Island of Secrets (12 page)

The three of them sprawled on the grass in a heap. They lay still, panting, their hearts racing.

After a moment Scott groaned and pulled Angie to him, holding her close. “I don't believe it! I almost killed you!”

“It was an accident,” Angie said, caressing his cheek.

“It was stupid, stupid,
stupid!”
Scott buried his face in her hair.

Nancy moved away slightly and knelt on the grass. “It was my fault. I shouldn't have upset you. After all, I don't see how you could have
killed Tom, even if he
was
blackmailing you. Your father says you were on the yacht with him last Friday night.”

Scott's shoulders slumped forward in defeat. “You don't understand.” He took a deep breath, shuddering. “My father can't give me an alibi. He wasn't on the yacht himself.”

“What do you mean?” Nancy asked, puzzled.

For a long moment he said nothing. His eyes were dull with pain and he was utterly shaken.

Finally Scott raised his head and stared at Nancy. “That blackmail note wasn't sent to me. It was sent to my
father.
”

N
ANCY STARED AT
S
COTT
. “Your father? Why would Tom blackmail him?”

“My father is a two-faced, lying crook.” His voice trembled.

“Why do you say that?” Nancy asked.

“What would you think if you knew your father accepted bribes to change his vote?”

“Are you
sure?”
Nancy asked, standing up.

“I caught him at it during spring break.” Scott also stood and faced the sea, his back to the girls. “He didn't know I was in the house one afternoon when he had a little business meeting with one of his so-called friends.” He turned to Angie. “I couldn't tell you about it—I was too ashamed of him. I didn't know what to do. . . .”

“Is that the real reason you dropped out of college?” Angie asked softly, going to him.

Scott nodded. “There he was, pushing me to become a lawyer and go into politics, just as he had. Then I discover his vote's for sale to the highest bidder.”

“Does he know you found out?” Nancy asked.

“No.” He sounded both sad and angry.

Nancy thought a moment. “It seems like Tom Haines discovered the same thing and decided to make some money out of it. But why did you have the blackmail note in your pocket?”

“I found it in Dad's cabin when I was getting some papers he wanted me to bring him. I couldn't believe what I was reading. There were several notes. . . .” His voice trailed away.

“What did you do with them?” Nancy asked.

“I burned them, except for the last one. I held on to it, to convince myself it was real,” he said bitterly.

“You probably destroyed important evidence. Do you realize what those notes mean?” Nancy asked.

“Of course I do!”
Scott faced her, a disturbed look in his eyes. “If Dad followed the instructions in the last one and met Tom that night, he could be—”

“The person who murdered Tom,” Nancy finished for him.

Scott covered his face with his hands. Angie put her arm around his waist and leaned her head against his shoulder. No one spoke for a moment.

Finally Nancy said, “Your father wasn't on the yacht the night Tom was killed.”

“He”—Scott swallowed hard—“wasn't there when I got back from the Spotted Dog.”

“What time was that?” Nancy asked.

“About . . . nine-thirty, I guess.”

“And Tom's note said to meet him at ten,” Nancy said. “What time did your father get back?”

“After midnight,” Scott whispered.

“Scott,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “Why haven't you told the police?”

“I didn't know what to do!” Scott broke away from Angie and began to pace back and forth. “Turn my dad in to the police? How could I?”

“Did you mention the notes, or anything else, to your father?” Nancy asked.

“No, I couldn't do that either!”

“You are caught in a terrible situation, Scott,” Nancy said with sympathy. “But the police have to know about this. I'm meeting Jim Hathaway for lunch and I plan to give the note to him.”

“No!” Scott said. “Please, you can't!”

“You'll have to tell the police where you found the blackmail letters,” Nancy said firmly. “This can't go on any longer. Do you think it's fair to D. J. Divott or Tom's aunt?”

“She's right, Scott,” Angie said quietly.

Scott took both Angie's hands in his. “I know, but I can't turn against my own father.”

“Scott, we'll work it out.” Angie hugged him. “Let's go to my apartment and talk about it.”

Angie gathered up the picnic basket and blanket. “You don't have to make a decision now. We'll figure out the best thing to do.” She led Scott down the path.

Nancy watched them go, wondering if the police would believe her about the distinguished congressman without Scott's testimony.

She knew that the one surviving note, now safely hidden in her bedroom, was not strong enough evidence against Winchester. The police would only have her word that Scott had found it in his father's cabin. Nancy needed positive proof that Winchester was guilty of taking bribes, if not murder.

She remembered her lunch with Hannah at the Captain's Catch. She'd seen the man in the business suit leave a battered briefcase with Winchester. What if it had contained, not important papers, as Walt claimed, but something else? She also remembered the congressman's brief flash of annoyance when she pointed out that his friend had forgotten his briefcase.

If she could find the case and it contained evidence of bribery, she would have much stronger proof to give to the police. Winchester had probably taken it to New York with him, but there was a slim chance it was on board the yacht.

Nancy ran to her moped and headed for the cottage. She needed a lookout if she was going to
search the boat. She rode past the construction site and was glad to see Winchester's sports car still parked in the driveway.

She reached the cottage quickly and raced in, calling out, “Hannah!”

The housekeeper came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. “What's happened?”

“Actually, it's what's
going
to happen,” Nancy said with a small smile. “I need your help with something.”

“Now what are you up to?” Hannah asked.

“I've got to search the Winchesters' yacht.” Nancy quickly told her about Scott's discoveries about his father, then explained her plan.

“You think Congressman Winchester is the murderer?” Hannah said. “I'd be more surprised, except that your father called a little while ago. He said there are rumors that Winchester can be bought for the right price. Apparently, there have been a few too many times he's changed his mind when key issues come up for a vote. Of course, there's no proof that he accepted bribes to do so.”

“Maybe we can find some,” Nancy said. “Come on, we have to get to the harbor while Winchester's still busy at the construction site.”

They raced over to Great Salt Pond on, their mopeds. The dinghy,
SueSue,
was tied to the dock. Telling the dock boy they were running an errand for Scott, they climbed in, started the little outboard, and headed out to the yacht.

Once on board the
Emily Sue,
Nancy took her lock pick from her fanny pack and opened the padlock that secured the hatch.

“You're pretty quick with that gizmo,” Hannah said admiringly. “Now what do we do?”

“You get to keep watch through the portholes. Let me know if you see Winchester's red sports car arrive in the parking lot.” Nancy led her down the steps in the main cabin. “He won't be able to see us from shore if we're inside, but we'll need to make a quick getaway. So, call me the minute you spot his car.”

“Can do,” Hannah said crisply, taking her place near a porthole.

“I'm going to start from the back and work my way forward,” Nancy said. She soon found that the bench seats and bunks covered deep storage lockers. In addition, there were plenty of built-in cabinets holding books, navigation tools, pots and pans, and other necessities.

By the time she reached the forward cabin, she was beginning to think her search would turn up nothing. But then, at the bottom of a locker full of extra sails, she found the briefcase.

“This is it, Hannah!” She ran back to the main cabin and showed it to her. “I remember the jagged gash on the side.”

“So do I,” Hannah said. “Open it quickly. I think I see a red car—no, it's a sedan, not a sports car.”

Nancy picked the lock. “We struck gold!” The
briefcase was almost filled with bundles of cash, bound together by paper bands.

“I'll bet Winchester used some of this money to pay off Hank, the hit-and-run motorcycle rider,” Nancy said. “When the congressman heard D.J. say I was a detective that day, he must have decided not to take any chances and scare me off the case.”

“He was a fool to think you'd give up so easily,” Hannah said.

“Thanks.” Nancy smiled. “But one thing is clear—you and I witnessed Walt Winchester accepting this briefcase at the Captain's Table.”

“Yes, we did. Should we take it to the police?”

“No, it's better to leave it here,” Nancy decided. “Winchester just returned from New York this morning. He's not likely to leave again soon since his plane is grounded. I'll tell Jim what we've found and the police can get a warrant to search the yacht.”

Nancy replaced the briefcase and covered it with the sails, leaving the locker just as she'd found it. They double-checked the yacht to make sure nothing was out of place and left, locking the hatch behind them.

When they reached the dock, Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. “Goodness, this breaking-and-entering business is nerve-wracking. I don't know when I've felt so tense. Now what do we do?”

Nancy thought for a moment. She and Hannah
could testify that Winchester had accepted the briefcase in the restaurant. Maybe Angie could talk Scott into admitting that he found the blackmail notes in his father's cabin. But so far, they couldn't prove that Winchester killed Tom Haines.

Nancy knew it was almost impossible to commit a crime like murder without leaving any clues. She'd checked the yacht thoroughly. The only other places to look were the congressman's airplane and the construction site. She didn't think he'd have left anything on a plane that was being repaired, but the construction site was a possibility.

“Let's head back to the cottage,” Nancy said. “You need a chance to recover from your life of crime, and I've got to make a call.”

They made it home quickly, and without a second's pause Nancy called Jim. He was out investigating a complaint. Jim respected her, but Nancy wasn't sure the other police officers would take her accusations against the congressman seriously. So she left a message, saying she'd call back in half an hour. Maybe by then she could present Jim with solid evidence that Winchester was guilty of murder.

Nancy told Hannah her plan and headed out to the construction site. On the way Winchester's red sports car passed her going toward the harbor. He waved to her and she breathed a sigh of
relief that he had not returned when she and Hannah were searching his yacht.

She was thankful, too, that he wouldn't be at the construction site. If he was the murderer, he was almost certainly the person who pushed the sliding glass doors toward her.

The construction workers were just taking a break when she arrived. Most moved over to sit under a shady tree on the edge of the property. D.J. told Nancy he was headed into town to pick up lumber.

Nancy simply said she wanted to look around. She trusted D.J. now, but saw no reason to get him involved.

D.J. was in too much of a hurry to question her motives. “I'll be back in twenty minutes,” he said.

She watched D.J.'s pickup roar down the driveway, then decided to start with the storage shed set some distance behind the house. It was one place she hadn't explored earlier.

The shed was full of tools and supplies—an electric saw, ladders, paneling, tape, joint compound. In addition, the men apparently used it to store extra jackets and foul weather gear. A heap of clothes and boots were piled in one corner.

Nancy sorted through the collection. One large pair of men's pants was especially muddy around the cuffs. Next to them, she noticed a pair of cowboy boots caked with dried mud. The initials
W. W.
were worked into the design. She checked the number stamped inside. Size thirteen, as Scott had said when he joked about following in his father's footsteps. They had to belong to the congressman.

She took the boots over to the door where the light was better. Turning one of them upside down, she checked the mud that was wedged between the heel and the sole. Then she stooped and picked up a stick lying on the ground.