Circle of Evil (5 page)

“Then you've been lucky, Mrs. Davenport,” Rita told her. “I can't keep track of all the people who've complained to me about them. Take my word for it,” she said to Nancy with a grin, “those new locker rooms cost a pretty penny, but a penny's about all they're worth.”

Nancy laughed. “I don't have to take your word for it,” she said, smearing lotion onto herself.

“Just be careful next time,” Rita advised as Nancy thanked her. “And come on back when your skin's okay. I'll give you a great massage.”

Mrs. Davenport lifted her head again. “That I can agree with,” she said. Nancy smiled and
began to finish up. It was just about time to meet her friends.

Rita turned her attention back to Mrs. Davenport, who had already started to chat. “Now, Rita,” she went on, letting her chin drop, “where was I? Oh, yes, that ancient Roman coin. You know, I always thought John's passion for coins was kind of silly. But I must admit, when he bought that one, even I got excited.”

“Roman?” Rita asked, digging her strong fingers into Mrs. Davenport's shoulders. “I bet that cost a pretty penny, too.”

“Well, I don't really like to talk money, but I will tell you this—it wasn't much under a quarter of a million.”

Rita whistled, and Nancy wanted to do the same. Why was Mrs. Davenport telling Rita all this?

“My gosh, I didn't know one coin could be worth that much,” Rita said. “If it were mine, I'd be afraid to have it in the house.”

“I'm not crazy about the idea, either,” Mrs. Davenport said. “But John insists. He says there's no point in having a collector's item if you can't enjoy it.”

Nancy was ready to leave, but she waited, holding her breath, to see if Mrs. Davenport would reveal the hiding place of the expensive Roman coin. She wanted to shout at her to
keep quiet, but fortunately the phone in the massage room rang, and Rita had to answer it. Nancy and Rita exchanged waves as Nancy left.

Moving slowly down the hall, Nancy realized that she had another suspect—Rita. People weren't any more closemouthed on the massage table than they were at the pool or in the bar, she thought. Of course, Rita could be totally innocent, just like Mike or Zach. She might have asked those questions about the coin just to make conversation.

But she could have another reason for wanting to know how much the coin cost—to see if it was worth stealing. And that remark about being afraid to have something that valuable in the house could have been a hint for Mrs. Davenport to tell her where it was kept.

And there was one more thing, Nancy realized as she climbed the stairs. Mrs. Ames and Mrs. Davenport were both surprised that the shower had broken down. But Rita swore that it happened all the time. Of course, all three of them could be right. But if the showers were fine, then Nancy had either been there the first time they broke down, or else the breakdown had been deliberate. If it was deliberate, she thought, then somebody is trying to scare me off.

H
ALF AN HOUR
later, sitting in a booth at Frank's Pizza with Bess and George, Nancy lifted a slice covered with green peppers and mushrooms and grinned. “This,” she said, “is exactly what I need.” She took a big bite, leaned back in the booth, and closed her eyes.

“Rough day at the country club?” George asked wryly.

“Don't ask,” Nancy said, taking a sip of her soda. “First, tell me what you found out.”

“Not much,” Bess reported with a sigh. “If I ever have to lift another golf club, I just might
hit somebody over the head with it. But the caddies almost made it worth my time,” she said and laughed. “They're really cute, every one of them.”

“Somehow, I don't think that's what Nancy's interested in,” George commented.

“Sure I am,” Nancy said jokingly. “Tell me more about the cute caddies, Bess. Did any of them have big ears?”

“I was getting to that,” Bess said. “I couldn't tell if they were interested in everything the golfers told them, but they sure got an earful.” She swallowed some diet soda and shook her head. “Almost all the golfers talked their heads off about very private stuff—including their possessions—and it was as if the caddies didn't even exist.”

“But you said you couldn't tell if any of the caddies were interested?” Nancy asked.

“Not really,” Bess said. “See, the people were talking to each other, not to the caddies.”

Nancy nodded. “What about you, George? What happened on the courts?”

“A lot of great tennis,” George answered with a grin. “The teacher—Jim Matthews—is a former professional, you know.”

Nancy nodded. “He's good.”

“He's fantastic!” George's brown eyes lit up
with enthusiasm. “There was this guy named Max Fletcher who bet Jim a hundred dollars that he could beat him, but Jim wiped up the court with him.”

“I met Max yesterday,” Nancy said. “According to Joanna, he wouldn't have any trouble paying up.”

“That's for sure,” George told her. “He took out a roll of money thicker than his fist and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill. Of course, Jim couldn't take the money. Anyway,” she continued, “once Jim saw that I didn't really need lessons, we just played. He won, but I gave him a good game.”

“Speaking of money,” Bess remarked, “was he interested in anyone's? Max Fletcher's, maybe?”

“No way,” George said. “After all, he didn't let Fletcher pay up on the bet. So I'd really be surprised if he were in on the robberies.”

“Did anybody tell him about their newest fabulous possession while you were there?” Nancy asked.

“Sure, a couple did,” George told her. “But Jim's the quiet type, and when anyone started talking about anything but tennis, he got even quieter, like he was bored.”

“That could just be an act,” Bess pointed out.

“It could be,” George agreed. “But I don't
think it is. I think Jim loves tennis, not money.”

“What does Jim look like?” Bess asked.

“Well, he's a little taller than I am,” George said. “And he's got brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes—” Suddenly she blushed. “Okay, I admit it. He's gorgeous.”

“And you have a crush on him!” Bess announced. “No wonder you don't think he's up to anything. He could have picked your pocket and you wouldn't have noticed. You were too busy looking at his beautiful brown eyes!”

“Maybe,” George admitted, still red in the face. “I still don't think he's in on it, Nancy, but I guess I'm a little prejudiced.”

Nancy laughed. “It sounds like we all came up with zero today,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza. “Wait till you hear what happened to me. I spent three hours at the pool and the clubhouse, and the only things I've got to show for it are a bunch of suspicions and a lot of sore skin.”

“Too much sun?” Bess asked.

Nancy laughed again. “Too much water,” she said.

Between bites of pizza, Nancy told them all about her hot shower and her encounters with Mike, Zach, Rita, and the redheaded girl.

“Really curly hair?” George asked. “And really red?”

“More orange. Like carrots,” Nancy said with a nod.

“I saw her out by the courts,” George told her. “And I heard somebody call her Cindy. She kept moving around, hanging out with different people, as though she couldn't make up her mind what to do.”

“If you see her again, let me know,” Nancy said. “Right now, she's my strongest suspect.”

The three of them were still discussing the situation when Ned arrived.

“It's about time,” Bess told him. “If you'd been much later, this pizza pan would have been completely empty.”

Sliding into the booth beside Nancy, Ned laughed and reached for the next-to-the-last slice. “Sorry I'm late,” he said. “But I gave the staff in the weight room a hand setting up a big new machine. Anyway,” he said, “I've got news.”

“What?” Bess asked hopefully. “Somebody confessed to the whole operation and we can all go home?”

“Not quite,” Ned said. “But I think I've got a lead. I was in the locker room—which is a great place, by the way; they even bring drinks down if you phone for them—when a lifeguard came in.”

“Mike?” Nancy asked.

“Right. That was his name. He took a shower, and then he was just hanging out, taking it easy, when this other guy came in and started talking to him about some vase he had just bought.”

“A vase?”

Ned nodded, swallowing some pizza. “But not just any vase,” he said. “It's from some ancient South American civilization or something, and it's worth thousands.”

“And Mike was interested?” Nancy asked.

“A lot,” Ned said. “I mean, I don't know if he's part of the robberies, but he asked all kinds of questions about it, including where the man kept it. And the man told him—right on the mantel over his fireplace. But that's not the best part.” Ned paused to chew his pizza crust.

“Well, don't stop there!” Bess said, complaining. “Drop that crust and tell us what happened!”

“Sorry,” Ned said with a laugh. “I'm starving. Anyway, the best part is that the man—Mr. Winslow—told this Mike that he's leaving on a business trip today and that his wife's going with him. He was leaving right then. They're probably driving to the airport now. They'll be gone for a week, he said, and while they're away the house will be empty. How's that for a robber's paradise?”

“It's perfect,” Nancy said. “In fact, it's so perfect, I can't resist it.”

“What do you mean?” Bess asked.

With a grin, Nancy turned to Ned. “Nickerson, how'd you like to be part of a stakeout?”

“With you?” Ned said. “Anytime, Nancy. Anytime.”

• • •

At ten o'clock that night, Ned cut the engine on his car and let it coast slowly down the street, stopping it in front of the Winslow house. “The house isn't dark,” he whispered, looking up the driveway at the three-story Tudor set back from the street and surrounded by tall trees.

“They probably have the lights on an automatic timer. Are you sure he said the house would be empty? No housekeeper or anyone?” Nancy asked.

“I'm positive,” Ned told her. “Mr. Winslow said the housekeeper decided to take her vacation when she learned they were going away. And she's the only other person who lives there.”

Nancy and Ned sat and watched the house for a few more minutes while Nancy decided on a plan of action. “Okay,” she said softly to Ned. “We're going to have to split up. There's
nothing or no one to prevent a burglar from entering at any of the other entrances. I'll find a nice little secluded place on the grounds where I can watch the back door. You stay here. If you see anyone approaching the house—anyone at all—hoot three times like an owl. Then follow them—but not too close.”

“Is the hooting absolutely necessary?” Ned asked.

“Do you know how to make any other night sound to warn me? You can't yell, ‘Hey, Nancy, intruder approaching on the starboard side.' ”

“Okay. Guess you're right,” Ned conceded, smiling. “You be careful, though, Detective Drew,” he said, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Feeling a little like a thief herself, Nancy slipped out of the car and through a gap in the tall hedges that fronted the Winslow property. Once she was on the grounds, it was very dark. The stands of tall trees surrounding the house and grounds shut out some of the moonlight. Everything was in shadow.

As she drew closer to the house, Nancy became increasingly nervous, hoping she wouldn't trip a hidden electronic sensor that would set off an alarm. After each step, she
waited, holding her breath and expecting to hear sirens start wailing. But when nothing happened after thirty or forty steps, she relaxed a little and walked more quickly.

Trying not to step on any twigs, Nancy moved cautiously around the house and walked as quietly as possible toward the back. About thirty feet from a back corner was a willow tree, its drooping branches swaying gently in the night air. It was a perfect place to wait, Nancy thought. The branches would hide her, but she could peer out and have a full view of the back and side of the house.

Once hidden by the low-hanging branches, Nancy relaxed a little and checked her watch. Ten-thirty. She just hoped the robbers would decide to show up that night. If they didn't, she and Ned would be up all night every night for the next week. Which would mean they'd have to rely on George and Bess to investigate the club during the day while they slept.

An hour later, Nancy realized that her left foot had fallen asleep. As quietly as possible, she stood up and shook her ankle, trying to get the circulation moving. The stinging, prickly sensation had just started to creep through her
foot when she had to freeze, standing on one leg like a stork in sneakers.