004 Smile and Say Murder

by Carolyn Keene

  Mick had finely chiseled features and high cheekbones. In fact, his face would have been perfect if not for his sullen, angry expression.

  “All right, Verdi. What’s so urgent?” Mick demanded, glaring at Yvonne. “You interrupted me in the middle of something important.”

  Yvonne glared right back. “Well, this is important, too, Mick,” she said.

  “I hope so,” Mick retorted, “because I don’t like being ordered away from my work for nothing.”

  Yvonne gave a little laugh, as if she could brush off the seriousness of Mick’s comments with it. “I asked you in here because I’d like you to meet Nancy Drew, Flash’s newest intern— and your new assistant.”

  Nancy stared at Yvonne in surprise. Yvonne hadn’t said anything about being Mick’s assistant. Why had she chosen that moment to spring the development on Nancy? Or, for that matter, on Mick? Nancy had never heard of one partner hiring an assistant for another. But the important thing was how Mick was going to react to it. Nancy turned her attention to the art director.

  Mick swiveled his cold blue gaze toward Nancy. Suddenly she felt like a lobster in a restaurant fish tank. The art director looked as if he were about to eat her and spit out the shell. There was a moment of deadly silence. Then Mick exploded. “You hired an assistant for me? Yvonne, what kind of game are you playing? If I need an assistant, I’ll hire one myself!”

  “Mick,” Yvonne cut in smoothly, “you work awfully hard. I was just trying to do something nice for you.”

  Nancy sucked in her breath. It looked as if Yvonne and Mick were really into fighting dirty. She could tell that a lot of insults were about to get thrown around.

  “Your concern is less than touching,” Mick said coldly.

  “So is your appreciation, dear. Why don’t you just say thank you instead of acting like a spoiled adolescent on an ego trip?”

  Nancy glanced at Mick. His handsome face was undergoing an odd transformation, as if he’d lost some kind of inner control. “Yvonne,” he said tightly, “you’re begging for a fight. And how could I let my dear old partner down? You asked for it. Well, you’re going to get it!”

  Looking Yvonne straight in the eyes, he reached over and picked up a vase on her desk. In one convulsive movement, he crashed the heavy crystal down in front of her, shattering it.

  “If you’re gonna play games with me,” he growled, “get ready to lose—to lose everything.”

  Chapter

  Three

  NANCY STARED DOWN at the broken glass which littered Yvonne’s carpet, then rested her gaze on the red-faced, trembling Mick. Wow, she thought, he really is dangerous! His anger was truly frightening. Without another word, Mick turned on his heel and strode out of Yvonne’s office.

  For a moment, the publisher stared blankly at the smashed crystal. Nancy almost thought she was going to break down and cry. But then a look of gloating satisfaction stole across Yvonne’s face. “You see?” she said. “He doesn’t have a hold on himself. Half the time I have the feeling he’s about to throw me across the room like that.”

  “That was quite a display of anger,” Nancy agreed cautiously. She picked up a piece of glass and studied it, thinking. It certainly looked as though Yvonne were in danger. But what about Nancy herself? It seemed to her that Mick could easily turn his fury on anybody who was near him. And since Yvonne had so thoughtfully made Nancy his assistant, she was going to be near him quite a bit.

  But there was something else. Mick’s anger hadn’t been unprovoked. Yvonne had goaded him into it. And the nasty comments had come as much from Yvonne as from Mick. The case was complicated, more complicated than Yvonne was making it seem.

  “I’d like to make a phone call,” Nancy finally said.

  “Oh, please, use my telephone,” Yvonne offered.

  “Uh, no,” Nancy replied, trying to think up an excuse quickly. It was never a good idea to talk about a case in front of anyone who was involved—even the person who’d hired you. “You need to clean up here,” she said. “I’ll use another phone.” Nancy got to her feet and scooped her bag off the couch.

  “Okay,” Yvonne answered. “Mick’s going to be starting a photo session pretty soon. We’re doing an article on Danielle Artman—you know, the lead singer from that new all-girl rock band, Spiders of Power?”

  “Hey, great!” Nancy said enthusiastically, suddenly remembering that Flash had a lot more to offer than just the promise of an interesting mystery. “Their single’s terrific.”

  “Well, as Mick’s assistant, and as a detective gathering information about a man set on murder, you should be there. So why don’t you wait for Mick in the photo studio when you’re done with your call?”

  “Okay,” Nancy agreed.

  “And make sure you check in with me often so we can talk about the case.” Yvonne began picking up the larger pieces of broken glass.

  Nancy hurried out of the office. She rushed past the receptionist and caught the elevator to the ground floor. She found a pay phone and dialed Ned Nickerson’s number.

  Ned’s going to be really upset, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of her handsome, longtime boyfriend. Ned was too much in love with her to stay mad for more than a few minutes. No doubt about it, she was lucky to have such an understanding guy.

  The phone rang twice before Nancy heard Ned say, “Hello.”

  “Ned, it’s me. And you’ll never guess what’s up,” Nancy said excitedly into the receiver.

  “Wait, don’t tell me. You’re on to another mystery.”

  “Yes! How did you guess? This time, it looks really serious—maybe even dangerous. I might need your help!” Quickly she recapped the scene in Yvonne’s office.

  “Nancy,” Ned said testily once she had finished, “what about our trip with my parents up to the cabin at the lake? Did you forget all about that?”

  “No, of course not,” Nancy answered quickly, toying nervously with the cord of the telephone, “but we’ve got to call that off. We’ll go some other time, Ned, I promise.”

  “Nancy!” Ned sighed with exasperation. “If I had a nickel for every time you’ve said something like that to me, I could retire right now, a wealthy man.”

  Nancy was quiet for a moment. It was true, she’d disappointed Ned before. But could she help that she’d rather be working on a mystery than doing just about anything else?

  Ned broke the silence. “How important is this, Nancy?”

  Nancy sighed. “It’s very important. I don’t think J could pass it up, Ned. Yvonne’s life might be on the line! Besides, this mystery seems really hot.”

  “I think I’m having déjà vu,” Ned moaned. “Last time we were supposed to go up to the cabin, you had to cancel because of some mystery. Now it’s happening all over again!”

  Nancy tapped her fingers impatiently on the telephone. “But, Ned,” she said, “you weren’t with me in that office. This guy Mick practically turned green with anger. He’s definitely violent. If I don’t deal with the situation, Yvonne might end up dead!”

  But Ned wasn’t buying Nancy’s argument. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Didn’t you tell Yvonne you’d take the case before Mick flipped out? When it looked as if it was just a matter of a few nasty letters—nothing too serious?”

  Nancy coughed, embarrassed. Ned’s been hanging around me too long, she decided. He’s becoming a pretty good detective himself. “Okay, you’re right,” she muttered. “But,” she rushed on, “that doesn’t change the fact that Yvonne needs me badly.”

  Ned sighed again. “Right, Nancy. Everybody needs you. I just wish you’d realize that I do, too.”

  “I know that, silly,” Nancy said lightly. “And I hope you know how much I love you. And need you, too. Like right now, with this mystery.”

  “Well,” said Ned, hedging, “what have you got in mind?”

  “If Mick is going to continue to get violent, I might need some physical protection. A strong, handsome quart
erback would be just perfect.” Nancy smiled. A little flattery couldn’t hurt.

  “I don’t know. It’s not exactly what I had planned for spring break. When I leave Emerson College I really like to get away. I mean, given the choice between hanging around with a bunch of loonies at some magazine office or swimming and sunning with you—”

  Nancy frowned. Ned was really holding out. She knew he’d give in in the end (he loved her too much not to), but she hadn’t expected to have to work so hard for a simple yes.

  “Oh, Ned, say you’ll do it.” Nancy had run out of arguments. “You’re always an incredible help on these cases. I really mean that.”

  “I don’t know why I let you drag me into these things,” Ned muttered.

  “I love you, Ned. And thanks a lot!” Nancy cried. “You’re the best.” She threw her boyfriend an over-the-phone kiss and then replaced the receiver. Good old Ned. He never let her down.

  Nancy took the elevator back to the sixteenth floor. The same guy was sitting at the reception desk, still playing Clone Wars. “Hi,” Nancy said.

  “Hi. How’s it going? I heard a big crash in Yvonne’s office.”

  “Why didn’t you go find out what happened?” Nancy asked curiously. “Someone could have been in trouble.”

  “Lately,” the young man explained, “there’s been a lot of yelling coming from Yvonne’s and Mick’s offices. Mostly when they’re alone together. We try not to notice it anymore. As long as they keep their fighting between themselves, none of us really cares.”

  “I see,” Nancy answered.

  “So who are you?” the receptionist asked.

  Nancy smiled. “I’m Nancy Drew. Yvonne just hired me as an intern. I’m going to be helping Mick out.”

  “I’m an intern, too,” the young man said, shaking Nancy’s hand. “Yvonne likes to hire us because she can give us Mickey Mouse-sized paychecks and make us work like dogs.”

  Hmmm, Nancy thought. That sure wasn’t the way Yvonne had described it. “By the way,” the receptionist said, “my name’s Scott.”

  “Nice to meet you. Listen, Yvonne told me to wait for Mick in the studio. Which way is it?”

  “All the way at the end of the blue hall. Most of the offices are in that direction. Only Yvonne’s and Mick’s offices and the darkroom are down the other one.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Nancy turned down the blue hallway. Ahead of her, she noticed a woman in a tight red dress, walking with a slight swing to her hips. Somehow, she looked familiar to Nancy. The long black hair. And the way she strutted along . . . Oh no, Nancy realized in a flash. It’s Brenda Carlton!

  Brenda was an amateur reporter who’d gotten in Nancy’s way before, practically ruining cases for her on a few occasions. And she was always turning up in the worst places. What’s she doing here? Nancy wondered. All she needed was blabbermouth Brenda hanging around, blowing her cover and messing with her mystery. What a headache! Impulsively Nancy made a face at Brenda’s retreating back.

  At least Brenda hadn’t seen her—yet. Nancy planned to do her best to keep it that way. She didn’t want Brenda ruining things for her before they even got off the ground.

  “Hey,” Nancy heard someone call from behind her. “Hey, Brenda.” Uh-oh, Nancy thought. She’s going to turn around. I’ve got to get out of here!

  Nancy looked desperately for a hiding place, but saw only long blue walls and closed office doors. Great. Terrific. Brenda’s going to see me—and then I might as well kiss this case goodbye.

  Chapter

  Four

  NANCY DID THE only possible thing. She dashed through the nearest door, went flying into the room beyond, and slammed the door closed behind her. Panting heavily, she raised her eyes to see whom she’d just barged in on. A dark-haired man, about thirty years old, with steely gray eyes, was staring at her angrily.

  “All right, who are you and what are you doing in my office?”

  “Um, I . . .” Nancy tried desperately to come up with a believable excuse. “I was looking for the studio,” she said lamely.

  “Well, my dear,” the man said sarcastically, “that would be through the double doors at the end of the hall, the ones under the big sign that says Studio.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said.

  “What’s your name?” the man demanded.

  Nancy bit her lip. This was a great way to get a reputation as a dumb redhead around the office. “I’m the new intern, Nancy Drew,” she mumbled, trying to smile.

  “And I am David Bowers,” said the man. “I’m the editor in chief of Flash. This is my office. And if I catch you coming in here again without knocking first, you’re going to be very sorry! Understand?”

  Nancy nodded.

  “Good.” David Bowers turned back to the stack of papers on his desk.

  Nancy ducked out of the office quickly. Luckily, Brenda was nowhere in sight.

  “Whew,” Nancy breathed. So that was Yvonne’s boyfriend! What a creep! Of course, she’d acted like a real space cadet, and that wasn’t his fault. Still, he could have been a little nicer.

  It was funny, but David Bowers looked oddly familiar to Nancy. She shook her head. He probably just reminded her of someone she’d met before. However, one thing was becoming painfully obvious to Nancy. With all the bad-tempered people who worked at Flash, the case, although exciting, was not going to be pleasant.

  Nancy hurried down the hall and pushed open the double doors. The studio was a huge, windowless room. Seamless white paper hung from the ceiling as a backdrop for the photos. Several people were busy setting up cameras, lights, and props for the session. Nancy recognized Scott, the receptionist, struggling with some lighting filters.

  A pretty blond girl with delicate features and a great figure was hanging red and black rubber spiders from strings attached to the backdrop. She looked about eighteen.

  Turning, the girl saw Nancy and smiled warmly. “Gross, aren’t they?” she said with a laugh. “They’re in honor of Danielle Artman’s band, the Spiders of Power.”

  “I don’t know, they’re kind of cute,” Nancy joked. “By the way, I’m the new intern, Nancy Drew. I’m supposed to wait here for Mick.”

  The girl’s smile faded. “Oh,” she said shortly. “Well, he’ll be here soon enough. Why don’t you go sit over there”—the girl motioned vaguely—“and wait.”

  “Can’t I help you hang your crawly friends?” Nancy asked.

  “I’m doing just fine by myself,” the girl replied.

  Wow, Nancy thought, do I suddenly have leprosy or something? She moved away from the girl and settled herself cross-legged on the floor. Nancy was beginning to be thankful the job was only temporary.

  After a little while, Scott noticed Nancy sitting alone and came over. “Hey, what’s happening?”

  “Not much. Scott, who’s that?” She indicated the yellow-haired girl.

  “That’s Sondra Swanson, Mick’s sister. She’s Flash’s stylist. You know, gets celebs ready for shoots, coordinates clothes and prop colors, stuff like that. She does a pretty good job, too. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said. “She seemed really friendly when I came in, but as soon as I told her my name, she clammed up.”

  “That’s because she thinks you’re a spy,” Scott said matter-of-factly.

  “A spy!” Nancy cried.

  “Yeah. She was just complaining about you. She says she knows exactly how long the waiting list for interns is and that Nancy Drew wasn’t next up for a job at Flash. In fact, she feels the magazine doesn’t even need a new intern right now. So she’s decided that Yvonne set you up to spy on her brother. It’s really the only logical conclusion.”

  “Oh, great,” Nancy said with a groan. “And what do you think?”

  Scott smiled sheepishly. “I think it’s a distinct possibility. But,” he added quickly, “I don’t care. You seem nice, and I’m not getting involved in Flash Wars.”

  Nancy sighed. In a way, it was true. Yvonne really had hir
ed her to spy on Mick. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Scott. Tell me something else. Do you know who Brenda Carlton is?”

  “Sure. She’s a free-lance reporter.”

  “What’s she doing at Flash?”

  “Writing an article on some swimmer who’s been tearing it up at high-school meets around the country lately. I think he’s a cousin of hers or something.”

  Nancy scowled. It figured. As usual, Brenda was getting work because of who she knew, not how good a reporter she was. And also as usual, she was sure to get in Nancy’s way, probably at the most crucial point in the case.

  At that moment, Mick came in. He was talking to a short, curvy girl with shiny brown hair and laughing hazel eyes. Nancy recognized Danielle Artman. She was wearing skintight red pants with a pattern of black spiders on them. “Hey, cool!” she exclaimed. “Your spiders match mine!”

  “Sure, that’s how I planned it,” Sondra said, approaching Danielle with a charming smile.

  “Yuck,” Mick shuddered. “Sondra, this is by far the most disgusting idea you’ve ever had for a shoot.”

  “Don’t be scared, brother dear,” Sondra teased. “They won’t bite.” Playfully, she threw a rubber spider at Mick. “He’s the world’s biggest practical joker,” she told Danielle, “but he freaks out over spiders, even fake ones.”

  Mick batted the bug away. “Disgusting,” he repeated with another shudder. He noticed Nancy sitting on the sidelines. “Excuse me, but just because you’re Yvonne’s latest flunky doesn’t mean you can hang around doing nothing,” he said. “Help Sondra hang the rest of these spiders so we can start shooting.”

  Nancy stood up and smiled tentatively, but Sondra just turned her back. Nancy shrugged and got to work.

  Behind her, Mick was checking some camera equipment, singing tunelessly as he worked. “I’ll getcha, I’ll getcha, you know I’m gonna getcha . . . soon.”

  That’s the song used in the threat letter! Nancy thought. So Mick had two strikes against him. First, he was a photographer and could easily have doctored the picture of Yvonne from a still from the horror movie, and second, he was singing the weird song from Yvonne’s letter!