If Looks Could Kill

by Carolyn Keene

  “Captain Logan sent me to tell you he is interviewing suspects in Ms. Sawyer’s suite. Will you please accompany me?”

  “Suspects?” Nancy repeated. “Am I a suspect?”

  “Everyone is a suspect at the moment,” the man replied.

  When they got to Martika’s suite, Nancy saw Logan sitting at the desk, making notes. Martika was nowhere in sight.

  “Ah, Ms. Drew,” he said, smiling at her. “Sit down, please,” he added, indicating the chair beside the desk.

  Nancy sat, and as soon as she did, Logan rose and started pacing. “Ms. Sawyer has informed me that she asked you here as a private detective,” he began. “Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” Nancy said.

  “You have been here for three days and have witnessed several troubling incidents, I am told. Yet you never contacted the police, is that correct?”

  Nancy swallowed hard. “Yes. I’m afraid that’s true,” she had to admit.

  “According to Ms. Sawyer, you were present when a snake was set loose, Ms. Sawyer’s oxygen line was cut, a bullet went through the sleeve of her blouse—and when Maura McDaniel was found dead on the beach.”

  “Well,” Nancy said finally, after it became clear that he was waiting for her to explain herself, “I’m impressed. You’ve done a very good job of finding things out, Captain Logan.”

  The captain smiled wryly.

  “Of course, you’re right, Captain,” Nancy continued. “I should have insisted that Martika call in the police.”

  The captain seemed to relax a bit, but he was still suspicious. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’ve found out through your own investigations?”

  “All right,” Nancy said. “I’ve brought a few things to show you.”

  Captain Logan drew up a chair next to hers as she emptied her pockets and explained each of the items she had brought. By the time Nancy was through, Captain Logan had become much more respectful of her. “I wasn’t implying that you are the killer, mind you,” he assured her. “I was just doing my job.”

  Nancy nodded. She could tell that he didn’t consider her a suspect anymore. Now maybe they could work together to solve the case.

  Just as she was about to say so, however, the door of the suite burst open, and an officer entered, panting. In his hand, wrapped in a white handkerchief, was a small pistol.

  “Captain!” the man cried. “We found the murder weapon!”

  “Twenty-two caliber,” Logan said, inspecting it. Nancy noticed that the automatic pistol was small, lightweight, and black. No shiny surfaces to reflect and bounce light on a moonlit night. No silencer.

  “Where did you find it?” Logan asked.

  “In Kurt Yeager’s suite, sir,” came the answer. “Right under his pillow!”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  NANCY ROSE FROM her chair in surprise. “Under his pillow?” she repeated.

  Before she could say anything else, Captain Logan cut in. “Have you arrested the suspect?” he asked his man.

  “Yes, sir, but not without a struggle. He’s a very strong man, and he gave Sergeant Curtis a bloody nose. At any rate, we’ve got him now.”

  “Has he confessed?” Logan asked.

  “Not yet, sir,” the officer responded. “He keeps insisting he’s innocent.”

  “All right, Jenkins,” Captain Logan said, taking the gun from him. “Take the suspect back to headquarters in Charlotte Amalie. I’ll interview him myself.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jenkins replied. Saluting Logan, he hurried from the suite to carry out his orders.

  Logan turned and smiled at Nancy. “Well, Ms. Drew,” he said, turning the pistol over in the handkerchief, “it looks as if we’ve solved this case in record time.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Nancy asked him. “Don’t you think that if Kurt were guilty he would have gotten rid of the pistol before you searched his room? He had plenty of time to ditch the gun. Why didn’t he?”

  “Ms. Drew,” the captain said, his smile vanishing, “at this point I must ask you to leave the rest of the investigation to us. As you said yourself, you should have called us sooner. One person is already dead. I am not inclined to leave a killer at large just because there is a slight chance he is not guilty. At any rate, perhaps we will find his fingerprints on the murder weapon.”

  “But, Captain—” Nancy began.

  “Ms. Drew!” Logan interrupted. “Please return to your suite now. I will have you sent for if I need anything further from you. Oh, and thank you for these,” he added, indicating the clues she’d given him.

  He opened the door for her, then spoke to a man standing guard outside. “No one is to leave the island until we have a signed confession. And keep an eye on Ms. Drew, here. I don’t want her making any more trouble.”

  Nancy was speechless. She could tell that no matter what she said, Captain Logan was not going to listen. Without another word, she marched out of Martika’s suite. By the time she got to her room, she was steaming. She slammed the door behind her as hard as she could.

  “Nan?” came George’s voice from the bedroom. “Is that you?” Seconds later George and Bess entered the living room in their nightgowns.

  “Sorry, guys,” Nancy said. “I didn’t mean to make so much noise, but I was angry.”

  “What’s up, Nan?” George asked.

  Nancy quickly told them about Kurt’s arrest. George was aghast. “He’s innocent!” she said. “Can’t they see that?”

  “But what about the gun, George?” Bess reminded her cousin, putting an arm around her shoulders. “If they found it under his pillow . . .”

  “It could have been planted, Bess,” Nancy cautioned. “I’m not so sure he’s guilty. Kurt may not be a genius, but if he killed Maura, I don’t think he’d be dumb enough to put the murder weapon under his pillow where the police could easily find it.”

  “I guess you’re right,” Bess agreed.

  “Why didn’t the killer just toss the gun in the water, anyway? It probably would never have been found,” Nancy continued. “It seems to me that someone is trying to implicate Kurt.”

  “Nan,” Bess said, “you don’t think it was Derek, do you?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Nancy admitted. Checking her watch, she said, “It’s one-thirty in the morning. I’m exhausted. Let’s get some sleep. There’ll be time to sort things out in the morning.”

  • • •

  The next morning, as Nancy and her friends were getting ready for breakfast, there was a knock on the door of their suite. Opening it, Nancy was surprised to see both Martika and Derek.

  “May we come in?” Martika asked.

  “Of course,” Nancy said, leading them to the sofa, where they sat down. George and Bess came into the living room, too, and sat in the wicker armchairs. Nancy could tell that both Martika and Derek were upset, even though Martika was showing it more.

  “Oh, Nancy,” Martika said. “It’s horrible, just horrible! I told the police captain that it couldn’t be Kurt, but he wouldn’t listen.” Martika buried her face in her hands. Derek put an arm around her to comfort her, but she shook him off coldly.

  “Martika,” Nancy said sympathetically, “this has hit you pretty hard, I know.”

  “I still love him, Nancy,” Martika said, raising her tear-stained face. “I don’t know why it all went wrong, but I still feel for him, deep down. That’s why I gave him the job here. I hoped that once he got himself together . . .” Martika couldn’t go on. She started to sob.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Nancy said, “I don’t think Kurt is the murderer either. I think someone set him up.” She explained to Martika and Derek what she had told Bess and George the night before. “And another thing,” she added. “There was no silencer on the gun.”

  Martika had stopped crying now. She and Derek stared at Nancy. Bess and George seemed confused, too.

  “What do you mean, Nan?” Bess asked. “Maybe the killer jus
t threw the silencer in the ocean and kept the gun to make Kurt look guilty.”

  “Possibly,” Nancy replied. “But why not just put the gun and silencer under his pillow?”

  “What if there wasn’t a silencer?” George asked.

  “Then why didn’t I hear a gunshot the night Martika was shot at on the beach?” Nancy pointed out.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy saw Derek flinch. He glanced at Martika for a second and then collected himself.

  He had just given something away, Nancy knew. He’d realized something—but what was it?

  “Maybe the killer used a silencer for his first attempt but didn’t bother with it last night,” Bess suggested.

  “Or what about that spent firework you found, Nan?” George asked. “Maybe it was what made the sound of the shot.”

  Again Nancy saw the light go on and off in Derek’s eyes. “Er, excuse me,” he said, getting up and checking his watch. “This is all fascinating, but I have to get to work. The guests need my attention.”

  Martika got up to join him, but Derek said, “You stay here, Martika. You’ll feel better if you let yourself talk things out with Nancy. I’ll take care of everything.” Before Martika could protest, he was out the door.

  That wasn’t like Derek, Nancy reflected. He was acting so diligent and helpful. Something was wrong with the picture. If only she knew what.

  Martika became restless and uncomfortable once Derek had gone. “You know,” she said, rising abruptly, “I really should get down to breakfast myself. The guests will be gathering, and I ought to take charge before the gossip gets out of hand. Christina will be there, you see—and so will Preston. She’s sure to try to convince him to pull his money out of my spa, what with the murder and all. And the newspeople. Who knows what they’re writing about all this? I’d better get down there right away!”

  Having worked herself up into a nervous state, Martika hurried out of the suite. When she was gone, George said, “What just happened, Nan? Why did they both get so nervous and leave so abruptly?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy said, going over to the door. “But I’m curious to find out. Why don’t we go down to breakfast and see? I want to keep an eye on Christina Adams, too. As far as I’m concerned, she and Derek are both still suspects. I’d be interested to know how she’s reacting to Kurt’s arrest.”

  Breakfast was served in the dining room that morning. All the guests were talking in hushed tones about the events of the night before. Martika was standing by the buffet table, conversing somberly with several guests. To Nancy’s surprise, Derek wasn’t there. Nor were Christina Adams and Preston Winchell.

  The girls helped themselves to the buffet and then found a table. Before Nancy started eating she scanned the room again. This time she couldn’t find Martika.

  “Something is up,” Nancy told Bess and George. “Now Martika’s disappeared.” She rose quickly. “Let’s split up to cover more ground. We’re searching for Martika, Derek, Christina, and Preston.”

  Bess went outside to search, George headed for Martika’s suite, and Nancy went back to the lobby. As she approached the registration desk she asked the clerk, “What’s the number of Derek Sawyer’s suite? Martika asked me to send for him.”

  “We can’t give out that information,” the man said. “But I’ll send someone with your message.”

  “Thank you,” Nancy replied. She found a seat in the lobby and picked up a magazine from a table, pretending to read as she watched the clerk give the message to a bellhop. When the bellhop strode out of the lobby, Nancy followed him.

  The uniformed man went up the stairs and down to the end of the corridor. Nancy hid at the top of the stairs as the message was delivered.

  She waited for the bellhop to pass her on his way back down the stairs. Then she went down the corridor, and stopped in front of Derek’s suite. Putting her ear to the door, she heard the muffled sound of Derek’s voice.

  “Just realized . . . truth . . .” Nancy could make out only a word here and there, but what she heard confirmed her suspicions. Derek had figured out something important that morning.

  “Know what you’ve done . . .” Nancy held her breath, pressing her ear even harder against the door, praying that nobody would walk down the corridor and find her.

  Derek must have taken a few steps toward the door, because now she could hear almost every word he said. “You know I can prove it,” he said. From the long pause that followed, Nancy guessed that he was talking to someone on the phone. Could it be the person he’d promised more money to?

  “I found the old newspaper article from New Zealand in your room, and I’ve got it,” Derek said menacingly. Nancy had to stifle the urge to gasp. This was not just someone Derek owed money to—this had to be the person who had killed Maura McDaniel!

  Chapter

  Thirteen

  DEREK’S NEXT WORDS told Nancy everything she needed to know.

  “So let’s not have any more fuss about money, shall we?” he said. She could hear the sneer in his voice. “From now on we’re equal partners.”

  Equal partners! Was Derek blackmailing someone? Who would he want to become equal partners with? His sister, Martika? That didn’t make any sense, Nancy thought. Sure, he’d want to be partners with her, but Martika had been the killer’s intended victim—three times!

  That left only one possibility. Derek had to be talking to Christina Adams.

  Nancy was now desperate to get inside Derek’s suite. She wanted to see the newspaper article he’d mentioned.

  She raced back down the hall to the lobby. George and Bess were just coming in—Bess through a rear door and George through the front. “I went to Martika’s suite,” George said. “No one answered.”

  “I’ve searched the grounds,” Bess added wearily. “No sign of anyone.”

  “Listen,” Nancy said. “I’ve got a plan, and I need your help.”

  Pulling them back into the corridor so no one could hear, Nancy quickly told her friends what she’d learned at Derek’s door.

  Bess was obviously relieved. “Nan!” she said. “That proves he’s not the murderer, doesn’t it?”

  “I guess it does,” Nancy had to admit. “But he’s still dangerous, and now that he’s trying to blackmail a murderer, he’s in danger himself. Which is why you’ve got to be careful with him, Bess.”

  “What do you want me to do, Nan?” Bess asked.

  “Get him to go someplace with you,” Nancy replied. “Someplace where there are a lot of people around. I don’t want you to be alone with him. I just need him out of his room for an hour or so.”

  “That might be easier at night,” George said, “when the dance club is open.”

  “We can’t wait that long,” Nancy replied. “He’s in his room now. You’d better get going, Bess. After you’re both out, I’ll search his suite. Derek said he could prove whoever he was talking to was the murderer. So let’s hope he wasn’t bluffing. George, I want you to call police headquarters on Saint Thomas and ask to speak to Kurt. Find out exactly what he did after he left you last night. It may give us a clue. Then meet me in Derek’s suite.” Nancy grabbed her friends’ hands. “Good luck, guys. And, Bess, be careful.”

  Bess ran up the stairs while George went off to make her phone call. Nancy followed Bess as far as the top of the stairs, waiting in the same spot where she’d watched the bellhop deliver her phony message to Derek. From there she could see Bess outside Derek’s door. Soon it opened and Bess went in.

  Then Nancy waited—and waited. Through the window on the landing below her, she saw Christina walking arm in arm with Preston Winchell outside. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Nancy knew well enough what Christina wanted from him. Now that there had been a murder at Cloud Nine, maybe she had already lured him and his money away from Martika.

  “Come on, Bess!” Nancy said under her breath. Ten minutes had gone by, and still she remained inside Derek’s suite.

  F
inally Bess and Derek emerged, Derek with a tennis racket in his hand. Stopping to make sure his door was locked, he led Bess down the hall toward Nancy.

  Nancy fled down the stairs and ducked into the ladies’ room off the lobby. After a couple of minutes, when she felt sure that Bess and Derek had gone, she headed back up the stairs.

  Using the lock pick she carried in her handbag, Nancy wasted no time in getting Derek’s door open.

  She stepped inside, and her heart sank. Derek’s suite was an incredible mess, with papers scattered everywhere.

  Nancy realized she’d never have time to sort through them all. Imagining his looking at the article as he threatened the killer, she went straight to the desk, where the phone was, to begin her search.

  One stack of papers caught her eye—photocopies of financial projections for the resort. They didn’t belong there. Martika would never have involved her brother in the resort’s finances. What was more, the copies appeared to have been made in a rush, with the printing off center or even running off the page. It made Nancy wonder whether Derek had made the copies in a hurry and on the sly.

  The projections were hard to decipher, but Nancy was able to understand two things from them. First, most of the money that had built Cloud Nine came from one source—Preston Winchell. Second, the resort was on shaky financial ground. Not nearly enough money had been put into it to keep it going for more than a few months. That meant that unless there was a large new infusion of money, the resort probably would not survive.

  Just then there was a knock on the door. Nancy jumped right out of Derek’s chair, her heart pounding. Thankfully, it was only George.

  “Captain Logan wouldn’t let Kurt talk to me,” George said with a frown.

  “Never mind,” Nancy told her. “Help me sort through all this stuff.”

  “What are we looking for?” George asked.

  “A newspaper article from New Zealand,” Nancy explained.

  George sat down in a chair facing the opposite side of the desk and began going through the piles. Nancy’s gaze fell on one of the papers George discarded.