Mystery at the Ski Jump (5 page)
Read Mystery at the Ski Jump Online
Authors: Carolyn Keene
Tags: #Women Detectives, #Detective and Mystery Stories, #Girls & Women, #Mystery & Detective, #Juvenile Fiction, #Adventure and Adventurers, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #Fiction, #Fur Garments, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Adventure Stories, #Hides and Skins, #Swindlers and Swindling, #Drew; Nancy (Fictitious Character), #General, #Identity Theft, #Mystery and Detective Stories
Nancy called the Masonville Fur Company and learned that every fur piece sold there had MFC stamped on one of the skins. At the time of purchase, the date was added.
Nancy borrowed scissors and quickly opened the lining of the stole. Near the neckline was the MFC mark. There was no date.
“I’ll let the fur company know,” Mrs. Plimpton said tearfully.
“I hope to recover your money,” Nancy said. “By the way, that thief is not Nancy Drew. Her name is Mrs. Channing. If you should ever see her again, be sure to call the police.”
When Nancy joined her friends in the lobby, Bess suggested that they go to lunch at a tearoom she had noticed a few blocks away. As the three walked toward it, Nancy told what she had learned from Mrs. Plimpton.
“Has Mrs. Channing been doing this all along? Stealing furs and then selling them as a come-on for her fake stock?” George asked.
“I’m not sure where she got her first supply,” said Nancy. “But evidently business has been so good that she ran out of merchandise and had to resort to shoplifting.”
“Well, what next?” Bess asked.
“Before we leave town,” Nancy said, “I’d like to canvass all the exclusive shops and find out if they’ve missed any furs or—” Her voice trailed away. She had seen an elegantly dressed woman with shiny blue-black hair walking briskly along the opposite side of the street.
“I’ll be back!” she said quickly, hurrying across the street to follow the woman. Mrs. Channing was moving so rapidly that the girl had no chance to trail her subtly.
Nancy had nearly caught up to Mrs. Channing when the woman paused to look in a gift-shop window. An instant later she turned, ran down the street, and slipped into a small fur shop.
“She saw my reflection in that store window!” Nancy thought, and walked rapidly to the fur shop. She gazed cautiously through the window. Mrs. Channing was not in sight.
Nancy stepped inside. A small, stout man moved briskly to meet her, followed by a smaller and equally stout woman. “Something my wife and I can do for you, miss?” the man asked.
“I came in to inquire about a woman I saw enter this place a minute ago,” Nancy replied. “A tall woman in a mink coat. She has bluish-black hair.”
The storekeeper raised his eyebrows and shook his head, at the same time glancing quickly at his wife. “Perhaps you are mistaken?”
“I saw her come in here,” Nancy insisted. “I must find her.”
“Who are you, please?” the man demanded.
“My name is Nancy Drew, and—”
With a yelp of rage the little man leaped toward the girl, pinning her hands behind her back. The woman threw a dark cloth over Nancy’s head. Despite her resistance, the couple overpowered the young sleuth and dragged her to a rear room.
“Unlock the closet!” the man directed.
Nancy heard the click of a door latch. She was shoved among some fur coats. The door slammed shut and a key turned in the lock.
“You’ll never try to rob this store again!” the proprietor cried mockingly.
CHAPTER VI
Curious Dealings
THE closet in which Nancy was a prisoner was dark and stuffy. Fur garments crowded against her, nearly suffocating her. She pressed an ear to a crack in the door and listened to the murmur of excited voices in the shop.
“I say we call the police!” the woman shrilled. “Tell them we captured this thief ourselves and no thanks to their protection!”
“But, Mama, suppose the lady in the fur coat was mistaken?” persisted the proprietor. “All we know is that she said a thief named Nancy Drew was coming to steal furs.”
“And didn’t Nancy Drew come in here?” insisted his wife. “That’s good enough for me!”
Nancy heard the door of the shop open. “Pardon me,” said a familiar voice. “Did a titian-haired girl come in here?”
“George!” thought Nancy.
“Why do you ask?” the proprietor demanded.
“Because she’s a friend of ours,” Bess answered. “We saw her come into this shop.”
After a moment of silence, the woman asked, “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Nancy Drew,” George declared.
“You’ve come to help her rob us!” the woman shrieked. “Papa, lock them up too!”
Nancy doubled her fists and banged on the closed door with all her might. “Bess! George!” she shouted. “I’m locked in this closet!”
She heard a startled exclamation and a sound of running feet. In a moment the door swung open. “Nancy!” Bess gasped. “What happened?”
“Mrs. Channing told these people I’m a thief!”
The proprietor frowned. “Mrs. Channing?”
“The woman in the fur coat,” Nancy told him. “She stole two mink pieces in Masonville yesterday. I believe she planned to rob you, but saw me coming and used this means to get rid of me.”
“Nancy’s a detective,” Bess spoke up.
The mouths of the shop owners dropped open. “I meant no harm, miss,” the man said quickly.
“Where did Mrs. Channing go?” Nancy asked.
“Out the back door.” The proprietor pointed. “I’m so very, very sorry—” he began.
“It’s all right,” Nancy said. “Come on, girls. Maybe we can pick up that woman’s trail.”
But Mrs. Channing was not hiding in any of the alleys or shops in the vicinity. The three friends cruised up and down the streets of Winchester, and inquired at two other hotels and all the fur shops. No one had seen the woman.
Finally the girls decided to return home. When they stopped for gasoline on the way back to River Heights, Nancy picked up a clue. She questioned the service-station attendant, who informed her that a long black car with a crooked bumper and dented fenders had stopped there for gas a short time before.
“The driver was a dark-haired woman in a fur coat,” the employee said. “I remember her because she seemed so nervous. Kept looking back over her shoulder all the time.”
“Did she mention where she was going?” Nancy asked.
“No. But she said to fill her gas tank—said she was starting on a trip. Maybe to Vermont, I thought. The car had a Vermont license.”
“Did you happen to notice anything she had in the car with her? Luggage or packages or anything?” George asked.
“Now, why are you girls so curious?” the man countered. “I’m pretty busy here.”
Before Nancy could stop Bess, she revealed their suspicions of Mrs. Channing. The attendant became cordial once more.
“You know, that woman did have two extra fur coats on the back seat,” he said.
Nancy thanked the man for the information. While paying for the gasoline, she asked, “Have you a telephone?”
“Yes, inside. Use it if you like.”
Nancy phoned the local police, told what she had learned, and asked them to alert the Vermont authorities.
When Nancy finally reached home, Hannah greeted her with a broad smile and said, “I’m sorry you had such a long, tedious trip.”
“Well, I picked up some good clues.”
“What were you doing, anyway? Trailing that nice Mrs. Channing?” Hannah asked.
“I wouldn’t call her nice!” Nancy declared.
“Well, now, I think you’re prejudiced,” Hannah said. “That’s fine stock she sold me!”
“What makes you think so?” Nancy asked.
“In the afternoon mail I received some money from the Forest Fur Company—a nice, fat dividend,” Hannah stated triumphantly.
Nancy stared at her in amazement. “That fake fur company actually paid you?” she asked.
“Yes, indeed!” said Hannah. “And Mrs. Martin phoned me that she received her payment, too.”
“Why—why, it simply doesn’t make sense,” Nancy said, walking to the telephone. “I’m going to call Mrs. Clifton Packer.”
The wealthy widow greeted Nancy cordially, and admitted she had been mailed a sizable dividend. But Mrs. Packer did not sound pleased.
“I suppose the payment was not very large,” Nancy remarked, thinking that the woman was no doubt accustomed to receiving sizable dividends.
“It’s not that,” Mrs. Packer replied. “Nancy, there’s something queer about the way the money was sent. And one doesn’t get dividends so soon after buying stock. I wish you’d investigate!”
Nancy’s fingers tightened on the telephone receiver. “Something odd about the payment?”
“Yes,” Mrs. Packer went on. “As you might guess, I have stock in various companies. They all send their dividends by check. The checks are signed by the treasurer of the company.”
“And this payment was different?”
“It certainly was!” said the widow. “It was a money order mailed from New York. No legitimate business would work that way.”
Nancy thanked Mrs. Packer for the information and hung up. “Well?” asked Hannah Gruen.
“Mrs. Packer agrees that something is wrong,” said Nancy. “Do you still have the letter that came with your dividend?”
“There wasn’t any letter.” The housekeeper frowned. “Just the money order in an envelope.” Hannah said that she had cashed the money order and thrown the envelope away.
After a frantic search, Nancy located it in a wastebasket. She smoothed out the crumpled bit of paper to study the sender’s name and address. There was no name, and the street number was blurred.
“Who sent the money orders?” she asked herself. “Not Mrs. Channing—she was in River Heights at the time this was mailed.”
Nancy concluded that the woman must have a confederate in New York, someone to whom she sent lists of her victims and who then mailed the dividends. Could the person be Mrs. Channing’s husband? she wondered.
Nancy was eager to follow up the clue. “If Dad doesn’t need me yet, I’ll take the early plane for New York tomorrow,” she decided.
After supper she telephoned her father and told him the news. “May I make a quick trip to New York before I join you?” she asked.
“If you think it’s worth while, go ahead,” the lawyer replied. “I’ve found some extra work up here that’ll keep me busy a few days.”
The next morning Nancy was optimistic as she boarded the jetliner. She always enjoyed trips to New York, which invariably meant a visit with Mr. Drew’s younger sister, a schoolteacher.
The slim, titian-haired woman resembled Nancy in more than looks. Eloise Drew had assisted her niece in solving several mysteries.
Nancy took a taxi from the airport to Miss Drew’s apartment. Her aunt greeted Nancy with a warm smile. “I was just hoping I could see you during my vacation next week!” she declared. “And here you are, and with that old twinkle in your eyes. You’re involved in another mystery. Right?”
Nancy laughed. “Right! Will you help me?”
While she and her aunt prepared lunch, Nancy told of the case and the envelope clue.
“What do you plan to do next?” Aunt Eloise asked.
“Go to the address on the envelope. I think Mrs. Channing’s husband may be there. If he sent the money orders, I’ll call the police.”
“I’ll go with you,” Aunt Eloise announced.
After the two finished lunch, they started out. The address on the envelope proved to be that of a hotel in a run-down district.
At the desk in the lobby, a clerk glanced up as Nancy approached him. “Is a Mr. R. I. Channing registered here?” she asked.
The clerk shook his head.
“Perhaps I was mistaken in the name,” Nancy said quickly. “Have you a guest who works for the Forest Fur Company?”
The clerk grew impatient. “No, young lady. This is a residential hotel, and we don’t handle business, so—”
“Did you mention the Forest Fur Company?” interrupted a voice behind Nancy.
The speaker was a red-haired woman in her early forties. She was wearing a tight dress and too much make-up and jewelry. Nancy turned to her.
“I’m Miss Reynolds,” the woman said. “I live here and I couldn’t help overhearing your question. I know the person you’re looking for. I’m a stockholder in his company.”
Nancy’s heart leaped. She introduced herself and her aunt, and said, “Can you tell me where I can find the man you mentioned?”
“Why, he’s Mr. Sidney Boyd, and he lives in the suite next to mine!” the woman said loftily. “He is a true student of the theater, Miss Drew. He said that my performance in
Wild Lilacs
—”
Wild Lilacs
—”
“I’m sure he was very complimentary, Miss Reynolds,” Nancy interrupted. “But do you mind telling me how you happened to purchase stock in the Forest Fur Company?”
“Well, I had to coax Mr. Boyd to sell it to me,” the woman said coyly.
The clerk had listened to the conversation. After Miss Reynolds nodded good-by to the Drews and sauntered to the elevator, the man came over. “Hm!” he snorted. “Bunny Reynolds hasn’t had a theater engagement in years!”
“What about this Sidney Boyd?” Nancy prompted.
“Yes, tell us about him,” Aunt Eloise put in.
“Ladies, I’m manager as well as clerk here. We don’t want trouble on the premises.”
“Then I imagine you want to avoid trouble with the law, too,” Eloise Drew said. “Suppose this Mr. Boyd is involved in a stock swindle?”
“A swindle!” the manager gasped. “Well, I did suspect there was something phony about that glib talker,” he added defensively.
“What does he look like?” Nancy asked.
The clerk shrugged. “The usual ladies’ man. Slender. Dark eyes. Kind of long, uncombed hair.”
“He can’t be Mr. Channing,” Nancy thought, “because he’s a big, broad-shouldered man.” Aloud she said, “May I question some of your staff about Mr. Boyd? It won’t take long.”
The man hesitated, then nodded. “Step into my office, ladies. I’ll send the porters in first.”
The men could tell nothing about Sidney Boyd except that he tipped generously. All the maids but one were unable to add anything. Katy, the fourth-floor maid, had such an uneasy manner of speaking that Nancy felt she might know something important about the suspect. She questioned the woman further.
“Mr. Boyd gets up late,” Katy said, growing more talkative. “Sometimes, while I’m waiting to clean up, he chats with me.”
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