The Perfect Plot

by Carolyn Keene

  Nancy strained, reaching her arm out as far as she could, but it was useless. At her farthest reach, she was still six inches short of hitting the switch.

  “I’m sorry, George,” she said dejectedly, reeling in the cord.

  George glanced at the approaching wall, which was now about four feet from them. “How much longer do you think . . . ?”

  “Five minutes, at the most,” Nancy replied, studying the wall’s progress. “The one thing I’m glad about is that we got Patrick’s confession on tape. The police will find it when they find us. He won’t get away with his crimes.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” George said dryly. “But I’d rather be around to see it.”

  “Me, too. But—” Nancy tossed the wrecked flashlight up and down in her hand. Suddenly her body stiffened. “Cross your fingers, George!” she exclaimed. “We haven’t run out of hope yet!”

  Once more she unwound the cord from around the flashlight, thrust it through the bars, and started swinging it. This time, she didn’t aim it at the switch on the wall. Instead, she angled it toward the folding chair that Patrick had knocked over.

  “If I can just snare the chair and pull it within reach, I might be able to throw it at the switch to turn it off,” she explained.

  George was dubious, but said nothing while Nancy swung the flashlight.

  Sweat beaded on Nancy’s brow as she swung the flashlight, trying to hook it around the top of the chair. Twice, the flashlight hit the chair and bounced off. The third time, it missed altogether.

  “Hurry, Nancy,” George said, clutching the bars next to Nancy. “Hurry!”

  Nancy didn’t need to be told. The moving wall was already beginning to nudge her shoulder. She reeled in the cord and swung the flashlight again, giving it an extra flick of the wrist. The flashlight soared upward, stopped with a jerk in midair as it reached the end of the cord, and fell straight down on the far side of the chair’s back leg. Nancy let out her breath with a loud whoosh.

  Slowly and steadily she pulled on the cord, so that the flashlight snagged on the chair leg. Then she pulled it across the floor toward them. Finally it was close enough for her to grab.

  “Yes!” Nancy crowed. She grabbed a leg in each hand and stood up, lifting the chair until the back almost touched the ceiling. Then she swung it in a downward arc, aiming at the power switch.

  There was a loud crash, and then silence. The scraping noise of the advancing bars had stopped.

  “Nancy, you did it!” George shouted. She squeezed around the now narrow cage to give Nancy a big hug.

  Nancy’s whole body sagged with relief. She opened her clenched fists and let the folding chair crash to the floor.

  “That was close,” she said. “Much too close.”

  “But you did it!” George repeated. “You were terrific!”

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, her mind already racing ahead. “I don’t see any obvious way out of this cage, do you?”

  “What about picking the lock?”

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy said. “I didn’t bring my lock picking set with me, and we don’t have anything else to use,”

  “This is ridiculous!” George said, hitting the bars in frustration. “There must be a way out of here.”

  “Know any reformed highwaymen named Roderick?” Nancy asked, raising an eyebrow. Then she began to study the wall that had been moving. “Look at this,” she said with a puzzled frown. “The uprights at each end go down into those slits that run the length of the cage. There must be a motor under the floor that pushes the wall along.”

  George peered down at the narrow slits. “So?”

  Nancy craned her neck and looked up. “At the top, the two uprights ride in tracks that keep them in place,” she continued. “The setup is kind of like the sliding glass doors people have in their homes, except that the wall moves back and forth instead of sideways.”

  “Are you saying we could somehow move it back and get out that way?” George asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Nancy replied. “But I watched some repair people put new glass in our neighbor’s sliding door once. I thought they’d have to take the frame apart, to get the door out. But they just lifted it, until the bottom cleared the edge of the frame. Then all they had to do was tilt the door out. There was extra space in the top part of the framework—it was designed that way.”

  “I get it,” George said. “Now that you mention it, the sliding glass doors on my stereo cabinet work that way, too.” She eyed the wall of steel bars. “Do you think—”

  “Maybe,” Nancy replied. “The crosspiece at the top is a few inches lower than the ceiling. And the people who built this contraption must have had some way to install the moving wall. Come on, let’s give it a try.”

  She bent her knees and got a good grip on two of the bars. Next to her, George did the same. “Ready?” Nancy said. “One—two—heave!”

  Every muscle in her arms, legs, and back felt as if it were going to burst. She shut her eyes and clenched her jaw, summoning every ounce of energy she had.

  At first the wall didn’t budge. Then, she felt a movement so slight that she was afraid she was imagining it. No, it was real! The two prongs that supported it were slowly emerging from the narrow slits in the floor.

  “Nancy, look out!”

  Nancy and George pressed themselves against the opposite wall of the cage as the steel framework began to tilt, then to fall. It crashed to the floor with a din that shook the entire room. They were free!

  There wasn’t a second to lose. Grabbing her shoulder bag, Nancy checked to make sure that the cassette that held Patrick’s confession was secure.

  “Come on. We’d better warn the others about Patrick!”

  The two girls hurried through the tunnels until Nancy managed to recognize the side passage that led to the small file room off Dorothea’s study. She activated the latch and pushed the bookcase door open.

  “What?” Kate exclaimed, springing up from the desk. The fear faded from her face as she recognized Nancy and George.

  “Call Lieutenant Kitridge,” Nancy blurted out. “Patrick’s the one who killed Maxine. He just tried to kill us, too.”

  For an instant Kate was unable to move as she took in the meaning of what Nancy had said. Finally she grabbed the telephone and punched in the emergency number. She handed the receiver to Nancy.

  “We’ll be right over,” the lieutenant said, when Nancy finished telling him what she’d discovered about Patrick. “Stay where you are and don’t take any chances. This is what the police are trained to do.”

  Nancy hung up and turned to Kate, who had listened in silent shock to Nancy’s telephone conversation. “Do you have any idea where Patrick is now?” Nancy asked.

  “He was here just a few minutes ago, to get the key to the display room. He’s been doing an inventory of Dorothea’s collection.” Kate turned pale. “Nancy, we’ve got to stop him! There are enough weapons in there to start a war!”

  Nancy spun and ran out of the room. At the doorway, she barreled into Julian, who grabbed her and kept her from sprawling. Two words of explanation, and he was dashing down the hall with her in the direction of the display room. Nancy could hear George and Kate close behind.

  As she rounded a corner, Nancy saw that the door to the display room was open. She glimpsed Patrick inside, next to a display of antique pistols. He had a pad in one hand and a pen in the other. As the group charged to the doorway, he spun around to face them. His eyes widened in disbelief when he saw Nancy and George.

  “What!” he shouted, rage making his body twitch. Dropping the pen, he grabbed a pistol from the display and aimed it at Nancy.

  Nancy gasped and flung herself to one side as Patrick squeezed the trigger.

  The only result was a loud click. Patrick then threw the pistol at Julian, who dodged before launching himself into a flying tackle that brought Patrick down. A moment later Patrick was facedown on the floor, with Julian’s knee on
his back.

  Outside, blaring sirens drew nearer and nearer, then fell silent.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Patrick demanded, twisting his head to Nancy. “I haven’t done anything. You can’t prove a thing!”

  Nancy held up George’s tape recorder. “It’s all here,” she told him. “In your own words and your own voice.”

  Patrick gave a convulsive twist but couldn’t escape Julian’s grip.

  Half a dozen police officers came running into the display room with Lieutenant Kitridge in the lead. While his officers handcuffed Patrick, the lieutenant surveyed the scene.

  “Great work,” he told Nancy. “Where this guy’s going, he won’t ever be able to hurt anyone again.”

  • • •

  “Even though we’ve been through so much, it’s kind of sad to be leaving Mystery Mansion,” George said later Sunday afternoon.

  She, Nancy, Kate, Julian, Vanessa, and Professor Coining had gotten together in the living room once again, this time to hear the story of Patrick’s arrest. Their bags were packed and standing in the front hall. After a farewell toast, they would all be going their separate ways.

  “I know what you mean,” Nancy said. “I’m going to miss everyone, too.”

  Kate came over with a tray of cups of cider, and handed one each to Nancy and George. “I just found out that we won’t be able to reschedule the conference for a while,” she said. “The foundation has decided to hold off opening the museum until we find out the full extent of Patrick’s crimes.”

  “What a shame,” Professor Coining put in. “He seemed like such an intelligent, charming young man.”

  “It just goes to show, appearances can be deceiving,” Julian said, putting his arm around Kate. Nancy guessed they had decided to give their romance a shot after all.

  Leaning close to George, Nancy whispered, “I’m really happy for—”

  She broke off as a voice behind her said, “Excuse me, Nancy.”

  Nancy looked around to see Erika standing in the doorway, next to Sergeant Wilensky.

  “Erika! You’re free!” Kate exclaimed, hurrying over to her.

  “Thanks to Nancy and George,” Erika said, smiling at the two girls. Grabbing Kate’s hands, she said, “Kate, we’ve got to talk. With Patrick’s arrest, The Crooked Heart is hot, hot, hot. And now that Maxine’s gone, I’m the only editor in the business who really knows and understands Dorothea’s work.”

  Nancy rolled her eyes at George. The old Erika was definitely back!

  While Erika buttonholed Kate, Vanessa walked up to Nancy and said, “Perhaps you should think about writing a mystery novel.”

  “Thanks, but I’m a detective, not a writer,” Nancy said, blushing.

  “Well, think about it,” Vanessa added. “You’ve got the experience to write a guaranteed bestseller!”

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Simon Pulse

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 1992 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  ISBN: 978-0-6717-3080-2 (pbk)

  ISBN: 978-1-4814-3680-9 (eBook)

  NANCY DREW and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  THE NANCY DREW FILES is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.