Secrets Can Kill (4 page)

“That's a pretty intriguing invitation,” Nancy said with a coy smile. “I'm too curious to turn you down.”

“It's a date, then.”

Daryl touched her arm in a familiar gesture before walking away. Once again, Nancy thrilled to the feel of his hand. As she hurried to her next class, she pictured the two of them dancing together, arms around each other. The picture brought a smile to her face. As long as
she was at Bedford High, she thought, she might as well have some fun. And Daryl Gray was the perfect person to have it with.

• • •

By the time her last class of the day was over, Nancy's head was a blur of names and faces, a jumble of bells and pounding feet. As she'd expected, she hadn't done much detecting at all. Only two people—Carla and Jake—stood out in her mind as possibly connected to the vandalism and to the videotape she'd received.

She wanted to find out more about both of them, but first she wanted to take a look around the video lab to see if she could discover any connection between the missing equipment and the mysterious tape.

She wasn't taking any chances on getting lost a second time—she asked a teacher for directions and, after stashing some books in her locker, made her way to room 235.

The door was locked.
Probably only the teacher has a key.
Well, Mr. Parton
had
given her permission to do “whatever it takes,” she thought. She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out an extremely handy little device—a credit card—and took a careful look down the hall.

Connie Watson was walking straight toward her.

“Hi, Nancy!” Connie called. “I've been looking
for you. The football team's got practice this afternoon and I thought you might want to go to it with me.” Connie blushed and bit her lip. “You don't have to, though. I mean, if you're too busy, that's okay,” she said quickly, as if she were used to being rejected.

“No, I think I'd like that,” Nancy said, pocketing the credit card. Maybe she'd get a chance to talk to Walt Hogan. She was very curious about the cryptic conversation she'd overheard on the stairs. “Let's go.”

The weather was warm for early October, and several dozen kids were sitting in the bleachers watching the players and the cheerleading squad. Nancy and Connie arrived just in time to see Hunk Hogan getting chewed out royally by the coach. Nancy couldn't hear what was being said, but she wondered if Walt was in trouble because he'd arrived late. If that was it, then it was probably his voice she'd heard in the main hall that morning, pleading with Jake. She hadn't recognized it when she met him, but if it
was
Walt, then she had more reason than ever to talk to him.

The cheerleaders were energetic and colorful in their bright orange and white uniforms. Nancy admired their routines and even had to admit that Carla, who seemed to be the captain, was very good.

Beside her, Connie sighed. “I'd give anything
to be a cheerleader,” she confided. “Of course, I'm too fat, so it's not worth thinking about. Besides, even if I were skinny, I'd never make it. Not with Carla Dalton in charge. She can't stand me.”

Nancy nodded sympathetically. “She's not too crazy about me, either, but I don't have a clue why.”

“Oh, that's easy,” Connie said. “Ever since you arrived at Bedford High, Daryl Gray hasn't taken his eyes off of you, and Carla can't stand competition.” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Personally, I love seeing Carla get what she deserves.”

“You mean Carla and Daryl have a thing going?” Nancy asked. That explained the funny look on Daryl's face when Carla's name had been mentioned. Nancy couldn't picture Daryl being interested in someone like that, but she really didn't know him all that well.

“Off and on,” Connie told her. “It's been off for a couple of weeks, but when you showed up, I guess Carla decided you were invading her territory.”

So Carla's jealous,
Nancy thought. That might make her nasty, but it didn't make her a criminal.

“Actually, I'm surprised she still wants Daryl,” Connie went on. “Carla's only interested in one thing—money.”

“Well, Daryl can't be heading for the poor-house,”
Nancy remarked. “Not if he drives around in a Porsche.”

“It is a little weird,” Connie agreed, “especially since his father lost practically all his money a few months ago in some big business fiasco. For a while the Grays were one of the richest families in Bedford, but now . . .”

Connie's voice trailed off as she shook her head in sympathy. Nancy was sympathetic, too, but she was also curious. Not about the Grays' money problems—that was simply none of her business—but about what other tidbits of information Connie might have. She was something of a gossip, Nancy thought, and gossips could be a big help. Connie was chattering away again, pointing out various kids on the field, when Nancy noticed the bracelet on her right wrist. “That's beautiful,” she said, touching it. “What is it, art deco?”

“I . . . I don't know,” Connie said nervously fingering the intricately patterned gold. “It was a present . . . I don't know anything about jewelry.”

“I love it. It looks like an antique,” Nancy told her. A little flattery never hurt when you wanted information, and besides, she really liked Connie. “So, tell me more about Bedford High,” she prompted. “Hey, I hear there're some weird things going on—stuff getting stolen and lockers broken into.”

“You must mean the ‘phantom,' ” Connie
said, seeming relieved at the change in subject. “That's what I call him, since no one knows who he is.”

“Got any ideas?”

“No. And most kids don't really care. I mean, it's all so juvenile.”

So much for inside information. Then Nancy had to sit on the hard bleachers for an hour as Connie proceeded to give her a detailed account of everyone's love life, grades, family, and friends. Nancy learned a lot, but nothing that was going to help. One day down, she thought. How many more to go?

• • •

Nancy arrived at school the next day, determined to start putting the puzzle together, or at least to gather a few of the pieces.

Instead of study hall she had gym during second period, and stretching her muscles and limbering up felt good. Maybe the exercise would limber her mind up, too, so she could solve the case.

Two minutes into gym, though, her mind was on something else.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Nancy stopped in the middle of a sit-up and smiled at Carla Dalton, who was standing over her. Who knows, she thought, maybe a smile would help.

“I'd really appreciate it,” Carla said, “if you'd keep your problems to yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

Carla put a hand on her cocked hip. “I'm talking about the way you ran and tattled to Daryl yesterday,” she said nastily. “He chewed me out about it this morning. I mean, can't you fight your own battles?”

“Let's get something straight,” Nancy said calmly. “I didn't ‘tattle' to Daryl. He asked me how I got lost, and I told him. I don't want to fight with you, Carla,” she went on, “but since you asked, yes, I can fight my own battles—and I usually win.”

Nancy went back to her sit-ups, still smiling, but inside she was seething.
This is all I need,
she thought,
a cat fight.

A few minutes later, though, she wondered just how petty the cat fight was going to be. It was her turn on the trampoline, and as she prepared to go into a high flip, she noticed that the girl spotting her had changed places—with Carla Dalton.

It threw her concentration off. It shouldn't have, but it did. And as she sprung high into the air, she knew she was off balance.

There was no time to catch herself. If she'd had a reliable person spotting her, she wouldn't have worried, but Carla's back, she noticed, was conveniently turned. Before Nancy could stop herself, she was hurtling over the end of the trampoline—heading for a major collision with the floor!

A
T THE LAST
possible second, Nancy pushed her body to the limit, twisted desperately in midair, and hit the floor—with her rear end. Thank goodness not with her head. It wasn't the most graceful move she'd ever made, but as she sat there breathing shakily, she decided that it was better to be a klutz than a corpse.

Nancy was tempted to prove to Carla then and there that she was ready to fight the battle. But when she got to her feet, she noticed that the gym teacher was doing it for her.

“Dalton!” Miss Gibbs was livid. “This isn't the pom-pom squad. You have to use your
brains in here, if you have any! Drew could have broken her neck!”

Which would not have broken Carla's heart, Nancy thought grimly. It would have made her day.

Most of the girls had rushed over to Nancy, asking if she was all right, whether she needed to see the nurse, whether she was sure nothing was broken.

“Thanks,” Nancy said gratefully. “I'm still in one piece. But I think I lost something.”

“What?” somebody asked.

“An inch off my hips,” Nancy joked. “It's permanently embedded in the gym floor!”

Twenty minutes later, Nancy took her seat in social studies. She was still slightly rattled and was hoping for a lecture so she could just take notes and get her breath back.

“Okay,” the teacher said gleefully, “clear your desks of everything but paper and pen. It's pop-quiz time!”

Nancy joined the other kids in groaning, and took as long as possible finding a notebook and pen.

“Don't worry,” the boy behind her said. “Mr. Warner's quizzes are so bad, nobody passes. If you flunk, you won't be alone.”

“Right,” the girl to her left said. “The only one with a chance is Hal Morgan.”

Nancy glanced to her right and noticed that
Hal Morgan was chewing his fingernails nervously.

“He doesn't look too confident,” she whispered.

“Yeah, that's weird,” the girl whispered back. “You know, it's funny. Hal's been the class brain forever. Always studying, you know? Never had time for anything else. But then this September, he surprised everybody by running for class president against Daryl Gray. He didn't win, but he sure did try. I can't believe how much time he spent campaigning.”

“Maybe that's why he looks nervous,” Nancy said. “Maybe his grades dropped during the campaign.”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe. But he's been talking about going to Harvard, so he must be doing something right. And his SATs were off the top of the scale.”

“Okay, scholars,” Mr. Warner cackled. “Let's get this show on the road!”

By the fifth question, Nancy had decided that the boy behind her was right. There was no way she was going to pass the quiz. At least she didn't have to worry about her grade-point average, like everybody else.

She glanced at the clock, to see how much more torture she might have to go through. As she did she noticed that Hal Morgan seemed to be having trouble concentrating, too. In fact,
his eyes were on
Nancy's
paper. As soon as he saw her glance at him, he looked away.

The teacher asked the next question, and Nancy wrote down her answer. Then she deliberately put her hands to her hair so her paper would be clear.

Sure enough, Hal made a pretense of stretching and yawning, and as he rolled his head around, his eyes once more zeroed in on Nancy's paper.

It was obvious, to Nancy anyway, that Hal the Brain was copying her answers. But why? Why would somebody so smart bother to cheat on a pop quiz?

Well, it sure isn't going to do him any good,
she thought as they passed their papers to the front.
Hal's going to get exactly what I get, which is probably a fifty.

She didn't think much more of the incident until after class. As she left the room, she saw Jake Webb lurking in the hall. Then she saw Hal walk up to him, reluctantly, the way most people walk into a dentist's office.

Wondering what those two could possibly have in common, Nancy attached herself to a group of kids who were standing around, moaning about the quiz.

It was hard to hear everything, but she caught enough to make her extremely curious.

“Listen,” Hal was saying, “I've got my own essay to write before I can get to yours!”

“That's cool,” Jake said. “I'll give you till tomorrow. How's that?”

“That's not enough time, and you know it.” Hal sounded panicky.

“Oh, too bad,” said Jake sarcastically. “Well, I guess I don't have to tell you what'll happen, right?”

Hal let out a big sigh and Nancy saw the defeated look on his face. “Okay, okay,” he said. “You'll have it tomorrow.”

That guy is really the pits,
Nancy thought as she watched Jake walk cockily down the hall.
He acts like a king, and he's got at least two lackeys—Walt and Hal—doing his bidding. How many others are hustling to follow his orders? And why? Why would anyone want to do anything for Jake Webb?