027 Most Likely to Die

by Carolyn Keene

  "Out back. I know it's probably nothing, but—"

  "Let's go see," Nancy said. "Which way's the back door?"

  "Right through here—ouch!" Suddenly Nancy heard a crash. Some small piece of furniture skittered across the floor, and Wendy started hopping up and down. "Ouch! Ouch! Oh, my shin!" Wendy moaned. "I didn't see that footstool!"

  "Why are the lights off, anyway?" Nancy asked.

  "I turned them off. I didn't want that guy to be able to see where I was!"

  "Well, I think they should be turned back on," Nancy said. "People are less likely to break in if they think someone's home. And turning the lights on now would help scare off a prowler. Where's the switch?"

  "I'll get it." Just having something to do calmed Wendy down. "The back door's right through the kitchen," she continued briskly, leading Nancy to it.

  "Well, I can't imagine any prowler who'd be dumb enough to hang around when we're out here," she told Wendy cheerfully, "but let me just have a look." She stepped outside and threw on the floodlights.

  No one appeared to be lurking behind any of the trees. No one was crouched in back of the brick barbecue grill. No one was hiding in the changing house next to the swimming pool. If anyone had been trying to break in, he was gone now.

  Back in the kitchen, the phone rang.

  "Oh, no. It's him again!" Wendy whimpered. "Can't we just ignore it?"

  "Don't worry," Nancy said. "I'll answer it this time." She pulled the back door shut. "You bolt the door."

  In the black-tiled kitchen, the phone's ringing echoed, jarring Nancy.

  "Hello?" she said crisply.

  There was a pause. Then a hollow chuckle and a horribly distorted, cackling voice.

  "You'd better get out of there if you know what's good for you— Nancy Drew!"

  Click! Whoever was calling had hung up.

  And whoever it was knew who she was. That meant he'd been following her movements that night. Maybe he was calling to threaten Nancy now!

  Wendy was hovering nervously in the doorway. "Was it him?" she whispered.

  Nancy nodded. "But this time I think he was looking for me."

  "Looking for you!" Wendy's eyes grew enormous. "But that means—"

  "Exactly," Nancy broke in. "Hang on, Wendy. Let me think a minute. There was something familiar about the background noise, but I can't put my finger on it. Wherever that guy was calling from was a place I've been recently. Now where was it?"

  Suddenly it came to her. Judd's garage— the only place Nancy knew where loud soft-rock ballads could be heard in the middle of the night.

  "Okay. Now it's my turn to make a few calls," Nancy told Wendy. "I've got to get over to the Church Street Garage. Want to come?"

  "Are you kidding? You think I'd stay here alone?"

  It was 2:00 a.m. Sorry, Ned, Nancy thought as she dialed his number.

  "Sorry to call you so late, Ned," she said when he finally answered. "I was just wondering if you'd mind switching our date for tomorrow night to tonight. Right now."

  "You're not kidding, are you?" Ned answered with a yawn.

  "I wish I were. I think I've managed to track down our prowler. He may be at the Church Street Garage. Wendy and I are about to head over there, but I think we may need reinforcements. Can you meet us?"

  "Sure thing," Ned answered. He sounded more wide-awake now. "Ten minutes?"

  "Great. Thanks a whole lot, Ned."

  Getting George up was a little harder. When Nancy had finished explaining everything, George groaned, "Of course, Nan. Anything for you," and went right back to sleep. Nancy had to shout her name over and over before George woke up again. By then she'd forgotten everything Nancy had just told her. Nancy hoped she would have better luck with Bess.

  Wendy came back into the kitchen just as Nancy was hanging up from Bess. "Okay, let's go," Nancy said.

  Wendy took a deep breath. "I'm ready. But Nancy, one thing—"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't you want to put on your sandals? You've been carrying them around all this time."

  "Are you sure there's someone in there? Why would a garage be open at this time of night?" whispered George.

  "Well, I'm not sure it's open—but I am sure that this is where that call was coming from," Nancy whispered back.

  Nancy, George, Bess, Ned, and Wendy were all huddled in the parking lot across the street from the Church Street Garage. The music had finally been shut off, and the night was dead silent.

  Nancy was feeling very edgy. No one lived in this neighborhood; it was just a strip of fast-food restaurants, garages, and other daytime businesses. No cars ever came to this section of town at night, and there was a lost, deserted quality to the streets. Bess kept yawning and rubbing her eyes, and it was obvious that George thought Nancy had dragged them out on a wild-goose chase.

  "All right, I admit we'll look stupid trying to get in if there's no one there," Nancy said, "but we'll look even stupider if we all go home and it turns out I was right. Let's get over there."

  "Are we all going in together?" asked Ned.

  "I think it would make more sense if I go in while the rest of you stake out the exits," Nancy answered. "I know there's one exit out back—I saw it right behind Judd's office—and there's another on the side. Ned, you take the back, and

  George can take the side. And of course there's the one in front. Why don't you take that one, Bess?" She didn't want to say it, but she thought the front door would be the safest for Bess. If Judd wanted to escape, it wasn't likely he'd do it through the front. Nancy was sure that either Ned or George could handle Judd if he tried to get by them.

  "Wendy and I will go in by the back door," she said. "I can pick the lock if I have to."

  But as it turned out, she didn't have to. The door wasn't locked. "Stay right behind me, Wendy," Nancy murmured as she stepped inside.

  Judd's office looked as though he'd been working late. The radio was on, tuned to an all-night soft-rock station. There were papers all over his desk, along with a half-full Styrofoam cup of coffee and a doughnut with a bite out of it.

  Something about the hominess of the scene was wrong. It was too pat. Was this the desk of someone who'd been making threatening phone calls all night?

  It was all starting to seem stranger and stranger —and yet Nancy knew in her bones that she hadn't been mistaken about where the calls were coming from.

  As she and Wendy crept into the garage's main work area, Nancy realized that she was afraid. Not afraid of catching Judd. Afraid that something terrible had happened here.

  There was no one in the other two offices, and no sign that anyone had been there recently. The employees' bathroom was empty, but Nancy saw that someone had forgotten to turn off the cold-water tap.

  Or maybe that person just hadn't bothered. Nancy took a closer look at the sink.

  The bar of soap was stained with something red. There were traces of red on the white porcelain of the sink. And the crumpled-up paper towels in the wastebasket were drenched with dark red.

  Blood. Someone had been attacked in this garage. And perhaps not very long ago.

  Nancy ran into the garage's main work area. Wendy was behind her—but it was Wendy who screamed at what they saw.

  Judd Reese was lying unconscious in the pit under the hydraulic press. And it looked as though someone had bashed him over the head!

  Chapter Fourteen

  "All right. We'll be waiting for you here." Slowly Nancy hung up the phone in Judd's office. For the second time in forty-eight hours she was waiting for an ambulance. But she hadn't been nearly so worried about Celia as she was about Judd.

  She didn't dare touch Judd's head, but it looked as though he'd lost a lot of blood. And ij took a long time for her to find his pulse. Judd's attacker definitely meant business.

  The night air was warm, but Nancy shivered. Whoever was behind all this had just upped the ante. Where was it all going to stop?

  She walked back out into the
main garage, where Ned, Bess, George, and Wendy were standing around Judd.

  "The ambulance is on its way," she said. "But there's no reason for all of you to wait. Why don't you go home? I can stay here until they come. Maybe one of you could give Wendy a ride home."

  "Uh, Nancy, maybe I could stay here with you?" said Wendy. "I just can't stand the thought of going back to that empty house."

  "Of course you can't. I should have thought of that," agreed Nancy. "Do you want to spend the rest of the night at my house?"

  Wendy looked incredibly relieved. "Thank you," she said fervently. "I'd really appreciate that."

  "But of course we're not leaving the two of you alone here, Nan," said George. Ned and Bess nodded their agreement. "We don't need our sleep that badly. "We'll all wait together. I'm sorry I didn't believe you, by the way. You were right, as usual."

  "Oh, don't worry," Nancy said. "I know it's not easy to get out of bed and come to some garage at two in the morning. Anyway, we'll be fine here."

  A couple of minutes later the ambulance pulled up. As she watched the paramedics load

  Judd swiftly onto the stretcher, Nancy asked, ; "Can you get any idea of when he was attacked?*'

  "Well," one of the paramedics said, "it's hard to be exact, of course, but I'd say it was about an hour ago, judging by the way the blood's clotted. Maybe more. He looks as though he's been unconscious for a while."

  An hour ago. It was hard to believe, but less than an hour had passed since Nancy had gotten the phone call from the garage. If Judd had been attacked more than an hour ago, that meant he couldn't possibly have been the one who made the call. He, too, was off the suspects' list. If she i hadn't been so worried about him, Nancy would have been delighted.

  "Have you gotten in touch with his relatives?" the same paramedic was asking. "They'd better be notified as soon as possible."

  Nancy could feel herself blushing. "I—I'm I afraid I don't know who they are."

  "I do," said Wendy. "His parents live on Calhoun Street. Do you want me to call them, i Nancy?"

  "That'd be great."

  When Wendy hung up, she looked tired and drained. "They're heading right over to the hospital," she said. "I gave them your number and told them to call when they know how he's doing. I hope that was okay." Wendy sighed. "I feel so bad. Here I was complaining about a few phone calls and having my VCR taken. What's that compared to something like this?"

  "I know." At least there was one good thing about this case, Nancy thought to herself. It was forcing Wendy to be a little more caring. Nancy hoped the change would be permanent. "Who-ever's making these attacks is getting madder," Nancy continued. "Maybe Judd will be able to tell us who it was—if he recovers enough."

  Both girls were quiet on the drive back to Nancy's house. "Do you think you'll have any trouble getting to sleep?" Nancy asked Wendy as they made up the spare bed. "Want some cocoa or something?"

  "No, thanks." Wendy yawned hugely. "We've been through a lot tonight, and it would take an earthquake to keep me awake now."

  Nancy was exhausted, too. She didn't even bother taking off her clothes. For the second time that night she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. And for the second time the telephone jarred her awake after what seemed like only a few minutes.

  "Oh, no," she groaned as she reached blindly out of bed. "This case is nothing but phone calls."

  After fumbling around for a few seconds, she finally found the receiver. "Hello?" she asked groggily.

  "Nancy, it's Patrick." He was whispering tensely. "There's someone outside my house. I can hear him. And I think I know who it is. It's— Wait! He's coming in!"

  Suddenly Nancy heard a terrible crash—and then a moan of pain.

  "Patrick! Patrick, are you there?"

  But now all she heard was a muffled shout, and a crack as if Patrick had dropped the receiver. Then the line went dead.

  Nancy rushed into Wendy's room and shook her awake. "Wendy, there's something going on at Patrick's. I've got to get over there right now."

  "Uh-huh," Wendy yawned, burrowing her face deeper into the pillow.

  "Wendy! Did you hear me?"

  "Sure, Nancy. Okay, good night. . . ." Her voice trailed off into a wordless murmur.

  "Oh, no," Nancy said aloud. She'd just have tc leave Wendy here.

  Nancy rushed downstairs and out to the car. "Oh, please," she said aloud as she drove along through the dark streets. "Don't let anything have happened to Patrick. I hope his parents aren't in danger, but why didn't I hear them trying to help him? Enough people have been hurt already."

  Nancy felt an eternity pass before she arrived at the cozy house. She parked the car and rushed up to the front door. It was locked—no surprise. She pounded on the door, then rapped the shiny brass knocker as hard as she could. A light went on in the house next door, and a sleepy face peered out at her from the next-door kitchen window. But no one came to the door at Patrick's house.

  Then she suddenly heard an upstairs window slide open. "Who's there?" a woman called down in a low voice.

  "It's Nancy Drew," Nancy called up softly. "I'm a friend of Patrick's from high school. Please let me in. I just got a call from him. I think he was attacked!"

  "Oh, no! Patrick!" the woman said frantically, and then Nancy heard feet running down the stairs.

  In a second the front door burst open. Mrs. Emmons—a slim, middle-aged woman—was standing there. Behind her stood Patrick's father, a burly man who was still rubbing his eyes. Both of them were in their bathrobes. Both looked fearful—and bewildered.

  "He—he doesn't seem to be at home," Mr. Emmons said. "Where could he be?"

  "You didn't hear him yelling?" Nancy asked incredulously.

  "N-no," said Patrick's father. "Was he yelling?"

  What was going on here? "Have you checked his room?" Nancy said. She walked into the house as the Emmonses stepped aside.

  "No," said Mrs. Emmons, "but he would have heard me call out for him if he was in there. Wait! Where are you going?"

  Nancy was already heading up the stairs. "His room's up here?" she asked.

  "Well, yes, but I'm sure he's not in there—" Patrick's mother began.

  "He's not," Nancy said flatly from the top of the stairs. "But someone's been here. And I think Patrick was calling me to tell me who it was."

  Mrs. Emmons gave a low moan when she saw her son's room, but the sight inside was all too familiar to Nancy. The room was destroyed— books ripped apart, records taken out of their sleeves and broken in half, clothes and papers covered with ink. It was a virtual repeat of the damage done earlier to Don's and Monica's rooms.

  But there was something different. What was it? Nancy wondered.

  She turned to Patrick's parents. "This is very strange," she said. "I know Patrick said he was calling from home. I don't see how you could have missed hearing whoever did this!"

  "Well, we didn't hear a thing," said Mr. Emmons blankly. "He needed to think some things over, he said. He told us he was going for a drive, and we went to bed before he got back. I didn't hear him come in. I can't imagine where he is."

  Nancy scanned the torn-up room again. "Does it look as if anything's missing from this room? Anything valuable, I mean?"

  Mrs. Emmons looked around the room, her face strained and anxious.

  "Not—not that I can see," she said. "A couple of the trophies are made of silver, but even they're still here."

  The trophies! That was what was different. The trophies in Don's room had been destroyed along with everything else, but Patrick's shone brightly from the rack against the wall.

  Why? Nancy asked herself. But Mrs. Emmons was speaking again. "Of course Patrick had his more valuable things—like his stereo—at school with him," she said. "I think he sold most of that stuff when he came back here."

  When he came back here?

  "Wait a minute. I think I'm missing something," Nancy said. "What do you mean, he came back? Doesn't he go
back to college in a couple of days?"

  Now both of Patrick's parents looked confused. "You—you don't know?" his father asked.

  "Don't know what?"

  Patrick's mother let out a long, shaky breath. "He must have been too ashamed to tell his

  friends. Patrick was expelled from school last semester. He's not going back." Sudden tears filled her eyes, and she turned her head away to hide them. Her husband put his arm around her.

  Nancy couldn't believe what she was hearing. Patrick expelled? But he'd just told her he was about to return there!

  "Patrick's such a good boy," Mrs. Emmons said loyally. "He just had a terrible year there, that's all. The work was so much harder than he'd expected—and then when he was cut from the football team— Well, it just seemed as though everything collapsed around him. He hasn't really been the same since. But I—I know that he'll get back on track soon."

  "Of course he will," said Mr. Emmons. "He's never let us down before—" He broke off and peered at Nancy. "Are you all right?"

  "Cut from the football team?" Nancy asked slowly. "But I thought—"

  He'd been cut from the team. He'd had trouble with his schoolwork. That meant Patrick had been lying all along.

  What else had he been lying about?

  "I can see you're surprised," Mr. Emmons went on. "I guess Patrick just couldn't bring himself to tell his friends. He's so competitive— and he's always been so proud."

  "I know he has," Nancy said. Unconsciously her eyes moved to the rack of gleaming trophies that hadn't been disturbed by the intruder.

  Now a suspicion flowered full-blown in Nancy's mind, and she couldn't get rid of it. The conclusion was inescapable.

  Patrick had to have staged this "robbery" himself. But he had been unable to destroy the things he was most proud of.

  Patrick was the culprit. She'd guessed that revenge lay behind these crimes, and she was right.

  Patrick was striking back at whoever had been more successful than he: Monica, with her budding acting career, Celia, who'd made herself beautiful; Judd, who was finally turning his life around; Don, who was working hard at college in a way Patrick obviously hadn't; and Wendy, his old girlfriend, who'd found a new boyfriend and managed perfectly well without Patrick.