025 Rich and Dangerous (8 page)

“Excuse me,” she muttered, backing out of the great kitchen. Defeated, she made her way to the main bank of elevators and pressed
Penthouse.
Whoever had overheard her conversation with Alison knew about the jewels, thought Nancy, and might even think Nancy had them now. And whoever it was, the person was probably dangerous.
Was it Jack Kale? Or Pieter van Druten? Or maybe even Madame Rosa?

She had chased him—or her—off for now, certainly, and getting out of the elevator, she suddenly felt hungry. She realized that she and her father hadn’t had breakfast yet. Ah, well, thought Nancy, a little brunch at the Palm Court should fix that. Carson would be awake by now and ready to go. And the sooner the better.

Inside the suite, she called, “Dad? You up yet?”

A sleepy voice answered her from the master bedroom. “I’ll be out in a minute, Nancy. Are you as hungry as I am?”

“I ought to be!” answered Nancy, with a glance at her watch. “Do you realize it’s ten-thirty?”

“You’re kidding!” said Carson, surprised. “I certainly got my beauty sleep, didn’t I? I wouldn’t know it by the way I feel, though,” he added, stepping into the living room. He didn’t look at all well rested. “Shall we go?” he asked, offering her his arm and yawning sleepily.

“Oh, just one minute, Dad, okay? I was chatting with Miss Kale, and I sort of left in midconversation.”

Nancy could read the disapproval all over her father’s face. “I knew you’d be trying to solve this case, Nancy,” he said, “but I didn’t think you’d be sniffing around before I even woke up! Be quick, will you? My stomach is sending urgent messages.”

“Mine, too!” Nancy smiled, grateful that her dad was so understanding. “I’ll meet you at the Palm Court.”

Nancy ran to the Amberly suite. She wanted to settle the matter of hiding the jewels with Alison. The sooner the poor woman could be convinced to hand the box over to the police, the better. If she hadn’t killed her sister—and something told Nancy she hadn’t—then the best thing was to let the investigation take its course.

Hmmm, thought Nancy, if I were Alison Kale, would I trust a guy like Joe Ritter? He’d have a lot to say to the police, for sure.

She pushed open the door to Alison’s room. “I lost him,” she said as she entered. “Ran down about thirty flights of—”

Nancy suddenly realized that she was talking to an empty room. Alison was gone, and so was the jewelry box. And there, on the center of the bed, was another crumpled piece of paper.

“Kill—Kill—Kill—” Nancy read. It was the same piece of paper that had started this madness. But this time, stuck through it, pinning it to the mattress, was a foot-long butcher’s knife!

J
UDGING BY THE
way her father eyed her across their table in the Palm Court, Nancy could tell that he was not pleased. “A butcher’s knife! Nancy, what next? You know, last night I kept having dreams about your being in solitary confinement.”

Nancy stared down at her eggs.

“Even when you were three years old,” he said, shaking his head, “you were searching for all the lost toys in the neighborhood. I should have known then . . .”

Only the tiniest glimmer in Carson’s eyes convinced Nancy that he was joking.

“Sorry, Dad,” Nancy mumbled, “but sometimes you’ve got to put yourself out there. You know how it is.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” Carson replied with a sigh. “Anyway, I decided to go over and have a talk with Chief Harden at Interpol. Maybe he’ll be able to keep that nasty house detective off your back.”

Nancy reached down and opened her blue leather handbag. “Well, while you’re there, Dad, I just happen to have a list of questions for the people at Interpol—a short list. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.” She handed her father a folded paper and tried to smile brightly. It might be the last straw for her father, but she had to take the chance.

Her father took the list, shaking his head. “You are too much, you know,” he murmured, slipping the paper in his jacket pocket. “Heaven knows how you got this way.”

“I guess I’m not your daughter for nothing,” Nancy couldn’t resist saying. As long as she could remember, people were telling her how much she and her dad were alike, and that it couldn’t have been an accident that they were both interested in crime and the law.

For the first time all morning, Carson relaxed and smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t trade you—not for all the
normal
daughters in the world.”

Nancy smiled back, but her face clouded over
when she saw Joe Ritter striding into the Palm Court, heading for their table. “Uh-oh,” she murmured.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Drew and his lovely daughter, Nancy. Fancy meeting you here!” Joe Ritter blasted out.

“Fancy meeting
you
here is more like it,” Carson muttered under his breath, his good mood broken by the sight of the house detective. “Would you care to join us?” he asked, hoping the man would pass them by.

Ritter had already helped himself to an extra chair and put it beside their table.

“Just thought you’d be interested in my latest discovery,” the house detective said with a sickening smile. “I happen to know someone at the New York police lab, and apparently, Nancy’s fingerprints are all over Sarah Amberly’s pillbox.”

Of course they were, Nancy thought. Hadn’t she recently helped Sarah take her medication? But she said nothing.

And what about Sarah’s jewelry box? Did Ritter know about that? If he weren’t so smug, Nancy would have filled him in. But as it was, she decided, he’d probably turn it against her.

Still, she thought with a sigh, thank goodness she hadn’t stashed the box for Alison.

“You know, the courts tend to be more lenient if you make a full confession,” Ritter said.

From the look on her father’s face, Nancy thought that at any minute there just might be more than one murder at the Plaza. “Pardon me, but I believe confessions are a
police
matter, Detective Ritter. As I understand it, your investigation here at the Plaza is in no way authorized by the state or any court of law. Now, please forgive us, but my daughter and I have personal business to discuss.”

Nancy had to suppress a smile. Her dad was really something when he was angry. His years as a lawyer had trained him to be courteous at all times, but that just made the effect more devastating.

With a snort of disdain, Ritter stood up. “I was just going, anyway. In fact, I’m meeting with my contact in the police department in ten minutes. I just thought you’d be interested in knowing about the lab report,” he said, backing away from the table. “Meanwhile, I advise you to stick around, Miss Drew.”

“Good day, Mr. Ritter.” Carson set his mouth in a straight line, but when he turned back to Nancy, he smiled. “Guess I’ll just have to give our theater tickets to the Dutch police chief. I’m glad
someone
will get to the theater on this trip.”

• • •

“Oh no! You mean she actually
died
while you were holding her?” Bess was horrified.

“Poor Nancy!” George Fayne was aghast, too.

“Poor
me?
What about Sarah Amberly? She was murdered!” Nancy flung herself down on the divan in her suite and looked over at her two stunned friends. “And guess who the house detective thinks did it?”

“Her sister? She is kind of nutsy, isn’t she, Nan?” Bess was nibbling on a fingernail now.

“Well, yes. But she’s not the kind of person who would commit murder. I don’t think so, at least.”

“Then who’s the main suspect?” George wanted to know.

Nancy took a deep breath. “Ready for this?
I
am.”

“Nancy, no!” Bess was on her feet, pacing. “That’s terrible!”

“Terrible but true,” Nancy stated. Though why she was taking it so calmly, she didn’t know.

Just then, a knock interrupted the three girls. Nancy went to answer it. There in the doorway stood Jack Kale. He looked subdued, almost penitent, as he raised an eyebrow to take in Nancy and her friends.

Bess blinked about a dozen times. Jack’s movie-star looks were obviously making a big impression on Nancy’s pretty blond friend. George, too, seemed stunned by Jack’s entrance. She instinctively looked away as if she were too dazzled to look at him.

“Hi. My name is Jack Kale. I don’t believe
we’ve been properly introduced.” He extended his hand to Nancy. “You’re the murderess, I understand.” He smiled gently and Nancy knew he was joking.

“Hi. I’m Nancy Drew, and these are my friends Bess Marvin and George Fayne, Mr. Kale.”

“Oh,
Jack.
After all, we’re likely to find ourselves behind bars together before too long.” Again there was that devil-may-care laugh. But Nancy thought she could hear a catch in it this time, and there was a quick flash of sorrow in his deep blue eyes.

Then it was gone. He gave George and Bess a smile, and Nancy noted that George blushed deeply when he met her gaze.

“Has the house detective been on your case, too?” Nancy wanted to know.

“Very much so, I’m afraid. I came in at dawn, and he was waiting for me.” Jack’s eyes swept the room and he sighed. “Poor Aunt Sarah.” There was silence for a moment.

“But,” he went on, “I know there’s nothing we can do for her now. Sooo . . .” Nancy felt the effort he was making to be cheerful. “Nice suite you’ve got here,” he remarked.

He looked over at George for a reaction, and he got one—a crimson blush and a lowering of her head. Nancy was surprised—George wasn’t usually the type to be instantly smitten, but then, Jack Kale was not a usual guy.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “you’re obviously no more guilty than poor Aunt Alison. Or myself, for that matter. It’s got to be Pieter, if you ask me. What do you think?”

“Well, he’s pretty intense, I’ll give him that,” Nancy said soberly. “But he has an alibi. We ran into him at Trump Tower at the time of the murder.”

“Oh. I see.” Jack’s forehead creased slightly. “I guess that’s that, then. But that gives you an alibi, too. Have you told Ritter?”

“A hundred times.” Nancy sighed. “But he’s kind of—I don’t know,
slow,
if you know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Jack nodded. “So I guess that leaves poor old Aunt Alison after all. Shocking. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was me. I seem to be the most likely villain.”

“You certainly had enough reasons,” Nancy said, a challenge in her voice.

Jack Kale ignored her, however, and turned instead to George. “It’s George, right?” he went on. “Quite a name for a girl like you. If you’d like, George, we could have a little dinner together tonight. It may not be entirely appropriate, but I do have to eat, and it would help to cheer me up.

George was sitting bolt upright, stiff and uncomfortable. “Uh—” she stammered. “Nancy, could I talk with you for a minute—privately?”

“Sure thing,” said Nancy, getting up. “Excuse us, will you?”

When George and Nancy had adjourned to Nancy’s bedroom, George burst out in a loud whisper, “I can’t go out with him! I can’t even
look
at him, for goodness’ sake!”

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like him?” Nancy asked.

“Nancy! Of course I like him! Those eyes, that face—what’s not to like? Other than the fact that he might be a murderer, of course.”

“Of course,” agreed Nancy. “On the other hand, maybe you could find out a thing or two about him—as a favor to an old friend?”

“Well, if you really need me to,” said George, breaking into a grin. “I guess I could suffer through an evening with the handsomest guy in the universe.”

“Good. It’s settled. I’ll count on you to take good notes. There’ll be a quiz in the morning.”

George laughed. “You owe me one after this, Nan!” she said, with a wag of her finger.

“Don’t worry, Fayne,” Nancy assured her. “I’ll think of something terrific I can do with you— besides setting you up with a gorgeous guy, that is.”

“A guy who might just be a killer? Thanks for the favor,” George said wryly.

“Somehow you seem more pleased than scared,” said Nancy with a little smile. “I have
faith in you, George.” She patted her friend on the back. “You can handle it.”

Back in the suite, Nancy and Bess talked and tried to ignore the hushed tones of Jack and George making plans at the door. When Nancy glanced at them from the corner of her eye, she noticed that George wasn’t the only one who looked smitten; Jack Kale was practically gaga by the time he said his goodbyes. He even made George burst into giggles by taking her hand and kissing it.

“Till tonight,” he said with a wink as he left.

George closed the door behind him, then collapsed against it with a deep sigh. “He’s fantastic,” she said dreamily. “Utterly and completely fantastic.”

Bess rolled her eyes and smiled. Then her face turned serious. “Come on, Nancy—who did it?”

“Take it easy, Bess, it’s too soon to know. There’s Jack, Pieter, Alison—even Madame Rosa might be the culprit, or Maximilian, the waiter—something’s up with him.”

“Nancy, I bet it’s Alison,” Bess piped up. “Why else would she have run away? Maybe she stole the jewels and killed her sister—then, when you discovered the jewelry box, she had to run!”