The receptionist was about to go on, but just then a man opened the door and walked in. “Oh, excuse me—here’s the morning mail. Hi, Johnny. Johnny, you’re not going to believe it, but this is Teresa Montenegro, the tennis player!”
The mailman looked up at Nancy. “Nice to meet you, miss,” he said. “Actually, I’m more of a hockey fan myself,” he added, apologizing for not knowing who she was. He dumped a huge bundle of envelopes and magazines onto the receptionist’s desk. “Have a nice day, everyone,” he said, heading out the door.
Nancy stared at the stack. Were Beverly Bishop’s chapters in there? There was no way to find out with the receptionist in the room. Could she distract the woman somehow? No, too risky.
With a sigh, Nancy decided to stick to her original plan: a personal appeal to the publisher herself. If Ms. Pringle really was a big fan of Teresa’s, that could be a help.
“Well, Ms. Montenegro,” said the receptionist. “I’ll just go put these on Ms. Pringle’s desk. Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Nancy tried hard to stay calm, but just knowing the means to save her friends might be in that stack of mail was driving her crazy.
Something caught Nancy’s eye, and she realized a boy was standing in the doorway. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t even heard the door open.
“Messenger service,” said the boy. He had a huge green bag slung over one shoulder. “Sign right here,” he said, holding out the package and a clipboard with a form on it.
Nancy was about to say that she didn’t work there when she spotted the return address on the package. It was from Beverly Bishop!
“Um, where do I sign?” asked Nancy, glancing over her shoulder to see if the receptionist was coming.
“Right there.” The boy pointed to a line, and Nancy quickly and illegibly initialed his form.
“You new here?” asked the boy.
“Yes, it’s my first day,” Nancy answered, without skipping a beat. And my last, she added silently. “Well—thank you. Have a nice day.”
“Yeah, you, too. See you around.”
Nancy breathed a sigh of relief when the boy disappeared into the elevator. Then she stuffed the thick envelope into her bag, which was big enough to hold the bulky package without bulging suspiciously.
Nancy dropped back into her seat just as the receptionist breezed back into the room. Swiftly she crossed her legs, trying to look as casual as possible.
“Were you talking to someone?” asked the receptionist. “I thought I heard someone come in.
Nancy thought fast. “Just somebody looking for the ladies’ room,” she explained. “Speaking of which, is there one around here? I would like to freshen up before I see Ms. Pringle.”
“Certainly. It’s right down the hall on your left. You’ll need this key.” She handed Nancy a key on an enormous ring.
Nancy had to restrain herself from rushing down the hall. Soon she would know the identities of three of the big four—and maybe she’d learn why one of them had had to kill Beverly Bishop!
Quickly unlocking the door, Nancy stepped inside the bathroom. Luckily, she was the only one there. Nancy locked herself into a stall and pulled the manila envelope out of her bag. She slowly drew out the chapters. There were three, each secured with a giant paper clip.
Nancy’s eye roved over the front page of the first. “Senator Marilyn Kilpatrick” was typed across the top in boldface. No surprises there, but Nancy was glad to have the chapter in her hand and away from the printing presses.
Nancy flipped to the second chapter: “Mrs. Della Hawks.” She would definitely have to check into the mysterious Mrs. Hawks’s past.
Moving on to the last chapter, Nancy held her breath. She turned the page, and there was the third name—“Jillian Riley.” Just as Jillian herself had expected, Beverly had desperately wanted to ruin her rival’s career.
But, mused Nancy, perhaps Jillian had decided to end Beverly Bishop’s career first—by killing her!
Chapter
Eleven
MURDER: THE PERFECT ending to a vicious, career-long rivalry. Nancy remembered seeing Jillian at the scene of the crime, hurrying to get the scoop on her competitor’s death. Jillian could have killed Beverly Bishop and framed the senator for it. Now she could write a best-selling story about Marilyn Kilpatrick’s brutal murder of the woman who knew too much—Nancy could almost see the headlines. Jillian had the power to convince everyone in the city that Marilyn was guilty, if she wanted to.
Nancy wondered what she should do with the envelope. If she returned the chapters, they would almost certainly be published. On the other hand, if she turned them over to the police, the senator might be in even bigger trouble. Before Nancy made up her mind, the door to the ladies’ room opened and someone came in.
Suddenly her safe nest had been invaded, and Nancy had to get out. As soon as the feet entered a stall and closed the door, Nancy stuffed the chapters back into her bag and emerged from her hiding place.
Deciding it would be best to return the chapters while she worked on solving the mystery of the fourth suspect, Nancy walked up to the main door of Pringle Press. She hoped that the receptionist wouldn’t notice her slip the envelope under the door. To her surprise, there was someone else in the room—a man, with his back to her, talking to the receptionist. As Nancy brushed back a wisp of hair from her face, she saw the man’s shoes—
Shiny two-toned brown tasseled loafers! Nancy’s mind shot back a few hours to that street in Georgetown—those shoes were the same ones she had glimpsed between the parked cars!
Not wanting to take any chances, Nancy hung the ladies’ room key on the doorknob, turned around, headed for the elevators, and stuffed the envelope back into her bag.
Leaving the building, Nancy cast glances in every direction to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She’d have to call to cancel Teresa’s meeting with the publisher. But she’d been lucky to spot that character before he’d seen her. Of course she didn’t know if he would recognize her on sight, or if he even knew who she was.
“Taxi!” she called, waving her arm as a cab drove past the building. It stopped a few yards away, and Nancy ran up and clambered in.
If someone was following her, it would have been impossible to tell. The morning rush-hour crowds were thinning along Pennsylvania Avenue, but there were still dozens of people on the street. Nancy constantly checked out the back window of the cab all the way to the apartment. Nothing. At least she couldn’t see anything.
When she walked in the front door, Nancy heard the senator talking in the kitchen. Maybe she and Teresa were lingering over breakfast.
Instead, she found Captain Flynn sitting at the kitchen table with the senator, drinking a cup of coffee and eating a doughnut. He gave Nancy a friendly but sober greeting.
“Morning, Ms. Drew,” he said.
“Morning, Captain,” Nancy replied. “What’s up?”
The policeman’s face looked grim. “I was just telling the senator here that we’ve traced the gun used in Beverly Bishop’s murder to her.”
Nancy’s heart sank. This was one time when she wasn’t happy to be right. The news confirmed her worst fears.
“It was registered only the day before and reported missing after the murder,” the captain went on.
Nancy glanced over at Marilyn. The senator appeared even more tired and overwrought than she had the day before.
“Not only that,” Captain Flynn continued, wincing, “but Marilyn’s fingerprints were all over Ms. Bishop’s office. They were on a threatening letter we found there, too. On top of all that, there was a shred of tape left in the Dictaphone machine with Beverly’s last word on it—kill. Or maybe Kil, for Kilpatrick. Some of my colleagues have already suggested that she was trying to identify her murderer at the time she was shot.”
The senator bit her lip, looking up at Nancy. “I’ve explained to Captain Flynn about the visit I paid Beverly late y
esterday afternoon, and about the letter and how she handed it to me.”
“Right,” agreed Flynn. “And I believe you, Senator. But the point is, who else is going to?”
The three of them looked at one another. It was an uncomfortable moment for all of them, especially for the police captain. His instincts were up against a whole lot of evidence, and he seemed torn and uncertain.
“Look, Senator,” he said finally, getting up. “You and I go back a long, long way. I know you wouldn’t kill anybody, but the law is the law. I can hold off for a little while, but unless things look different in a day or two, I’m going to have to take you in.”
Marilyn nodded glumly. “I understand,” she murmured.
“Well, take care,” Flynn remarked. “Thanks for the coffee. The next time I see you, I hope one of us has better news. In the meantime, Senator, please stick close to home and work. We’ll be watching you.” He added, “Sorry.”
“It’s all right, Captain. Thank you for coming over.” The senator tried to smile, but it only made her face look sadder.
She walked Captain Flynn to the door, then came rushing back into the kitchen. “Nancy, what’s been going on? What happened last night?”
“Marilyn, I’m afraid I’ve got some more bad news,” Nancy said, collapsing into a chair. “It’s Dan—he was, well, the car—there was an explosion . . .”
“Oh, no!” The senator rushed over and knelt down beside Nancy. “Is he all right?”
“I don’t know, but I honestly don’t see how he can be. There was an explosion, and a fireball, but I haven’t been able to find out if he’s all right yet.”
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Marilyn demanded. “From the beginning.” She stood up and took a seat across the table from Nancy.
Nancy quickly recounted the events of the past eight hours, carefully leaving out some of the clues she was working on. As much as she hated to admit it, Marilyn was still a suspect and she couldn’t know what Nancy had discovered, not until Nancy figured the mystery out for herself.
“How horrible!” Marilyn exclaimed when Nancy told her about the crash following the car chase.
“And Dan hasn’t called or anything?” Nancy asked.
“No, he hasn’t.”
“I tried all the big hospitals earlier this morning, but no one had any record of him. I wonder if that means he’s—”
“Let’s see if there’s anything about it on the news now,” said Marilyn, springing up and turning on the radio. “It’s possible that he escaped, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes pleading with Nancy to say yes.
“And here are the headlines at ten o’clock this beautiful morning,” the newscaster announced. “There’s been a coup attempt in western Guinea. The economy takes an upturn, according to the latest figures. Vietnam War hero and Congressman Matt Layton announces his candidacy today for the Senate seat now held by Marilyn Kilpatrick . . .”
Marilyn’s eyes widened. “He’s really going through with it,” she whispered, shaking her head in resignation. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“The Bullets sign their top draft, and another beautiful day on tap. More news after this—”
Marilyn turned the volume down. “That’s funny,” she said. “Not a word about any explosion or car accident.”
Nancy frowned. “I had a feeling there wouldn’t be. When the hospitals didn’t know anything and the early-morning news didn’t report it, I wondered if there might not be some kind of cover-up. And if I’m right—well, anyone who can silence the press has got to be very powerful. Marilyn, I’m afraid we’re up against somebody big,” Nancy concluded.
“But who even knew what you were doing?” asked the senator. “I’m the only one who knows you’re investigating this case,” she pointed out.
“Unless your house is bugged, and your office,” Nancy suggested. That would explain why someone had seemed to anticipate her every move.
“Good morning, everybody.” Teresa emerged from the bedroom, yawning. “What time is it?”
“Just after ten o’clock. I canceled your morning practice session,” said Marilyn. “I thought you needed the sleep more than the tennis.”
Teresa smiled sleepily. “You’re right about that.”
Nancy found herself yawning, too. “Speaking of sleep . . .”
“My goodness, you haven’t slept all night!” cried Senator Kilpatrick. “Go lie down for an hour or two, Nancy. You can’t do anything if your eyes won’t stay open.”
Nancy nodded, standing up. “Don’t let me sleep too long, though. I’ve still got some things to check out, and I can’t waste any time.”
“Just for an hour, I promise,” said the senator, raising her right hand. “Come on, Teresa, let’s get you some breakfast.”
“Don’t you have to go to work?” asked Teresa as Nancy headed to the bedroom.
“Um, not today, Teresa,” answered the senator. “I’ve decided to take the day off.”
Nancy went into the bedroom and called Pringle Press to explain that she had become sick and had had to leave. Then she crawled under the covers. Lying on her back, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. She was torn, torn about everything. Where should she look first for the locker? Should she ask Marilyn for advice? Should she take the chapters to Captain Flynn in the hope that the investigation would shift away from the senator when the other suspects came to light? And who was the fourth one? Something was nagging at her, but Nancy couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
Exhaustion prevailed, and soon Nancy was engulfed in a dreamlike haze. Then a sudden and terrifying scream woke her up.
Nancy sat bolt upright in bed and rubbed her eyes. Had she really heard a cry for help, or had it been part of a dream? She had to make sure Teresa was safe, even if it was a false alarm. She hopped out of bed and dashed into the living room.
Teresa was leaning against the wall, one hand over her mouth. Senator Kilpatrick was standing stock-still in the middle of the room, as if frozen.
“What’s going on?” Nancy blurted out. Teresa lifted a weak finger and pointed at the front door.
There stood Dan Prosky, pale and hollow eyed. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but only a strangled whisper came out. “He—he’s dead!”
Chapter
Twelve
NANCY STOOD FOR a moment, not believing her eyes. Who was dead? And how had Dan survived the explosion?
Springing to Dan’s side, Nancy and the senator guided him to the sofa and helped him to sit down. He seemed too confused to know what was happening to him.
“Teresa, please get him a glass of cold water—and some juice, too,” Nancy said to her friend. “I think he’s got a bad case of dehydration, not to mention exhaustion.”
The senator propped pillows behind Dan’s back and gently massaged his shoulders. “Just relax, Dan. You’re with friends.”
“I’m so sorry about what happened,” Nancy said, looking into Dan’s glassy eyes.
Teresa returned with two glasses, and Nancy held the water up to Dan’s mouth. “Drink this, Dan. You’ve got to.”
He raised one shaky arm and lifted the glass to his lips. Nancy was afraid he might drop it, but he managed to take a few big gulps. He sat without moving for a minute, then lifted the glass and drank again, finishing the tall glass of water.
“That’s better,” Nancy said. “Can you tell us what happened to you?”
“I—” Dan shook his head, trying to remember. “After I let Nancy out of the car, I drove for a couple of blocks, and then there was suddenly this—I don’t know, some hole in the ground where workmen were digging, with the orange cones in front of it and all. But I was going so fast . . .” He trailed off, and Teresa handed him the glass of orange juice.
“There was an explosion,” Nancy reminded him. “Was it your car?”
“No—no, I swerved just in time to miss the hole. But then the guy behind me—he wasn’t so lucky. I think it must have been a gas mai
n or something, because it was much too big a bang for just a car going up.”
Nancy shivered. Maybe the car had been carrying explosives.
“And then what?” Teresa prompted.
“The blast caught my car and flipped it over. I crawled out the window somehow and walked a couple of blocks to this little park. But then I started feeling pretty bad. I guess I must’ve hit my head or something, because I just lay down on a park bench and passed out for a while. I woke up with a pounding headache—I couldn’t really think straight. So I wandered around for a while, until I ended up here. What time is it?” he asked.
“Eleven o’clock,” Teresa answered.
“I must have been walking around for hours!”
“No wonder you look so pale,” Nancy observed. “Teresa, would you call a doctor? You’re lucky you made it here, Dan. You need medical attention!”
Dan sat quietly for a moment, sipping the juice. “Listen, don’t you think it’s time you told me what this is all about? I mean, if I’m going to be risking my neck, I should at least know what for.”
“You’re absolutely right, Dan.” The senator nodded.
Nancy broke in. “Marilyn,” she interrupted, “I’ve got a couple of leads to track down, so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get dressed while you fill Dan in.”
Nancy raced back into the bedroom to change. She was so glad that Dan was okay, but it only reminded her of the danger that lay ahead for her friends. She had to find out what Beverly Bishop kept in that mysterious locker.
Nancy pulled a sweater over her head, completing her outfit. She bent down to tie her sneakers; she had put them on because she had a feeling she’d be doing a lot of walking. Standing up, she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and held the purse tightly to her with her elbow. Inside were three chapters of Beverly Bishop’s book, still unread—and a small, blunt key, with the number 663 inscribed on it.
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