High Risk

by Carolyn Keene

  “Right,” George said, nodding. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like enough to plan a major fraud over. They were risking a lot, and you’d think the reward would be bigger, since the stakes were so high.”

  A frown creased Nancy’s forehead. “Toby Foyle found out just how high they were,” she said, speaking half to herself.

  Ned had been looking back and forth at the two girls as they spoke. “What are you getting at?” he wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy answered slowly. “But I think George may have an important point. One that could help us crack this case.” She snapped her fingers as she remembered something. “I should have thought of this earlier. Libby Cartwright told me that Foyle’s was the third settlement Mutual Life had paid out in the last six months. She mentioned how unusual that was.”

  “So?” Ned prompted.

  “So maybe this scam is bigger than we’ve been thinking,” Nancy said. “Maybe Meyers filed a few of these hard-to-verify false claims, with the cooperation of ‘victims’ who wanted some easy money. It would make sense.” She looked at Ned. “Also, it would help explain why Meyers had to kill Foyle. Foyle got scared when you started looking into his claim. Maybe he even told Meyers he wouldn’t take the fall alone—and that made Foyle too big a risk. If he spilled the beans, then Meyers would lose a lot more than just a few thousand dollars. He’s in deep.”

  Ned tapped his fingers on the kitchen table. “How can we find out for sure?”

  “Call Mr. Packard,” Nancy said. “Ask him to check out any claims signed by Meyers in the past six or seven months. If he finds any that were settled for moderate amounts of money—amounts that the company might be willing to settle—get the names of the claimants, and I’ll see what I can find out from them.”

  “Okay,” Ned agreed. He picked up the phone and dialed his work number. After a brief conversation with the receptionist, he put his hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Packard is at the Chicago office today,” he whispered. “What should I do?”

  “Ask for Andy Feinberg,” Nancy whispered back. “He’s your friend—he’ll help you out.”

  Bess gave Nancy a worried glance. Nancy knew what she was thinking. What if Andy had the same reaction as some of Ned’s other “friends,” like that guy in the restaurant or Wally Biggs?

  He won’t, Nancy told herself. He was nice to me yesterday in the office. He’ll help—won’t he?

  “Hi, Andy,” Ned said after a minute, and Nancy could hear the nervousness in his voice. “It’s Ned Nickerson. . . . What’s that? . . . No, I’m all right.” As he listened, a smile spread across his face. “Hey, thanks for saying that, Andy. I appreciate it.

  “Listen, could I ask a favor?” Ned asked at last. “I need you to look up some old claims for me. . . .”

  Fifteen minutes later Ned hung up. He was grinning broadly. “Andy’s on my side,” he said.

  Nancy hugged him. “Oh, Ned, that’s just great!” she said sincerely.

  “Did you get anything from him?” George asked.

  “Sure did.” Ned held up a piece of paper he’d used to take notes on. “Here are names and phone numbers from two more of Meyers’s claims. Both were settled—one for eighty thousand dollars and one for ninety-two thousand. Andy investigated one of them, and Wally Biggs did the other.”

  Nancy had already picked up the phone and was dialing the first number.

  When a woman’s voice answered, Nancy asked, “May I speak to”—she checked Ned’s paper—“Marian Davis?”

  “This is Marian Davis,” the woman replied. “Who’s calling?”

  Nancy looked at Ned and made a thumbs-up sign. “Ms. Davis, my name is Nancy Drew,” she said. “I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking into an insurance claim you filed on February fourth with Mutual Life.”

  There was a gasp on the other end of the line and then a click. The woman had hung up.

  Nancy put the phone down and turned to her friends. “Guys,” she said, “I think we just hit the jackpot!”

  Chapter

  Fourteen

  HOORAY!” BESS CRIED. “That was the quickest confession I ever heard of. What did she say?”

  “Well, she didn’t actually confess,” Nancy had to admit. “But she did gasp and hang up on me the minute I mentioned Mutual Life. I’m sure she’s part of the fraud. And if we take this evidence to Detective Matsuo, he’ll have to listen to us. He can’t ignore a suspect with as strong a motive as Dr. Meyers.”

  Ned’s face lit up. “Nancy, you’re brilliant!” He grabbed her and twirled her around the kitchen. When she finally collapsed, laughing, into a chair, he grabbed George and twirled her around. “You’re brilliant, too!” he cried.

  “Hey, I feel left out,” Bess joked.

  “Well, you shouldn’t,” Nancy told her. “If it wasn’t for your terrific acting ability, we’d never have gotten this far.”

  Grinning, Bess tossed her long blond hair and said, “You’ll have to speak to my agent about my fees.”

  “Now I really feel like celebrating,” Ned said. Then his face fell. “But after what happened at Mama’s the other day, I don’t feel like going out in public just yet.”

  “I have an idea,” said Nancy. “Why don’t you all come to my house? We could make a big dinner, and it would give Ned a chance to get out of the house. Let me call Hannah and see if it’s all right with her.”

  The Drews’ housekeeper was pleased with the idea. “Especially if you’re cooking, Nancy,” she teased. “Yes, I think a party would be grand. I’ll bake a cake.”

  “Thanks! See you soon,” Nancy said, and hung up. “Let’s hit the road,” she called to her friends. “We’ve got some serious cooking to do!”

  • • •

  “Mmm. Mexican, French, and Chinese food,” Carson Drew said thoughtfully. “And a German chocolate cake for dessert.” His eyes twinkled. “A strange combination, but I must say it was delicious. My compliments to the chefs!”

  It was later that evening, and Nancy, Ned, Bess, and George were sitting around the Drews’ dining room table with Nancy’s father and Hannah. They had just finished a monster meal—Nancy and Ned had made tacos, Bess had supplied an enormous salade niçoise, and George had put together her specialty, cold Chinese noodles with sesame sauce. As promised, Hannah had baked a rich chocolate cake to finish off the meal.

  Bess pushed her chair back from the table and groaned. “I know I just gained back those five pounds it took me so long to lose,” she said ruefully. “But it was worth it.”

  “Work it off. Why don’t you play tennis with me?” George suggested.

  A look of shock crossed Bess’s face. “Tennis? Ugh—too strenuous!”

  George grinned at Nancy. “I need a partner. Every time Nancy and I have a tennis date, she calls me at the last minute and says she’s got a new case and can’t make it.”

  Nancy returned the smile absently. During dinner, her thoughts had strayed back to the case. Though she didn’t want to say anything to spoil the festive mood, she was worried.

  Just before sitting down to eat, her father had taken her aside. “You’ve done a terrific job,” he’d told her. “You’ve found a suspect with a motive and, possibly, an opportunity to kill Toby Foyle. But I should tell you that we still have a lot of hard work to do. Don’t forget that Ned was found at the scene, with the murder weapon in his hand. Against that, even a strong motive like the one Dr. Meyers has may not get Ned off. I think the best we can hope for at this point is reasonable doubt.”

  Now, thinking about what her father had said, Nancy frowned.

  “Hey, what’s on your mind?” Ned asked her softly.

  “Huh? Oh—nothing,” Nancy began. Just then the phone rang, and she got up to answer it. Her heart sank when she heard Brenda Carlton’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “Where’s my scoop?” Brenda demanded. “I haven’t heard anything from you in three days, Nancy. I know you’ve been avoiding me.
What’s wrong, can’t you solve this case?”

  Nancy rolled her eyes. “Brenda, I just need a little more time,” she replied, forcing the annoyance out of her voice. “I’m really close, I swear.”

  “Close isn’t good enough,” Brenda snapped. “I put my story on hold for you, Nancy. Now I want something hot in return. I want a smoking gun!”

  That’s what I want, too! Nancy thought. Direct proof of Meyers’s guilt. “I’ll get it,” she said aloud. “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “You’d better.” Click! Brenda had hung up.

  Sighing, Nancy went back to the table.

  “Who was that on the phone?” her father asked.

  “Oh, just Brenda Carlton,” Nancy said.

  “Did you tell her you’d solved the case?” Ned asked eagerly.

  “No. Um, Ned, it’s not quite solved yet.” Nancy winced as she saw the unhappiness in his brown eyes. “I mean, we only need a little more evidence,” she hurried on. “We’re almost there, but when we present the facts, I want to be sure that no one can argue with them.”

  “I see,” Ned said heavily. “I guess we celebrated a little too soon, huh?”

  “Not at all,” Carson said in a hearty tone. “We’ve certainly got something to celebrate. With what Nancy has found out so far, I’m sure I could convince the jury that there’s reasonable doubt in your case.”

  “Reasonable doubt?” echoed Bess. Hesitantly she asked, “Is that enough?”

  “No,” Nancy replied firmly. “No offense, Dad, but reasonable doubt is not good enough. There has to be no doubt at all. I have to clear Ned. It’s the only way he can put this all behind him and get on with his life.”

  After that the life seemed to go out of the dinner party. A little while later Ned asked Nancy to take him home. Seeing the slump of his shoulders, Nancy felt bad, but there was nothing she could do.

  They rode in silence back to Mapleton. Nancy searched for something to say that would cheer Ned up, but nothing came to her—until, at last, she was struck by an idea.

  “I’m not going to come into the house with you,” she told Ned as she pulled up in front of his home. “I want to stop off and ask Toby Foyle’s landlady, Mrs. Godfrey, a question, and I should do it before it gets too late.”

  “Do you have a new lead?” Ned asked hopefully.

  “Could be. I’ll let you know.” Secretly, Nancy crossed her fingers and hoped something would come of it. She kissed Ned goodbye, then drove over to Beechwood Street. After climbing out of her battered Mustang, she hurried up the steps and rang Mrs. Godfrey’s doorbell.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” Nancy said when Mrs. Godfrey opened the door a crack. “I just want to ask you one question.”

  “It’s no bother,” Mrs. Godfrey said. She held the door open and gestured for Nancy to come in. “I told you before that I’d like to help your young friend if I can. What’s your question?”

  Nancy followed Mrs. Godfrey into the living room and took a seat while the elderly woman switched off the television set.

  “Mrs. Godfrey, I want you to think back to the morning Toby Foyle was killed,” Nancy said once the older woman was seated in an easy chair. “Think carefully. Before he left, did he say anything to you about where he was going or whom he might be meeting?”

  “No.” Mrs. Godfrey frowned. “The police already asked me that question. Mr. Foyle went out and slammed the door, the way he always did. I do remember being surprised that he was up so early. Usually he didn’t stir before ten.”

  Nancy’s heart sank. It didn’t look as if this line of questioning was going to get her very far. “Did anyone call or come by?” she asked.

  “No one.”

  Nancy decided to ask one last question. It was a long shot, but worth a try. “Did you ever hear Mr. Foyle mention anyone named Meyers?” she asked without much hope.

  Mrs. Godfrey rubbed the bridge of her nose thoughtfully. “Meyers. Meyers. The name does ring a bell,” she said.

  “Really?” Nancy leaned forward excitedly. “How? Please try to remember, Mrs. Godfrey. This could be important.”

  “I’m sorry, I—Wait a moment! Now I remember.” Suddenly Mrs. Godfrey sat upright in her chair. “A call came in on my telephone line. A man named Meyers called for Mr. Foyle on Friday evening, right before Mr. Foyle went out. Let’s see, that would have been about a quarter to seven. Yes, that’s right. I remember it because I was annoyed that Mr. Foyle was still getting calls on my line, even though he’d gotten his own phone more than a week before. But I suppose he’s still listed in the book as having my number.”

  “Did Mr. Foyle say anything unusual during the conversation?” Nancy pressed.

  Mrs. Godfrey pressed her lips into a thin line. “I’m not in the habit of listening to other people’s conversations,” she said disapprovingly.

  If only you were! Nancy thought to herself. She was sure that Meyers had called to set up his meeting at the warehouse with Foyle. But Mrs. Godfrey’s story wasn’t good enough. It was another link, but it wasn’t the one that would complete the chain of evidence against the doctor.

  Then suddenly Nancy remembered something that made her blue eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Meyers had Foyle’s new number,” she muttered. “I found it in his desk drawer.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Godfrey said, looking confused.

  Realizing she had been talking out loud to herself, Nancy explained, “I happen to know that Meyers had Foyle’s new number. So why would he call the old one?”

  Mrs. Godfrey shrugged. “Maybe he didn’t have the new number with him,” she suggested.

  “Maybe,” Nancy agreed. But there was something else about the setup that bothered her. Why would Meyers give his own name if he was calling to set up a murder? Did he just assume that no one would remember the call later on? Or could it be that the call had been innocent after all?

  Still pondering, Nancy thanked Mrs. Godfrey, said goodbye, and went out to her car.

  She was standing by the driver’s door, fumbling in her purse for her keys, when the roar of a nearby engine made her jump. Looking over her right shoulder, she was almost blinded by the headlights of an approaching car.

  That car’s coming awfully fast, Nancy thought. In the next instant, she realized that the car was aimed straight at her!

  Chapter

  Fifteen

  NANCY LOOKED frantically around for a place to escape, but in the narrow street, there was nowhere to go! Desperate, she threw herself onto the hood of her car. Just as she pulled her legs up, she felt a rush of air as the other car sped past.

  Her heart was hammering so loud she was sure anyone who lived on the block could hear it. Nancy continued to lie facedown for a second, hugging the hood of the Mustang. Then she slid off the car and ran out into the middle of the street. If she could only get the license number or make of the car!

  It was long gone, though. Nancy could barely make out its taillights several blocks away. As she watched, the tiny red lights were swallowed up by the darkness.

  Taking a big, calming breath, Nancy stepped up to her car. Someone really wants me to back off, she thought. And whoever it is is scared enough to take risks to stop me. That means I must be close!

  It could have been Dr. Meyers, she reasoned as she drove home. He lived only two or three blocks away. Maybe he had spotted Nancy going into Mrs. Godfrey’s, rushed home for his car, driven over to Beechwood, and waited for Nancy.

  Of course, it was an amazing coincidence that he just happened to see Nancy in the seconds it had taken her to get from her car to Mrs. Godfrey’s door. Still, that must be what had happened.

  “It’s the only thing that makes sense!” Nancy exclaimed aloud. She was getting annoyed with herself. The mistake about Michelle Ferraro was making her worry so much about leaping to conclusions that she was beginning to doubt the facts!

  Scowling in the darkness after getting into her car, Nancy popped a cassette into her t
ape player and pushed the tiny voice of doubt firmly to the back of her mind.

  • • •

  By Wednesday, though, Nancy’s doubts had grown. She had hoped to get her slashed car seat replaced in an hour, but as it turned out, she spent nearly four hours at the auto body shop. While she waited, she thought of two more flaws in her case against Dr. Meyers.

  First, there was the question of how he had slashed her car seat. How could he have known where to find her? Nancy didn’t believe coincidence could have brought him to the exact spot where she was. That was stretching things too far.

  The same question had to be asked about the fire at her car on Monday night. How had he found her at Ned’s house?

  Nancy’s thoughts were interrupted by the voice of the auto repairman. “Okay, we got your seat fixed, Ms. Drew,” he said. “Sure you don’t want to leave the car here for a new paint job?”

  She stood up and pulled out her wallet. “Thanks, but I can’t spare the time right now,” she said. Then, patting the Mustang’s hood fondly, she added, “I’ll be back in a couple of days, though, and then you can give this baby whatever it needs.”

  It was a warm, hazy day, and the air held the promise of rain. Nancy pushed sticky strands of reddish blond hair off her face as she drove. She stopped by Bess’s house to see if her friend was home, but Bess’s mother told her both Bess and George were spending the day with their grandmother.

  Nancy let out a sigh of disappointment as she got back into the car. She had really been hoping to talk the case over with her friends to get it clear in her mind. Time was running out, and she still hadn’t cleared Ned.

  When Nancy got home, she was dismayed to see a dark-haired figure sitting on her front porch. Just what I need, she thought glumly.

  “Brenda!” she called, trying to put some warmth in her voice. “I was just going to call you.”

  “Tell me another one,” the reporter snapped. “You never did call me this morning, even though you promised you would.”

  “I was about to,” Nancy protested weakly.