Gold Medal Murder (10 page)

“In fact,” Isabelle continued, “I was hoping to see Scott tonight, but I couldn't remember where we were supposed to meet. I was just asking his personal assistant here…” Isabelle drifted off, clearly waiting for me to tell her Scott's plans for the evening.

“What? Oh, I don't have my planner on me. I'm afraid I don't know anything without my planner.” I tried my best to look helpless.

“Well, maybe I'll come find you later and you can tell me then.” The way she said it, it sounded more like a command than a possibility.

“So, Ms. Helene, how are you feeling about the Olympics?”

“Feeling? This isn't about feeling. This is about winning. And I am prepared to do whatever it takes to win. That's my motto in life. Whatever it takes.”

Something about the insistent way she asked about Scott turned me off from Isabelle. She seemed to really like Scott—in fact, she seemed to think they might be dating—but I didn't trust her. Could she be his stalker? But if she liked him so much, why would she try to hurt him? Although, liking Scott could be a
good reason to hurt Lexi… This was just too confusing. I decided to put her down as a suspect, though, just in case.

Suspect Profile

Name:
Isabelle Helene

Hometown:
Los Angeles, California

Occupation:
Professional swimmer

Physical description:
Isabelle is tall. Like, really tall. I had to look
up, so I'd guess she's six-one. And if she wasn't a professional
athlete, she'd probably have a career in modeling. But there's
something a little crazy in her eyes. Maybe it's just the
dedication and focus it takes to be an Olympic athlete… or
maybe it's something else.

Suspected of:
Her questions about Scott definitely bordered on
stalker-ish. But I have a feeling she wouldn't hurt him. But maybe
she'd hurt Lexi? Or maybe I'm just beginning to suspect everyone?

Motive:
If she really is as hung up on Scott as she appeared,
Lexi would definitely be her number one enemy.

Suspicious behavior:
Nothing specific yet. But I'm keeping my eye
on her. “Whatever it takes” is definitely the attitude of someone
who would stop at nothing.

The rest of the day passed without incident, though I did spend a fair amount of time dodging both Isabelle and Alex. Finally, around six p.m., I headed home on the scooter I had convinced ATAC to send me. It was
better than having a car in LA—I could zip between traffic and get home in record time. In fact, I beat Scott by a full thirty minutes. I used the time to check out the house. Everything looked legit: no broken windows, no forced locks, no psychotic stalkers hiding in the shower.

I flopped down on the couch, and was about to put my feet up on the table when I remembered—all white. No putting my feet up anywhere, not unless I wanted Scott to spend the night cleaning the house again. Carefully, I sat up and made sure there was nothing on me that might stain the couch. Then I dug the all-white remote out of the all-white basket by the table, and turned on the television.

Or at least, I tried to. It wasn't working properly. No matter what channel I tried, all I got was static. That was weird. I called Vijay for some tech support—since we had him, I might as well use him, right? But my phone was all static as well.

Something was definitely going on. This was creepy. I heard Scott's car pull up, and I ran to meet him at the door.

“Hey, Scott—something's going on. The TV signal is all screwed up, and so is my phone.”

“Don't worry about that,” Scott said as he brushed past me. “This is LA, the smog will do that sometimes. Gets so thick it interrupts everything. Call the cable company and see what they say. I've got to hop in the
wave pool—traffic was so bad I'm already seventeen minutes behind schedule.”

I followed Scott through the house. He shed clothing as he went, his Olympic tracksuit flung on the floor. He really must have been in a hurry! I'd never seen him put so much as a piece of paper down out of place. Soon, he was in just his bathing suit, and we were in the training area of the house.

The wave pool was a much smaller pool than his regular one. It was designed for building strength. It had a motor at one end that generated waves, strong or weak depending on the setting. The whole point was to swim against the current.

As Scott started stretching, I noticed a weird smell in the air. It was like a thunderstorm.
Maybe that's it
, I thought.
Maybe we're about to have a big storm
. But that didn't seem right. I hadn't seen a single cloud on my drive home.

Suddenly, it clicked.

“Scott, no!”

I ran. Scott looked up just in time for me to tackle him, head on. His foot couldn't have been more than two inches from the water.

“Ow! What the heck? Get off me!”

We wrestled for a moment. My arm slammed painfully against the tile, and I could tell I'd have a wicked bruise in the morning. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered,
so long as I could get him away from the pool. The last thing I wanted was for both of us to fall in together.

When we rolled into the wall of the training area, I let go of Scott.

“What is your problem?” he yelled.

I lay there for a second, panting. Then I pulled my keys out of my pocket.

“Watch.”

I tossed the keys into the pool. There was a sound like bees buzzing, and a giant electrical spark leaped along the surface of the water when they hit it.

“Someone's tampered with the motor. The whole thing is one huge electric chair.”

Scott's stalker had just upgraded from creepy to killer.

“So, one of us stays with Lexi at all times. No matter what. Right?” I looked both Bess and George in the eye, to emphasize how serious I was. After the scares of the last few days, who knew what might happen next.

Bess screamed. “Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!”

As though I hadn't already looked and made sure there was no traffic coming. She was a just a little nervous because she'd had too much coffee.

“Agreed?”

“Right! Someone with Lexi at all times. We got it.” That was George. She was always much more levelheaded about these things.

“What are you going to be up to?” said Bess.

“Whoever's harassing Lexi was able to get into the
women's locker room and leave a note in her locker. So we're looking for a woman, probably a fellow athlete, right?”

“Or a member of the press,” said Bess.

“Or one of the janitors,” added George.

“Right.” I paused for a moment, thinking it all through. “Well, regardless, the one place where we know for sure her stalker has been—has actually, physically touched—is Lexi's locker. So I'm going to start by looking there.”

I merged onto the freeway and into downtown LA traffic. Man, was this city one big snarl. A traffic jam in River Heights meant that there had been an accident somewhere, or that someone's dog had escaped and was playing in traffic. In LA, jammed just seemed to be the normal state of affairs. It was when traffic moved that things felt weird.

Finally, though, we made it to the Olympic Arena. After we got through the doors, we split up. Bess and George headed over to watch Lexi train. I headed for the locker rooms. I wasn't 100% sure my pass would get me in there, but I'd learned that the best thing to do in a situation like that was to act like you were supposed to be there, and people rarely challenged you.

I pulled out my cell phone. Not only did I have a call to make, but this was another good trick I'd learned. If you were on a phone when you breezed by, people often felt too awkward to try to talk to you, and you
had a good reason “not to hear them” if they did.

“Hey—is this Vijay?”

“Talking to you live in mono. The infamous Nancy Drew, I presume?”

I had to laugh. I'd never met Vijay in person, but from what Joe, Frank, and George all told me, he seemed like a great guy. And he was definitely fun on the phone.

“That's me. Although I don't know how ‘infamous' I am.”

“The only person to ever crack Frank and Joe's cover? The best detective east of the Mississippi? Or is it west? I can never remember where River Heights is.”

“You've been doing your homework.”

“Information is my job, lady friend. So what can I do you for?”

“I hear you've got cameras hidden throughout the arena.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors,” said Vijay, his voice deadpan. I laughed again.

“Well, if you do have cameras, do you think you could check the footage for the women's locker room, and see if anyone has been messing around with Lexi's locker?”

“If we had put cameras around the space, I would have been the one to do it. And if I had been the one putting up cameras, I wouldn't really have been able to get into the women's locker room, would I?”

“Right. Good hypothetical point. Well, could you
look for any footage of someone tampering with her fencing blade?”

“That would be more doable. But it'd take a while. Not even sure where I'd start to look. I guess I'd have to watch the fight, then follow the blade back through the various cameras, to try and see at what point someone sharpened it. That will take a while. I mean,
would
take a while. If I had hidden cameras in the arena. Which I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“Thanks, Vijay. You're the best.”

“Peace out girl scout.”

As I slipped the phone into my pocket, I realized it had totally worked. I had been so distracted by talking to Vijay, I hadn't even noticed when I'd breezed right by security and into the women's locker room! Nancy Drew one, Olympic security zero.

The locker room was just endless rows of red metal lockers and wooden benches. It looked like a slightly upscale gym. This was the behind-the-scenes part of the arena. It was no frills—a place for serious people to do serious work.

Lexi's locker was number 173. From the outside, it looked just like all the others. Red metal, a little shorter than I was, maybe eight inches wide. I dug through my purse and pulled out a makeup compact. After a quick look around to confirm I was alone, I flipped it open, pulled out a makeup brush, and began to dust for fingerprints.
Blush, I had long ago learned, had many uses.

Sadly, the front of the locker held no information—or rather, too much. A quick glance showed dozens, if not more, sets of fingerprints. There'd be no way to figure out who had brushed it in passing and who had broken into it. Besides, the person who'd broken in had probably used gloves to do it. I imagined that would probably be the case, but you always had to try the obvious answers first, just in case. I'd cracked more cases due to stupidity on the parts of the perpetrators than anything else.

Lexi had given me the combination, so I opened the locker. Not much was in there—her street clothes and a few books. I rifled through the pockets and flipped through the books, but I didn't find much of anything. A photo fell out of one of the books when I opened it, or rather, half of a photo did. I picked it up off the floor. It was of Lexi. Someone had torn it in two. It might not have been anything… but I wanted to ask Lexi about it anyway. You could never be too careful.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Lexi's dad had to run some errands, so we promised to drive Lexi back to the Starlet when her training was over. Bess, George, and I spent most of the day in the stands, watching Lexi destroy her opponents. She seemed a shoo-in for the gold medal—if she lived to make it to the actual games.

“So how are you feeling?” I asked Lexi, in between one of her matches.

“All right. Leg burns a little, but I think it'll be fine.”

I couldn't believe she was back to fencing just a day after being injured. But I guess you didn't make it to the Olympics without being dedicated.

“Well, you seem to be doing just fine, even with the injury.”

“Yeah. It's going to take more than a little flesh wound to slow me down.”

“Ha! We'll be cheering for you in the stands.”

“Thanks.” The smile slipped from Lexi's face for a second. “Thanks for everything, Nancy. I think I'd be a total mess if I didn't know you were out there, watching my back.”

I squeezed her shoulder. “Get back out there and do what you do best. Leave the detecting to me.”

I walked back over to Bess and George. It felt good to be working on a case for someone I cared so much about.

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?”

I turned around to find a camera in my face.

“I'm Alex Smothers. I'm with Sportztime—perhaps you've watched our shows?”

I hadn't, but I'd definitely heard of Sportztime. They were one of those Web start-up companies that had actually managed to challenge television and newspapers. Lots of people went to them for their sports news. And Alex Smothers was the brainchild behind it all, as well as their star reporter.

“I saw you talking to Lexi Adams, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”

“Of course you can,” Bess had sidled up next to me. She put on a big smile for the camera. George joined her on my other side. “We're old friends, the three of us. We go all the way back to River Heights Elementary School.”

“Oh, great! This is great stuff. I'm doing a documentary piece on Scott Trevor, and as his girlfriend, I'd love to get some more information about Lexi. May I?”

He pointed to the camera. I hesitated, then nodded. It would probably help our cover to look like a bunch of innocent childhood fans.

“Great. Rolling in three… two… one… So, tell me your names and how you know Lexi?

“I'm Nancy, Nancy Drew. And we were in Mr. Angstrom's third-grade class together.”