Fatal Attraction

by Carolyn Keene

  After a minute, the performer sat back and signaled a waiter, who brought a big pitcher of iced coffee and put it on the table.

  “So how are you going to handle this?” Ned asked curiously.

  Nancy made a face. “It’s hard to lay plans where Brenda’s concerned,” she said. “Let’s just start a casual conversation and see where it leads. I’m hoping we can find out something concrete about this guy’s background.” She and Ned began to thread their way through the crowd.

  Brenda’s smile evaporated when she saw Nancy. “Well, well, if it isn’t Wonder Girl of River Heights,” she said icily.

  Mike McKeever looked up. Close up, Nancy could see that he was movie-star handsome, with light blue eyes and a broad, muscular chest. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled to his elbow, revealing tanned, strong arms.

  “Hi,” he said.

  Nancy smiled her brightest smile. “We just had to tell you,” she said, bubbling, “what a terrific performer you are.” On the other side of the table, Brenda eyed her suspiciously.

  “Right,” Ned chimed in, following Nancy’s cue. “Especially that last song. It was great.”

  Mike’s blue eyes lit up. “You think so?” he said. “Hey, thanks a lot. Glad you liked it.” He motioned to a seat. “Have a seat?” He turned to Brenda with a questioning look, and Brenda grudgingly introduced Nancy and Ned.

  As Nancy sat down, she looked at Brenda. “You’re really lucky,” she said smoothly, “to be friends with an up-and-coming star, I mean.”

  Brenda looked surprised, then pleased. “We have been having a good time since we met in Florida,” she boasted. She laughed and poured Mike another glass of iced coffee from the pitcher on the table. “Do you know that Mike came all the way from Miami just to be with me?”

  “All the way from Miami,” Nancy said, marveling. “I suppose you were playing in a club down there, too,” she added, to Mike.

  Brenda ran a possessive finger down Mike’s bare arm. “Mike has played all over the country—and some places right around here. The Waterloo Inn in Batesville and the Sweet Corn Festival over in Silver Hills, for example. And dozens of other places.” She gestured proudly at the crowd that surrounded them. “And look at the way he’s packing them in here.”

  Nancy relaxed a little. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as hard as she’d thought to get background information on this guy—as long as silly, conceited Brenda wanted to brag about him. But she would have to be careful. Brenda might get the idea that she had a romantic interest in Mike.

  Mike nodded and smiled, sipping his coffee. “Yes,” he said modestly, “I’ve come a long way from the little town where I grew up.”

  Behind her, somebody bumped Nancy’s chair, but she was too intent to notice. She leaned forward, smiling at Mike. This was too easy! “And where was that?” she asked.

  Brenda’s eyes narrowed, and she began to fidget a little. Clearly, she wasn’t pleased that Nancy was asking questions of her new prize.

  “Oakton, Vermont,” Mike said, obviously flattered by Nancy’s interest. “It’s just a wide place in the road, actually.” The crowd around the table was getting noisier and Mike had to raise his voice to be heard.

  “Well, River Heights isn’t exactly the big city, either,” Nancy said. “After the big city, it must be pretty quiet. Where are you staying?”

  “The Ridgeview Motel,” Mike said. Somebody walked between the tables and he leaned forward to avoid being jostled. “Out on Ridgeview Road. It’s pretty much a dump.”

  Brenda gave Nancy a dirty look. “But Mike won’t always stay in dumps. Just wait until he hits the top of the charts.” She lifted her chin. “Why, when he was playing in Miami Beach, a guy from Crescent Records happened to hear him and wanted him to—Hey, what’s going on?”

  Nancy looked down. Out of the crowd, a pair of hands had gripped the edge of the table, right beside her elbow. The table lurched violently. The pitcher rocked a couple of times and then fell over with a crash, sending a stream of iced coffee cascading into Brenda’s lap! Her furious screech filled the room.

  Chapter

  Three

  OOOH!” BRENDA JUMPED up, her face twisted with rage. A brown stain was spreading across the front of her white slacks. “Just see what that idiot did. He’s ruined a brand-new pair of pants—and he did it on purpose! He deliberately tried to turn our table over!” She turned angrily to Mike. “Go after him, Mike! Show him he can’t get away with it!”

  Nancy turned to look. The man who had nearly dumped the table was the same gray-haired man she’d seen earlier. He was disappearing rapidly—and very determinedly—through the door.

  Petulantly, Brenda stamped her foot. “What’s wrong, Mike? Why don’t you go after him?”

  Nancy looked curiously at Mike. His face was flaming, and he was avoiding Brenda’s angry eyes.

  “Well, I, uh . . .” he muttered. He stood up. “I’ll go tell the waiter to bring a mop.”

  “Tell you what, Brenda,” Nancy said placatingly, “let’s go to the rest room. A flight attendant taught me a secret for getting out coffee stains. All you need is club soda.”

  “Well, okay,” Brenda said sullenly. She looked at Mike. “But I still don’t understand why you didn’t show that guy a thing or two. He deliberately dumped our table.”

  Nancy got some club soda from a waiter and followed Brenda into the rest room, where she sopped it on the wet stain, blotting it with a towel. After a minute, the brown began to fade.

  “There,” Nancy announced, straightening up. “After it’s washed, you’ll never know what happened. It’ll be good as new.”

  Brenda tossed her black hair haughtily. “And what’s your sudden interest in my business?” She paused and a mistrustful note came into her voice. “Have you got a thing for Mike McKeever?”

  “Are you kidding?” Nancy asked. She took a deep breath. Brenda had an irritating way of making her lose her cool. But she couldn’t afford to now. No matter how much she was tempted to lose her temper, she had to keep her wits and focus her attention on the case. “I mean,” she said, in a calmer voice., “Ned Nickerson is more than enough for me. Why should I be interested in somebody else?”

  “Then why were you coming on to Mike with all those questions?” Brenda growled, hands on hips.

  In spite of herself, Nancy’s temper flared. “I was just curious, that’s all,” she said, carefully keeping her voice even. Remember that you’re on a case, Nancy, she told herself.

  Brenda’s mouth set into a taut line, her eyes blazing. “Curiosity can get you into a whole lot of trouble if you don’t watch out.” Her voice rose to a screech. “I warn you, Nancy Drew, stay away from this guy. He’s mine, and I intend to keep him!”

  There was a pounding on the door. “Hey, what’s going on in there?” a girl’s voice asked. “If you two are going to go at it, do it in the parking lot so other people can use the bathroom.”

  Brenda glared at Nancy. “You just remember what I said,” she hissed. “Stay away from Mike McKeever! Or you’ll be very, very sorry.”

  • • •

  “The more I think about it,” Nancy said, “the sorrier I am—sorry that I took the case, that is.” She took one last look in the picnic basket to make sure she’d put out on the picnic cloth all of the lunch Hannah Gruen, the Drews’ housekeeper, had made. “You can say ‘I told you so’ if you want to, Ned.”

  “What I can’t figure out,” Ned said, taking a sandwich, “is why McKeever didn’t say something to that gray-haired guy. Brenda was right—he did dump the table on purpose. I saw him.”

  Nancy nodded. “I wondered about that too,” she said thoughtfully. “In fact, I thought Mike even looked guilty, like a little kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. We’ll have to file that away as something to think about.” She helped herself to coleslaw. “Too bad you had to miss all the fireworks in the rest room.” She laughed. “Brenda was really mad.”

  Ned chu
ckled. “I told you so,” he said teasingly. “If you ask me, Brenda’s the real problem on this case. From the looks of it, she’s nuts about the guy. There’s no telling what she might do if she thinks you’re meddling in her love life.”

  Nancy made a face, remembering Brenda’s threat. “True. Well, anyway, I guess I’ve got my work cut out for me. Now that we know that Mike’s from Oakton, Vermont, I’ll start there, to get a line on his family and check his birth records. Even though we don’t have his date of birth, it’s a small town, and we’re bound to find out something. And I think I’ll give Dirk Bowman a call, in Fort Lauderdale.”

  “Isn’t he a detective?”

  “Right” Nancy smiled, remembering Dirk, with his sandy hair and quick smile. She had met him when she and Bess and George had gone to sunny Fort Lauderdale for vacation and found themselves on a hit-and-run holiday. She had helped Dirk wind up the case he was on, and he’d probably be glad to help her out on this one. “If McKeever’s been up to anything fishy in Fort Lauderdale,” Nancy added, “Dirk will know about it.”

  • • •

  Early Monday morning Nancy put in a call to Oakton, Vermont. The town clerk, a woman, had a flat Vermont twang. “The name doesn’t ring a bell with me,” she said when Nancy gave her Mike’s name and the approximate year of his birth. “And I’ve worked here for eighteen years. But I’ll see what I can dig up and call you back.”

  Nancy set the receiver in its cradle, then picked it up again quickly and dialed another number. On the other end, the phone rang twice before Nancy heard a voice say, “Fort Lauderdale police.”

  “Dirk Bowman, please,” Nancy said. “Tell him Nancy Drew is calling.”

  As she waited, Nancy smiled softly, imagining Dirk’s friendly smile and the dimple that flashed in his cheek. They had great respect for each other’s ability, and they’d become good friends on the case they’d worked on together. From the sound of Dirk’s warm response when he came on the line, his memories were just as pleasant as hers.

  “It’s great to hear from you, Nan! Been solving any exciting crimes lately?”

  “Oh, one or two.” Nancy laughed. “In fact, I’m on a case now. That’s why I’m calling. I think you can help. I’m trying to get the story on a musician named Mike McKeever. He used to play at the coffeehouses in Lauderdale, and I thought you guys might have something on him. I’d sure like to hear about it if you do.”

  “No problem. If he’s left any dirty laundry here, we’ll find it. But in order to get a positive on him, I’ll need a clear photo and a set of prints, if you can get them.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard,” Nancy said. “Maybe I can get a publicity shot from the club he’s playing at now. How do you want me to send it?”

  “Why don’t you find a facsimile machine and put it on the wire?” Dirk suggested. “Just give me a call and let me know when so I can look for it.” His voice dropped a little. “And watch yourself, detective.” Then Dirk’s tone lightened up, the worried sound slipping away. “You know, it would really be great to see you again.”

  “Thanks, Dirk. Maybe we’ll get that chance sometime. Oh, and Dirk . . . thanks.” Gently, she replaced the receiver, smiling. It had been fun, working with a real cop in Fort Lauderdale.

  Nancy’s thought was broken by the jangling ring of the phone. She grabbed the receiver before the second ring. “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello, this is the Oakton Town Office,” the clerk said. “I’ve got some information on the person you were asking about.”

  “Good.” Nancy took out her pencil. “Shoot.”

  “We do have a birth record for a Michael McKeever, born here to Mr. and Mrs. Alexander McKeever, on July eighteenth, twenty years ago.”

  With a sense of elation, Nancy hurriedly jotted down the information. This would make it a lot easier to do a complete check on Mike’s background. “Is that all you’ve got?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” the clerk said slowly. “You see, we also have a death certificate, filed on July twenty-third, that same year. Michael McKeever died when he was just five days old!”

  Chapter

  Four

  DIED!” NANCY EXCLAIMED, her heart doing a somersault. “But that’s not possible! I met him just yesterday. And he was very much alive!”

  “But it’s true,” the clerk insisted. “I’m holding a copy of the death certificate.”

  “Is there any way to explain something like this?” Nancy wanted to know. There had to be a mistake, she told herself. Or . . . or maybe it was something more than a mistake. Maybe the real Mike McKeever had died twenty years ago and the man who was dating Brenda Carlton was a fake.

  “Unfortunately, it’s not hard to get a new birth certificate—and a new identity,” the clerk said with a sigh. “All someone has to do is say that the original birth certificate is lost, then give us the name and the birth date of someone who died as an infant. Since we don’t routinely check death records against these requests, we usually issue the new certificate, believing that we’re issuing a legitimate duplicate. The imposter can use it to get a social security card and a driver’s license. It’s a real racket—some people are even in the business of selling identities.”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, “I think.” She hung up. So Mike McKeever wasn’t the real name of Brenda’s sexy new boyfriend! This was the first concrete evidence she’d found to support Mr. Carlton’s hunch that Mike—or whoever he was—wasn’t up to any good. You didn’t go to the trouble of changing your identity for the fun of it. You only did it when you had something to hide. What was Mike hiding?

  Nancy doodled on her note pad. She’d found herself up a blind alley with her first inquiry, but there was a good chance that Dirk Bowman could help her get a lead on Mike’s true identity. She would need a picture and a set of prints. She reached for her purse and her car keys. Maybe Charlie’s would have an extra publicity photo of their star performer.

  In ten minutes, Nancy was back at Charlie’s, which was almost empty at this time of the day. The club’s bald-headed manager was in his office.

  “A publicity photo?” the manager asked, in response to her question. “Yes, I think so. In fact, I remember filing it last week. We’re planning to run it in the paper next weekend.” He went to a file cabinet and opened a drawer. “Here it is.”

  But the file was empty. “That’s strange,” he said, staring at it. “I would have sworn—”

  “Could somebody have taken it?”

  “Maybe.” The manager shook his head wearily. “There’s a black-haired girl who hangs out here all the time. She’s really fallen for him. Maybe she took it.”

  Nancy frowned, considering. Could Brenda have stolen the photo to put up on her wall? That didn’t make sense—Brenda could take a snapshot of Mike if she wanted one. Maybe Mike himself had taken the photo—but why?

  There weren’t any answers to these questions just now, and Nancy had to concentrate on getting another photo. And for that, she needed to find Mike McKeever and convince him to pose for her. Maybe she ought to make a trip out to the Ridgeview Motel, where he was staying.

  Nancy didn’t have to drive all the way out to the motel after all. She was leaving Charlie’s when she unexpectedly bumped into him.

  “Hi, Mike,” she said, smiling up at him. Really, she thought to herself, it isn’t too hard to act as though I think he’s cute. Mike McKeever, Mystery Man, is one good-looking guy. But he’s got a secret to hide. Until I know what that secret is, and whether or not there’s a real crime involved here, I’ve got to be very, very careful with him.

  Mike looked at her appreciatively. “Hi, Nancy,” he said.

  “How about joining me for a soda?” Nancy asked. “I’m dying to hear more about your performing career.” If he handled a glass, maybe she could sneak it into her purse and lift the prints later.

  Mike looked around. “Well, I don’t know if I have time,” he said a little nervously. “I mean, I just came to pick
up my check and I’m supposed to meet somebody. . . .”

  “Oh, Brenda?”

  “Uh, no,” Mike said uncomfortably, “not Brenda.”

  Who was he meeting? Nancy wondered. But it wasn’t something she could pursue at the moment—she had another, more urgent job to do.

  “Well, then,” Nancy said. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor.” Without waiting for an answer, she hurried on, inventing as she went. “I did some work for Flash magazine a while back, and I got to know the editors pretty well. They’re interested in buying photographs of promising performers. You’re so photogenic—I think they’d really jump at the chance to do a photo feature on you. But I’d need to send them a couple of shots so they could get a look at you.”

  Mike’s face relaxed a little. “You really think they’d be interested?” he asked hopefully. “Gee, that would give my career a terrific boost! Maybe then I’d finally be able to get away from—” He stopped. “That would be great.”

  “Let me just run out to my car for my camera,” Nancy suggested. “Listen, let’s make this a really relaxed pose, with you sitting at a table with a glass in your hand. Why don’t you get something to drink while I’m gone?” If she did this right, she thought as she dashed to her car and got the camera out of the glove compartment, she could get both the picture and the prints at one time.

  In a minute she was back, and had posed Mike at a table on the terrace, a glass in his hand.

  “That’s perfect!” she said, clicking the camera. “Turn your head just a little—there!” She took two more pictures. She would send all of them to Dirk, just to be sure he could get a positive identification.

  Mike glanced at his watch and drained his glass quickly. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I sure hope that Flash likes the pictures.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’ll love them,” Nancy said, keeping her eye on Mike’s empty glass. All she had to do was wait until he’d turned to go, slip the glass into her purse, and—