And tape them, Nancy added to herself. Aloud, she said, “That’s a great idea, Barbara. I’ll see what I can do.”
Once Barbara and Steve were out of earshot, Nancy turned to Eric and asked, “What were you doing here at six-thirty in the morning?”
“Taking pictures of Cheryl, of course.” His raised eyebrows hinted that Nancy was crazy for even asking the question.
“But how did you know she would be here this early?” she pressed.
Eric shrugged. “I heard her mention it to you last night, at the party. Besides, Cheryl usually looks over the track first thing on the morning of a meet.”
“When did you get here?”
“A little after you and a little before Cheryl,” he replied with a grin. “I saw you climbing up into the announcer’s booth.”
Nancy sighed. She had hoped that Eric might have arrived early enough to get a glimpse of whoever had tied the nylon trip wire across the track.
“I’d better get moving,” she said. “See you later.”
Nancy climbed up to the announcer’s booth to retrieve her binoculars, then headed for her car. She pulled into her driveway just as Cheryl was walking the bike into the garage.
“Hi,” Cheryl called, emerging from the garage. She seemed to have regained her good spirits. “I’m starved.”
“Me, too,” Nancy replied. “Let’s see what we can find to eat.”
The girls were just sitting down to a breakfast of granola topped with raisins and fresh sliced strawberries when the phone rang. Nancy glanced at her watch, then grabbed the receiver.
It was George. “Nancy,” she said in an urgent voice, “this is getting serious. Marta got another threatening phone call about ten minutes ago. She’s been hysterical ever since. Helga is starting to wonder if she should call a doctor.”
“Same kind of call as yesterday?” asked Nancy.
“I guess so,” George replied. “I didn’t hear this one.”
“Too bad,” Nancy said. “By the way, where was Marta before the call?”
George hesitated. “Out for a run, I guess. She and Helga were both gone by the time I woke up. I thought they were together, but I guess not, because Marta got back a few minutes earlier than Helga.”
“Hmm,” said Nancy. She glanced at her watch again. “I don’t have time to come over before we go to the games. You’ll just have to do your best to calm them down, and we’ll go over everything later. I’ll see you at the games, okay?”
She hung up the telephone and walked slowly back to the kitchen table. The case was getting more confusing every minute. New attempts had been made to sabotage both Cheryl and Marta, and both girls had a reason to want the other out of the competition. Marta and Helga had both been out of the Faynes’ house early enough to have set the wire. And Cheryl could easily have stopped at a phone booth on her way home to make that second threatening call to Marta; that might explain her renewed good mood. So far, it certainly seemed as though they were trying to sabotage each other.
Nancy drummed her fingers on the kitchen table, concentrating. Somehow it seemed too neat. And then there were the reporters and photographers. How did they fit in?
“Nancy?” said Cheryl. Her voice sounded loud, as if she had already spoken three or four times without any response.
Nancy blinked. “Sorry, what is it?”
“I was wondering if you have a bathing suit I could borrow,” Cheryl said. “We’re about the same size, I think.”
“I guess so. Why?”
“They announced yesterday that the high school pool will be open for us during the games,” Cheryl explained. “I thought I’d take advantage of it. There’s nothing like a few fast laps to soothe you and cool you off.”
Nancy nodded. “I’m sure I can come up with something,” she said.
“Bring one for yourself, too,” Cheryl called as Nancy started up the stairs. “I love to have company when I swim.”
• • •
Nancy dropped Cheryl off at the locker room and strolled over to the athletic field. The stands were already starting to fill up with spectators, and the athletes were gathering on the grass near one end of the stands, waiting for the opening parade.
Nancy walked in their direction. She had been hoping to talk to Marta that morning—about the second phone call and about the previous night’s attack—but so far she hadn’t seen the German girl or her trainer.
As Nancy approached the athletes, Willy waved and called to her. Annelise was standing next to him.
“Good morning,” he said, smiling, as Nancy came over. “What a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Nancy replied, glancing around her. “Hi, Annelise. Are you enjoying your visit to River Heights so far?”
“Yes,” the Swiss girl said. “It is very nice here.”
“Can you tell me about the history of your town?” Willy asked Nancy. “The history of America interests me very much.”
“I can tell you a little, I think,” Nancy said. She searched her mind for some of the local history she had had to learn in grade school. “Let’s see—”
“Attention, please,” a loud voice rang out, and Nancy turned to see a man in a blue satin windbreaker who was speaking into a bullhorn. “Will the athletes please take their places for the opening parade.”
“Excuse me,” Willy said. He and Annelise moved over to where the other athletes were lining up. Just then Cheryl came jogging over, on her way back from the gym. She took her place among the other athletes, wearing a very solemn expression. This moment clearly meant a lot to her.
There was a stir in the crowd, and Helga Roth appeared, holding the arm of the official in the blue windbreaker. She was talking rapidly, and although her voice was too low for Nancy to hear her words, Helga’s whole body conveyed a sense of urgent intensity. The official listened, shook his head, then listened some more.
From the loudspeakers came the opening music of a lively march. The athletes straightened their ranks, and as the first of the competitors stepped out onto the track, the spectators began to cheer.
But at that moment, Helga shouted, “There! Cheryl Pierce—she is the one!”
8
A Serious Charge
At the sound of her name, Cheryl stopped so abruptly that the young woman behind her in line almost tripped over her.
“Excuse me, miss,” the man in the blue wind-breaker said to Cheryl. He took her arm and led her out of the line. “Would you mind coming with me, please?”
Nancy moved closer so she could hear.
Cheryl stared at the man, then looked back at the parading athletes. Over half the athletes were already out on the field.
“What is it?” Cheryl asked. “Can’t it wait?”
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “Questions have been raised that may affect your eligibility to participate in the games. Until they’re settled . . .”
Cheryl’s jaw dropped. “Eligibility? What do you mean? Are you trying to say you’re disqualifying me?” She sounded completely bewildered.
Nancy glanced around. Not far away, Barbara was pulling her microcassette recorder from her jacket pocket. Behind her, Nancy heard the familiar click-whirr of a camera—Eric’s. Helga remained just a few steps away, watching and listening closely.
The last of the entrants were marching onto the field, and Nancy saw that Marta was among them. The German girl looked over at Cheryl and the official with an expression that seemed to be somewhere between frightened and sly.
“I am not disqualifying you,” the official said. He glanced around uncomfortably at Barbara, Nancy, and Eric. “It’s simply that—look, hadn’t we better talk this over in private?”
“Away from my friends, you mean?” Cheryl said. “Sorry, but no way. Whatever you’ve got to say to me, you can tell me right here and now.”
“Very well, young lady,” the official said. “According to Ms. Roth, your conduct yesterday and today has been totally unsportsmanlike. Sh
e says that you have deliberately harassed your rival Marta Schmidt to the extent of making threatening phone calls to her. I’m sorry, but we simply cannot overlook that sort of behavior.”
“And you took her word for it, without any proof?” Cheryl asked.
“Ms. Roth is an Olympic medalist,” the man replied stiffly.
“And I’m just some kid you’ve never heard of, is that it?”
“Hello, Robert,” came a deep voice. “What’s the problem here?”
Nancy glanced over and recognized Lionel Hornby, the chairman of the games committee.
“Mr. Hornby,” the official in the windbreaker said. He stepped over to Hornby, and the two men spoke for a moment in low, guarded tones.
After a few minutes, Hornby looked around. “Ah—Ms. Roth?” Helga stepped forward, and they spoke for a minute or two longer. Helga seemed to become agitated.
Finally Hornby nodded. “I see,” he said calmly. “And I understand your concern. You may be sure that I shall do all I can to deal with the matter.”
Helga did not look satisfied, but she seemed to realize that she had reached a dead end. When she stepped away from the two men, she turned to glare at Cheryl and Nancy.
Hornby walked over to Cheryl. “Ms. Pierce?” he said. “I’m sorry you’re missing the opening parade. Ms. Roth has made some serious charges, you understand. We have to look into them carefully. We may need to ask you some questions later on. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy your participation in the games.”
“You mean I can go?” asked Cheryl, looking relieved.
Hornby nodded and said pleasantly, “That’s right. And I hope you’ll forgive this misunderstanding.”
Cheryl turned and looked daggers at Helga. “Some people I’m going to find hard to forgive,” she said in an icy voice.
As Cheryl walked toward the field, Hornby caught Nancy’s eye and motioned with his head for her to join him.
“What’s the story here, Nancy?” he demanded. She quickly filled him in on what had been happening, and as she spoke his face grew more and more grave.
“This is terrible!” he exclaimed when she had finished. “Why didn’t you say something to me before this?”
“I realize now that I should have,” Nancy admitted.
Hornby shook his head slowly. “We have to stop this before it destroys the games. Nancy, will you try to get to the bottom of all this and find the person responsible? You’d be doing a big favor for everyone who’s worked so hard to bring the games to River Heights and make them a success.”
“Of course, Mr. Hornby,” Nancy replied.
Hornby took out one of his business cards, wrote something on the back of it, and handed it to her. “This is a note instructing anyone connected with the games to cooperate fully with you,” he said. “If there’s any difficulty, ask the person to speak to me. And good luck.”
The opening parade had come to an end, and the competitors had scattered. Those whose events were early on the day’s schedule were warming up, while the rest watched and talked among themselves.
Nancy found George and Bess near the shot-put area, where the first round was about to begin. Ramsay Roberts, the red-haired Canadian Nancy had met the day before, noticed her arrival and waved. She waved back.
“Nancy,” Bess said in a low voice, “you’ve been holding out on us! Who is that gorgeous hunk?”
“His name is Ramsay,” Nancy replied with a laugh. “He’s a shot-putter from Canada. And now you know just about as much as I do.”
“I want to know more,” Bess sighed. “Much more. It’s not very far to Canada, after all.”
“Far enough,” George said matter-of-factly. She watched Ramsay for a moment. “Hmm—he’s got pretty good form. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t place.” Turning to Nancy, she asked, “What was that commotion at the start of the parade? Cheryl looked pretty unhappy.”
Nancy told them about the confrontation between Helga and Cheryl, and about Mr. Hornby asking her to investigate. “I can’t waste any time, either,” she continued. “The way the incidents are escalating, I’m afraid somebody is going to get seriously hurt before long.”
“Do you have any suspects?” asked Bess.
Nancy rolled her eyes. “Plenty,” she replied. “But first I have to figure out exactly who is the real target of these incidents. If it is Cheryl, then Marta and Helga are obvious suspects, and the so-called threatening calls are just a smoke screen.”
“I saw Marta’s face this morning,” George said, “and I can tell you she wasn’t faking. She was definitely scared out of her wits by that call.”
“Okay,” Nancy agreed. “But Helga could still have made the call herself, without Marta’s knowledge. In fact, if Helga is behind the harassment, I would bet that she’d be very careful to protect Marta by keeping her in the dark.”
“I guess, but—Oh, wait, your Canadian friend over there is about to make his first put.”
Ramsay Roberts walked up to the cinder-covered shot-put circle. Holding the twelve-pound, brass-covered shot easily in his right hand, he stood at the rear of the circle. He brought his hand to his shoulder, and with the shot in his upturned palm, nestled the shot against his neck.
“I wish I had a camera,” Bess whispered.
“Shh!” hissed George. “He’s winding up.”
In what seemed like slow motion, the Canadian athlete balanced on one foot and bent over so far that he looked as if he would topple. Suddenly, he whirled around and hurled the brass shot away, putting his arm, his shoulder, and his whole body into the motion. He seemed about to fall, but some fast footwork brought him upright, still inside the circle.
The spectators started to clap. The field judge who was measuring Ramsay’s throw stood up and said, “Roberts, first put, sixty feet, four and three-quarters inches.”
Bess turned to George. “Is that good?” she asked.
“You bet,” George replied with an impressed nod. “At this level of competition, anything over fifty-five feet would probably place him in the top five.”
Nancy had watched his performance in silence. Now she commented, “Ramsay seems to hold a real grudge against Cheryl. She told me they had a brief romance that didn’t work out. And from what we know at this point, Ramsay could have been behind any of the incidents.”
“No one with his looks could do anything like that,” Bess said emphatically.
George rolled her eyes.
“The problem with this case,” Nancy went on, “is that I have too many suspects. Besides Helga and Marta, there’s Barbara, for instance. She may have been at the track this morning because she got an anonymous tip, as she said. But she and her friend Steve could have put up that trip wire.”
“You mean, if there’s no news, make some?” George said.
“I’ve heard of that happening. Hurting someone just to make a hot story is pretty extreme,” Nancy agreed, “but that means Eric’s also in the running as a suspect.”
As the girls were waiting for the next shot-putter, Cheryl and Willy walked over to them. “Hi,” Cheryl said to Nancy. “I was looking for you. Willy and I both have some time before our next events, so we’re going for a swim. Want to come along?”
Nancy quickly scanned the field. She had been keeping an eye out for Marta since the opening parade but hadn’t seen her anywhere. “Okay,” Nancy agreed. Whether Cheryl was a potential victim or a potential suspect, Nancy thought she should stay close to her. She turned to George and Bess. “What about you two? Feel like a swim?”
George shook her head. “I don’t have a suit with me,” she said.
“And I’m going to watch my houseguest, Marie-Laure, in the high jump,” said Bess.
“All right,” said Nancy. “I’ll look for you after our swim.”
As they walked toward the gym, Willy told Cheryl, “Annelise said she would meet us at the pool, but I do not think she will swim.”
“Why not?” asked Cheryl.
Wil
ly shrugged. “I do not know. I believe she was once a competitive swimmer, but something happened and she gave it up.”
“I wonder why?” Cheryl said. “I can’t imagine giving up running.”
Eric caught up with them just outside the gym. “Mind if I come along?” he asked.
“If you want to,” Cheryl replied with a shrug.
Nancy and Cheryl changed into their suits in the locker room, and Nancy led the way to the indoor pool. A dozen or so athletes were already taking advantage of the chance for a swim. Willy was standing near the entrance, talking to Annelise. He waved to Cheryl, who smiled and waved back. Then, suddenly, her smile froze on her face.
Nancy followed Cheryl’s gaze. Marta and Helga were standing at one end of the pool.
The stony expression still on her face, Cheryl walked slowly to the opposite end of the pool from where Helga and Marta were. Nancy followed her. Cheryl pulled off her sweatshirt and dropped it, along with her towel, on one of the benches. She paced off six feet from the end of the pool, took a couple of deep breaths, then sprinted forward and launched herself into the air in a perfect racing dive.
At that instant, every light in the pool room went out. A moment later, Nancy heard Cheryl’s cry, followed by a loud splash.
9
Lights Out!
“Cheryl!” Willy was shouting in the suddenly blackened pool room. At first the only answer was more splashing sounds. Then the other athletes began calling out to one another, some in languages Nancy couldn’t understand.
Nancy knew she had to turn the lights back on—fast. She tried to visualize the layout of the room. The light switches were probably near the double doors that led to the locker rooms. She made her way carefully along the wall to the left, moved forward until she reached a corner, then turned right. All the while, frantic splashing echoed in the darkness.
Finally, Nancy saw a dim light filtering in from the corridor. Hurrying over to the doors, she ran her hands along the tiled wall. Nothing on the right side, but on the left—
She flipped the bank of switches up and narrowed her eyes against the sudden glare. A quick glance at the out-of-the-way location of the switches told Nancy that it would have been just about impossible to turn the lights off accidentally. Her gaze then flew to the pool, where Willy was kneeling by the edge. He was stretching out his hand to a shaken Cheryl, who was breathing in huge gulps of air. The other athletes were crowding around, but Willy motioned them back.
The Case of the Photo Finish Page 5