Island of Secrets (10 page)

“So he can follow in his daddy's footsteps,” Angie added sarcastically. “That includes going to law school, and then, of course, getting into politics.”

So it was
Walt
Winchester whom Angie was reacting to when she ran out of the restaurant, Nancy realized. She said, “But plenty of kids make their own choices, live their own lives.”

“Plenty of
other
kids,” Scott said grimly.

“How can your father stop you?” Nancy asked.

“Money!” Angie jumped up to stir the hot chocolate. “Scott's grandmother left him a large trust fund, but Scott doesn't inherit it until he's thirty, unless his father gives special permission. Of course he won't, if he finds out Scott married me.

“And I need that money now, to finish college and get my master's.” Scott swallowed hard. “Dad will only pay for my education if I'm willing to follow in his footsteps. How could I do that anyway? His boots are too big to fill.” He gave Nancy an ironic smile and waggled his foot. “He wears a thirteen and I only wear a nine.”

Nancy smiled at his joke. “But if you want to finish college, why did you drop out?”

“Dad kept pressuring me,” Scott said. “I hated pre-law, but I didn't know what I wanted to study. Now, after working on the new house all summer, I know I want to be an architect.”

Angie brought three steaming mugs to the table.

“He'll be a great one, too. He has what they call ‘the eye.' It's an instinct for what works in design.”

Scott touched her cheek. “My number-one fan, rooting section, and fellow artist.”

Nancy once again found herself liking Scott and finding it difficult to believe he might be a murderer. She had to remind herself that she'd met more than one charming killer in her career.

“Scott,” Nancy began slowly, “you know Barb wants me to find out if the police really have a case against D. J. Divott.”

“Please, Nancy,” Angie groaned. “Do we have to talk about the murder now?”

“There's a new development,” Nancy said, taking a sip of cocoa.

“What?” Scott said, suddenly alert.

“Last night Tom's aunt found a great deal of money hidden in his room.”

“Really?” Angie was surprised. Scott only stared at Nancy.

“Yes.” Nancy remembered her promise to D.J., so she phrased her words carefully. “I've been trying to figure out how Tom might have come by so much money. In my experience, sometimes one source of a large amount of cash is . . . blackmail.”

Nancy watched Scott's reaction carefully. He said nothing, only blinked his clear blue eyes rapidly for a moment.

“You think Tom was blackmailing someone?” Angie said. “I wouldn't be surprised. He wasn't a very . . . nice person.”

“You didn't like him?” Nancy asked.

“He was a jerk,” Angie said. “A real loudmouth, always bragging about how good he was with boats—and girls.”

“But Barb liked him.”

“Barb likes everyone,” Angie said. “She grew up in South Boston and knows a hundred guys like Tom. If they give her any sass, she gives it right back, and then some.”

Nancy nodded. She'd been watching Scott while talking to Angie and was disturbed by what she saw. Emotion seemed to flicker under his outwardly calm manner. Her mention of blackmail
had obviously triggered something—but what?

“Scott, what do you think about my theory?” Nancy asked.

His voice was carefully neutral. “I agree with Angie. Tom wasn't a very nice person.”

Nancy realized he wasn't going to reveal any more at that point. “Well, I'd better be going. Hannah's expecting me.” She stood up and put on her dripping jacket. “Congratulations, you newlyweds. I'm really happy for you.”

Scott and Angie walked her to the door. Nancy went out into the storm and made her way home.

She found that Sarah had left and Hannah was in the living room, listening to music on the radio while she worked on her quilt.

“Hannah,” Nancy said, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, “I've just been talking to Angie and Scott—”

Hannah's eyebrows went up. “Angie
and
Scott?”

Nancy nodded. “I promised I wouldn't tell, but I don't think they'd mind if you knew. I'm sure you won't mention it to anyone. Angie and Scott are secretly married.”

“I can't believe it,” Hannah said, putting down her quilting. She thought a moment. “Then why did Angie run out of the restaurant the other night?”

Nancy explained how Walt Winchester felt about Angie, and the fact that the congressman
controlled Scott's trust fund. She also told her about D.J.'s assertion that Tom Haines had been blackmailing Scott. “If Tom found out about the secret marriage, it's possible that Scott would have paid him to keep quiet.”

Hannah frowned and shook her head.

“And if we assume that Tom was killed by the person he was blackmailing, that means Scott is the murderer,” Nancy said.

“That handsome young man?” Hannah said.

“I know. But anyone can be pushed to the breaking point. And dropping out of college shows that Scott doesn't always react well under pressure. If Tom kept asking for more and more money, the way blackmailers often do, Scott might have exploded.”

“Killing Tom could have been an accident,” Hannah said. “Maybe he didn't mean to do it. The police know there was a fight before Tom received the blow that actually killed him.”

“And Scott has a bruise on his cheek,” Nancy said. “I'm going to ask him where he got it the next time I see him. Also, D.J. saw Tom and Scott leaving the Spotted Dog together the night Tom died.” Nancy sighed. “Poor Angie. It doesn't look good for Scott.”

“Don't you need proof, Nancy?” Hannah said. “That's what you always tell me.”

“You're absolutely right, Hannah. I need to find a way to search Scott's cabin on the yacht. There might be a clue there.”

“But don't forget,” Hannah said, “you only have D.J.'s word for it that Scott and Tom were together that night. And D.J.'s still a suspect.”

“Good point,” Nancy said thoughtfully.

“Just be careful,” Hannah said. “Don't take any chances. The police will solve this murder sooner or later.”

“In the meantime, though, people like Sarah are suffering. And the killer is walking around free.”

The telephone rang and Nancy answered it.

“Isn't it incredible?” Barb sounded so excited Nancy hardly recognized her voice. “Angie told me the news! She said if she could trust you, she could trust her best friend—me, of course—to keep the big secret. Can you believe it? I've been living with a married woman and didn't even know it!”

“You sound happy,” Nancy said.

“I am! It's so romantic! And guess what? Scott's father is in New York and won't be able to fly back to the island until this gale blows over, so Scott and Angie have decided to have a little wedding celebration. We're invited to Scott's yacht tonight for a lobster dinner. Can you make it?”

“Sure,” Nancy said. “I'd love to.” She wondered if she might find an opportunity to search Scott's cabin some time during the evening.

“Great! Scott will pick us up on the dock at seven. If anyone sees us, this will confirm his
playboy image for good. One guy entertaining three girls—how the gossips will love it!”

The wind had begun to die down but the rain was still heavy when Scott ferried them out to the yacht. The girls carried dry clothes in plastic bags, knowing they'd be soaked by the time they arrived.

“I'm sorry to drag you out into the harbor on a night like this,” Scott said as he helped them up the boarding ladder. “But I can't leave
Emily Sue
alone until this storm's over. I feel guilty enough deserting her this afternoon for a couple of hours.”

Angie stepped on deck. “Are you telling me a boat is just as important as your wife?” she said, pretending to be angry.

“Of course not.” Scott grinned. “The boat is
more
important.”

“Oh, you!” Angie chased him down into the cabin, threatening dire revenge.

Classic rock 'n' roll songs were on the CD player. While Nancy and Barb shucked ears of corn, Angie put together a huge salad and Scott bravely dropped the lobsters in the pot of boiling water.

“Sorry, big fella,” he apologized to the last one, “but we all gotta go sometime.”

“And someone's gotta do the dirty deed,” Angie said, shuddering. “Better you than me.”

“Anything for you, my Angelina,” Scott said with sudden intensity. “Anything.”

Nancy watched him carefully. Did
anything
include murder? she wondered.

Dinner was delicious. Melted butter ran down their chins, the pile of lobster shells grew into a mountain, and Scott won the how-fast-can-you-eat-an-ear-of-corn contest. Everyone groaned when Angie cleared off the table and plunked down three tubs of ice cream and six kinds of toppings.

“I can't eat another bite,” Barb said.

“You don't have to eat it,” Angie said. “You just have to create it. There's a prize for the most original sundae. Now, here are peanuts, fudge sauce, whipped cream, marshmallows, cherries, olives—”

“Olives!” Barb shrieked. “On ice cream?”

“Why not?” Angie grinned.

“If you'll excuse me a moment,” Nancy said, “I think I'll go wash up before I build my version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Be right back.”

One of the bathrooms was located off Scott's cabin, where the girls had changed into dry clothes earlier. Nancy shut the cabin door, washed her hands, then began to search the room.

Scott's things were all neatly stowed away. She found nothing but clothes in the built-in drawers and books on the shelves. She opened the hanging locker and found shirts, slacks, and jeans. She felt around in the pockets. She found loose
change, a tiny pocketknife, some string, and other odds and ends.

When she came to the faded pair of jeans Scott had been wearing the day before, she slid her fingers into the front pocket. There she found the folded piece of paper he had been playing with. She opened it and read.

“Bring twice as much $ as before. Pay up or you know what will happen. Tonite. Same place. 10
P.M.
”

It was signed,
T.

T
HE BLACKMAIL NOTE
shook in Nancy's hand. She had found the proof she was looking for, but she wasn't happy about it. It seemed almost certain that Angie was married to a murderer.

She slipped the note into her pocket, to give to the police later, then had another thought. There was no hard evidence proving that Tom had been murdered by the person he was blackmailing. That was only a theory. She decided to wait and talk to Scott before taking any action.

She returned to the party and tried to join in the spirit of the evening. Angie won the Wicked Sundae contest by creating an erupting volcano, with fudge sauce and cherries for the lava flow. They played a hilarious game of Old Maid, with Scott and Angie cheating like mad, trying to help each other win.

It was late by the time Scott took the girls back to shore. Nancy returned to the cottage and fell into bed, exhausted by her efforts to appear carefree when she knew she might be celebrating the wedding of a killer.

• • •

She woke up Thursday morning to find the storm had blown away, leaving the island clean and bright under a clear sky. Nancy hoped the good weather would hold because George and Bess were arriving the next day. She also hoped the case would be solved by then.

After breakfast her father, Carson Drew, called. They chatted for a while before Nancy mentioned the murder investigation.

“Don't tell me you've taken on another case, Nancy,” Carson said. “You're supposed to be on vacation.”

“I didn't plan to get involved,” she said, then explained to him what had happened.

“Winchester . . .” Carson mused. “Seems to me I've heard something about him. I can't remember exactly what, but why don't I check it out?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Nancy said. “That would be great.”

After Nancy said goodbye, Hannah took the receiver, quizzing him on whether he was eating properly and getting enough rest.

“I know him,” she told Nancy after hanging up. “All he's thinking about is that trial. He
could eat a sawdust sandwich and claim it was delicious when he's caught up like this. And you're just as bad. You hardly touched your breakfast.”

“I ate enough last night to last me for three days, Hannah,” Nancy said. “Besides, this case worries me, especially the blackmail note. I know the evidence points to Scott, but I don't feel satisfied. If only the police could track down the guy who ran me off the road, we could find out who paid him to do it. Odds are it was the murderer, trying to stop my investigation. I think I'll call Jim right now.”