Sweet Revenge

by Carolyn Keene

  With a start, Nancy realized the fire chief was now talking to her. “You’re a lucky girl. If you hadn’t been so quick on your feet, that flour could have burned the whole room down in a matter of minutes.”

  “That powder was just flour?” said George incredulously. “I thought it was some kind of explosive.”

  “It was, in a way. Flour’s just like any fine powder. It can be an explosive if the individual particles have lots of air around them,” the chief explained. “All it takes is a spark and—well, you saw what happened.”

  Nancy shuddered. “I certainly did.”

  Turning back to Samantha, the fire chief said, “I know this was a cooking demonstration, but can you tell me one more thing? How did that flour happen to fall?”

  “I don’t know, Chief,” Samantha said, shaking her head. “Maybe my mother does, but I—I don’t think she should be disturbed tonight.”

  Samantha had missed the visiting hours to see Tim, so she had arrived back just after the fire department—or, at least, that was her claim. She had taken one look at her mother and called their family doctor, who had prescribed a sedative and sent Mrs. Tagley to bed.

  “Well, I was just asking,” said the chief, shrugging. “Probably there’s a simple explanation.”

  But that wasn’t what Nancy thought.

  The Chocolate Volcano didn’t contain any flour. Nancy had seen the recipe. And even if the dessert had needed flour, the flour would have been in a canister on the table—not drifting down from the ceiling.

  One thing was for sure—once everything settled down and the conference room was empty again, Nancy was going to find out how flour got up to the ceiling.

  It was another two hours before Nancy could go back to the room to investigate. She’d found a ladder in a nearby room and dragged it up onto the stage. She set it up and climbed up to get a close look at the ceiling.

  Nancy’s lips tightened. A small hole had been drilled in the ceiling tile directly above the spot where the demonstration table had stood.

  So her suspicions had been right! She saw that the tile could be lifted from its frame. She pushed it up carefully and peered into the gloomy crawlspace above the ceiling.

  There, lying on its side on a beam, was a five-pound bag of flour.

  Nancy tested the frame that the tiles were set into. It seemed to be strong enough to support a person’s weight, but the beam definitely would be.

  Someone had probably perched on the beam and poured flour through the hole. Someone who knew it would burst into flames in Nancy’s face!

  • • •

  “It was Mrs. Tagley, Nancy,” Bess said decisively, squeezing toothpaste onto her toothbrush. The three girls had crowded into the single bathroom and were going over the case as they washed up before bed. “It had to be. That fainting act of hers was just that—an act. She was out to stop you because you were getting too close to the truth about her poisoning Brock!”

  “I don’t know about that,” said George. She finished splashing water on her face and reached past Bess for a towel. “If she was faking it, she’s a pretty good actress. But we do know it couldn’t have been Tim. He’s still in police custody.”

  “You’re right,” Nancy said from her perch on the edge of the bathtub. “Whoever poured the flour down obviously wanted to stop my investigation. Mrs. Tagley’s definitely my strongest suspect right now. I remember thinking it was odd that she picked me out of the crowd like that. Maybe she had the whole thing planned. Of course, she couldn’t have poured the flour while she was standing right next to me. But she could have rigged the bag so that some of the flour would spill during the demonstration.

  “I’m still wondering about Dan Avery, too,” Nancy went on. “He wasn’t around during the demonstration. He could have hidden above the ceiling and waited. I went down to the front desk and asked about him after checking out the conference room. The clerk said she hadn’t seen him since yesterday. Have either of you?”

  Bess and George shook their heads. “He’s so gross I almost hope he’s the culprit,” said Bess.

  “Actually, though,” Nancy went on, “there’s another person who wasn’t at the demonstration tonight—Samantha. And if there’s anyone who could have slipped into the conference room with a bag of flour, it’s her. No one would question what she was doing.”

  Bess pulled her blond hair off her face with a terry headband and bent over the sink to wash her face. “Yes, but why would she want to attack you, Nancy?” she said, frowning. “Samantha wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Brock, so she wouldn’t have any reason to stop your investigation. Besides, she asked you to investigate this case—remember?”

  Nancy nodded. “She doesn’t seem to have any kind of motive, either. All I’m saying is that she had the opportunity to rig the conference room. She turned off the sprinkler system, too.”

  “Wait—there’s one other person who had the same opportunity as Sam and who wasn’t at the demonstration tonight,” said George slowly. She’d retreated to the doorway to give the others more room. “Not at it most of the time, anyway—Jake.”

  “Jake!” Bess gasped sharply. “George, you’ve got to be kidding! Jake wouldn’t hurt a fly! Besides, he had a perfectly good reason for leaving the demonstration. He told me he had to finish varnishing a section of floor in the east wing.”

  “Hmm,” said Nancy, considering. “Jake would have had plenty of chances to rig the conference room. But I can’t think of any reason he’d want to poison Brock. So why would he want me out of the way? We certainly can’t rule him out, but—”

  “Yes, you can,” Bess cut in, still obviously distressed. “Rule him out right now.”

  “Actually, I think that what I should do now—what we all should do—is get some sleep,” said Nancy.

  “Good idea,” George agreed. “But I hope I don’t dream about chocolate waffles—or whatever chocolatey breakfast they have in store for us tomorrow morning.”

  • • •

  “He’s doing much better! He’s doing much better!” Bess’s shriek reached Nancy through a fog of sleep. The next thing Nancy knew, someone was bouncing at the foot of her bed.

  “Oof!” Groaning, Nancy sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Bess, what’s going on?” she mumbled groggily. “Did you just win a million dollars or something?”

  “No, but listen to this! I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep. So after I took a shower, I decided to call the hospital and see how Brock’s doing. He’s off the critical list! He can even have visitors today! So what are we waiting for?”

  George came stumbling into the room in her red T-shirt. “Only one thing could make you so happy, Bess,” she said, yawning and ruffling a hand through her short brown curls. “Jake’s asked you to marry him.”

  “Jake? Who cares about Jake?” said Bess, waving away the notion. “I’m talking about Brock, George! He’s well enough to have visitors! Nancy was just saying we should get over there right away,” she added. “I even got Brock’s room number. Four twenty-four.”

  With a resigned sigh, Nancy threw off the covers and got out of bed. “Actually, I never said that, but I do think we should head over there,” said Nancy. “After breakfast.”

  • • •

  Oakwood Hospital turned out to be tiny—so tiny that when Nancy mentioned the purpose of their visit at the reception desk, the receptionist asked, “Are you Nancy Drew?”

  “Uh, yes, I am,” she answered, a bit taken aback. “How did you know?”

  “One of the police officers who was here earlier—Ullman, I think his name was—said it would be okay for you to visit Brock even though you’re not a member of the family.” The young woman glanced sternly at Bess and George. “He didn’t say anything about your friends, though.”

  “Oh, but we’ve got to see him!” Bess wailed.

  “My associates usually accompany me for every facet of an investigation,” Nancy said quickly in her most official-sounding voice.r />
  The receptionist wouldn’t bend the rules, though. Taking the pass the young woman gave her, Nancy took the elevator up to the fourth floor.

  “Let’s see,” Nancy murmured aloud, scanning the room numbers as she went down the hall. “Four eighteen—four twenty— There it is.”

  Brock’s room was at the end of the hall. To Nancy’s surprise, there was no police officer standing guard outside. Someone was fumbling with the door handle, though—a heavyset man in a lab coat. He half turned at Nancy’s approach.

  Nancy gasped. It was Dan Avery!

  I’ve got to stop him! an inner voice screeched. He’s sneaking in to finish Brock off!

  Chapter

  Ten

  MR. AVERY! What are you doing here?” Nancy demanded.

  Horror filled Dan Avery’s face as he turned and recognized her, but he didn’t stop to answer. Whirling around, he fled rapidly down the corridor.

  Nancy dashed after him. Farther down the hall she glimpsed a burly police officer ambling toward Brock’s room with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.

  “Stop that man!” Nancy shouted, pointing at Dan Avery. “He was breaking into Brock Sawyer’s room!”

  Startled, the officer halted in his tracks—and in that split-second of indecision, Dan Avery scrambled left down a staircase and disappeared.

  Biting off a cry of frustration, Nancy raced down the hall herself. At the top of the stairs she slid on a slippery patch of floor, nearly colliding with the police officer.

  “Hey!” he yelped in pain as scalding coffee spilled onto his hand.

  Nancy didn’t stop—she continued her race down the steps after Avery. Over the thudding of her heart, she could hear his footsteps pounding down the staircase below her.

  Then she heard a woman’s voice shouting, “No! That’s an emergency exit!”

  Too late. Avery had already crashed the emergency door open and gotten away. The shrill beeping of the security system was activated instantly. A moment later Nancy could hear the door slamming shut. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Avery was gone.

  “Oh, no!” Nancy groaned aloud. “I can’t believe it!”

  “I saw him, miss! I got a good look at him!” A middle-aged woman wearing a pale blue uniform and carrying a can of disinfectant came rushing up to stand at the second-floor landing. “He was a heavyset man, kind of balding,” she called to Nancy. “He seemed to be in an awful hurry.”

  Just then the police officer came skidding into view, panting from exertion. “Just what do you think you’re up to, young lady?” he gasped. Then he yelled over his shoulder, “Can’t someone please switch off this ridiculous noise?”

  A couple of seconds later the security system fell silent.

  “Now,” the officer began again, glaring at Nancy. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I caught that man trying to break into Brock Sawyer’s room,” she explained. “I think he may be the person who poisoned him.”

  The police officer—his name tag read Officer Webley, Nancy noticed—gave her a long, dubious look. “And what’s your connection with Mr. Sawyer?” he asked skeptically. “Fan of his, are you?”

  “I’m a private detective.” Nancy quickly filled the officer in on her involvement with the case so far. “I haven’t seen Dan Avery in the inn since yesterday,” she finished. “Whatever he’s up to now, it couldn’t possibly be good for Brock.”

  “Well, let’s not jump to conclusions,” said Officer Webley in a patronizing voice. “Maybe you got mixed up. Whoever you saw going into Mr. Sawyer’s room probably works here at the hospital.”

  “A hospital employee wouldn’t run away,” Nancy pointed out, trying not to lose her patience. “Anyway, why wasn’t there a guard stationed at Brock Sawyer’s door? That’s pretty loose security for a celebrity like him, isn’t it?”

  Officer Webley was suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh, I’m supposed to be the guard at the door,” he admitted. “I just stepped away for a second to get a cup of coffee. I—uh—I’ll check into your story, miss, okay?”

  “Okay. But I need to speak to Brock Sawyer, before any more time goes by,” she said, showing him her pass.

  “Well, I guess a short visit couldn’t hurt,” the officer said reluctantly after examining the slip of paper.

  “Great,” said Nancy. “Thank you very much. Oh, and my two associates will be joining me,” she added.

  “Your associates? Where are they?” Officer Webley looked around as though he expected to see them in the stairwell.

  “Down in the lobby waiting for me,” Nancy replied. “Why don’t you come with me, so you can clear our visit with the receptionist there?”

  They found Bess and George looking immensely bored as they scrutinized the gift-shop window in the reception area.

  “Is Brock really going to see us?” Bess asked a few minutes later. Officer Webley had spoken with the young woman at reception, and the four of them were riding the elevator back up to the fourth floor. “This is so cool!”

  Behind Officer Webley’s back, Nancy gave Bess’s arm a warning squeeze. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to help us with our investigation,” she said meaningfully. “And I’ve promised the officer that we won’t stay long.”

  Nancy was relieved that Officer Webley decided to station himself outside the door rather than join them in the room. Otherwise he might have started wondering exactly what kind of a detective Bess was.

  “Oh, you poor thing!” Bess cooed, practically flying over to Brock’s bedside. “Do you still hurt anywhere? Gosh, it’s great to see you again!”

  Brock was a little pale, but other than that he seemed to be back to normal. He grinned at Bess from his pile of pillows. Then he waved at Nancy and George, who were pulling over some chairs. “With such a charming cheering squad, it’s impossible not to feel better. How are you all doing? And how’s Samantha?”

  Bess’s smile flickered a little. “She’s fine. Worried about you—but of course she’s got a lot on her mind.” Bess’s tone somehow managed to convey the suggestion that Samantha was too busy to be thinking much about Brock. “What with this fire and all, she’s really—”

  “What fire?” Brock cut in. He propped himself up on his elbows, concern making his features look even more rugged than usual.

  Nancy filled him in. “Samantha has asked me to investigate the case,” she finished. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you as soon as I could. We’ve got to figure out who might want to kill you, Brock.”

  He leaned back dejectedly against the pillows again. “It sounds so weird to hear you say that,” he said. “Until a couple of days ago I didn’t know I had any enemies, let alone one who wants me dead! I mean, what could I have done to make anyone so angry?”

  “Well, there’s something your father did that might have made Mrs. Tagley very angry,” Nancy said hesitantly. “Do you know about that?”

  “I do, and believe me, I’ll never forgive my father for treating another human being that way,” he said sincerely.

  “But I’ve already talked about my father with Mrs. Tagley,” Brock went on. “About two years ago—at the end of the summer I was dating Samantha—Sam’s mother and I hashed the whole thing out.”

  “You did?” Nancy asked, arching a brow. “She didn’t mention that to me.”

  Brock shrugged. “Maybe that’s because she and I agreed to put the whole business out of our minds. It was a terrible thing, but it’s over now. I may not be Mrs. Tagley’s favorite person, but I’m sure she doesn’t hate me enough to poison me.”

  Nancy mentally flipped through her list of suspects. “What about Tim?” she asked.

  A dark look came into Brock’s blue eyes. “If I had to put money on anyone, I’d pick Tim as the culprit,” he said slowly. “You saw that fight we had, but you haven’t seen all the little ways he’s tried to provoke me. Making fun of me under his breath, intercepting my phone messages, sending room service to my bedroom at four in the morning. N
othing you can really get mad about, but it’s been a real drag. I don’t want to sound paranoid, Nancy, but Tim’s been against me all along.”

  “And Jake?” asked Nancy. “There’s some evidence that points to him.”

  Brock was startled. “I thought he was on my side. He’s been really nice and polite.”

  “What about Dan Avery?” asked George.

  “Who?” asked Brock blankly.

  “A guest named Dan Avery,” Nancy explained. “I caught him trying to break into this room half an hour ago. You must have seen him around the inn.”

  “He’s hard to miss,” Bess added. “Stumpy-looking, with greasy hair and beady little eyes. Sort of like a sleazy woodchuck.”

  “Sounds charming,” said Brock, chuckling. “I can’t wait to meet him. But I don’t think I have met him yet. Never even heard of him. And I certainly have no idea why he’d want to kill me.”

  “Well, thanks for your help. We’re glad you’re better, at least,” said Nancy, straightening up. She’d been hoping to come up with more leads, but Brock hadn’t added much to what they already knew. “Did you eat or drink anything unusual the night you were poisoned? The chocolates came up clean, you know, so you must have taken the poison in some other food.”

  “I can’t really think of anything,” Brock said, shaking his head. “I had exactly what Sam had. In fact, she brought me my plate of food from the buffet line. I was afraid that I’d pig out if I went up there myself.”

  Nancy, Bess, and George exchanged a quick glance. What Brock had just told them was more important than he realized. If Samantha was the last person to handle Brock’s food before he ate it, the finger of suspicion pointed very strongly in her direction now.

  But Nancy didn’t think she should mention this detail aloud—not until she had more to go on, at least. There was no point in upsetting Brock unnecessarily. “Thanks again for your help” was all she said.

  “And we’ll come to see you again very soon,” Bess added eagerly.