“So what’s the plan, Nancy?” Ned asked after they’d cleaned up after dinner.
Nancy thought for a moment. “I guess we should stay here,” she said. “If someone comes in the back door, they’ll have to walk through here, and we’re close enough to the front door to hear if someone comes in through the lobby.”
“What about sleeping?” Bess asked.
“We can take turns keeping watch,” Nancy said. She planned to stay awake the whole time, though, so she could keep an eye on Andrew. He might try to sneak away during his watch, while the rest of them were asleep.
Bess yawned. “I’m tired already,” she said. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten o’clock,” Nancy said, checking her watch.
“This is sort of romantic, isn’t it?” Ned asked, moving closer to Nancy and putting his left arm around her.
“Romantic wasn’t the word / was thinking of,” came Bess’s nervous voice.
“You’re not still worried about the ghost, are you?” Ned asked her.
Bess smiled sheepishly. “I know it’s silly, but in the dark, I feel like Rosalie’s ghost could be right here in this room.”
Grinning at her friend, Nancy said mischievously, “Maybe her ghost is here.”
“Yeah, right,” Ned said sarcastically. “And maybe I’m—”
He broke off as a sudden, frigid blast of cold air washed over them. A moment later Nancy heard loud, shuffling footsteps echoing somewhere overhead.
“It’s Rosalie’s ghost,” Bess whispered hoarsely, sitting bolt upright.
Nancy craned her neck, looking in the direction the sound was coming from. She tried to stay calm, but she could feel the hairs rise up on the back of her neck.
Suddenly she noticed something white fluttering up in the balcony. Before Nancy could say anything, a high-pitched moan filled the room, and the white shape floated into a shaft of moonlight.
Then, as another moan filled the air, the ghostly form jumped off the balcony toward Nancy and her friends!
Chapter
Ten
I TOLD YOU there was a ghost!” Bess cried. “Let’s get out of here!”
Nancy jumped to her feet and ran toward the white form, which fluttered just above the floor a few feet away from the circle of sleeping bags.
“What is that thing?” Ned said, behind her.
The white shape lightly touched the floor and flattened out, then went still. Nancy laughed when she realized what it was.
“It’s a plain bedsheet, you guys!” she called out. Lifting the sheet, she found some hangers bent in the rough outline of a head and torso. “Someone must have thrown it from the balcony.”
“How’d they get up there?” Andrew asked as he and Bess joined Nancy and Ned by the sheet. “We didn’t hear anybody come in.”
Nancy was instantly alert, listening. “You guys, the person might still be there,” she whispered excitedly, hurrying toward the back door to the dining room. “Wait here. I’m going to check the back door and balcony before the person has a chance to get away.”
As Nancy ran down the back hall, she felt another rush of cold air. When she reached the door, it was open. She stuck her head outside and looked at the moonlit lake and at the path running behind the inn, but saw no sign of anyone.
Quickly she closed and bolted the door, then rushed back down the hallway to the ballroom.
“Well?” Ned asked.
Nancy shook her head in frustration. “Whoever it was probably got out the back door.”
“Let’s check out the rest of the inn, just in case the person’s still hiding,” Andrew suggested.
Turning on all the lights, Nancy, Ned, Bess, and Andrew scoured the inn, checking all the upstairs rooms, the lobby, the dining room, the kitchen, the library, and the basement. Up in the balcony the stereo was still warm, and the two cassette decks were empty and had been left open. Otherwise, they found no sign of anyone.
One good thing came out of the prank, though, Nancy reflected. Andrew now seemed less guilty than he had before. There was no way he could have rigged the ghost and the sound of shuffling feet himself while he was downstairs sitting on his sleeping bag. It was still possible that Andrew was working with someone, but Nancy doubted his partner was either of her top suspects—Julie or Master Blaster. They both had more reason to hurt him than help him.
“I can’t believe the person got away again,” Andrew said, frowning, as they all regathered in the ballroom after their search.
Ned gave Andrew a sympathetic smile and said, “At least we stopped him from doing any harm.”
“Yeah,” Bess agreed, sinking down on her sleeping bag. “I don’t know about the rest of you happy campers, but I’ve had enough excitement. I’m ready to go to sleep.”
“We might as well all call it a night,” Nancy said. “I think we’ve seen all the special effects we’re going to see. Besides, I want to get up bright and early and go to Bentley High School. It’s time to check out that Bentley High Boneheads T-shirt.”
• • •
“There it is,” Ned said early Thursday morning as he and Nancy drove to Bentley, armed with directions from Andrew.
Bentley High School had just appeared over the top of the hill. It was a square, three-story granite building with a tall clock tower.
“I guess school’s already in session,” Nancy said as she found a spot in the nearly full parking lot.
“That’s what I like about college,” Ned said. “We get longer holiday vacations.”
They went in the main entrance and found themselves at one end of a long linoleum-floored corridor. Students were gathered by the bright orange lockers lining the walls along either side. After asking some students for directions to the administrative offices, Nancy and Ned went to the end of the long hall and turned right.
“Here we go,” Nancy said, seeing an office marked Student Affairs.
Stepping inside, they found themselves in a large room with several tables and chairs and bookshelves lining the wall. The only desk was occupied by a pudgy woman with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses.
“Yearbooks,” Ned said, nodding toward a bookshelf filled with identical purple and white books, each marked with a different year.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, looking sternly at Ned.
“Uh, yes,” Nancy said. Thinking fast, she pulled her notepad and a pen from her purse and said, “We’re reporters, and we’re doing a piece called ‘Whatever Happened to the Class of Seventy-seven.’ It’s a series of profiles of the graduates of Bentley High School. We were wondering if we could look at a few yearbooks, just as background.”
Nancy held her breath, hoping the woman wouldn’t ask what paper they worked for. To her relief, the woman simply shrugged and said, “Make sure to put them back when you’re done.”
With a wink at Ned Nancy walked over to the bookshelf and found the yearbook labeled 1977. Then she sat down at the table farthest from the woman and flipped it open to the table of contents. Ned pulled a chair up next to her.
“Seniors . . . teachers . . . sports . . . clubs . . .” she read, running her finger down the page.
“Try clubs,” Ned suggested. “The Boneheads could be some special kind of organization.”
Nancy flipped through the pages of black and white portraits, sports teams, and candid shots until she came to the club section.
“There it is!” Ned exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, jabbing a finger at a group photograph.
Nancy’s heart jumped as she, too, spotted the Bentley High Boneheads logo. The word Boneheads was hand drawn, and each letter was shaped out of white bones, just as it had been on the T-shirt.
“What kind of club was it?” Ned asked softly, looking at the short paragraph under the logo.
Nancy read the paragraph aloud. “ ‘The Bentley Boneheads are proud of the contribution we’ve made to our school. We kept our grades low to balance the grade curve. We cut classes so our teacher
s would have more time for the other students, and we’ve spent lots of time in the vice principal’s office so he wouldn’t feel lonely. Party hearty!’ ”
Breaking into a deep laugh, Ned said, “I guess it wasn’t a real club.”
The woman at the desk gave them a questioning look, so Nancy punched Ned’s arm. “Shh!” Then, turning her attention to the picture, she whispered, “It seems more like a spoof, or a bunch of friends clowning around.”
Both the boys and the girls in the photograph had long hair, and most of them wore rock band T-shirts. All in all, there were about a dozen teenagers in two rows, making faces at the camera.
“There are names under the picture,” Nancy said, squinting to read the tiny print. “Guy Lewis,” she said excitedly, pointing at the third guy from the left in the back row. He was thin, with stringy dark hair and a goatee. “He’s the only one with the initials G.L. It has to be him!”
Ned studied the photograph. “I still don’t see what his connection to Andrew might be,” he commented. “Andrew is years younger than this guy, and they’re from different towns.”
“Hmm,” Nancy said. “It’s probably just chance that Guy stayed overnight at the inn, but I’ll call Chief McGinnis at the River Heights police station when we get back to the inn. Maybe he has something on this guy.”
“Look at that girl Guy Lewis has his arm around,” Ned commented, still looking at the photograph. “She looks like somebody, only I can’t put my finger on who it is.”
The girl was pretty, with hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She was slim and wore snugly fitting jeans and cowboy boots. “You’re right, she does look familiar.”
Once again Nancy scanned the names beneath the picture. When she read the one after Guy Lewis, she nearly fell out of her seat. But another look at the picture confirmed it. “Ned, we know that woman. We’ve been seeing her every day since Monday,” Nancy said.
“Colleen O’Herlihy?” Ned said, reading the name. Then his dark eyes met Nancy’s, and his mouth fell open. “You don’t mean . . . ?”
Nancy nodded. “The Colleen in the photograph is actually Colleen Morgan!”
Chapter
Eleven
YOU’RE RIGHT!” Ned exclaimed in a low voice. “It is her.”
Her pulse racing, Nancy flipped forward in the yearbook to look for the graduation portraits of Guy and Colleen. There was no listing for Colleen O’Herlihy. Guy Lewis, though, was among the seniors. He wore a T-shirt instead of a shirt and tie, and nothing was listed under his picture except his name.
“Maybe Colleen graduated a different year,” Ned suggested. He stood up to take out a few more yearbooks but had trouble getting them off the shelf because of his cast.
Nancy jumped up to help him. “Let’s split these up,” she suggested. “I’ll take seventy-three through seventy-six. You take seventy-eight through eighty-one.”
They checked each yearbook thoroughly, but neither of them was able to find any record of Colleen O’Herlihy.
“I don’t get it,” Nancy said, her brows knitting together. “We know she went to school here. So why isn’t she listed with any of the senior classes?”
“Maybe she never graduated,” Ned suggested. “Or maybe she transferred to another school.”
“That’s a good possibility,” Nancy said, nodding. “Especially since Colleen said she went to a private school. Maybe she transferred to a private school before graduation.”
As Nancy and Ned stood up and began putting away the yearbooks, Ned said, “I wonder if Colleen knew Guy was hanging around the inn.”
Nancy thought for a moment. “She didn’t act as if she recognized any of the stuff we found in the basement,” she said, “though she did seem very eager to clean it out. Maybe she didn’t want us to figure out who the homeless person was or that she knew him.”
“But what’s the connection?” Ned asked. “Why would it matter if Colleen knew him?”
“Good question,” Nancy said. “After I talk to Chief McGinnis, I hope I’ll be able to answer it.”
After thanking the woman at the desk, Nancy and Ned left Bentley High School and got back in Nancy’s Mustang. As Nancy pulled out of the parking lot and started back toward Moon Lake, Ned said, “So you’re adding Colleen to your list of suspects?”
“Definitely,” Nancy told him. “Not that her knowing Guy Lewis is a crime. For all we know, Guy Lewis just slept at the inn for a few days and moved on. But Colleen sure gave us a false impression of her upbringing. She made it seem as if she has always been rich and privileged, when it looks as if she was just a normal kid who went to public school.”
“That’s not a crime, either,” Ned pointed out.
“If it were, we’d all be guilty,” Nancy joked. “But my point is that if she hid that, there may be other things she’s not telling us.”
Ned nodded thoughtfully. “If Guy Lewis is still hanging around the inn, causing trouble, maybe Colleen knows he’s there.”
“She might not want anybody to know that she’s helping him,” Nancy added. “After all, she is married now. Her husband might not be too understanding if she was spending time with her old boyfriend.”
When Nancy pulled into the Lakeside Inn parking lot a short while later, the red Teen Works bus was already there, as well as some other cars and vans. She and Ned were about to get out of the parked Mustang when Master Blaster came out the inn’s front door, wearing a faded denim jacket covered all over with buttons naming famous rock groups. He headed toward a beat-up blue hatchback parked near Nancy and Ned.
“Wait a minute,” Nancy said, putting her hand on Ned’s arm. “Let’s see what he does.”
The deejay opened the hatchback, and Nancy could see that it was loaded with shoe boxes. He rummaged in several of the boxes, pulling out half a dozen cassette tapes.
“So that’s where he gets his music,” Ned said.
At Ned’s words a light suddenly blinked on in Nancy’s mind. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” she exclaimed softly, tapping her forehead with her palm. “Blaster said he uses sound effects when he does his original music. Maybe the ghost noises we heard came from his tapes.”
Master Blaster slammed the hatchback shut, but the back door popped open again. After two more tries he finally managed to close it, then headed for the front entrance to the inn.
“Now’s our chance,” Nancy said as soon as Blaster disappeared inside. She hopped out of the Mustang and hurried over to the hatchback.
“Wow!” Ned exclaimed, coming up next to her and staring through the tinted glass. “Look at all those tapes.”
The backseat of the car had been pushed down, leaving a large flat surface that was completely covered by shoe boxes filled with audiocassettes. Nancy estimated that there were at least five hundred tapes.
“It’s hard to read the cases through the glass,” she said, squinting. As she laid her hand against the glass for a closer look, the hatchback popped open a few inches.
Nancy and Ned exchanged a guilty glance. “It’s already open,” Ned said. “What’s a few more inches?”
After opening the hatchback, they took a closer look inside. Most of the tapes were commercial recordings by popular artists, but there were two shoe boxes filled with cassette cases that had been neatly labeled by hand.
Nancy read the titles aloud. “The Master’s Super Mix Part Two’ . . . ‘High Voltage Party Tape’ . . . ‘Babies Crying.’ ”
“ ‘Babies Crying’?” Ned echoed. “What kind of party tape is that?”
“It’s not,” Nancy replied, growing excited. She peered at the other tapes in the box. “Listen to these. ‘Things Breaking’; ‘Sneezes and Coughs’; ‘Footsteps.’ ”
“Sound effects!” Ned exclaimed. “Here’s ‘Thunderstorms’ and—”
Nancy didn’t hear the rest of what Ned was saying because she’d just found what she was looking for. Right after “Footsteps” was a cassette labeled “Haunted House.”
“I think we’ve hit the jackpot,” she said softly, pulling out the cassette and showing it to Ned. “I’ll bet you anything this is what we heard inside the inn.”
“I knew it was Blaster!” Ned said triumphantly. “I just wish I’d brought my tape player so we could listen to it right here.”
“We still can,” Nancy told him, “on the cassette player in my car.”
She quickly slipped the cassettes into the pocket of her parka, while Ned lowered the hatchback roof with his good hand.
After hurrying to the Mustang, Nancy got in behind the steering wheel, and Ned got in beside her. She reached into her jacket pocket and flipped open the “Haunted House” cassette case. Then she turned on the ignition and loaded the cassette into her tape player.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” an angry voice growled right outside her window.
Nancy jumped in her seat, then whirled around to see who was talking.
It was Master Blaster. His face was pressed close to Nancy’s window, and he was glaring at her with cold, dark eyes.
Chapter
Twelve
A CHILL RAN THROUGH Nancy’s entire body as Blaster’s furious gaze bored into her.
“Give me back my tape!” Blaster went on angrily. “I saw you steal it.”
Nancy unrolled her window slowly, trying to think of what to say. “We didn’t steal it,” she told him. “We borrowed it.”
“We were planning to put it right back,” Ned added.
“Yeah, sure,” Blaster said, glowering. “You were probably going to make copies of my dance mixes and sell them to some local deejay.”
Was he honestly worried about his dance mix? Nancy wondered, trying to read the look in his eyes. Or was that just a cover for what he was really afraid of—that Nancy had caught the person who was trying to scare Andrew off the renovation.
“Actually,” Nancy said evenly, “I’m not interested in your dance mixes. I’m more curious about your sound effects.”
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