High Risk (8 page)

“What do they keep in here?” George wanted to know. “All I see is cardboard boxes with names and dates stenciled on them.”

“Ned said a lot of companies store their old records here,” Nancy answered. Then she snapped her fingers. “Hey—I'm glad you brought that up, George. We should try to get a list of all the companies that have storage space here. The killer probably had access to the keys to this place, since Ned said the door was unlocked when he followed Foyle inside. If we can make a match between one of the companies and any of the people involved in this case, we're in business.”

“Sounds reasonable. Bess and I can work on that angle tomorrow,” George offered.

“Great. Hey, look at that!” The two girls had worked their way around to the rear wall of the warehouse, and Nancy was pointing to a small door set in one corner. It opened by means of a crash bar, she saw. When the bar was pushed, the latch slid up. Nancy knew from their survey of the building that there was no handle or keyhole to open this door from the outside.

“This is it!” she said excitedly. “This is how the killer got out.”

“So what does that tell us?” George asked.

“Not much,” Nancy had to admit. “But at least we can show the police that someone
could
have left this way.”

Next, Nancy and George inspected the aisles, going back and forth from left to right. Nancy was looking for the chalk outline the police would have drawn to mark where Foyle's body had lain. She shivered just thinking about it. It was definitely a grisly search.

They found it near the back of the warehouse. “Ugh, this is creepy,” George said when she saw the chalk marks.

“I know,” Nancy agreed. “We'll get out of here in a minute. Let's just look around quickly. Maybe the police missed something.”

That didn't seem likely, though. As Nancy shone the flashlight over the site, she saw that it had been swept clean. It looked as if the police had picked up every last speck of dust in their search for evidence.

Nancy stepped back and nearly tripped over something solid. Turning, she saw a brown cardboard box on the floor. “This must be the box Ned tripped over,” she said, shining her flashlight on it.

It had evidently been opened by the police, for the tape that covered its seams was slit and there were little brown and gray shreds of cardboard on the floor around it. The contents, which appeared
to be old receipts from a clothing boutique, were untouched.

Disappointed, Nancy turned to George. “There's nothing here. The police got whatever evidence there was, I guess. Come on, let's go.”

“All right.” George sounded relieved.

On the way out Nancy climbed up to the duct first. She was just about to push herself through to make the leap down to the ground, when a bright light caught her in the eyes, momentarily blinding her. She froze.

Then the lights slid past Nancy, and she let out the breath she had been holding. She peeked out from the duct, waiting for her vision to clear.

When it did, she wished it hadn't. Because the first thing she saw was a black and white state police car. It was pulling into the graveled yard—and its headlights were trained directly on Bess!

L
OOKING OUT
through the duct, Nancy saw Bess standing by the driver's-side door of the Mustang. Her face looked stark white in the harsh glare from the cruiser's headlights, and she was obviously terrified. Nancy's heart sank. Things could be pretty sticky if Bess acted suspicious and the police started searching the area.

“What's up?” George asked from behind her.

“Shhh!”
Nancy whispered. “We've got company.”

She watched as two uniformed officers got out of the patrol car and approached Bess. The taller of them said, “This is an off-limits area, miss. I have to ask what you're doing here.”

“Oh—officers,” Bess began in a quavering
voice. Then she put on a big smile. “I'm so glad you came along! Otherwise I might have been stuck here all night.”

All night? What was Bess up to? Nancy wondered.

“You see,” said Bess, “I was on my way home from my friend Sally's house—she just moved here from River Heights, into the cutest little apartment. I forget the name of the street, but it's right near here. Anyway, I got onto this weird side road instead of the highway. And then my engine started making these noises, like
ping-ping.
So I pulled in here, because I was scared something was wrong and the car might blow up.” She paused for a breath and Nancy stifled a giggle.

“Nothing happened, though,” Bess hurried on. “So then I figured I would look under the hood and see if there were any loose screws or anything like that, so I got out of the car and shut the door—only I left the keys inside.” She pointed through the car window, and Nancy saw the officers bend down to peer inside.

“But when I tried to open the door again, it was locked!” Bess concluded with a big sigh. “I swear, I can be so dumb sometimes! Do you think you could help me get my keys out?”

“Ah—certainly, miss,” the taller policeman said.

The shorter officer went back to the patrol car and got a thin metal slat. He slid it down between the window and the insulating strip on Nancy's
car, then struggled to unlatch the lock. A moment later the door was open. After thanking them profusely, Bess climbed in. Then, with a jaunty wave of her hand, she started the engine and drove away. The two officers looked after her, and Nancy saw the shorter one shake his head. Then they, too, drove away.

When Nancy was sure they were gone, she signaled to George that the coast was clear, then crawled the rest of the way out of the duct. George followed. After they were safely on the ground, Nancy told her about Bess's performance. They were still giggling when Bess came back to pick them up five minutes later.

“Way to go,” George told her cousin. “How did you manage to pull that story off?”

“Well, when I saw the police car, I was totally scared,” Bess told them. “They had already seen me, so I couldn't move the car. But then I remembered I had Nan's keys, so I opened the door a crack, tossed the keys in, and then I locked the door. I did it all with my back to them, so they'd think I was struggling to open the door.”

“You were fantastic, Bess!” Nancy exclaimed as they drove away from the warehouse. “You fooled them completely!”

“I know. I felt bad about lying, though,” Bess said with a sigh. “The tall one was kind of cute, you know. He had the sweetest brown eyes.”

“Bess!” Nancy and George shrieked in unison. Then the three of them burst out laughing.

• • •

The phone rang soon after Nancy got up on Monday morning. It was Ned, and his voice vibrated with excitement over the phone.

“Nan, I remembered where I've seen that blond girl before—the one who was with Toby Foyle in Conchita's,” he said. “She works in the accounting department at Mutual Life!”

“You're kidding!” Nancy exclaimed.

“No. I didn't make the connection because I've only seen her at work, and she looks different from the way she did at the restaurant,” Ned explained. “She wears sensible suits, glasses, and no makeup. I guess she's one of those people who likes to keep her work life separate from her play life.”

“Could be,” Nancy agreed. Her mind was racing as she thought of the possibilities Ned's bit of news opened up. “Listen, if she works at Mutual Life, she'd have access to records and stuff like that. It would definitely make sense that she was Foyle's partner in the insurance scam! I'm going over there now and talk to her. Do you know her name?”

“No, I only know her by sight. But I'll bet Mr. Packard could help you out,” Ned said.

An hour later Nancy was cruising along Main Street in Mapleton, heading for the Mutual Life offices. As she stopped for a light, her eye was caught by a familiar logo on a building on the north side of the street. “Karsh's department store,” she said aloud. That was the place where Michelle Ferraro worked.

On impulse, Nancy pulled over to the curb and
got out. Perhaps someone Michelle worked with—her supervisor, maybe—knew something about her relationship with Foyle, or about her salary. She walked up to the store window and peered in. It wasn't open yet, as it wasn't quite ten o'clock, but Nancy could see people inside, getting the store ready. She made a note to herself to come back later.

She was about to turn away when she suddenly found herself staring into a pair of dark, angry eyes. It was Michelle! Nancy realized with a start. She must have spotted Nancy peering in. The leopard scarf she had been wearing when Nancy questioned her the day before was draped around her neck. She was twirling the ends with her fingers and glaring venomously at Nancy. After a second Michelle tossed her head and sauntered away.

Nancy headed back to her car, a little shaken by the fierce expression she had seen on the girl's face. Getting in, she drove the two blocks to the Mutual Life offices, where she found a space at the very back of the parking lot behind the annex, in the shade of some trees.

Nancy went into the annex and headed for Joe Packard's second-floor office. Andy Feinberg, Ned's office mate, was just going into their office with another guy as she arrived. He gave her a friendly look and a wave, and Nancy smiled back.

Packard was glad to see her, but when she told him why she was there, his smile faded. “Do you really think that Foyle's murder has something to
do with insurance fraud?” he asked, sounding anxious.

“It's a possibility,” Nancy replied, sitting in a chair near his desk.

“What about Michelle Ferraro?” asked Packard.

“She's still on the list of suspects. I saw her this morning at Karsh's, and she gave me a really nasty look,” Nancy told him. “But a glare isn't proof of anything. I still have to check out the fraud idea.”

He nodded. “Yes, I suppose you do,” he agreed. “I hate to think that any of our employees could be stealing from the company, but I guess it's possible. Now, let's see.” He pulled out a directory of telephone extensions and studied it.

“The girl works in accounting, eh?” he murmured. “Well, it's not any of these women, because none of them is young and blond. And the others are men. So it must be this name right here.” He pointed to a spot on the directory. “Libby Cartwright.”

Nancy thanked him and went up a flight to the accounting department on the third floor. A man at the photocopy machine pointed out Libby Cartwright's cubicle, and Nancy went over.

“Miss Cartwright?” she said.

The girl in the cubicle turned around and Nancy had to work hard to keep a straight face. It
was
the girl from Conchita's. But Libby certainly looked different this morning. Her blond hair, now mousse-free, was pulled back into a bun,
and she had on no makeup. She wore glasses, a demure high-necked blouse, and a gray suit.

“Yes?” Libby replied, and Nancy recognized her high, slightly breathless voice at once.

“My name's Nancy Drew. I'm a private investigator,” Nancy told her. “I'd like to talk to you about Toby Foyle.”

Libby's blue eyes immediately filled with tears. “Oh, poor Toby,” she said sadly. “It's so tragic, isn't it? We were just getting to know each other when it happened.”

“Uh—how long had you known Mr. Foyle?” Nancy asked.

“I had only two dates with him,” Libby told her. She pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “But it seemed as if we had known each other forever. I mean, we felt like old friends from the moment we met. I think he had that effect on people. You must know what I mean—you worked with him.”

“Worked with him?” Nancy repeated blankly. “What makes you think that?”

“You mean you didn't work with him?” Libby looked surprised. “Oh, excuse me, I assumed—Well, he was a private eye, too, you know.”

“I—I see,” Nancy said. This young woman seemed a bit flaky. Could she really believe that Foyle was a detective? “Did he tell you that?”

“Sure,” Libby replied. “That's how we met, actually. I was at a club last weekend, and I was talking to my friend about how I've always had a crush on Jim Brandon—you know, the private
eye in the TV show ‘Brandon.' Anyway, Toby overheard and told me he was a private eye, too.” She gave a forlorn little smile. “I guess the rest is history.”

“I guess it is,” Nancy agreed. Suddenly she felt sorry for Libby. Though she was older than Nancy, there was something innocent, almost childlike, about her. Nancy didn't think she was capable of lying. Obviously Libby had been blind to the real Toby Foyle.

Still, Nancy thought, she might as well mention the settlement Foyle had received and see if it had any effect on Libby.

“Did you know that Mr. Foyle recently received a hundred thousand dollars from Mutual Life, as a claim settlement for a car accident?” Nancy asked.