If Looks Could Kill

by Carolyn Keene

  “Sorry,” he said, his gaze down as he ran both hands through his blond hair. “But I have to know what’s going on.” Kurt sat down on one of the stone benches. “There’s a rumor going around about you. If you’re really a friend of Martika’s, why haven’t I ever heard about you?” He slapped his hands down on the bench, frustrated. “I know Martika doesn’t trust me, but I’m doing the best I can in an awkward situation. I just can’t figure out why she’s hired a detective to keep an eye on me.”

  Nancy studied Kurt carefully. A moment earlier he had appeared so threatening, and now he was acting almost meek. “Okay, I’ll level with you,” she said. “But you’ll have to level with me first.”

  “All right,” Kurt said, nodding once. “What do you want to know?”

  “First of all, why did you lie to me about why you were late for your body-sculpting demonstration?” Nancy asked.

  Kurt bit his lip. “I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I sort of took a little walk by myself. Sadie Thomas—the actress—said something pretty cruel about my performance in The Flame Throwers. I got mad and took off because I didn’t want to blow up and take it out on one of the guests.”

  “I see,” Nancy said. It was a plausible explanation, at least. “And where were you last night at around ten?” she asked.

  Kurt frowned. “Why do you want to know?” he demanded. “Has something happened?”

  “Uh-uh,” Nancy cautioned, holding up her index finger. “I’m asking the questions first, remember?”

  Kurt blew out a breath of air. “Okay,” he said. “I was alone in the weight room. I don’t get much chance to work out during the day, and I needed to blow off some steam.”

  “You resent Martika, don’t you?” Nancy said.

  “Wouldn’t you if you were me?” Kurt asked. “She only hired me so she could humiliate me.”

  “Why did you take the job if that’s the way you feel?” Nancy searched his eyes for any hint of evasiveness, but Kurt looked directly back at her.

  “I need it,” he admitted. “I lived pretty high after the Olympics, what with all the money from my commercial endorsements. But after my movie career flopped, nobody wanted me. I lost the house I’d built in L.A., my fancy cars—everything. You get used to living well, you know? I figure this is my chance to build up my bank account so I can strike out on my own again—set up a sports clinic, something like that.”

  “You’d like to see this place fail, though, wouldn’t you?” Nancy pressed on.

  Kurt frowned and stared at the ground. “Well,” he said softly, “I’d love to see Martika eat a little humble pie. But on the other hand, I do need this job. Besides, believe it or not, I still care about Martika. In spite of everything.” He met Nancy’s gaze levelly. “Does that answer your questions?”

  “Just one more thing,” Nancy said, sitting down next to him. “You’re not a very good speller, are you?”

  Kurt laughed. “Everyone knows that,” he said. “I’m dyslexic. Hey, no one’s good at everything.”

  Nancy laughed lightly.

  “Now it’s my turn,” he said. “Why are you spying on me?”

  Nancy decided to take a chance and be honest with him. “I’m here to protect Cloud Nine, actually,” she said. “And Martika. Someone took a shot at her last night.”

  Kurt sprang up from the bench and spun around to face Nancy. “What are you talking about? Who did it?”

  “If I knew that, I could relax and go swimming,” Nancy said calmly. “I thought it might be you.”

  “Me?” Kurt started pacing back and forth. “Are you nuts?” Then he stopped and faced her again. “Oh, I get it. I’ve got a motive, right? Well, so does Christina Adams. So do lots of people. Martika has a real talent for making enemies.”

  “Martika got three threatening notes,” Nancy told him. “All with misspellings in them.”

  “I see,” Kurt said slowly. “So someone’s trying to make me seem guilty. Now I understand.” He paused and after a moment continued. “Do you think I sent them?”

  “I can’t rule you out,” Nancy said. “But I’d appreciate your help from now on. It would help clear you of suspicion.”

  “Anything I can do,” he said, offering her his hand. “And sorry about grabbing you. I had no business doing that.” Smiling at her as he got up, he said, “I’ve got to go. Good luck, Nancy. I hope you get to the bottom of this soon.” Kurt took off, leaving Nancy alone in the herb garden.

  Well, she thought to herself. Kurt Yeager had just been surprisingly frank with her. Or had he? His sincerity could have been an act—a way to gain Nancy’s confidence so he could stay one step ahead of her investigation.

  She got up slowly and after a while made her way to the patio behind the main building. About an hour later, George and Bess joined her, and they decided to have lunch as she filled them in on her morning.

  “Wow!” George said when she heard about Nancy’s encounter with Kurt. “No wonder he was so quiet when we played tennis.”

  “Well, I just can’t believe he’d try to kill Martika,” Bess said with certainty. “He’s got honest eyes. People with honest eyes are never killers.”

  Nancy resisted the urge to mention all the criminals with honest eyes she had helped put behind bars. “How was your workout, Bess?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “Total torture,” Bess said, rolling her eyes. “And I didn’t lose a single pound—I weighed myself afterward.”

  “Go easy on the tartar sauce,” George warned her cousin, pointing to the broiled tuna sandwich on her cousin’s plate. “Working out isn’t going to do you any good if you slather that stuff on your food.”

  “But it tastes so much better,” Bess moaned. She pushed her plate away and stood up. “I’m out of here, anyway. I’ve got another torture session in ten minutes—low-impact aerobics this time.” With a dramatic groan, Bess stood up and went off to her next appointment.

  “I’ve never seen Bess this disciplined about exercise,” George said.

  “It is amazing,” Nancy agreed. “I guess it’s something about being at a spa.”

  Nancy rose from the table, too. “George,” she began, “you said you might want to do some snorkeling. Are you up for it now?”

  “Sure,” George replied, “but I thought you’d be checking out suspects, not tropical fish.”

  “Actually,” Nancy said, “I’d like to snorkel out to Christina Adams’s yacht. It may not be as much fun as looking at coral, but it could be a lot more educational.”

  “Count me in. I’ll skip the par course,” George said with a mischievous grin. “Let’s get ready.”

  • • •

  Half an hour later Nancy and George were down at the scuba shack near the wharf. There they were fitted out with snorkeling gear. “Just walk down this little beach to the end and wade in,” the staffer at the shack told them. “It’s a short swim out to the reef.”

  The surf was gentler than it was behind the main house, although the sandy beach was much narrower. Nancy and George walked to the very end of it, where the rocks jutted seaward and the underwater trail began.

  Donning their gear, Nancy and George swam out beyond the rocks and the trail, heading toward the opening in the reef that surrounded the island. Christina’s yacht was anchored just outside the reef, in open water near the western end of the island.

  The yacht was enormous—at least seventy feet long. Christina Adams could afford it, though, Nancy thought. After swimming up to the stern of the boat with George beside her, Nancy grabbed onto the bottom rung of a steel ladder on the port side.

  Nancy pulled back her mask so she could examine the exhaust holes of the ship. “If there were engine problems, you’d think they’d have gotten a mechanic from Saint Thomas by now,” she said. “Let’s go on board and have a peek.”

  “Do you think it’s safe?” George asked.

  “It seems deserted to me,” Nancy said.

  With that, they climbed quietly on
board, took off their flippers, and held them. They found the companionway stairs, and started down.

  They had passed through the main cabin and galley when they heard voices farther down the hall. “That must be the crew, working on the engine,” Nancy whispered. “Let’s listen.” George nodded silently.

  “What was it supposed to be, Cap’n?” a man asked. “Engine trouble?”

  “That’s what the boss lady said, Charlie,” a second man answered. “In fact, we’d better spike her good before somebody comes out here to check. Should’ve done it last night. Got a monkey wrench handy?”

  “Sure do, Captain,” Charlie said.

  “Good. Let’s see, we’ll just crack something that we’ve got a spare for. That way we can repair it quick when the time comes.”

  Nancy glanced at George, who was staring back at her. The captain and his mate were about to damage the engine on purpose!

  “Go up and see if we’ve got any more of these,” the captain ordered.

  “Aye, sir,” said the other man.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, now!” Nancy whispered, pushing George back up the companionway and then following her.

  They weren’t fast enough. Just as Nancy reached the top step, she felt a hand grab her ankle and heard a man’s voice below her.

  “Hey, Captain!” he shouted. “Come see what I found!”

  Chapter

  Eight

  NANCY GLANCED OVER and saw George already pulling on her flippers. “Jump!” Nancy yelled to her friend. At the same moment, before the man below her got a better grip, she grabbed the railing with her hands and twisting, kicked him hard in the stomach with her free leg.

  The man grunted, let go of Nancy, and fell down the steps, crashing right into the captain, who had just appeared at the foot of the companionway. Nancy seized that moment to escape and stepped onto the deck. With her flippers still in her hand, she ran and vaulted over the railing.

  She hit the water hard but held on to her flippers. As soon as she had air in her lungs again, she tugged them on, and then took off after George, who was far ahead of her.

  To her relief, Nancy saw that the men did not dive in after her. Nor did they get into the little motorboat to come after them. They would probably tell Christina about the incident, though, Nancy guessed.

  Peering ahead, Nancy saw that George had missed the opening in the reef and was drifting far to the west, probably searching for another access point. Nancy took off, swimming hard after her.

  She passed a buoy with a sign saying, No Swimming Beyond This Point—Dangerous Currents. George had snorkeled right by it!

  Doubling her speed, Nancy felt herself being caught up in the current. She couldn’t see George anymore, though she kept stroking hard against the water. She tried to stay close to the reef, where the current was a little weaker, hoping that George had done the same.

  Soon Nancy found another break in the reef. She swam through it before she was pulled past, and found herself facing a jagged cliff.

  She spotted a rock that jutted out of the sea in front the cliff. Nancy headed for the large black boulder and circled around it. There, to her relief, she found George, sitting on a ledge in the rock about three feet above the water.

  “Are you all right?” Nancy panted, hanging on to the rock. “You missed the opening, and those currents were bad.”

  “I know. I’m fine, though,” George said. “Nan, did you see that?” She pointed to the cliff behind Nancy.

  Nancy turned. Directly behind the rock was an opening in the cliff about fifteen feet wide and ten feet high. She hadn’t noticed it before because the boulder had hidden it. Thick iron bars like those in a prison cell covered the opening, and behind them Nancy could make out a grotto.

  “Let’s check it out, George. Are you up for it,” she asked.

  “Absolutely,” George replied, and dove smoothly into the water. It took them just a few minutes to cover the distance between the boulder and the grotto. They grabbed the iron bars and peered into the cave.

  A pool of water covered the floor of the grotto, where a sleek speedboat was moored. The walls of the cave rose sharply around it. On the back wall, barely visible in the dark, was a little ledge just above the water line. A door covering an opening in the grotto wall rose above it.

  “Wow!” George exclaimed. “What do you make of that, Nan?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said. “But I bet we can find out from Martika.” The gate was locked, so the girls had no alternative but to swim back toward the beach near the scuba shack, where they turned in their gear and then headed up the hill to the main building.

  By the time they got back to their suite, it was late afternoon. They found Bess lying on her bed.

  “Hey, Bess,” George said. “You’ll never guess what we found.”

  “I don’t care,” Bess groaned. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Tough day, huh?” Nancy asked, unable to suppress a grin. “Maybe you’d better skip dancing tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” Bess countered. “What good is all the pain I’ve gone through today if I can’t look great on the dance floor afterward? Besides, I lost only one pound. I’ve still got four to go. Maybe the rest will come off while I’m dancing.”

  “You know, Bess, maybe you’d better settle for just a week of fun in the Caribbean,” George suggested. “You may be overdoing it.”

  Bess closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I’m making progress,” she insisted. “No pain, no gain, they always say.”

  “You’ve got to work up to the kind of exercise you’re doing or you might hurt yourself,” George said firmly.

  Bess dragged herself up to a sitting position. “I am already feeling sore. But I’m going to be as thin as Martika Sawyer if it kills me—which it probably will. Anyway, I’m taking tomorrow off from the torture. Check out my schedule card—seaweed wrap, mud bath, manicure—”

  “Hey, it’s almost dinnertime,” Nancy said, checking her watch. “Come on, Bess. You should eat, even if it’s just a little, to keep up your strength.”

  “Oh, twist my arm,” Bess said, managing a grin. “Just promise me you won’t let me eat dessert, no matter how hard I beg.”

  Nancy and George laughed as they all changed for dinner. While they got ready, Nancy and George told Bess about their afternoon adventure.

  “Sure sounds like Christina Adams is guilty,” Bess said. “The way she connived to get herself onto the island—”

  “Yes,” Nancy agreed. “But she’s not the only one who looks guilty.”

  “You mean Kurt, right?” Bess said. “I already told you I think he’s innocent because of his eyes, but let’s see what you have against him. He can’t spell, and he did know about the snake. Plus, he does have a temper, and he has no alibi for yesterday afternoon or last night when the shot was fired at Martika. Guess honest eyes aren’t enough.”

  “That’s all true of Derek, too.” George reminded her cousin that the guy she was going dancing with wasn’t above suspicion either. “And remember, he’s definitely stealing from his sister.”

  “Gee,” Bess said ruefully. “Why do the guys we like always end up as suspects? They do look pretty guilty, though, don’t they?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Nancy agreed, as they headed down to dinner. “Kurt resents Martika in a big way. Then again, Christina has the strongest motive to sabotage Cloud Nine. But Derek’s a suspect, too. If his sister dies, he’s her closest living relative. That means he’d probably inherit everything.”

  “Wow!” Bess said. “That’s right.”

  “I’ll have to check into that with Martika, of course,” Nancy said, lowering her voice as they entered the dining room.

  Martika was presiding over the crowd of guests, who were mingling before the food was served, chattering about their first day of workouts and beauty treatments.

  Everyone seemed to be enthusiastic, Nancy noted—even Mrs. Smythe. She was all smiles as she told Pr
eston Winchell about her personal beauty session with Martika. Kurt was doing his best to make the guests happy—especially the women.

  Nancy went over to Martika and waited her turn to speak to her privately. “I thought you were going to get someone to keep watch over you,” Nancy whispered.

  “I already have,” Martika replied. “But I don’t need anybody when I’m in a crowd like this.”

  Nancy frowned but had to admit that Martika was probably right.

  “How are things going?” Martika asked. “Have you found out anything more?”

  “Plenty,” Nancy told her. “When can we talk?”

  Martika bit her lip. “Tonight’s tough. Tomorrow morning? I can spare an hour or so after breakfast. We could go scuba diving together. Do you know how to dive?”

  “Yes, but can’t we talk sooner?” Nancy asked.

  “I’m afraid not. Sorry.” Martika gave Nancy’s arm a squeeze. “But you’re doing a terrific job, Nancy. Things are going great! Mrs. Smythe hasn’t said anything about Squeeze, thank goodness. And Helen MacArthur told me she’s very impressed so far. Oh, Nancy, I’m so happy—of course I’m scared, too. I’m afraid it might all come crashing down on me at any moment. Especially with Christina around. She still hasn’t gotten her yacht repaired, you know.”

  “That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about,” Nancy said with some urgency.

  “Right,” Martika replied, brushing her off. “Well, I’d better go mingle. See you at the scuba shack at nine-thirty?”

  “Okay,” Nancy said. After Martika left, Nancy went over to say hello to Preston Winchell. “Hi,” she said, introducing herself. “My name is Nancy Drew. I’m one of Martika’s guests.”

  “Nancy Drew? Pleased to meet you,” Winchell said, shaking her hand. “Have you met Mrs. Smythe?”

  “Er, yes,” Nancy said, as the elderly lady turned toward her.

  Mrs. Smythe giggled. “We’re old friends,” she said, giving Nancy a little wink.