“Yes. I keep a copy in . . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked up at Nancy, his eyes watery. “There was a copy of the combination in the drawer where the wedding picture was,” he said. “It’s still there,” he added.
“But whoever took the wedding picture could have copied the combination to the safe at the same time,” Nancy replied, standing up.
Mr. Reigert nodded. “Where are you going?”
Nancy went to the bedside table and turned out the light. She reached into her shirt pocket for the small flashlight. “To look for clues,” she said.
The light out, she pulled open the draperies. The window had swung against the outside wall, and Nancy shone her light first on the windowsill and then on the ground beneath. The sill yielded nothing, but under the window, in the soft earth of the flowerbed, she saw the smudged print of a heel. Being careful not to disturb anything, Nancy climbed out to look more closely at the print.
“Do you see anything?” Mr. Reigert whispered, leaning out the window.
“Not a thing,” Nancy reported. And then something glinted in the beam of her flashlight. She reached over and picked it up. “Except this,” she said.
“What is it?” Mr. Reigert asked.
“It’s a button,” Nancy replied. “A silver button with the Reigert brand! Exactly like the buttons on the shirt that Mrs. Reigert was wearing the day I arrived!”
Chapter
Thirteen
A BUTTON?” MR. Reigert exclaimed.
“The thief probably caught a shirtsleeve on the casement window,” Nancy said, climbing back into the room and closing the drapes. She put the button on the bedside table and turned on the light, and they both bent over to examine it.
“It looks like a button from Mrs. Reigert’s shirt, doesn’t it?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t know,” Mr. Reigert replied. “A couple of years ago I had a number of these silver buttons made up as Christmas presents for the staff.”
“So everyone was given some of the buttons?” Nancy asked.
“Everyone,” Mr. Reigert replied evenly. “Mrs. Arguello, Gene, Joe Bob, even the cowboys. When Mrs. Reigert and I were married, she admired the buttons, so I gave her several sets, as well.”
“Well,” said Nancy, “right now I suggest that we try to get some sleep. It’s very late. And tomorrow morning we need to contact the police and let them know about the theft.”
Mr. Reigert’s tired blue eyes flashed. “Let Billy McPhee know that somebody walked out of Casa del Alamo with half a million dollars? Not on your life,” he said emphatically.
“Mr. Reigert,” Nancy replied, “I am a responsible private detective. I can’t be a party to a large theft like this without calling in the proper authorities and—”
“And I’m telling you that you can forget about calling in the law,” Mr. Reigert said stubbornly. “I won’t have it.
“Anyway,” he added, “the last note said that the kidnappers would be contacting us tomorrow or the next day. The notes have all been hand delivered, so the kidnappers must be around here somewhere or have accomplices here. That sorry excuse for a sheriff is about as subtle as a bulldozer. If he starts nosing around, questioning everybody about the missing money, the kidnappers might get wind of it. And then where would we be?”
He dropped down on the edge of the bed, looking worn and defeated. “They might just kill my daughter.”
“But we don’t know that the girl on the tape is Catarina,” Nancy pointed out. “We’re not sure whether we have a case of kidnapping on our hands, or a simple case of blackmail.”
She thought for a moment. “But in either event,” she conceded, “I suppose it wouldn’t help us to call in the police just yet. We have to convince the extortionists that we’re not going to pay up unless they show us evidence that the girl they have is really Catarina.”
“The birthmark,” Mr. Reigert said, lying down on the bed. He closed his eyes.
“Yes, the birthmark,” Nancy repeated. She was bending over to switch off the light when she suddenly remembered what had happened earlier that evening. She straightened up. “Mr. Reigert,” she asked, “why would a semitrailer truck be running down the road out of the ranch in the middle of the night with its lights off?”
“A semi?” Mr. Reigert asked blurrily. “At night? You must be mistaken. We don’t run trucks on this ranch at night. . . .” His voice was trailing off. “Especially without lights.”
“No,” Nancy said firmly. “I’m not mistaken. I didn’t see it until it was almost too late. It nearly ran me down. What do you think—?”
But Nancy’s question was interrupted by a gentle snore. Mr. Reigert had fallen asleep.
• • •
Nancy wasn’t as fortunate as Mr. Reigert. She went to bed as soon as she got back to her room, but it was over an hour before she fell asleep. She longed to talk to Ned, even though she knew it was far too late to call him. She sighed.
The missing money had added another piece to an already jumbled puzzle. The thief must have known that the money was in the safe, but how? Had someone been expecting the delivery, or had someone seen her and Mr. Lawson as they came to the house?
She remembered the moment in the garden when she thought she had heard a window opening. The thief might have looked out of one of the bedrooms, seen the two of them, and recognized the banker. Whoever had taken the money also had to have a key to Mr. Reigert’s room and the combination to the safe.
Nancy pulled the pillow over her head. Right then, there was such a confusion of possible crimes and potential criminals that it seemed impossible to unravel them.
• • •
Breakfast the next morning was gloomy and silent. Mr. Reigert appeared, looking pale and wan. He ate nothing, just poured himself a cup of coffee, which he took back to his room. No one else spoke, and Nancy finished eating as quickly as possible. After excusing herself, she left the table and followed Mr. Reigert to his room.
“How about seeing that doctor today?” she asked.
“I’ll call for an appointment as soon as they open,” he told her. “I know he’ll make room to see me later this afternoon. He’s been trying to get me in there for months.” He made a face. “I tell you, though, I’m not looking forward to it.”
“I understand,” Nancy replied. “But it will help us clear up one mystery anyway. As far as the others are concerned . . .” She glanced at her watch. She wanted to try calling Ned again. But when she went back to her room to make the call, there was no answer. Apparently, Ned had gone out very early.
Frustrated, Nancy hung up and started down the hall. But she was stopped by Gene Newsom, who was just coming out of Mr. Reigert’s office.
“There’s a phone call for you, Nancy,” Gene said. “You can take it in there.” He gestured toward the office.
“A phone call?” Nancy asked. Ned, Hannah Gruen, and her father were the only people who knew the phone number, and none of them would call her unless it was an emergency.
Nancy rushed into the empty office and picked up the phone. “This is Nancy—Driscoll,” she said, remembering to use her pseudonym at the last moment.
“This is a friend,” a muffled voice on the other end of the line answered. “I have the information you need for Mr. Reigert.”
“You have what?” Nancy asked in surprise. She held the receiver closer to her ear and began to stall for time. She had to hear that voice again. Maybe she could identify it. “Who is this?” she asked. “What kind of information are you talking about?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” the voice said. It was so low and so distorted that Nancy couldn’t even tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman, although she thought she detected the hint of an accent. “In order to find out what kind of information I have, meet me in the wine cellar in thirty minutes.” There was a sudden click, then the line went dead.
Nancy sat staring at the phone. She knew she had to meet the mysterious caller, whoever he—o
r she—was. But she had learned at least one lesson from the disastrous adventure in the stable a few nights before. She wasn’t going to be a sitting duck again. She was going to arrive before the caller did and watch from a hidden position. This time, the advantage of surprise would be on her side.
The wine cellar was reached through an outside door at the back of the house that led directly onto a dark flight of stairs. Watching to be sure that she wasn’t seen, Nancy crept outside and opened the door. The rough-timbered stairs slanted down steeply. Nancy closed the heavy oak door behind her and felt around for the light switch. She was enveloped by a cool darkness. But then she clicked the light on and the darkness disappeared.
Nancy looked down. The light, a green-shaded bulb at the foot of the stairs, cast a small circle of pale light in the sooty darkness. Holding her breath, Nancy gingerly went down the stairs. The cellar was small, no more than fifteen feet square, hewn in the limestone rock on which the ranch house had been built. Wine racks had been built along two walls, and dusty bottles filled them from floor to ceiling.
Carefully Nancy looked around, taking extra time to search the dark space beneath the stairs, where several wooden boxes were stacked. The cellar was obviously empty, and she let out a little sigh. So far, so good. Whoever her informant was, and whatever the motive, she had gotten there ahead of him—or her.
She glanced up at the light, thinking. Then she felt around the wall behind the stairs. Yes, there was another switch there. Pulling her small pocketknife out of the pocket of her jeans, Nancy hurried up the stairs and removed the cover of the switchplate. Then, holding her flashlight in her teeth, she unscrewed the switch itself and yanked the wires loose. The light went out.
Guiding herself down the stairs with the flashlight, Nancy flicked the other switch. The light came on. Good! She could control it from under the stairs. But it couldn’t be controlled from upstairs. Now all she had to do was hide herself and get ready.
The minutes seemed to tick by interminably for Nancy as she crouched under the stairs. She looked at her watch again. It was ten minutes before the appointed hour. Surely the caller would be along soon.
Finally, on the landing above her, Nancy heard someone fumbling with the door handle. A puddle of light cascaded down the stairs and then disappeared as the door was shut. Nancy could hear the faint whispering of a muffled consultation, as someone seemed to be feeling for the disabled light switch. So there were two people!
There was more muttered consultation. Then an unidentifiable voice whispered, “Another switch at the bottom of the stairs.” And footsteps began to descend the creaking stairs over Nancy’s head.
Holding her breath, Nancy waited until the first pair of footsteps reached the bottom. Then she flicked the switch on the wall beside her.
The bulb cast its circle of light on the dirt floor of the cellar, and Nancy gasped as the figure was revealed.
Chapter
Fourteen
ANGELA!” NANCY exclaimed, stepping out of her hiding place. “So you were the one who telephoned me! I thought the call came from somewhere outside the ranch.”
Angela turned, her gaze steady on Nancy. “Yes, it was I who telephoned you,” she said in a low voice. “I used the house line to call the office line.” Her dark eyes were shadowed and a mysterious smile played on her lips. She had an almost aristocratic look. “But my name is not Angela.”
“Not Angela?” Nancy asked, staring at her.
Suddenly it all clicked. Angela’s age and proud appearance, her obvious concern for Mr. Reigert’s health, her interest in his family affaire—Angela the housemaid was Mr. Reigert’s long-lost daughter!
“Catarina,” Nancy said softly. “You are Catarina Reigert.”
Suddenly Mrs. Arguello stepped off the stairs and into the light. “Sí,” she said. “You are right, Nancy Driscoll. Angela’s true name is Catarina Reigert.”
Nancy’s mind raced through the facts of the case as she knew them so far. If Angela was Catarina Reigert, then the girl in the videotape was an impostor. And the kidnapping itself was a hoax, probably arranged for the sole purpose of tricking Mr. Reigert into withdrawing his savings and putting it where it could be easily stolen!
Then Nancy’s sense of caution brought another idea to her mind. Perhaps this girl in front of her was the impostor—and the girl in the tape was the real Catarina Reigert! There was only one way to tell, and that was the birthmark.
Nancy turned to Mrs. Arguello. “I would like to see proof of this girl’s identity,” she said. “How can you prove that Angela is who she claims to be?”
“Read this,” Mrs. Arguello said, thrusting a rolled-up piece of paper toward Nancy. “This will tell you what you want to know.”
Nancy held the paper up so that the light fell on it. It was a birth certificate, documenting the birth of Catarina Reigert to Robert and Isabel Reigert, seventeen years before.
“But this paper doesn’t tell me anything about Catarina herself or whether this young woman is Catarina,” Nancy objected. “What proof can you give me that the girl who calls herself Angela is the same girl whose birth is documented in this paper?”
“Proof?” Angela asked, stepping closer to Nancy. “You want proof?” She held out her right foot. “This is the birthmark of Catarina Reigert,” she said triumphantly. “My father is sure to remember it, for I am told that my mother had a similar mark in the same place.”
Nancy stared at the girl’s right ankle. There it was, the strawberry-shaped mark that Mr. Reigert had described earlier. There could be no doubt about it. Angela was Catarina Reigert! The kidnapping had been a hoax!
Nancy took Catarina’s hand. She decided she would keep the kidnapping to herself, since it seemed unlikely that Catarina and Mrs. Arguello knew anything about it.
“I am sure that your father will be very glad to know who you are, Catarina,” she said softly. She turned to Mrs. Arguello. “But how is it that Catarina came to be here, at Casa del Alamo? Why did she disguise herself as a housemaid? Why hasn’t she revealed her identity to her father? And why have you chosen to tell me, and not to tell him?”
Mrs. Arguello smiled. “Questions, questions, so many questions,” she said, her black eyes softer than Nancy had seen them. “But I will be glad to answer them as best I can, if you will be kind enough to listen. And then we must ask for your help, to save Senor Reigert’s life.”
“So he is being poisoned,” Nancy exclaimed. “And you know who’s behind it!”
“Sí.” The old woman nodded. “We know. But first I must tell you the story of Isabel and Catarina Reigert, and then the rest will make sense to you.” She pulled a wooden box into the light, sat down on it, and began to talk.
“I came here from Mexico with Isabel when she came to marry Senor Reigert.” A smile came into her eyes. “I was nursemaid to Catarina, and after the terrible quarrel I was supposed to accompany Isabel and Catarina back to Mexico. But I was ill and could not travel—and then there was the plane crash, and when I learned of the deaths, I stayed on with Senor Reigert.”
She sighed and shifted position. “But the plane crash that killed Isabel and the pilot,” she said, “did not kill Catarina. The crash occurred as the plane was landing on the airstrip on the estate of Isabel’s parents, a coffee plantation high in the mountains of Mexico. The little girl was pulled from the wreckage, only slightly injured, and taken to her grandparents.”
She looked up at Nancy. “As you guessed earlier, Isabel’s mother and father had never approved of her marriage. . . .”
“So they decided to keep the little girl,” Nancy guessed, “and let her father believe that she had died in the crash that killed his wife!”
“Just so.” Mrs. Arguello nodded. “Because they loved Isabel and mourned her death, they wished to raise her daughter. They did not want her to return to what they believed would be a life of poverty and unhappiness with her father in Texas.”
“It truly was not that they hate
d him so, even though they did not approve of the marriage,” Catarina interjected softly. She sat down on the step and put her chin in her hands. “It was just that they loved me, and so they kept me and told him that I was dead, as my mother was dead.”
“And you?” Nancy asked. “What did they tell you?”
Catarina’s soft brown eyes were sad. “They told me that my father was dead, too, just as my mother. And they gave me a home and made me in every way their beloved daughter.”
“But why did you decide to return to Texas?” Nancy prompted. “How did you find out that your father was alive?”
Catarina nodded at Mrs. Arguello. “It was she,” she said. “Senora Arguello came to my grandparents’ home and told me about my father. When I learned of him, I wished to be with him, and after a while I came to Texas with her.”
Mrs. Arguello smiled. “Catarina makes it sound easy. But it was not easy.”
“I suppose that Catarina’s grandparents didn’t want to let her leave.”
“No, they did not want her to go,” the old woman said sadly. “It is this way. A few months ago I learned from my cousin Jorge that he thought Catarina was alive and living with her grandparents, so I traveled to Mexico to see for myself, and I stayed for a time on the plantation.
“At last I spoke to Catarina and told her about her father, that he was alive and that he loved her.” Her black eyes flashed in the age-seamed face. “And when she heard, she wished to return with me to visit her father.
“But her grandparents did not wish her to go away from them. They had already made a plan, you see, for their granddaughter to marry their friend’s oldest son and unite their two estates.”
A sad smile played around Catarina’s lips. “They did not consult me in the matter of this marriage,” she said. “It is the old way, you see, where the family decides upon the husband, no matter what the desires of the couple. And even after I told them I could not love the man they had chosen for my husband, they were still determined that we should marry. It was arranged, in spite of my wishes, and against all my protests.
Heart of Danger Page 8