Cold as Ice (7 page)

When Ned came back, he said, “Rob says he'll join us for dinner tonight. Jerry reserved a table at La Fleur-de-Lis.”

“Ooh-la-la,” Bess joked. “It sounds
très
elegant.”

“It is,” Jerry said. “The food's good, too.”

Nancy's mind was still on the case. “Look,” she said. “Is there someplace private we can sit down for a few minutes? I need to hear what you learned from talking to people.”

Ned led them to a small side room furnished with a couch and a few armchairs.

“Okay,” Nancy said. “Who wants to go first?”

George sat down on the arm of the couch and cleared her throat. “I had some good luck,” she said. “I managed to strike up a conversation with a fire fighter who came back to take pictures of the boat house. He told me that the only thing burning when they broke in was that big pile of towels.”

“Just what we thought,” Nancy said.

“Uh-huh. And he said it looked as if the towels were wet. That's why there was so much smoke.”

Ned shook his head. “But why would anyone set fire to wet towels?”

“For that matter,” Jerry put in, “how would anyone set fire to wet towels? I'd think the dampness would put the fire out.”

“I don't know how,” George said, “but the fire fighter said it looked as if the fire had been set by somebody who wanted to make sure it didn't get too big. The wet towels were supposed to keep it in check.”

Jerry laughed. “You mean we're looking for an arsonist who's shy and retiring?”

“No, I think we're looking for a jewel thief who turned to arson only as a needed diversion,” Nancy said. “He didn't say anything about gasoline, did he?”

“Nope, not a word. Why? Oh, of course— Rob's jacket. You really don't think—”

“No,” Nancy said quickly. “I don't think Rob set the fire. Someone used that jacket to try to frame him. But who? The arsonist, who is probably also the jewel thief? Or someone else? If gasoline wasn't used in the boat house fire, then it means that whoever is framing Rob is someone else who is simply trying to get him in trouble. But if it
was
used, it tells us that the framer and the arsonist are the same person, or at least that they're working together.”

“Caution, detective at work,” Jerry teased. Bess nudged him with her elbow, and he added, “Sorry, Nancy. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Nancy smiled. “That's okay, Jerry. I was just about to get to you. What did you find out?”

“Not very much, I'm afraid. Bess and I talked to a lot of people—”

Bess cut in. “I felt nervous about starting conversations with people I didn't know, so I asked Jerry if we could team up.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow. Bess, shy? More likely, Bess had just said that so she could spend more time with Jerry.

“Right,” Jerry continued. “We did talk to one girl I know who was on her way to the rowing tank dedication when she saw Rob leaving the boat house.”

“The boat house?” Nancy asked. “Or the new annex where the tank is?” If he had been at the main boat house, it was likely that Rob
was
responsible for the fire.

“Oh, sorry, I meant the annex,” Jerry said.

Nancy nodded, relieved. “Okay. Did your friend see what he did, or where he went?”

“She says he stood outside the door for maybe a minute, then started jogging up the road, toward this part of campus.”

“And when was this, compared to the fire in the boat house?” Nancy asked.

“About five minutes before. She wasn't exactly sure, but she knows she went inside just as the coach was starting to speak.”

Nancy thought back to the dedication ceremony. “I'd agree with five minutes,” she said. “And that means—”

“Nancy,” Ned said in a warning tone of voice. He nodded in the direction of the door.

Nancy looked around. Sergeant Balsam was standing just outside the door, looking at their faces as if committing each one to memory.

“Ms. Drew,” he said, “can you tell me where to find Rob Harper?”

“Why, Sergeant?” Nancy asked. “We left the station less than an hour ago. Is there some new evidence?”

Balsam hesitated before saying, “I got a call from the fire marshal. That fire this morning was definitely arson. Tests established the presence of an accelerant.”

“An accelerant?” Nancy said. “You mean—”

“I mean gasoline,” Sergeant Balsam cut in. “The same kind of gasoline that was on that jacket you found. So now I have some more questions to ask Mr. Robert Harper, and this time he had better have some very good answers!”

R
OB LEFT HERE
a few minutes ago, Sergeant,” Nancy said. “He told us he was going over to the library.”

Sergeant Balsam nodded. “The library, huh? During Winter Carnival? I didn't figure him to be such a bookworm. Well, let's hope I can find him there. It hurts my feelings whenever I get the idea that somebody I'm looking for might be trying to avoid me.”

“But he doesn't even know you're looking for him,” George protested.

“He will,” the sergeant said. “He will.”

He turned and left the room. Nancy hesitated
only for a moment before getting up and following him. Somehow, she had to find a way to show him the holes in his theory that Rob set the fire.

She caught up with him just inside the student center doors. “Sergeant,” she began, “can you spare me just one minute?”

“I've had a long day, Ms. Drew.” He glanced at his watch. “Okay, one minute. What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, she began, “Rob's jacket. Do you have any idea how much gasoline was spilled on it? A lot. I could tell that because the fumes made me choke. Have you stopped to wonder how somebody could spill that much gasoline on his jacket and not get a drop on his pants or shoes? Because I'm ready to testify that Rob did
not
smell of gasoline when he joined us outside the boat house. And the jacket still stank of it hours later, when I found it.”

The sergeant pushed his glasses up on his nose in a nervous gesture. “Sometimes there's no explaining what a perpetrator might do,” he replied, but he didn't sound as convinced as he had before. “Anyway, your minute's up, unless you want to walk with me to the library.”

“All right,” Nancy said, running to snatch her coat, then following him out the door. “Doesn't it seem odd to you that none of your officers spotted the jacket when they went through the woods earlier?” she went on, zipping up her
parka, “
I
didn't have any trouble noticing it. And now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I smelled the gasoline, even from the path. I can't believe your officers' noses are worse than mine.”

“Get to the point,” the police sergeant said.

“Somebody must have poured gasoline on the jacket and put it in the middle of those trees at some point this afternoon,” Nancy said. “It may have been the arsonist. But as far as I can tell, it could have been anybody—anybody who wanted to cause Rob some trouble.”

“Provided they knew what was going to happen,” Sergeant Balsam said.

Nancy shook her head. “Practically everybody on campus knew about it,” she pointed out. “Anyway, what I'm trying to convince you of is that someone is trying to frame Rob—someone who knew he wouldn't have an alibi for the fire or the jewel theft because he had seen him leave the dedication ceremony. Probably someone inside the building, because that's where Rob must have left his jacket.”

Sergeant Balsam shook his head. “Unless he spilled gas on it while he was setting up his little arson attempt,” he maintained. “And I've heard he was kicked off the crew team for bad grades. Maybe he felt bitter and wanted to get revenge.”

“The reason he's at the library right now is to try to bring up his grades and get his academic
probation lifted so he can get back on the crew team. The last thing he'd want to do is jeopardize that.”

The sergeant still looked dubious, but Nancy could tell that her arguments had at least made him doubt his iron-clad conviction that Rob was guilty. Finally he said, “I've still got every reason to question Harper. But I'll tell you what I'll do, Ms. Drew. If I find him in the library, I'll question him there instead of taking him in.”

His attitude remained gruff, but Nancy realized that this was a big concession. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she said.

“No thanks needed. I'm just doing my job the best I know how,” he said. “And don't forget, Ms. Drew, it is
my
job. Everything I said about interference from amateurs still goes.”

Nancy had no intention of dropping the case. But past experience had taught her that it was best to cooperate with the police. “I understand,” she said diplomatically.

Then the sergeant turned and walked quickly toward the library.

“Nancy!” Nancy turned to see Bess standing in the doorway of the student center, propping the door open. “You're okay!”

“Of course I'm okay,” she told Bess. “Why shouldn't I be?”

“Well, you were gone so long, we thought that
maybe that policeman had decided to arrest you and Rob both.”

“Hey, it's getting dark,” Ned said. “We'd better go back to the dorm to change. Let's meet in the downstairs lounge of the dorm in forty-five minutes to go to the restaurant.” He came down the steps and put his arm around Nancy's shoulders.

“Are you starting to feel neglected?” Nancy asked him. “This case is eating up a lot of time that we could be spending together.”

“You're doing a big favor for a friend of mine and for my college,” Ned pointed out. “Besides, we have this evening to have fun.”

He bent his head down and kissed Nancy so sweetly that she couldn't catch her breath. When the kiss finally ended, she rested her cheek against his chest, and Ned began to stroke her hair. They might have stayed like that until both of them had frostbite, but Jerry came over and tapped Ned on the shoulder.

“Come on, Nickerson,” he said. “The Fleur-de-Lis is going to be packed tonight. They won't hold our table forever.”

Ned and Jerry headed for their frat house, while the girls took the path to the dorm. They were halfway there when Nancy suddenly stopped.

“Bess, George, you go ahead. There's
something I want to check out.” She took the room key from her pocket and handed it to George.

George opened her mouth to argue, but Bess took her arm and walked her away. “You know it won't do any good to try to talk her out of it. Please make it fast, Nan,” Bess called over her shoulder. “We don't want to be late for dinner.”

Nancy made her way to the path that led through the woods where she'd found Rob's jacket. As she walked, she mentally checked over her assumptions. Whoever was trying to frame Rob—whether or not it was the thief—would not have walked around with a gasoline-soaked jacket. So the jacket, and maybe the gas as well, must have been hidden for part of the afternoon, probably somewhere near the little woods where the jacket was later placed. If she could find that hiding place, she might find a clue to the identity of the framer.

She stopped in her tracks. What about the police search? They had been looking for stolen jewels, true, but wouldn't they have seen the jacket and a gasoline container?

But then, what if the police
had
seen them but hadn't noticed them? What if the jacket and the gas container had been someplace where they looked as if they belonged?

Nancy continued down the narrow road, scanning both sides in the waning, late-afternoon
light. She was just up the road from the edge of the woods when she saw it. Just off the narrow lane, behind a screen of bushes, was a small wooden shed with double doors.

Nancy found her penlight in her pocket and shone it on the building. Over the doors was a small sign that read Emerson College B & G— Keep Out. Nancy nodded. “B & G” was probably an abbreviation for Buildings and Grounds, the college maintenance department. And who would be surprised to find gasoline, or even an old jacket, in a maintenance shed?

She shifted the light, then frowned. The double doors were padlocked. That meant that whoever had hidden, then retrieved, Rob's jacket from the shed had to have known the combination.

Suddenly Nancy stopped. She raised her head, standing very still, listening carefully. Had that been the sound of someone stepping on snow? She heard nothing now but the wind through the branches of some trees. Nancy looked around, but it was too dark to see anything except the outline of nearby bushes.

She stepped forward to get a closer look at the doors. The padlock was firmly fastened, but when she tugged at it, the hasp came off the door. The wood was too rotten to hold the screws.

The door creaked as Nancy pushed it open and shone her penlight inside. The shelves that lined
the walls were piled high with old paint cans, broken machinery, and cardboard cartons. Two snowblowers and a riding lawnmower occupied the center of the shed.