Suddenly Nancy decided to try a different strategy. "You know, I'm not sure if you realize that you're my prime suspect," Nancy said. "Do you want me to think you're guilty? Because you're doing a pretty good imitation of someone who does."
Celia stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk. "And I'm not sure if you realize that all I want to do is forget about high school. Why should I care what's happened to Wendy, or Monica, for that matter? And why would I do something that would mean I'd have to remember those days again?"
"So why'd you go to the party?" Bess blurted.
"Because I wanted to show all of you what I'd done! To show you that I could do it! None of you can possibly imagine what it was like back then," Celia continued. "You were all popular. No one made fun of you, or if they did"—Bess had started to protest—"it was because they liked you. Do you know how it felt to be the class joke? To know that people were making fun of me because they didn't like me?
"I was finally able to lose all that weight when I moved out of my parents' house and started going to college. That was the first time I wasn't around anyone who had any kind of, well, former impression of me.
"I know I seem a little unpleasant, but I can't stand being around people who remind me of high school. That doesn't mean I'm guilty. I'm not, Nancy—really. There wouldn't be any point in my trying to get revenge now. The girl I used to be—the one who deserves revenge for the way people treated her—is gone. And I hope she'll never come back."
Nancy had to admit it all sounded plausible. But she didn't want to let Celia go before she had more information.
"I understand what you're saying, but I think I've still got to ask you some more questions— even if you don't want to answer them," she said. "Whether or not you want to be involved, you are. If you're telling the truth—and someone is framing you—then the only way to separate yourself from all this high school stuff is to talk to me."
Celia sighed. "Okay. But I did promise myself I'd finish painting my room by suppertime. Can we go back to my apartment and keep talking in there? I know Bess won't be able to—"
"I can go home," Bess broke in. "I'll meet you later, Nan. I'll pick up George and check out the beach house. Okay?"
Nancy thought it was a great idea. She had planned to go there herself but hadn't had the time.
"Okay, Celia. It'll be fine to go back to your house. Maybe there's even something I can help you with."
"Actually, I don't need any help," Celia said when they'd reached her room. "Doing the molding is a one-person job. You can just ask me your questions, and I'll keep painting." She picked up her brush and can of shell-pink paint and started climbing up the ladder that was standing on a dropcloth at one side of the room.
As she stepped on the top rung her foot crashed right through, and she lost her balance. Desperately she grabbed for the ladder, paint flying from the can and showering the room before the quart container banged to the floor.
"No!" Celia gasped as she tried to cling by her fingertips to the top platform. The ladder started to sway back and forth as she struggled to hook her feet onto a step. Finally, her weight pulled the ladder forward, and she landed on the floor with a sickening thud. The ladder clattered down on top of her.
For a second the sound of the crash echoed through the little room. Then there was a terrible silence.
Chapter Eight
"Don't move, Celia!" Nancy said quickly, springing forward to lift the heavy ladder off the still body. She pulled it to one side, then knelt down next to the other girl. "Are you all right?" she asked.
Celia shook her head and tried to push herself up on her hands, but she collapsed immediately. "I can't get up," she moaned. "My arm won't move. I felt something snap when I fell."
"It does look broken to me," Nancy said. The arm was bent backward at a frightening angle. And above Celia's eye a huge, purple, egglike bruise was puffing up. The ladder must have hit her on her head, Nancy realized. "Don't try to move/' Nancy said quickly. "I'm going to call an ambulance right now."
'There's a phone in the next room. ..." Celia said, her voice trailing off.
The call took only a few minutes. When Nancy came back, Celia was straining to look around. "Did much of the paint spill?" she asked.
Nancy smiled. "Nope. Just all of it!"
"I can't believe I was so clumsy," Celia gasped. "I never—"
"You weren't clumsy." Nancy's voice had suddenly turned hard. She'd just noticed the top rung of the ladder.
It had been sawed clear through. And there was a tiny note taped to the top platform. No one climbing the ladder would have been able to see it. It was clearly meant to be visible only to someone at the top of the ladder.
"You see," the note jeered, "you're the same fat loser you always were."
"What's that?" Celia asked.
Nancy couldn't bring herself to read the note aloud. She just showed it to Celia—and watched as a different kind of pain spread across the injured girl's face.
"Do you have any idea who might have done this?" Nancy asked.
There were tears in Celiacs eyes. "It can only be from Judd Reese," she said. "He always used to call me Fat Loser back in school. Then he shortened it to F.L. I guess I was wrong. I'll never be able to get away from high school. Will you catch him, Nancy?" she asked in a tiny voice.
The ambulance was just pulling up outside. "You bet I will," said Nancy as she got up to answer the door. "Whoever it was. Now we're going to help you get to the hospital. I'll call your parents, and they can be there by the time you arrive. Now you just think about getting better."
Bess would have been relieved. It was five o'clock, and Nancy was finally back at home getting some lunch.
She'd just called the hospital and talked to Celia, who was doing fine. Her parents were with her. Her arm was broken and had been set, and she was going to spend the night in the hospital just to make sure her head was okay. There was no sign of a concussion, though, and no other injuries except bruises.
That was a relief, anyway. But Nancy had also talked to the police—and their news was less good. They had no leads on the two new robberies that had taken place earlier that day. No fingerprints had been left anywhere. And of course there was no trace of the stuff that had been stolen from any of the houses.
"I can hardly believe this is the work of a kid, Nancy," one of the officers said to her. "If it weren't for those notes, I'd say we were dealing with a pro."
Was Judd a pro? Nancy would find out the next day. She called Bess and found out she and George had discovered no clues at the beach house.
Nancy decided to forget about the case for that night. She and Ned had plans to see a movie. He'd be coming by in an hour to pick her up, and she still had shell-pink paint to remove from her hair and skin. For the next couple of hours, the only thing she wanted to think about was being with Ned.
"You're sure you'll be okay with Judd?" Ned asked as they walked home after the movie. "I mean, if he does turn out to be guilty?"
"Well, I don't expect to be alone," Nancy said. "He works in a big garage over on Church Street. I called him and made plans to see him at ten in the morning. But it's sweet of you to be worried." She stopped and stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
"Oh, I'm not really worried, Nan," Ned said. "I just wish there was something I could do to help you with the case. Is there something?"
Nancy smiled. "Not so far," she said, "but there is one thing you could do for me right now."
"Yes?" Ned asked, raising one eyebrow like a villain in an old-time movie.
"Well, after you kiss me, could we stop for ice cream somewhere? I don't want to sound like Bess, but I'm starving. I don't think I can walk another step if I don't get some ice cream right away."
As Nancy eased her car into a parking place across from the Church Street Garage the next morning, she wondered how Judd coulcl possibly stand to work where he did. Right next door to the garage was a record store with the loudest music she'd eve
r heard pouring out of two speakers in front of the building.
By the time she had parked her car and started across the street, Nancy's ears were throbbing. And when Judd came striding out to meet her, he had to yell to be heard above the music.
"Come on into my office," he shouted. "I'm guessing that whatever you have to talk to me about, you don't want to do it out here in the open."
Nancy smiled in spite of herself. "Good guess," she shouted back. "I don't think you could hear me, anyway."
Luckily, the noise eased up once they were inside the garage. On the way back to Judd's office Nancy couldn't help noticing a black Corvette on a hydraulic lift. 'That's not Patrick Emmons's, is it?" she asked.
"Uh-huh." Judd tossed back over his shoulder. t; I heard the brakes are shot."
Nancy was surprised. Wasn't Patrick's car brand-new? But Judd had already disappeared into the office ahead of her, and she had to hurry to catch up with him.
Before he sat down behind the desk, he scooped a pile of old magazines off the only other chair in the office. "Have a seat," he said. "Sorry about the background noise. They keep that music on all day. It really drives me crazy."
"I can see why." Nancy wasn't quite sure how-to begin. "You've been working here since high school?" she asked casually.
"That's right. My uncle owns the place, and he pretty much lets me run it. He says that if I work hard enough he'll make me a partner next year." Judd's offhanded tone couldn't quite hide the pride in his eyes. "I thought when I first started that it'd be easy, but I'm sure working harder than I ever did in school. Except that I'm going to school now. too."
"You are?" Nancy asked, then hoped she hadn't sounded too surprised.
"Yup. I'm taking some college courses at night. I don't know if I'll get my degree. But I want options. I don't know if I want to spend my whole life in a garage."
"Well, that sounds great," Nancy said lamely. She wasn't sure how to go on from here—until Judd made it easy for her.
"You here to talk about what happened at Wendy's the other night?" he asked.
"That's right—and a couple of other things."
Judd didn't react as Nancy described everything that had happened the day before. He just leaned back in his chair, looking bored. But when she got to the part about the sawed-through ladder rung at Celia's, he straightened up abruptly.
"That's a shame," he said unexpectedly. "After everything she's done to turn her life around. But who could have anything against Celia?"
"Well—uh—I've got to admit I was wondering if it might be you, Judd." She pulled the note to Celia out of her purse and showed it to him.
Judd read the note, and read it again. When he passed it back to her, his eyes were wary. "So?" he said defensively. "What does this have to do with me?"
Nancy wasn't enjoying this. She'd never really known Judd in high school, and she'd only seen him around a couple of times since graduation. The Judd she was talking to now seemed totally different from the image she had formed of him in high school. He seemed far too likable to be guilty. But don't start rooting for him! she told herself. He's your strongest suspect now!
"So Celia told me you used to call her Fat Loser in high school. Is that true?"
Judd rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, dropping his eyes. "Yeah. It is. But people do lots of stupid things in high school. And I sure wasn't the only person who made fun of Celia back then—even though I may be the only person who's sorry about it now."
"Did anyone else call her that?"
"I don't know," Judd answered back a little snappishly.
"Judd, I'm sorry," Nancy said. "But do you have any proof of where you were yesterday afternoon? I'm just trying to get at the truth—"
"Sure you are." Judd was on his feet now, and leaning into her across the desk. "The real truth is that people like me are always in trouble—no matter what the facts are. Isn't that right?"
"No. If you haven't done anything wrong, then you don't have anything to worry about!"
"Of course I do. I have to worry about being branded a punk for the rest of my life just because I didn't make Eagle Scout. Why would I do a thing like that to Celia? Or Monica? Or Wendy—even though she might deserve it?"
"What do you mean, she might deserve it?"
"Okay, I shouldn't have said that. But when I was a freshman she found out I had a crush on her, and she never let me forget it. She used to call me and talk to me for a minute or two, then
hang up. Once she even made a date with me. She never showed. It was like she wanted to keep reminding me that I wasn't good enough for her—but at the same time she kept leading me on.
Judd shook his head. "That showed me what some girls are like. But do you think I'd rob her because of something that happened freshman year? If I've changed, I've got to give her credit for changing, too—if she has."
"I'm sorry" was all Nancy said. "Just tell me what you were doing yesterday afternoon, and I'll go."
"I don't have to tell you anything," Judd said quietly. "You've got a good imagination. I'm sure you'll make something up. Now I'm getting out of here before I lose my temper."
"Just a gentle hour alone with you—" trilled the speakers next door. They had just been jammed up to full volume.
Judd slammed his fist into the desk. "That music!" he yelled. "Someday I'm going to kill that guy! Okay, I'm leaving. And when I come back, I don't want to see you here."
"Judd!" But he was gone.
Nancy drew a shaky breath. She hadn't done anything wrong—but she still felt uneasy and tense.
What was a good detective supposed to do at a time like this? She could hardly think straight.
Then the answer came to her as if someone had dictated it. "A good detective would use this chance to search Judd's office."
But what was there to search for in a garage office? The row of phone books above the desk? The dusty calendar on the wall? The wastebas-ket?
The wastebasket. When Nancy glanced down at it, she could hardly believe she hadn't noticed it before.
Judd's wastebasket was stuffed with old newspapers. And all of their headlines had been cut out!
Chapter Nine
Was Judd the culprit after all? Nancy assumed she had solved the case already and wondered why she felt totally unsatisfied.
It's just that it's so hard to believe! she told herself. True, everything pointed to Judd now. He'd made it clear to Nancy that he had a grudge against Wendy. He'd been the person Celia had first suspected. And now to find all those newspapers with the words cut out.
It had to be Judd, Nancy thought, trying to convince herself. That meant that every impression he had just given Nancy had been wrong.
Slowly Nancy reached into the wastebasket to pick up the cut-up newspapers. At that exact moment Judd walked back in.
"Come into the office and have a seat, sir. I'll just get those forms for you to sign," he was saying politely to someone behind him. Then he caught sight of Nancy. "Oh, excuse me a minute," he said to his customer. "I'll be right with you."
He stepped toward Nancy so menacingly that she dropped the papers and backed away. When he spoke, his voice was cool—too cool.
"I thought I'd asked you to do something pretty simple, Nancy," he said. "Why are you still here?"
Nancy's heart was pounding. She knew she had nothing to be afraid of, but Judd looked so blazingly angry that she felt frightened—and as guilty as if she'd been the one caught stealing. "I—I forgot something," she stammered.
"Have you remembered it now?"
Nancy nodded.
"Okay. Then get out."
Nancy grabbed her shoulder bag and left. It wasn't until she was safely back in her car across the street that she realized she hadn't brought any of the newspapers with her. And they were her only evidence!
Nancy leaned back in her seat and let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Boy, Drew," she muttered aloud. "You really blew it."
Should she go ba
ck and get the papers? Nancy almost laughed at the idea. She could just imagine walking back into Judd's office—in front of his customer—and trying to take the papers out of his wastebasket.
No, the papers would just have to stay there— if they were still there at all. Nancy was sure Judd had noticed what she was doing. He'd probably already gotten rid of them.
Sighing again, Nancy put the key into the ignition. As she did so she glanced over at the garage one last time. She couldn't see into Judd's office; all she could see was Patrick's gleaming black Corvette up on the lift.
Patrick's Corvette . . . Suddenly Nancy's thoughts took a new direction. If Judd was guilty of all these other attacks, wasn't it possible Patrick was in danger, too? All the kids who had been attacked had been successful in some way. If Judd resented people who were more successful than he was, who better to resent than Patrick?
And if Patrick was next on Judd's hit list, wouldn't sabotaging Patrick's car be a great way to get him?
Nancy decided she had to follow up on her hunch. She drove to a pay phone around the corner and called Patrick at home.
Five rings. Six. Answer, answer, Nancy thought impatiently. I want something to go right today. At last Patrick picked up, on the eighth ring.
"Nancy, hi!" he said enthusiastically after hearing her voice. "I was working out in the yard. How are things going?"
"Fine, I guess. But let me ask you one question before I forget. What's the matter with your car?" Nancy tried to sound casual.
"Oh, nothing, really," said Patrick. "It's only a couple of months old, you know! It just needs its thousand-mile check. Is that why you called?" he added with a laugh.
"No. But it tells me I was right to call," Nancy said. "Can you meet me at Pete's Place in half an hour? I need to talk to you right away."
027 Most Likely to Die Page 5
