Hotline to Danger

by Carolyn Keene

  Chapter

  One

  HELLO, HELP IS HERE HOTLINE. This is Nancy. How can I help you?” Nancy Drew said into the telephone receiver. She was seated at an old desk in a drab, sparsely furnished room on the second floor of the River Heights Teen Center.

  On the other side of the desk, her good friends Bess Marvin and George Fayne watched her. Bess was perched on the edge of the desk. Her cousin George was leaning forward in her chair, her intense, dark eyes riveted on Nancy.

  It was the first call that had come in during the girls’ volunteer shift at the teen center’s hotline. The three had spent six weeks training at the center, so they knew how important it was to be a good listener and refer the callers to a professional for help, if necessary.

  Flipping back her reddish blond hair, Nancy switched the phone to her other ear. “Uh-huh. And you’re feeling hurt because your friend is seeing so much of this guy?”

  She glanced down at the information sheet in front of her on the desk. Callers didn’t have to give their names, but the volunteers had to write down the times of all calls and what they were about. Nancy glanced at her watch, then wrote down the time. “Jealous? No. I can understand that,” Nancy said. “It’s tough to lose a best friend. And it sounds like the two of you were incredibly close before this guy came along.”

  George and Bess smiled at each other. Behind them, tall, raven-haired Tony Ramirez, the hotline coordinator, was listening, too. Tony was a graduate student in psychology. He coordinated the hotline and counseling programs at the teen center. Even though he was twenty-three, in his faded jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off at the elbows, Tony could have passed for one of the many teens who hung out at the center.

  “That’s an idea. You could talk to her and tell her how you feel,” Nancy said. Her gaze settled on the list of referral groups and professionals taped on the desk beside the phone. “But, you know, the high school has a great peer program,” she told the girl on the other end of the line. “What about talking to them?”

  Nancy smiled when the caller said she thought that was a good idea. “We’ll be here until eleven,” she assured the girl. “So if you’re feeling down, don’t hesitate to call again. Okay? ’Bye.”

  “Whew!” Nancy sighed in relief as she hung up the phone. Quickly she jotted down the nature of the call. “I didn’t think helping someone could be so tough.”

  “Only you made it sound easy,” George said.

  “Really. Congratulations, Nan,” Bess said, jumping off the desk. “You did everything Tony taught us to do in the training sessions.”

  “Right,” Tony agreed. “Especially the part about being a good listener. Remember, our job isn’t to solve the callers’ problems. It’s to listen and refer them to someone who can help.”

  “I hope I can do as well as you,” Bess said, running her fingers through her long, blond hair.

  Watching her friend, Nancy thought how good Bess looked in her short black skirt, black knit leggings, and red sweater. She herself had opted for jeans and a sweatshirt, as had George. But ever since Bess had started dating Kyle Donovan, she had been dressing and looking even better than usual.

  Just then the shrill jangle of the telephone made Nancy jump. For a second, all three girls stared at the phone.

  Then Bess reached for the receiver. “My turn.” She took a deep breath, then picked it up. “Hello. Help Is Here Hotline. This is Bess.”

  Nancy saw the anxiousness in Bess’s eyes and gave her friend the thumbs-up sign. Soon Bess was nodding her head earnestly as she listened to the caller.

  “It’s all right to cry,” Bess finally said, tears welling in her own eyes. “I’d cry too if my boyfriend was moving away.” As she listened, Bess reached into the desk drawer for a tissue and blew her nose.

  Grinning, Tony shook his head. “I think you could say Bess is a little too involved with her work,” he whispered.

  Two phones had been installed for the hotline, and just then the second phone rang. George raced over to the other desk to get the call.

  “Sounds like you three are going to be busy tonight,” Tony said to Nancy. The hotline was open every morning, late afternoon, and evening. From twelve to three it was closed. Once Tony had enough volunteers, the hotline would be open from nine in the morning until eleven at night. “Obviously, I need only two people to answer phones. But I’m glad all three of you could be here for your first night. Since I’ll be around, I can answer any questions that come up.

  Bess said goodbye and hung up the phone. “Oh, boy,” she said. “That was a tough one.” She shook her head as she wrote down several notes on the information sheet. “The girl who called is named Clarise, and her boyfriend’s moving to Ohio. He’s a junior. She wants him to stay here until he graduates, but his parents won’t let him. One top of that, her mom can’t stand the guy and is always bad-mouthing him. She’s really down about the whole thing.”

  “You handled it well, Bess,” Tony said. “The callers want a sympathetic listener, not someone who judges or just tries to cheer them up. But remember—you’ve got to keep some distance. You can’t get too involved with the caller. It doesn’t help them or you.”

  “Whew.” George dropped the receiver into its cradle a moment later and ran a hand through her curly brown hair. “That caller has some heavy-duty problems at school. I think I convinced him to make an appointment to see you, Tony.”

  The hotline coordinator nodded. “Good work. But remember, you can only suggest that they get help. The caller is the one who has to follow through because he or she wants to.”

  “Right,” Nancy, Bess, and George chorused. They had learned all this during training, but it was good to hear it again now that they were confronted with real callers who had real problems.

  “How about if I treat you guys to sodas,” Tony suggested. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” Bess said. “I’ll go down to the machine with you and help bring them back.”

  The two of them were headed for the door when Bess’s boyfriend, Kyle Donovan, walked in. With his curly blond hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and cleft chin, he looked like a model in a men’s magazine, Nancy thought.

  “Kyle!” Bess said in a surprised voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “Coming to see you,” he replied. “Since you’ve been spending all your time at the hotline, I’ve almost forgotten what you look like.” He unzipped his bomber jacket.

  Bess opened her mouth to reply when both phones rang.

  “Busy is right,” George said as she and Nancy dove for the phones.

  “Help Is Here Hotline,” Nancy repeated. A guy’s voice greeted her heartily on the other end. But the longer Nancy listened, the more she suspected the cheerfulness was put on. The caller actually sounded lonely and depressed.

  While Nancy listened, she watched Bess introduce Kyle to Tony. Then Tony left to get the sodas, and Bess and Kyle sauntered into the hall.

  “My parents are getting divorced,” the caller finally said, his voice filled with emotion. “I mean, this is my senior year! How can they do this to me?”

  “You sound really mad at them,” Nancy said, trying to echo the caller’s feelings.

  The guy snorted. “You’re not kidding. I’m so mad I could—” A sob cut off his words. Nancy remained silent. She knew that her job was to listen, even if all the caller wanted to do was cry.

  Abruptly, he started talking again, some of the cockiness back in his voice. “Well, I guess lots of parents get divorced these days. So it’s no big deal.” He stopped, as if waiting for Nancy to respond.

  She kept quiet a moment, then said, “There are a lot of parents getting divorced. You know, the center
has a group for teens whose parents are separating or divorcing.” She gave him the time it met.

  “No way.” The caller laughed. “Probably a bunch of crybabies join it.”

  “Well, you’ll never know unless you come. Right?” Nancy kept her voice light.

  “Right. Anyway, thanks,” the caller said.

  Tony came back into the room and set a soft drink can on the desk in front of George, then a can in front of Nancy just as the caller hung up. “You look like you could use this.”

  Nancy exhaled with a sigh as she reached for the soft drink. “That’s for sure. Maybe I’m not cut out for this. It’s hard just listening. I want to give them advice!”

  “I know,” Tony said. “It’s hard sometimes to just listen. But that’s what the callers need.” He sat on the edge of the desk. George was still talking to her caller.

  “Okay, guys. It’s my turn,” Bess said as she came back into the room. Her cheeks were flushed, but her expression was solemn.

  Nancy raised one brow. “Did Kyle leave?”

  Bess nodded. “Yeah. He’s really excited. He’s been accepted to law school.”

  “That’s great! Kyle’s been working as a paralegal at my father’s firm,” Nancy explained to Tony. “Where’s he going? Chicago?”

  Bess sighed, and her shoulders slumped. “Chicago would be great. At least he’d be close. But he’s been accepted by a school in California, and, well—” She glanced wistfully at Nancy. “You know how hard long-distance romances are.”

  Nancy nodded, her thoughts straying to her own boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, who was a student at Emerson College.

  “Cheer up, Bess,” Tony said. “A great-looking girl like you could have tons of dates if you wanted. Besides, you’re too young to get serious with one guy.”

  “Oh, really?” Bess tilted her head and gazed up at him from under her lashes. “Is that advice from Tony the psychologist?”

  Tony chuckled. “Uh, no. That’s advice from Tony the guy.”

  Uh-oh, Nancy thought as Tony and Bess gazed at each other. She could almost feel the vibes between them. Not that she could blame Bess. Tony was a great guy, and Bess loved to flirt. But ever since Bess had been dating Kyle, she’d been pretty serious about their relationship.

  Just then George hung up the phone and spun around in her seat to face the others.

  “How’d it go?” Tony asked.

  “Not good,” George said, opening her soda can. “It was a girl calling about her younger sister, who’s kind of the family favorite. The girl said she loves her sister but that sometimes she feels neglected. I just wish she hadn’t hung up so soon. If she’d only talked a little longer, I think she would have felt better.”

  George’s phone rang again, and this time Bess grabbed it. Then the phone next to Nancy rang. She reached for the receiver.

  “Help Is Here Hotline. This is Nancy.” She paused, waiting for the caller to respond. But there was silence, as if no one was on the line.

  Then Nancy heard sobbing. Someone was there, she realized. Someone who needed help. “Hi. Would you like to talk?”

  Pausing again, Nancy counted slowly to ten. Don’t rush the caller, she told herself. It was one of Tony’s most important rules.

  “I—” a faint voice stammered on the other end. “I need to—”

  The caller stopped, but Nancy could tell that it was a girl.

  “If you tell me what’s on your mind, maybe I can help,” Nancy said in a soothing voice.

  “I want to. But I can’t now. . . .” The voice trailed off.

  “Hey. If it’s too hard to talk now, we’ll be here until eleven,” Nancy continued. “Or you can call tomorrow.”

  There was a ragged intake of breath, then steadier breathing, as if the caller was trying to get hold of herself. Nancy’s mind raced back through her training sessions. What should she say to convince the girl it was all right to talk?

  “Or I can just stay on the line until you’re ready,” Nancy said calmly. “That’s what I’m here for.”

  But the caller only began to sob again. Then in a shrill voice, she cried, “Fourteenth. Tracks. I can’t tell you any more!”

  “Wait! At least tell me if you’re all right!” Nancy exclaimed.

  But the caller didn’t answer.

  The line went dead.

  Chapter

  Two

  AS SHE LOWERED THE RECEIVER, Nancy stared silently at the mouthpiece. She couldn’t believe the caller had hung up. From the sound of the girl’s voice, she was in big trouble. And Nancy had lost her!

  “Nan? Are you all right?”

  George’s voice made Nancy look up. Both George and Tony were watching her.

  “She hung up,” Nancy said, looking distressed.

  Tony reached out and squeezed Nancy’s shoulder. “That happens sometimes, my friend. Maybe she’ll call back when she’s ready to talk.”

  Pushing back the desk chair, Nancy said, “I don’t think so. It sounded like she was in trouble.”

  She stood up and walked to the room’s front windows. They looked out on Main Street in the old part of River Heights. The teen center occupied a three-story building that had once been a small department store. The hotline was in a room on the second floor.

  Below, a few streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks and storefronts. The old end of Main Street was gradually being renovated. Many trendy shops and restaurants had already moved in, and the historic buildings were getting facelifts.

  “What do you mean she was in trouble?” Tony asked.

  “I think Nancy smells a mystery,” George said.

  “No,” Tony said. “It’s no mystery. I warned you about the callers who talk for a second, then panic and hang up.”

  “Only this caller was trying to tell me something,” Nancy said, whipping around to face the others. “She gave me two clues—‘fourteenth’ and ‘tracks.’ ” She strode over to the desk. “Fourteenth. That either means a date—”

  “Or a street,” Bess added excitedly, having heard the end of the conversation after her own caller had hung up. “But what does ‘tracks’ mean?”

  “It could mean footprints or—” Nancy paused. “Railroad tracks? Maybe something happened to our caller at the railroad tracks near Fourteenth Street?”

  “Wait a minute.” Tony raised one hand. “This is a hotline, not a detective agency. We don’t get involved with the callers.”

  “Unless someone’s in trouble,” Nancy said, glancing sharply at Tony. “Look, you know I’m a detective. I won’t do anything while I’m working at the hotline, but my instincts tell me that I need to check out the caller’s message. Remember, if someone’s in real danger it is our responsibility to make sure they get help.”

  Tony nodded. “You’re right. Only I’m coming with you.”

  Just then the hotline phone rang, and George reached for it. Nancy checked her watch. It was ten-fifteen. As soon as they closed up for the night, she was going to check out the caller’s clues. She had a hunch they were a cry for help.

  • • •

  “Fourteenth Street isn’t far from here,” Nancy said as she, Bess, George, and Tony got ready to leave the hotline office forty-five minutes later. They had turned on the answering machine, which gave late-night callers a number they could dial for emergency help.

  “It’s in a rough part of town, though,” George noted as she slipped on her jacket.

  “That’s one reason I’m going with you,” Tony said as the teens headed for the door.

  The four of them clattered down the wooden steps of the teen center. On the first floor were a meeting room, a recreation hall, and a small office for the director, Arnold Rosensteel. Mr. A, the nickname the teens had given Mr. Rosensteel, had started the center about five years earlier. He’d taken the rundown store and slowly turned it into a safe haven for runaways, dropouts, and kids who had no place else to hang out.

  The hotline had been started only recently. When Nancy, Bess,
and George had heard about it from friends, they decided to take the training course.

  All during the evening shift, the first floor of the center had been filled with the sounds of teens talking, laughing, and playing video games. Now it was quiet, since the center itself closed at ten-thirty.

  Nancy had never been up to the third floor, but Tony had told her that Mr. A was turning it into a dorm where runaways could stay until they found permanent accommodations.

  “Let me tell Mr. A we’re leaving,” Tony said when they reached the front foyer. He strode down the hall toward the director’s office.

  Nancy caught a glimpse of the director’s bald head as Tony opened the office door. She knew that Mr. A often stayed late. The center was a success because of all his hard work.

  A minute later Tony came out of the office, his jacket draped over one shoulder. “All set,” he said, putting on his jacket. He held open the front door, and they all filed outside. It was a chilly March night, and Nancy zipped up her down jacket against the brisk air.

  “So you really think that ‘fourteenth’ means a street?” George asked as she got into the backseat of Nancy’s Mustang with Bess. Tony settled his long frame in the front seat, then shut the car door.

  “It makes sense.” Nancy started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Fourteenth Street leads to the industrial section of town. There are a lot of warehouses, and behind the ones on the south side of the street are some old railroad tracks.”

  “Hey, Nan,” Bess said from the backseat. “Isn’t that where we found my Camaro when it was stolen?”

  Nancy nodded. “Yes. The chop shop was on Tenth Street.”

  She turned down Fourteenth Street. Several streetlights shone down on rusty chain-link fences and trash-filled curbs. Some of the warehouses that flanked the street were boarded up. Others had broken windows.

  “Boy, this place doesn’t look too prosperous,” George said.

  “It used to be,” Tony commented. “But when the new highway went in, business moved out to the suburbs.”

  Nancy slowed the car. “The tracks run behind this block of warehouses.”