The Vanishing Act

by Carolyn Keene

  “So you climbed down after him?” Nancy said.

  “Right. Boy, I had plenty of time to think about how he must have felt going down! It was pitch dark, and the wind was whipping around, and pieces of the cliff kept crumbling under my feet. . . .

  “But when I got down to the bottom—down to where the rocks were—the body was gone. A wave must have come in and carried it out.”

  Jesse sighed. “So there I was. And right then I decided to take off for Mexico. No way could I go back up there without people realizing something had happened—and I couldn’t stand the thought of facing a murder charge. I had about two hundred dollars in my pocket. I walked down the beach for about an hour, then climbed up another part of the cliff, found a road, and started hitchhiking. I crossed the border into Mexico the next day.”

  “No one recognized you?” George asked.

  “Nope. You know, people don’t usually recognize famous people unless they’re expecting to see them. They usually just think, ‘Gee, that sure looks like so-and-so.’ Once in a while someone would say how much I looked like Jesse Slade”—he smiled—“and I’d just tell them I’d heard that before.”

  “But how have you been living since then?” Nancy asked.

  “In Mexico things were pretty hand-to-mouth for a few months, until I got a job as a waiter. I scraped up enough money to buy a guitar, and when I could afford to come back here I started giving lessons. But I don’t do that too much. Mostly I do odd jobs. I’m a caretaker for the big house back up the road. The owner’s great. He lets me use the pickup parked outside.”

  Nancy happened to glance over at Bess, who looked as if she were wilting in her chair. Nancy was sure she was crushed that her idol had sunk so low. But to Nancy, it didn’t sound as if Jesse was unhappy about the direction his life had taken.

  “You don’t seem to mind your obscurity and poverty too much,” she commented.

  Jesse thought about it for a second. “Nope. I guess I don’t,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s a relief not having everyone look up to me—and not feeling as if I’m responsible for making a million fans happy. Having all those girls in love with me got kind of—kind of exhausting.” Bess looked up, a little startled.

  “Well, I’ve managed to fool everyone till now,” Jesse said. “How did you finally find me?”

  Nancy explained about Martin Rosenay, and Jesse grimaced. “Of course. Of course,” he said. “I should have known that car would get me in trouble. It belongs to the guy whose house I take care of.”

  “Who took the pictures, by the way?” George asked.

  “I did. I gave some guitar lessons in exchange for a secondhand Nikon. I cleaned myself up, set the timer, and started posing. Selling the pictures was an easy way to get cash.”

  “I wonder what did happen to Tommy Road,” Nancy said thoughtfully. “Is it possible that he’s still alive? It seems hard to believe that his body was never found. The police combed that whole site so carefully. What if he survived the fall? What if he slid down the cliff instead of falling?”

  “I guess he could have gone underground like me,” Jesse said. “And he was such a crook that he’s probably managed to do a lot better for himself than I have,” he added bitterly.

  Silence fell. Suddenly the little house seemed as remote and forgotten as Jesse Slade himself.

  “What are you going to do now that you’ve found me?” he suddenly asked.

  Nancy stared at him. “I don’t know. I just don’t know,” she said. “I don’t blame you for what happened, and you’re not a murderer. What do you want me to do? I’m sure that if you came forward with your story, people would believe you. The general ledger will bear you out—”

  “No. I don’t want to come forward,” Jesse said in a strained voice. “I don’t want to live in that fishbowl again. I’m all right where I am, and I’m not bothering anyone. Please, Nancy,” he begged, “can’t you leave this alone? Can’t you forget you ever saw me, and not tell anyone where I am?”

  Nancy looked from him to Bess and George. Almost imperceptibly they nodded.

  “All right, Jesse,” Nancy said. “We’ll go back to L.A. And we won’t tell anyone about you, except the people at TVR. I think I can promise that they’ll keep it confidential, and I really owe it to them.”

  “Thank you,” Jesse said. “Thank you more than I can say.”

  “You’re welcome,” Nancy said, getting to her feet. “I guess we’ll be on our—”

  Just then they heard a car door slamming, quickly followed by footsteps coming up the walk. Then there was a frantic knock at the front door.

  Everyone froze. “You expecting anyone else?” Jesse muttered.

  The knock sounded again, even louder this time. Jesse strode forward and opened the door.

  A blinding burst of light exploded in his face!

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  JESSE STAGGERED BACKWARD, his hands covering his face. Another strobe light went off, and another and another, as if someone had hurled a bunch of silent firecrackers into the house.

  Now the three girls could see the reporter framed in the doorway, a cameraman at his back. He jammed a microphone into Jesse’s face. “You’re Jesse Slade, aren’t you?” he asked. “I’m from Channel Six. What a story this will make! Hey, who are the girls?”

  “Get out of here!” Jesse shouted, hurling himself against the door. Quickly he slipped the bolt shut. Then he leaned against the door, breathing hard.

  “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming here, did you?” he asked Nancy.

  “No, except for—except for Martin Rosenay,” Nancy said. All of a sudden she knew exactly what had happened.

  So did Jesse. “Rosenay! Of course! He must have finally figured out that I was the supplier. He’d do anything to sell that junk of his. He must have called all the press in town, that little—” He stopped. “Well, there’s certainly no reason for you to keep quiet now.”

  “I guess not,” Nancy agreed quietly. “I’m so sorry, Jesse. I hope you know I didn’t expect things to turn out this way.”

  “Oh, I know,” said Jesse. More cheerfully, he added, “It could never have lasted, anyway. I always told myself that. And maybe I can fend them off for a while, at least long enough for me to track down a lawyer.”

  “Good idea,” said Nancy. “And speaking of tracking down people—I’d better call Mr. Thomas at TVR and let him know what’s happened.”

  “Why?” Jesse inquired. “He’s sure to find out soon enough, the way things are going!”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t be fair to let this kind of news catch him unprepared,” said Nancy. “He’ll have every reason to be angry at me if the regular networks scoop him. I’m not saying he’ll send reporters out here,” she added hastily when she saw Jesse’s face, “but he should know.”

  But Mr. Thomas’s personal line was busy. It was busy a couple of minutes later when Nancy tried again, and a couple of minutes after that. At last she gave up.

  “We’ll just drive back and tell him in person,” she said. “Is there a back door?”

  “In the kitchen.” Jesse led the way, but just before Nancy opened the door he put out a hand to stop her. “Do you three think you can come back later?” he asked almost shyly. “It would be nice to have some supporting troops around. I have a feeling this is all going to get pretty heavy.”

  “Sure,” Nancy said immediately. “It’s really the least we can do. Okay, Bess and George, when I open the door, run for the car. And don’t answer any questions.”

  They were almost to the car when the reporter at the front door saw them. “Girls! Girls!” he shouted, racing toward them. “What were you doing in there? Where’s he been all this time?”

  “No comment,” Nancy said firmly as they clambered into their seats. Frantically the reporter beckoned to the cameraman to come and join him in front of the car. “You’d better get out of the way when I start this thing,” Nancy muttered under her breath.r />
  To her relief, the reporter and cameraman scuttled out of the way once the engine turned over.

  “Okay, we’re off,” Nancy said.

  “You solved the case, Nan,” Bess said. But she didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it.

  “Yes,” Nancy agreed wearily. “And I’m not sure that’s a good thing at all.”

  • • •

  “And he’s been living there all this time?” Winslow Thomas asked in amazement.

  “That’s right,” said Nancy. “Giving guitar lessons and being a caretaker.”

  “Well, blow me down,” said Mr. Thomas, and he really did sound as though someone had blown him down. He sat at his desk a moment, considering—and then stood up and shook Nancy’s hand vigorously.

  “Very impressive work, Nancy,” he said. “As you know, I had my doubts, but you’re obviously very good at what you do. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy began. “I’m happy to have cleared up one aspect of this case, anyway. But Mr. Thomas, do you think you could possibly downplay this story for a few days? I know it’s big news for a station like yours, but Jesse seems—well, he seems a little out of it. I think it would be unkind to make him talk now.”

  “I think you’re right,” said Mr. Thomas. “Let’s be as kind as possible to the poor blighter.” Where does he get these odd expressions? Nancy wondered irrelevantly. “I tell you what,” Mr. Thomas went on. “I’ve got an appointment now, but before I go I’ll have my secretary call a meeting of all the TVR executives so that we can decide how to handle this story. First of all, we’ll schedule a press conference. When Jesse’s feeling more on top of things—”

  “Jesse who?”

  It was Renee. She and Vint Wylie were standing in the office doorway—and both of them looked as though they’d seen a ghost.

  “What are you doing here, Renee?” Mr. Thomas snapped. “I thought you weren’t on today.”

  “I’m not,” Renee said in a strangled voice. “Vint and I just stopped in to pick up something I’d forgotten. Mr. Thomas, wh-who are you talking about?”

  “Well, I have to confess I wasn’t going to tell the staff yet,” said Mr. Thomas, “but it seems Jesse Slade has come back to life.”

  “Oh, no!” Renee put her hand to her throat. “I—I can’t breathe!” she cried. “This is terrible!”

  And she burst into tears. “I can’t handle this!” she cried, and raced out of the office.

  “Renee! Wait!” Vint called, rushing after her.

  Mr. Thomas shook his head. “These temperamental stars!” he said with a chuckle. “Well, I’m off.” He gave them a cheery wave as he disappeared down the hall.

  “I wonder if Dan’s around,” Bess said hopefully. “He should hear about this, don’t you think?”

  “I definitely think so,” Nancy said. “Let’s go to his office and see.”

  Dan was in, and he was as amazed by their story as Mr. Thomas had been.

  “The poor, poor guy,” he said, shaking his head. “When you think of what he’s been through—he’s got to feel totally shell shocked. Look, Nancy, do me a favor. If he wants somewhere to stay until all the publicity dies down, will you give him my address?” He was scribbling it down as he spoke. “I won’t call him and bother him, but tell him he can call me or come by any time he wants.”

  “That’s great, Dan,” Nancy said warmly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes you up on it. We’re heading back there now, and I’ll tell him first thing.”

  • • •

  “What time is it?” George asked as they passed the sign for Los Gatos. “I feel as if we’ve been doing nothing but drive for about ten hours.”

  “It’s six,” Nancy replied. “We’ll just check in with Jesse, and then we can go back to the hotel and call it a day.”

  “And get some supper,” Bess interjected.

  “And get some supper,” said Nancy. “Oh, no. What’s going on?”

  She’d just turned onto the dirt road leading to Jesse’s house. “I bet every camera crew in Los Angeles is here,” Nancy said hopelessly.

  It certainly looked that way. The little dirt road was crawling with people. Cars and camera trucks were parked all around the house. Reporters were thronging the front yard—and the hill in back was packed with spectators. The little house, all of its lights out, looked as though it was under siege.

  “Oh, why can’t they leave him alone!” Bess cried. “We don’t have a chance of getting in to see him!”

  “I’m afraid you’re right, but we have to give it a try,” Nancy said.

  Just as the girls got out of the car, a roar went up from the crowd. Nancy turned quickly.

  A light had just been turned on in Jesse’s living room. Now the front door was opening a crack—and then all the way. And now Jesse was walking out onto the front step.

  He stood there for a second, silent, making no attempt to shield his eyes from the glare of the flashes. “All right! All right! I’ll tell you everything you want to know!” he shouted at the crowd.

  At that exact moment a gunshot rang out—and Jesse Slade crumpled to the porch.

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  ANOTHER SHOT ripped through the silence—and then there was instant noise and pandemonium.

  “We’ve got to help Jesse!” Nancy shouted to Bess and George. But the screaming, panicky mob that was now rushing away from the house knocked her down before she could take a step. Dizzily she struggled to her feet and forced herself upright into the sea of elbows and knees. At last she pushed her way to Jesse’s front steps, Bess and George right behind her.

  Jesse was hunched over, covered with blood. When he lifted his head, the skin on his face was pulled tight with pain.

  “Just—just my arm,” he gasped. “Lucky. But get me inside.”

  Nancy was already moving. She, George, and Bess dragged him into the house and slammed the door. Just then a third shot rang out.

  “Keep down, everybody!” Nancy ordered as she bolted the door. “Call the police, George—and tell them to bring an ambulance!”

  She threw herself to the ground, slithered across the floor on her stomach, and lifted her head to peek cautiously out the window. On the road dozens of shrieking people were rushing to get into their cars. Nancy shuddered. Not all of them were driving away, but most of them were staying put, secure in their cars.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up, Jesse,” she said briskly, turning away from the window. Quickly she tore his shirt open at the shoulder. Then she sighed with relief.

  “You were right. It’s only your arm,” she said. “I can’t get the bullet out, though—it’s too deep. It must hurt incredibly.”

  “Burns,” said Jesse through clenched teeth. “Who do you think is after me?”

  “You’d know that better than I would,” Nancy said as she hastily tied a strip of shirt around the wound. But Jesse just shook his head. She could tell that the effort of talking was too much for him.

  “Nancy,” said Bess in a trembling voice, “do you realize we’re trapped in here with a killer outside waiting for us?”

  “Don’t worry, Bess,” said Nancy as calmly as she could. “The police should be here any minute.”

  “But what if he’s right outside the door?”

  “The door’s locked. We’ve done everything we can. They’ll be here before you know it,” Nancy assured her friend. She only hoped it was true.

  Jesse moaned. His lips were gray now, and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. Nancy checked his pulse. She could hardly feel it—and the bandage she’d put around his arm was already drenched in blood.

  “They’ve got to get here soon,” she repeated. “We’ve done everything we can.”

  But ten minutes crawled by before Nancy and her friends heard the welcome sound of the police siren.

  “They’re here!” Bess was almost sobbing with relief as she ran to the front door and yanked it open.

  In just seco
nds the house was swarming with people. The reporters piled out of their cars and were furiously snapping pictures again. Two paramedics bundled Jesse onto a stretcher. They were pushing through the crowd to carry him out the door when Jesse whispered hoarsely, “Nancy,” and stopped their progress.

  “Here I am,” she said, moving over to stand next to the stretcher.

  “Where are you staying, in case I need to get in touch with you?” he asked, and Nancy told him the name of their hotel. “A friend of mine at TVR has a place where you can stay when you get out of the hospital,” she added, “so you won’t need to come back here if you don’t want to.”

  He smiled. “I—don’t,” he whispered. His head was lolling sleepily to the side now.

  “We’d better take him in, miss,” said one of the paramedics. “You can call to see how he is later.”

  Jesse gripped Nancy’s hand for a second, and then the paramedics carried him away.

  Nancy felt tears stinging her eyes as she watched them load the stretcher onto the ambulance. What have I done to that poor guy? she thought. If I’d never come looking for him, this might never have happened! If only—

  “Miss?” A police officer was standing at her elbow. “I’m Officer Mclntyre. I wonder if I could get a statement from you.”

  When she’d told him everything, he shook his head. “Not much to go on in the way of suspects,” he said.

  “I do know of two possible suspects, though,” Nancy said and told him about Renee and Vint.

  “That’s something, anyway,” Officer Mclntyre said. “I’ll have someone track them down. But what about this Tommy Road? Do you really think he could still be alive?”

  “I don’t know. I just don’t know,” said Nancy. Something flitted across her mind just then, but she didn’t have time to identify it before it was gone. “That cliff was so steep I don’t see how anyone could survive a fall from it. But I can’t believe a body could disappear without a trace, either.”