Hot Tracks (2 page)

Bess let out a long breath of air. “You're right,” she agreed. “I hope the Camaro didn't miss me too much. Come on, I'll race the Mustang home.”

The two girls started down the restaurant steps. Except for a few pockets of light from outside lamps, the parking lot was dark with menacing shadows.

“Let's still go to the races Friday afternoon,” Bess suggested, pausing halfway down the steps. “It'll be fun to see how Romeo Walters handles three dates.”

She began giggling. A moment later the
laughter died on her lips. She was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide with horror.

“What is it?” Nancy asked. Then she noticed that the parking space between the Mercedes and BMW was empty.

“Nancy!” Bess gasped. “The Camaro's gone!”

B
ESS HURRIED
over to the empty spot. “Didn't I park my car right here?” she asked frantically.

“You sure did,” Nancy said, frowning. The sparkle of something shining on the ground near Bess caught her eye. After striding up to it, Nancy stooped down to get a closer look.

Pieces of shattered safety glass were scattered along the asphalt near the empty parking spot. “This looks like it's from a car window,” she told Bess, holding a piece up to the light. “It's about the right thickness.”

Bess didn't seem to have heard Nancy. “Maybe I made a mistake,” she said, glancing around the parking lot. “Maybe I parked it over there.”

She began to walk to the next row. Nancy jumped up and caught her arm.

“This is where you parked it,” Nancy said gently. “It looks as if somebody broke into your car and stole it.”

Bess whirled around to stare at Nancy. “Stole it! No. No way.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Maybe someone from the restaurant moved it. Or it was towed away because—because it was in a no parking zone. Or—or—”

“Bess,” Nancy cut in, “I'll help you look around if it'll make you feel better, but I'm afraid your Camaro's gone. It looks as if someone broke the window and unlocked the car.”

Tears welled up in Bess's eyes, and Nancy's heart went out to her friend. “Come on. Let's make a quick search of the parking lot,” she suggested. “Then we'll call the police.”

Bess nodded. The two girls checked out all the rows of cars in front of the restaurant, then walked around to the side. Nancy's Mustang was still under the willow tree, but there was no sign of the yellow Camaro.

“Maybe someone in the restaurant knows something,” Bess said hopefully.

Inside, the hostess directed Nancy and Bess to the manager's office. The hostess hadn't seen anything unusual, and Nancy doubted that any of the people eating had, either. None of the tables had a view of the parking lot.

“We'd better call the police,” the manager advised after Nancy and Bess told him what had happened. “Yours is the third car this week that's been stolen from the area.” He gestured to the telephone on his desk. “Here. You can use my phone.”

“I can't believe this is happening,” Bess groaned, slumping down into the chair in front of the desk. She dialed the River Heights police station. When the dispatcher answered, Bess gave her name and explained when and where the car had been stolen.

“A patrol car will be right here,” she told Nancy after she'd hung up. With a sigh, she added, “I'd better call my parents, too.”

Nancy nodded. “I'll wait for you outside. I want to look around.”

After making her way back out of the restaurant, Nancy pulled her pocket flashlight from her purse and hunted around the empty parking spot for any clue as to what had happened to the Camaro. Except for the shards of glass, there was nothing unusual.

Bess came down the stairs just as Nancy finished her search. She sat dejectedly on the bottom step with her chin cupped in her hands.

“What did your dad say?” Nancy asked, flicking off her light and sitting down next to Bess.

“He was speechless. Not that I blame him. I mean, just this afternoon he was cosigning for my car loan, and now it's gone! I just can't
figure out why anyone took it. Why not steal the BMW or Mercedes? They're worth a lot more.”

Nancy shrugged. “I don't know much about auto theft. Maybe the police can tell us why.” She nodded toward the entrance of the parking lot, where a white cruiser was just pulling in.

The police car stopped next to Nancy and Bess, and a young officer climbed out. “Hi. I'm Officer Jackson,” she said. “Are you the people who called about the stolen car?”

“Yes. I'm Nancy Drew, and this is Bess Marvin,” Nancy said. She and Bess stood and shook hands with the police officer.

“It was my Camaro,” Bess added.

“Where was it parked?” Officer Jackson asked.

Nancy pointed to the empty space, and the policewoman bent down to examine the glass.

“What I can't understand is how they started the car without the keys,” Bess said.

Officer Jackson stood up, took a pad from her shirt pocket, and flipped it open. “They probably hot-wired it,” she told Bess. “All a person needs is a tool to pull out the ignition system. Then he jams a screwdriver in, twists it, and your car starts. It only takes a professional about a minute.”

With a nod at Bess, the officer added, “Now, let me get some information from you, Ms. Marvin. Then I can broadcast the car's description over the radio.”

As Bess walked over to the cruiser with
Officer Jackson, Nancy went over in her mind what had happened. They'd been in the restaurant about an hour and a half, but it wasn't dark except for the last few minutes. Chances were that the thief had driven away in the Camaro just minutes before she and Bess had come outside.

With a frustrated sigh, Nancy joined Bess and Officer Jackson at the police cruiser.

“I'm also calling the description in to the National Crime Information Center,” the officer was telling Bess. “They'll put it into the computer. That way the Camaro can be traced as a stolen car anywhere in the United States.”

“What a day,” Bess said glumly while Officer Jackson slid into the cruiser to broadcast her report. “First Dirk, and now this.”

“Bess,” a male voice said behind them. “What's going on? Are you all right?”

Nancy and Bess turned to see Dirk Walters coming down the restaurant stairs. The brunette was right beside him. Dirk hopped down the last three steps and came to stand in front of Bess.

“Why the cop?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

“My car was stolen,” Bess told him.

“Stolen! Are you sure?”

Nancy nodded. “We checked the entire lot,” she told him. “Plus the manager told us it wasn't the first one that's been stolen from this area.”

Dirk gave a low whistle. “That's awful.”

“Awful doesn't begin to describe it,” Bess said. “It was brand-new! At least to me. My first car.” Her lower lip began to tremble.

Dirk took her hand. “Hey, cheer up. I bet a couple of kids just ‘borrowed' it for a joyride. The cops will probably find it across town.”

“Uh, Dirk, I have to go,” the brunette suddenly said. She was still standing on the steps.

Nancy noticed that the woman was a little older than they were—maybe in her mid-twenties—and very attractive. Her face was already tan and was carefully made up, and she wore a rose-colored silk dress with a soft, flowing skirt. Nancy detected a hardness in the woman's brown eyes, and frown lines had already formed on her brow.

“Oh, sorry.” Dirk sprang back up the stairs. Taking the woman's elbow, he escorted her over to Nancy and Bess. “Kitty Lambert, this is Bess Marvin and Nancy Drew. I went to high school with them.”

“Nice to meet you,” Nancy said.

Bess gave Kitty a forced smile. She wasn't happy about meeting Dirk's date.

“Kitty's going to crew for me the next couple of races,” Dirk said enthusiastically. “Isn't that great?”

“Yeah, great,” Bess echoed flatly. She was curiously eyeing the brunette.

Kitty gave them a polite smile. “Nice meeting
you, but I have to run. Sorry about your car, Bess. See you Friday, Dirk,” she called over her shoulder. She walked quickly across the parking lot to a white Firebird and got in.

Dirk waved as Kitty drove away, then turned to grin at Nancy and Bess. “Imagine, Kitty Lambert, the best mechanic around, crewing for me.”

“She's a mechanic?” Bess asked.

Dirk nodded. “The best. I'm still not sure why she agreed to work for
me.
Lots of the hotshot drivers want her. The only thing I can figure is that she's got a thing for my older brother, Jake.”

Bess shot Nancy a relieved look. “Or maybe she figures you'll be the next Grand Prix champion,” she suggested brightly.

Dirk chuckled. “Actually, that's a different kind of racing from drag racing.”

“Sounds like I have a lot to learn,” Bess added. She opened her mouth to say something else but stopped when Officer Jackson came over.

“The report is in, so all the patrol cars in the area will be notified,” the officer told them. “The auto theft unit will contact you as soon as they learn anything. In the meantime, make sure you call your insurance company.”

“Do you two need a ride home?” Dirk asked.

“Thanks, but I have my car here,” Nancy replied.

“Then I'd better be going.” Turning to Bess,
he asked, “Walk me to my car a second? It's right over there.”

As they walked away, Nancy said to Officer Jackson, “The manager told us that some other cars were stolen from this area recently.”

The policewoman nodded, putting her pad back into her shirt pocket. “Two others to be exact. They were taken from the main parking lot across the street last weekend. We've stepped up our patrols, but the thieves have eluded us so far.”

“But why this riverfront area?” Nancy asked.

“Who knows?” Officer Jackson shrugged. “My guess is that most of the people who are attracted to the nightclub and restaurants here are young people, and young people generally like sporty cars. The thieves know the owners will be inside dancing and eating so they'll have plenty of time to break in and steal a car. Plus, this lot isn't very well lighted. We've already spoken to the owners about the problem. They've agreed to do something about it, but it'll take a while.”

Bess rejoined them, a faint smile on her face, and Nancy couldn't help smiling, too. Obviously, the budding romance with Dirk was back on track.

“Officer Jackson was telling me about the other thefts in the area,” Nancy explained to Bess.

“So what are the odds of finding my car?” Bess asked.

“Oh, the odds are good,” Officer Jackson told her. “About ninety percent of all stolen cars are recovered.”

“That's terrific!” Bess exclaimed.

“Well, not so terrific.” The policewoman became very serious. “Usually by the time the cars are found, they've either been burned, wrecked, or are in pieces.”

Y
OU MEAN
I may never see my Camaro in one piece again?” Bess asked, her face falling.

Officer Jackson nodded. “Unfortunately. If it was stolen by a professional, your car's probably in a chop shop by now.”

Seeing Bess's confused expression, the officer went on to explain. “A chop shop is where a thief can get rid of a stolen car. The shops dismantle the cars or repaint them. Then they resell them whole or as parts.”

“Don't tell me any more,” Bess groaned and covered her ears. “It's all too awful!”

Officer Jackson smiled sympathetically. “Well, I've got to go,” she said. “Call the station if you have any questions or want to check on the progress of the investigation. Ask
for Detective Quinones. He's in charge of auto theft.”

The girls thanked the police officer. After the cruiser had driven away, Nancy turned to Bess.