming." She stood at the door and watched as they went down the stairs and across the street to the car.
"She didn't help her case, did she?" George said as they drove off. "She probably shouldn't have let on that she thought Jeremy might be gone."
"I'm afraid not," Nancy replied. "I think our first step tomorrow is to find Amie, the TV repairman who drives a green-and-yellow repair truck."
"I think you should sign Darcy up as a cub investigator," George said with a laugh. "So far, she's given us our only good leads."
"Right! I'll pick you up at nine."
In the morning, Nancy and George set off with a list of TV repair shops they had copied from the telephone book. At the fourth one they visited, they got lucky.
"Bingo!" George said excitedly as they pulled up in front of the shop. Parked out in front was a green-and-yellow van with the words Uncle Joe's TV Repair Shop printed in black on the side.
"Stay in the car," Nancy said. "I'll go in and see if they have a repairman named Amie."
As she was entering the shop, one of the servicepeople was leaving. He held the door for her and tipped his green-and-yellow hat. "Morning, ma'am," he said.
"Good morning," Nancy said, smiling at him. The friendly greeting made her feel more comfortable about asking questions.
Once inside the poorly lighted shop, Nancy saw dozens of TVs and VCRs sitting on the floor, helter-skelter, some tagged and ready for delivery back to their owners. Others were covered with dust and had orange For Sale tags on them. Nancy wove her way through to the service window at the back, where a harsh white fluorescent light shone like a beacon over the counter.
"Can I help you, miss?" the man at the window asked. He was wearing the same kind of green uniform with yellow trim that the man she had met at the door had been wearing. The shop's name was embroidered on the pocket.
"I hope so," Nancy said. "I have a friend who brought her set to you for repair."
"Did she have a complaint?" the man asked. "We guarantee our work, you know."
"No, no," Nancy said. "Just the opposite. You see, I have a set that needs repair, and she was so pleased with your work that she recommended your shop and that repairman to me."
"What was his name?"
"Well"—Nancy laughed apologetically— "that's part of the pr
oblem. She could only remember his first name. It was Arnie."
"Oh, that would be Arnie Beyers," the man said, grinning at her. "Hasn't been with us too long, but he's good at his job. Of course, all of our
repairpeople are good. But you just missed Amie —he was walking out as you were coming in."
"Oh, too bad," Nancy said. "Amie . . . Beyers?"
The man nodded. "Right. He spells it B-E-Y-E-R-S. But you say it like buyers. You, know, like shoppers. ''He chuckled at his joke. "Do you have your set in the car? I'll come out and unload it for you."
"Well, no, I don't, but I'll bring it in one day soon."
"We send our people out in the field, too," the man said. "I could have Amie come by and check your set right in your home."
"Thanks," Nancy said, dodging around TV sets as she headed toward the door. "I'll give you a call and set up an appointment."
She practically ran to the car.
"Found him! Beyers! Amie Beyers!"
"I could tell by the look on your face," George said as they sped off. "You looked like the cat that swallowed the canary."
"He was the man who was leaving as I went in," she said. "Did you get a good look at him?"
"Sort of," George said. "About five feet ten, one hundred eighty pounds, big nose . . ."
"Thinning dark hair," Nancy said. "He tipped his hat when I went through. Did he get into the repair truck?"
"Sure did," George said. "Where are we going now?"
Nancy looked at her watch. "Either to the police station or to lunch." She wheeled into a shopping mall and pulled up beside a bank of pay phones. "Have to make a call first,"
She jumped out of the car and walked to one of the phones. Her conversation was brief. When she got back into the car, she was smiling.
"I take it we're going to the police station," George said, with an exaggerated sigh, "where we are going to talk with one OflScer Fanelli. Am I correct?"
Nancy gave her a sidelong glance. "You are correct," she said. "How did you know?"
"I've never seen you positively glow about going to lunch," George said, then paused. "I hope he's not as grouchy as he was last night."
"He was just doing his job," Nancy replied. "I called because I didn't know what time Sam would come in today, since he worked last night. He's on from eleven to seven."
When she pulled into the parking lot by the station, Nancy took a minute to apply some lip gloss and check her hair.
"Is this a business or a social call?" George teased.
"Both, maybe," Nancy replied. "Do I look all right?"
"You look terrific," George said. "You always look terrific. If you weren't my best friend, I'd probably hate you!"
Nancy laughed. "Come on," she said, getting out of the car. "Let's see what else we can find out about Mr. Amie Beyers."
Nancy and George entered the police station and found Sam in his ofl&ce. He greeted them warmly, with none of the edginess he had exhibited the night before. Nancy quickly explained that Jeremy's friend Darcy had told them about a suspicious TV repairman named Arnie, who had been talking to Edwin Wright just a few days earlier.
"Would you run a check on him, Sam?" Nancy asked. "His last name is Beyers—B-E-Y-E-R-S. rd really like to know if he has a record."
Sam gave her an I-don't-believe-this look. "Nan, are you going to check out leads from an eight-year-old kid in a tree house? I tell you . . ." He dropped his voice. "I don't think Edwin Wright is involved in Jeremy's disappearance."
"Please, Sam, just as a favor. Ultimately, it may help your case, too."
Sam smiled at Nancy and winked at George. "Pretty persuasive, isn't she?"
George rolled her eyes. "A killer," she said.
Sam laughed. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll run the check for you. But the computer is down right now, so I'll have to call you with the information. Will you be home this afternoon? Say, around four?"
Nancy gave him a big smile. "I will," she said. "Thanks, Sam. This means a lot!"
At four o'clock George was curled up on the couch in the Drew family room when Sam called. She watched the expression on Nancy's face change from interest to surprise as she hastily made notes during the conversation.
"Well?" George asked when Nancy hit the disconnect button on the portable phone.
"Well," Nancy said. "Amie Beyers has a long list of aliases. His real name is Jack Farmer—and get this! He was released a year ago from state prison, after serving a three-year sentence for extortion. George, get your jacket. Wright has entrusted his grandson to a crook!"
Chapter Seven
"WHERE ARE WE GOING, Nan?" George asked.
"To visit Edwin Wright," Nancy said, aheady at the door. "His office is right by the courthouse."
Edwin Wright's suite was in an imposing new building of law offices that took up almost a city block. Nancy took a ticket from the attendant as she drove into the underground parking lot, and searched on several levels before she found a space.
"This place is worse than the mall," George complained as they were walking to the elevators. "I didn't know there were this many lawyers—or people with legal problems in River Heights!"
"There are a lot," Nancy agreed, pointing to the directory. She ran her finger down the alphabetical list of names. "Here he is! Edwin Wright, Suite 522."
"Do you think he'll talk to us?" George asked as they rode up to the fifth floor.
"I honestly don't know," Nancy replied. "If he really is innocent of any involvement, and if he really is concerned about Jeremy, I think he will. If not, we'll get the runaround."
The two friends walked down the corridor until they came to Edwin Wright's comer suite. It was elegant, with thick blue carpeting on the floors and a sweeping view of the city from the large reception area, which was framed on two sides with plate glass windows. Large, bold abstract paintings in shades of blues and greens adorned the walls, and there were fresh flowers on the reception desk and the coffee table in the waiting area.
"Wow," George whispered to Nancy, as she smoothed her cotton T-shirt over her jeans. "I forgot to wear my formal."
Nancy grinned at the comment and approached the receptionist. "I'm Nancy Drew," she said, "and this is George Fayne. Would it be possible to see Edwin Wright for a few minutes?"
The receptionist looked down at the appointment book on her desk. "I'm sorry," she said. "Mr. Wright's in court today." She hesitated. "I don't see anything in the book. Did you have an appointment?"
"No," Nancy assured her. "We just wanted to talk with him briefly."
"His law clerk is here, though," the woman said. "Perhaps she can help you."
Before Nancy could say anything, the receptionist got up and went into an inner office. She returned almost immediately with a statuesque, striking blond woman fashionably dressed in a leather miniskirt and matching vest, with a soft blue jersey top and chunky gold jewelry.
Nancy thought of George's comment about being underdressed, and shot an impish look at her friend. Neither of them was appropriately dressed for the surroundings.
"I'm Shelley Lawson," the blond woman said, reaching out to shake first Nancy's hand, then George's. "I'm sorry Mr. Wright isn't available, Ms. Drew. Is there something that I could help with?" She looked from Nancy to George with a puzzled expression. "Is it legal advice you need?"
Nancy shook her head.
"Frankly, I wondered," Shelley Lawson said, smiling. "Your reputation as an investigator is well known in River Heights, and of course we have great respect for your father and his fine work as a criminal defense attorney."
"We just wanted to talk briefly with Mr. Wright," Nancy said. "It's a personal matter. I was hoping to catch him before he went home for the day."
"He's been in court all day," Shelley said, looking at her watch. "He may check in before he goes home. Would you like to wait?"
"No, thanks," Nancy replied. "It's not urgent. I'll catch him another time."
"Edwin Wright's no dummy," Georg
e said as they walked back down the hall to the elevator. "I always had the idea that law clerks were underpaid. That outfit had to be worth hundreds of dollars."
"She was sharp, too," Nancy said. "Picked right up on my name and knew that Dad was practicing criminal law."
Nancy and George entered the elevator, and Nancy pushed the button for the main floor. "Since we struck out there, let's walk over to the courthouse."
"To find Wright?" George asked, surprised.
"No, I want to check in the Records Section and see if I can find anything on Jack Farmer, alias Amie Beyers."
"Won't that take forever without a case number?" George asked.
"Sally Moffatt might be able to help. She works in Records, and she's helped me find impossible things before. But we have to hurry. It's almost five, and they'll be closing up."
George and Nancy waited for the light to change and then dashed across the street and into the courthouse.
"Almost closing time, girls," chided the guard at the security desk. "Put your purses on the belt, please. And when you hear the announcement for closing, you'll leave by that other door." He pointed at a door behind him.
"Yes, sir," George called back over her shoulder as she hurried after Nancy.
The Records Section, usually crowded with people needing copies of court orders and litigation proceedings, was empty. A long counter separated the public area from the staff, and on the other side were eight desks and what appeared to be a library-like row of shelves, containing records.
"There have to be thousands of records in here," George said, staring at the files that stretched down to the end of the long room.
"This is just part of them," Nancy said. "The fairly recent ones. The older records are on microfiche stored down in the basement. I can't believe our luck," she continued. "There's Sally!"
One of several women working at computer terminals looked up when she heard her name and hurried over to greet Nancy.
"How can I help you, Nan?" she asked. "You always send me on the most interesting searches."
Nancy introduced George, and then apologized to Sally. "I don't have much to go on this time. I have a couple of names—Amie Beyers and Jack Farmer." She spelled Beyers. Sally scribbled notes while Nancy talked.
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