Dangerous Relations (3 page)

The big top, standing now, dominated the lot.
The men were raising a sideshow tent next to it.

“It's after eleven. We'd better hurry,” Nancy said, leading the way toward the trailers.

Just then Marshall Keiser rode past in a dusty old circus truck. He jolted to a stop and backed up. “Nancy Drew, I want to talk to you!”

Startled by his tone, Nancy asked, “Is something wrong?”

Keiser glowered at her from the lowered truck window. He jabbed an accusing finger at her. “What's this about you jumping Katrina at the cookhouse?”

Nancy replied in a level voice, “I asked her some questions about this morning's accident, if that's what you mean. You heard about Natalia's fall, didn't you?”

Impatiently Keiser said, “I heard. And I don't like her making excuses for her falls instead of taking responsibility.”

“It wasn't an excuse,” Nancy protested. She told him about the towel and tissue she'd dropped off to have analyzed.

Keiser's jaw tightened. “None of my people would purposely cause an accident.” He shifted the truck into gear and added, “Nerves are jittery enough around here. I won't have you stirring up trouble between my performers. Stick to looking for Natalia's father and leave the circus to me!”

“He sure was quick to take Katrina's side,” Bess said indignantly after the truck was gone.

Nancy nodded. “It's obvious from the way he talks about Natalia that he's angry,” she mused. “I wonder why?”

“Angry enough to oil the bar?” George asked.

Nancy shrugged. “Who knows? It doesn't seem likely he'd sabotage his own circus. And it could just as easily have been Katrina who fell.”

The three girls resumed walking. Could Keiser be involved? Nancy wondered. Suddenly a possible motive occurred to her. “Maybe he's got a lot of insurance on his key performers.”

“You mean, he'd stand to make some money if one of them got killed?” George looked doubtful.

“Right. It's called a key man policy,” Nancy said. Her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, worked for an insurance company during the summer between college terms. She'd learned a lot about insurance from him.

Hanging plants bloomed beneath the awning that shaded the entrance to the pink trailer. Hayden invited them in. Nancy's gaze skipped from the Russian lace covering the tabletops to the colorful curtains and carpet.

Hearing voices, Natalia sat up on the plush red sofa and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” Nancy asked.

“Much better.” Natalia swung her feet to the floor. “I'm sorry about that awful scene this morning, Nancy. We're polishing a new act. Tempers run short.”

Nancy said, “You had a right to be upset.
There was something on the bar.” She told Natalia about the towel and the tissue.

“I knew I didn't imagine it!”

“Does Katrina dislike you enough to oil the bar?” Nancy asked quietly.

Natalia frowned. “She resents me, for sure.”

Nancy hesitated, not wanting to upset either Hayden or Natalia, then said, “Hayden, someone at the cookhouse told me that you and Katrina were a couple for quite a while.”

Hayden flushed as he admitted, “Yes, that's true. In fact, we joined Grand Royal together. We were having a lot of problems, though, and we broke up. Then I started seeing Natalia.”

Nancy noticed the tender glance that passed between them. She said to Natalia, “It would only be natural for her to resent you for that. Then, there's your talent as a flyer. Do you think Katrina feels threatened?”

“She shouldn't,” Natalia said, looking uncomfortable. “She's very good, too.”

“Katrina is jealous, though,” Hayden said. “It's just the way she is.”

Nancy had no more questions about Katrina at the moment, so she changed the subject. “Let's talk about your father, Natalia. What made you decide to look for him?”

Natalia's brown eyes took on an eager glow. “I've always wanted to know about him. I want to know what he looks like and how he met my
mother and if he was there when I was born. Oh, so many things I want to know! It's like a hole inside of me. But who could I ask, except my mother?”

“You mean your adoptive mother?” Bess asked.

Natalia nodded. “My birth mother was a ballerina. She died only a day after I was born.”

Seeing the sadness on Natalia's face, Nancy felt a pang. She, too, had lost her mother. “And then you were adopted?”

“Yes. By Vera and Piotr Petronov.”

“How did you come to America?” Nancy asked.

“Piotr was a performer with the Russian Circus,” Natalia explained. “Mother—Vera—was a costumer. Three months after adopting me, they came here on a tour.”

Hayden took up the story. “Unfortunately, Piotr was killed in a performance in New York.”

“How awful!” Bess exclaimed.

“Mother didn't want to go back to Russia,” Natalia told them. “So she defected and found a job with the Grand Royal Circus.”

Vera sounded like a very strong woman. “I'm looking forward to meeting her,” Nancy said.

Natalia's dark lashes swept down. She said quietly, “Mother's afraid I'll get hurt if my father turns out to be someone—unpleasant. She refuses to help with the search.”

“I see,” Nancy murmured.

Natalia continued in a soft yet firm voice, “But now that I'm eighteen, I have a legal right to my birth records—if I can find them, that is.”

“Do you have any information to go on?” Nancy asked. “Adoption records? That sort of thing?”

“I was born in Moscow. If Mother has adoption records, she's never shown them to me. But I have these,” Natalia said. Carefully, she lifted a scrapbook and a frayed shoebox off the coffee table. “They belonged to my birth mother.”

Nancy knew by the worn edges of the book and the tape holding the box together that these possessions were Natalia's greatest treasures. Handling them with care, she asked, “Is there a chance Vera knows who your father is?”

“If she does, she's kept it a secret all these years. Even when I was little, she became impatient when I asked about him,” Natalia said, her voice quivering with emotion. “I stopped asking because I didn't like to upset her.”

Hayden draped a comforting arm around Natalia's shoulders. “The truth is, Vera doesn't want to share Natalia. She gave us a hard time when we fell in love. It was only when Natalia and I threatened to leave Grand Royal and find work with another circus that she agreed to let us date.”

“That's so romantic!” Bess sighed. “I'll bet you would have done it, too.”

Natalia smiled into Hayden's eyes. “It would have been hard. But, yes, I would have done it.”

Nancy drew a single, faded ballet slipper out of the worn box. There was a tiny scarlet
I
embroidered on the satin fabric.

“That was my mother's,” Natalia explained. “Her name was Irina Latynina.” It rolled off her tongue like a melody.

“That's a lovely name,” said Nancy.

“It's beautiful,” Natalia agreed. “And it helps a little, knowing something about her.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But I don't even know my father's name! Mother says a father who abandons his child has a heart of stone, that I'm better off not knowing him.”

Nancy opened the scrapbook. The first few pages were full of newspaper articles, all of which were written in Russian.

“Maybe there's some information in here that could help us find your father.” Nancy glanced up. “Do you read Russian?”

Natalia shook her head. “But Mother's read the clippings to me many times over the years. They are all dance reviews. No personal facts—nothing about a husband or a romance,” she added wistfully.

Nancy continued thumbing through the book. George and Bess looked on, too. It was frustrating, not to be able to read the articles. Nancy was nearing the end of the scrapbook when suddenly she stopped short.

There was a picture of a woman being helped from an American car by a chauffeur. The brief article below it was written in English.

Nancy looked from the picture to Natalia and back again. The resemblance was striking. “This is your mother, isn't it?” she asked.

Natalia nodded.

Nancy put her finger on the dateline. She did some quick mental math and raised her eyebrows. The article had appeared in
The Washington Post
eighteen years and nine months earlier. “Your mother must have become pregnant with you while she was in America,” she said, thinking aloud. “In fact, your father might even be an American!”

T
HAT'S WHAT
I hope,” Natalia said as Bess and George crowded closer to Nancy to see Irina's picture. She was a beautiful woman with high cheekbones, a firm chin, and deep-set eyes.

“That would sure make it easier to find out who Nat's father is,” Hayden said.

Nancy pored over the article. “ ‘Ballerina Irina Latynina visits Washington, D.C., as the Bolshoi Ballet continues its tour of American cities,' ” she read aloud. The article recapped some reviews from the cities in which the ballet had already performed.

“That was big news—especially nineteen years ago, during the cold war,” Nancy said. “Why is this the last entry in the scrapbook? I'd think there'd be zillions of pictures and reviews.”

“Irina must have been so busy dancing and
practicing and sightseeing, she didn't have time to keep up her scrapbook,” Natalia reasoned. “I'm that way too. Mementos pile up for months before I get around to organizing them. I like having something in common with her,” she added with a sweet smile.

Nancy turned back to a picture from a Soviet newspaper. It was of Natalia's mother with a handsome Russian dancer.

“Your father could have been someone with the ballet company,” Bess suggested.

“I've often searched the photographs, looking for a resemblance to myself in all the men's faces,” Natalia admitted. “But I can't see it.”

“A ballet troupe is bound to be close-knit. Like circus people. They date other kinkers,” Hayden said. “That's the way it was with my parents. And now Natalia and me.”

“ ‘Kinkers'?” Nancy said, puzzled.

Hayden grinned. “That's circus talk for performers. My parents were both flyers, too. It's part of me. Circus folks call that getting sawdust in your shoes.”

Nancy turned back to Natalia. “You can't rule out the possibility that your father was someone Irina met in the States,” she said. “I'll call the newspapers in the cities listed in this article. They can check their morgues, then fax copies of any articles they ran on the Bolshoi while your mother was touring.”

“ ‘Morgues'?” Hayden repeated.

Nancy chuckled, realizing the word was as foreign to him as “kinker” was to her. “That's what they call their warehouse for past papers. They're all stored on microfilm.”

“I'm really glad you're helping us, Nancy,” Natalia said. “I'd be hopeless at this.”

Hayden glanced at his watch. “We'd better be going, Natalia. You have to practice again.”

Natalia nodded. “Let's just get something to eat before we start.”

“Better let me bring you something. Cooky spent the morning cleaning.” Hayden added to Nancy, “About a year ago, Nat had a really serious asthma attack. It was right after Marshall Keiser cleaned the carpet in his office. She's learned to be careful of cleaning agents.”

“What kind of boss is Mr. Keiser?” Nancy asked.

“He respects kinkers who do their jobs right. But he's kind of thin-skinned,” Hayden said. “And he holds grudges.”

“He has a good heart,” Natalia protested.

“You couldn't prove it by me,” Hayden said.

“You don't know him like I do, honey,” Natalia said gently.

Hayden shrugged. “A word of warning, Nancy. Watch out when he clenches his cigar between his front teeth! It's a sure sign he's in a foul mood—and he'll take it out on anyone who gets in his way.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Nancy said. She
looked at Natalia. “Now, where can I find Vera? I'd like to ask her a few questions.”

“Mother left just before you came. She wanted to do the laundry.”

“We'll come back later, then,” Nancy said.

Before heading out the gate, Nancy turned and took one last look at the big top. The workers had gone to lunch, leaving behind a maze of wires and electrical cables. The electrical generator beside the tent made a loud, steady humming sound.

“We still have to check in at the motel,” Nancy said, “and then eat lunch. After that, we'll come back. Maybe Vera'll be home by then. I'd also like to look in on the Angel Wings' practice session and see how they get along after that blowup this morning.”