"No, nothing. The only piece of evidence we picked up was the murder weapon," Officer Spanos said.
"Which was . . ." Sam prompted him.
"Which was a silver-handled knife—almost a stiletto, with a very ornate handle, all carved. Looked to me like it was Pakistani or Indian." He nodded his head knowingly at Sam. "Seems like sending the fellows over to talk to the kid's teacher was a good idea. I had the dispatcher radio them to bring her in."
Nancy's hand was still locked in a tight grip on the back of the chair, and her mind was whirling. Jack Farmer was dead, murdered with a knife like one she had seen in Kamla's apartment. There was no sign of Jeremy. Kamla was missing, and the police were looking for her. Jodi had left that strange message on the answering machine, and Edwin Wright, who had started the whole thing, was at home recording calls from ransom seekers!
"Thanks, John," Sam said as the other man left the room. He put his hands on Nancy's shoulders and turned her around to face him.
"Nan, believe me, we're doing our best to find Jeremy and to find out who took him."
"Sam! Listen to me. Kamla is not a criminal!" Nancy said, pushing away.
"I am listening to you," Sam protested. Gently, he rested his hand on her arm. "Now you listen to me. At the moment all the evidence we have points to Kamla and the boy's mother. We have the physical evidence—the bracelet, the threatening calls to Edwin Wright, and now possibly the murder weapon, which sounds like it may have come from her place. And in addition, we found a message from Jodi Fontaine on Kamla Chadi's answering machine that said 'It's all falling into place, and I'll be seeing you soon.' Does that sound like they're working together or not?"
Nancy dropped her voice. "I know it sounds bad and looks bad, but I think Farmer talked to somebody about Wright's scheme and got double-crossed."
"You may be right," he said. "We're checking it out."
"Oh, Sam, I'll be glad when this is over. I don't like being your adversary."
Sam gave her a warm smile. "That's why we have to keep our personal and professional lives separate." He paused. "How about dinner Saturday night if I'm not working? Just Sam and Nan, not Detective Sam and Nancy, PI. Some place with soft lights and good food and ..."
"I'd like that," Nancy murmured.
"I'll call you," he said.
When Nancy got outside, the rain had turned to sleet and it was bitterly cold. She pulled her jacket tightly around her. George was parked at the curb, feigning sleep.
"Oh," she said, yawning, "is the party over, or is this just intermission?"
"You goof," Nancy said, punching her arm, "I've got a lot of things to tell you, none of them very good."
As they drove along the dark, slippery streets, heading for the Wright estate, Nancy summarized for George what she had learned in the police station.
"So the file on Farmer isn't going to do us much good at this point," George said. "He's now out of the picture, and Jeremy is still miss-mg.
"Hard to tell. There may be some clue in there that will lead us to an accomplice."
"The mysterious Nora."
"Yes. My hunch is that Farmer told somebody about Wright's scheme to 'kidnap' Jeremy and got double-crossed. So knowing more about Farmer might still help us."
A low-slung white sports car was parked in front of the mansion, and George parked the Mustang behind it.
"Not a bad piece of machinery," she said enviously. "That would cost a chunk of cash. It can't belong to the cop that's here."
"No," Nancy said. She pointed to a beat-up two-door vehicle parked farther down the driveway. "I'll bet that one is the cop's."
Edwin Wright responded to their ring and showed them into his study. A boxlike reel-to-reel tape recorder was on the desk beside the phone, and an officer was sitting in an easy chair beside the desk.
Edwin Wright made the introductions. "Ms. Drew, Ms. Fayne . . . Officer Whiteall." He turned to face Shelley Lawson, who was perched on the arm of another chair. "And I believe you have both met my law clerk, Shelley Lawson. She tells me that you were in to see me today while I was in court." The disapproval in his voice was evident.
Shelley was elegantly dressed in a slim, emerald green silk sheath. Her fabric high-heeled pumps were dyed to match, and she wore diamond stud earrings and a matching diamond brooch, pinned strategically at the revealing V-neckline of her dress. Obviously, the call to come to Edwin Wright's with the file had interrupted her other plans.
Nancy and George acknowledged the woman, who ignored Wright's disparaging tone and beamed at them like old friends. "I didn't think I'd be seeing you again so soon," she said. "This kidnapping has been a terrible strain on Mr. Wright. I think he's bearing up remarkably well under difficult circumstances."
"Have you heard anything more?" Nancy asked.
Officer Whiteall looked up. "No," he said, but even as he spoke, the phone rang. Tension filled the room, as if everyone had stopped breathing. Once. Twice. On the third ring, Wright picked up the receiver. Whiteall adjusted the speaker on the recorder.
"Edwin Wright here."
"Edwin, this is Jodi Fontaine. I'd like to speak to Jeremy, please."
Wright hesitated briefly. "You can't!—I mean, he's sleeping. Don't you know what time it is?"
Jodi's response was restrained. "I'm sorry if I'm calling too late," she said. "Do we have a bad line? I keep hearing an echo."
Whiteall quickly reached over and adjusted the volume down. The room was silent as they all strained to hear.
"Edwin," Jodi continued, "it's imperative that I speak with Jeremy. Now!"
"I need you to get off the line. I'm expecting an important call," Wright replied.
''This is an important call! Where is Jeremy?" Restraint was no longer a factor. Jodi Fontaine was agitated, and her terse demand informed everyone listening that she knew something was wrong.
Without a word, a flustered Edwin Wright handed the receiver to Nancy.
"Ms. Fontaine, this is Nancy Drew."
"Nancy Drew! You left a message for me. I've been trying to reach you—and Kamla—and all I get are answering machines at both numbers. What's going on? Where is Jeremy?"
Nancy took a deep breath. "Ms. Fontaine . . . Jodi . . ."
"He has been kidnapped, hasn't he? It's true! It wasn't a ruse!"
"The police are working on it. There's an officer here now."
Jodi Fontaine started to cry. A shiver ran up Nancy's neck. Was this Jodi Fontaine, the actress? Jodi Fontaine, in cahoots with Kamla to wrest Jeremy away from Edwin Wright? Or was this Jodi, the mother? "Why do you think he's been kidnapped?" Nancy asked.
Jodi was trying to control her sobbing. "Because . . . because I've received a demand for ransom money. Nobody even told me my son was missing! Why didn't his grandfather call me?"
"Who demanded money?" Nancy asked.
"I don't know! A man. He said he had Jeremy."
As Nancy spoke, George positioned herself to watch Edwin Wright's reaction. Shelley Law-son had moved over behind the chair he was sitting in and was patting his shoulder solicitously. The scent of her expensive perfume filled the room.
"I don't know who it was!" Jodi continued. "I was told to transfer funds to a bank somewhere in the Caribbean. All I was given was the account number."
"Before you do—" Nancy started to say.
"Ms. Drew, my son's life is at stake!" Jodi yelled. "My accountant has already sent the money—half a million dollars. I'm leaving right now for River Heights. I'll be there tomorrow."
Jodi Fontaine hung up without saying goodbye, and the impersonal dial tone hummed through the room.
"I hope you don't believe that folderol," Wright said angrily. "How do we know she sent half a million dollars anywhere? How do we know she's not in cahoots with that . . . that foreign teacher and trying to put up a smoke screen until they get Jeremy out of the country?"
Nancy replaced the receiver and looked at him. "We don't know anything for sure, Mr. Wright, but I
'm inclined to believe her. May I see the information on Jack Farmer?" she asked.
He nodded toward the desk, and she picked up the file and thumbed through the pages.
"I thought Detective Fanelli wanted the file," Wright said suspiciously.
"True," Nancy said, thinking fast. "But I just saw him at the police station, and I told him Fd look through the file myself and relay anything pertinent."
"Do they have any further developments in the case?" Shelley asked. She was sitting on the arm of a leather chair, daintily swinging a pretty leg, a green pump dangling from her toes.
"No," Nancy fibbed, deciding that information of the discovery of Farmer's body had been given to her in confidence, and it was Sam's place to inform Wright of the murder. She turned some pages in the file and looked over at Wright. "It seems that some pages are missing," she said, frowning. "It skips from page twenty-two to page thirty-one. Do you know where they are?"
"I have no idea," Wright answered. "Shelley?"
Shelley shrugged prettily. "We've had a terrible time with file clerks in the office," she explained. "One of the vocational schools called and asked if we would hire some of their students . . . and . . . well, remembering what it was like to be a struggling student, I went along with it. I hired two people to do filing, and I swear, neither one of them knew the alphabet! My guess is that pages twenty-three through thirty are stuck in somebody else's file, where they'll never be found again."
She picked up her coat from the back of the chair and moved toward the door. "Well, I'm sorry I have to leave," she said. "I have a date waiting for me at the Olympia Room. It's the annual St. Patrick's Day dinner and dance to benefit the homeless." She glanced at her jeweled wristwatch and patted Edwin Wright's arm once more. "Try to get some rest. I'll see you in the morning." Her voice was syrupy. "I do hope this all works out with a happy ending, and that little Jeremy is returned safe."
She closed the door softly behind her, but the scent of her perfume lingered in the room. The powerful roar from the engine of her sports car announced her final departure.
"Best law clerk I ever had," Wright said, admiringly. "She is so bright and knows as much about criminal law as any attorney. She's my right hand in the office."
"How long has she been with you?" Nancy asked.
"Oh, about three years. She came with wonderful references."
"You must pay her well," George said innocently, "considering the way she dresses and the car she drives."
"Of course!" Wright responded. "I pay all my employees well. But Shelley doesn't have to work. She chooses to. She got an inheritance from her parents' estate just before she came to River Heights. She's a very independent young woman."
Nancy tossed George her jacket. "Well, I think we'll be leaving now," she said to Wright. 'Thank you for letting me see the file on Farmer."
She practically pushed George through the front door and walked swiftly to the Mustang. "Let's go!" she said, turning the key in the ignition.
"Where are we going? And what was in that file?" George asked.
"What was missing was almost as important as what was there. As far as I could figure, the pages that had been taken out dealt with Farmer's accomplice—the woman named Nora Smith. But they forgot to take out one very important reference to her. She was bom in Shelley, Oklahoma!"
Chapter Twelve
GEORGE LET OUT a low whistle. "I guess I don't have to ask where we're going now."
"Right, the Olympia Room, and I hope Shelley Lawson wasn't lying about going there."
George looked down at her jeans. "She was dressed for a dinner dance, we're not. That could be a problem."
"No problem," Nancy said. "I went to their St. Patrick's Day party last year, and people were wearing all kinds of outfits, from dressy to really casual. It's a benefit, there's no dress code, and they're not going to turn anybody away. Especially in this weather." Nancy reached over and turned up the car heater. "It's going to hurt the attendance."
The Olympia Room was a trendy restaurant on the top floor of a new high-rise office building. At lunchtime, it was filled with office workers, and at night it was often rented out for private parties.
When Nancy entered the multilevel parking structure adjacent to the building, there were a few scattered empty spaces available.
"I think I'll cruise through here first," Nancy said, "and see if I can spot her car before we go upstairs."
"Do you think that Shelley and Wright were working together on this?" George asked. "Like Wright and Farmer were?"
"No, I have a hunch that Farmer talked to Shelley about Wright's plan, and she figured she could cash in on it. But that's a guess. And unfortunately, the evidence right now points to Kamla, which means Jodi could be involved, too."
"Shelley's here, all right!" George interrupted excitedly. "There's her car."
Nancy slowed for a look at the white sports car, cruised past it, and then suddenly hit the brakes.
"Whoa!" George yelled, grabbing the dashboard in surprise. She looked at Nancy question-ingly.
"Look to the left," Nancy whispered in a tone of disbelief. "That's Kamla's car."
"I don't get it," said George.
"Neither do I," Nancy replied.
Still puzzled by finding their friend's car in the parking lot, they took the elevator up to the restaurant and were greeted by a man dressed in bright green pants and vest, wearing a green felt hat with a long feather shooting skyward from under a black band. "And it's a fine-looking pair of colleens we have here! Sure an' begorra! It's you I adorra!" he said as they paid their admission.
"I bet you say that to everybody," George teased. "Did you happen to see a pretty blond woman dressed in green come in?"
The man laughed. "At least fifty of them," he said.
"What about a young Indian woman in a sari?" Nancy asked.
"I'm saril" The man laughed. "Get it? Sorry? Sari? But no, seriously, that's one I would have noticed. Have a good time, girls! The bar is on your left if you want sodas. The buffet's on the right, and the dance floor is straight ahead."
They thanked him and pushed their way into the room, which was decorated with shamrocks, green streamers, and posters of leprechauns.
"Can we eat first?" George asked pleadingly.
"Not a chance," Nancy answered. "We need to find Shelley and see who she's with, which won't be easy in this mob."
A live band was playing, and the dance floor across the room was crowded. They pushed their way through the maze of tables in the dining area, studying groups of people as they went, looking for Kamla and Shelley.
"Georgie!" A man's voice called out over the raucous music and George turned quickly. A tall, husky young man wearing a cowboy hat stood up at one of the tables and beamed at her. Nancy recognized him as a fellow George had once dated for about six months. "Come join us, Georgie," he said, motioning her toward a table crowded with partyers.
"Hi, Duke!" George said. "Good to see you again! I can't right now! Maybe a little bit later, but thanks for the invitation."
Nancy, with George follov/ing, moved determinedly to the edge of the dance floor, where a slightly tipsy man whom George didn't recognize reached out and caught Nancy by the arm.
"Just one little dance," the man said to Nancy. "You're the prettiest girl in the room!" He held her arm possessively, and Nancy sm.iled as she extricated herself from his grip.
"Thank you," she said, raising an eyebrow at George and pointing. "But my boyfriend's over there watching, and I have to join him."
George picked up the signal. Nancy was pointing across the dance floor toward an exit sign. She craned her neck. Shelley Lawson was standing by the door, talking to a man in a suit. Shelley looked up, frowned slightly as she spotted Nancy and George, and spoke again to the man. He looked at them across the dance floor, then opened the door. As he and Shelley left the room, Nancy noticed Shelley exchanging glances with the tipsy man on her right.
"Let's go, Geor
ge," said Nancy. "Hurry! We'll lose them!"
Surprised and annoyed glances followed the young women as they elbowed through the dancers to the door on the other side. The hallway on the east side of the building led to a bank of elevators. The doors were closing on Shelley and the man just as Nancy and George got there. Nancy jabbed at the Call button for another elevator, eyeing the screen above the car Shelley was on. "We're on the tenth floor," she murmured.
George was also watching. The marker stopped. "She's going down to the fourth."
"I'm not so sure," Nancy countered quietly. Several other people had left the party and were waiting. "She won't want us to know where she's going. She'll get off at four and either walk down to three or walk up one floor to five. One flight of stairs is about all she can manage in those heels! Did you see Kamla anywhere in that room?"
"No, not a sign," George said. "But I did just click in on that guy in the suit talking to Shelley. I thought he looked familiar."
"Who was he?" Nancy asked.
"Remember in the law building garage today when we saw Farmer driving one of Uncle Joe's green-and-yellow trucks?"
"Yes."
"Well," George said, "he was the man in the passenger seat."
An elevator stopped, the doors opened, and the people filed in. Most were going to the main floor, but one pretty young office worker announced that she had to go back and clean off her desk. She pushed the sixth-floor button.
Nancy glanced at George. "I'm going to five," she said. George picked up the cue, leaned forward, and pushed the buttons for both five and three. If Nancy was going to five, that meant she was going to three.
Just as the doors were closing, the man who had been pestering Nancy for a dance came rushing at the elevator. "Hold it!" he yelled.
Another man amiably held the doors open until the pesky guy could enter. He looked at the people around him, not acknowledging that he had spoken to Nancy earlier, and he seemed much less tipsy now than he had at the dance. Nancy recalled the look he'd exchanged with Shelley, and a warning flag waved in her head.
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