False Impressions

by Carolyn Keene

  She grinned. “By this time tomorrow, everyone’s going to know that Nancy Drew, famous girl detective, is nothing more than a criminal!”

  Chapter

  Five

  NANCY FELT ANGER RISE in her. “You’ve got no right to report that, Brenda!” she cried. “I’m not guilty of anything!”

  Bursting into laughter, the reporter replied, “Oh, don’t worry, Nancy. I’ll run the story straight. You’re not going to be accused exactly. My father taught me how to use alleged whenever necessary. That’s responsible journalism, you know.”

  With another satisfied grin, Brenda closed her notebook and turned to walk away.

  “Wait, Brenda!” Nancy followed her around the house and into the front yard. “How about sitting on the story for a bit?”

  Halting, Brenda glanced over her shoulder. “Why should I?” she asked, thrusting out her jaw.

  “Think a minute. Right now, the con artist is confident, off guard. If she finds out her victims have gone to the police, she’s likely to fold the game and disappear.”

  And if she does that, Nancy thought, I’ll never have the evidence to clear my name!

  Brenda thought it over for a moment. Then, turning up the collar of her coat, she gave a haughty shrug. “So what if she does? I’ll be able to track her down. This case is made to order for the best journalist in the Midwest.”

  Nancy’s heart sank. There was no talking sense to Brenda, not while she was on the trail of an exclusive.

  Stepping over a huge snowdrift, Brenda added, “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. If you’re innocent, it’ll all come out at the trial.” She flashed Nancy a smile as she opened her car door. “If you’re not, I’m sure your dad will be able to get you off. Good luck!”

  Nancy stood on the sidewalk and watched as Brenda’s red sports car pulled away from the pile of snow. She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach, because even if she proved herself innocent, her reputation could be ruined.

  I can’t let this happen, Nancy told herself. I have to find this impostor before she can do any more damage.

  Nancy was still standing in the front yard when she spied her father’s car heading down the street. The entrance to their driveway was blocked by a three-foot pile of snow the plows had tossed up, so Carson Drew took the spot vacated by Brenda Carlton.

  After switching off the engine, Nancy’s dad emerged from the car. He was a tall, good-looking man in his forties with deep-set eyes and dark hair graying at the temples.

  Carson hurried toward his daughter. “Nancy! What happened? Hannah said you’d been arrested.”

  Nancy felt a wave of relief pass over her as she slipped into her father’s embrace and buried her head against his chest. Now that he was here, everything would be fine.

  “The Mapleton police took me in last night,” she explained, pulling away and looking up into her father’s eyes. “I was released without being charged.”

  Nancy’s father tilted his chin toward the house. “Come on, we’ll have some breakfast and you can tell me all about it.” He put a strong arm around her shoulder and led her up to the porch.

  Carson tried to make his voice as light as possible. “How does sausage, fried eggs, and hot buttered toast sound on a cold morning like this?”

  “Perfect!”

  Nancy and her father took care not to wake Hannah as they made breakfast. In quiet tones, Nancy outlined the story of her arrest.

  “And that’s it, Dad. A red-haired woman claiming to be me conned Mr. Eklund and Mrs. Hackney,” Nancy explained, watching her father fry eggs on the skillet. “She must look enough like me to convince the Mapleton police that I’m the culprit.”

  “I would say you have a problem.” Carson brought two plates to the kitchen table and set one in front of Nancy.

  “More than one! What about the damage to my reputation?” Nancy unfolded her napkin. “Dad, is there any way we can stop Brenda from running that story?”

  Carson spooned a bit of sugar into his coffee mug. “I’m afraid not, Nancy, even though Frazier Carlton owes you a favor. Around here you’re a public figure. Anything you do is legitimate news. Even if it’s getting arrested.”

  “Is there any chance Lieutenant Kowalski will charge me formally?” Nancy asked, picking up a slice of buttered toast.

  “Well, if we’re playing strict rules of evidence, no.” Carson reached for his mug. “Key witnesses didn’t pan out for him. But if he found some solid piece of evidence—like your fingerprints on Mrs. Hackney’s car, for example—Kowalski could take his case to a grand jury, and they could indict you.”

  “Then what would we do?” Nancy asked.

  Carson sighed but tried to sound optimistic. “We’d go to court and enter your not-guilty plea,” he said with conviction.

  Nancy tried to feel as confident as her father, but still she found herself wondering how thorough the con artist had been. Had she merely picked the name Nancy Drew on a whim? Or had she engineered an even more elaborate frame?

  Carson’s hand closed around hers. “Are you worried about Kowalski? Don’t be. It won’t come to that, Nancy.” For a split second she saw the worry in her father’s eyes. “And if it does, we’ll break his case in court!”

  Nancy gave a small smile. “Right. Look, let’s change the subject. I’m going to do my best to find out who’s going around pretending to be me, but until I do there’s nothing we can do.” She got up to get her father more coffee. “How’d you make out in Chicago?”

  “Not bad.” He stretched in his chair. “It’s been a long time since I was part of a prosecution team. But we did it—two of the Crain brothers were convicted.”

  Nancy nodded. The three Crain brothers were a gang of con men operating in the Chicago area who had bilked dozens of small businesses out of thousands of dollars. The DA in Chicago had invited Carson to help him build a case against the Crains.

  “Why weren’t all three of them convicted?” asked Nancy.

  Frowning, Carson pushed his half-empty plate away. “We prosecuted the youngest brother, Joe, but the jury turned him loose. There wasn’t enough direct evidence against him,” he explained. “Albert and Damon each drew five years for fraud, though.”

  As Nancy poured her father another cup of coffee, she noticed that he was frowning. He absently picked up the teaspoon and tapped it lightly against the cup.

  “What is it, Dad?”

  Showing her a troubled look, Carson replied, “Don’t you have a standing invitation from Bree Gordon to visit her in Los Angeles?”

  “Dad, I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to. Lieutenant Kowalski says I have to stay in this area.” Nancy watched her father’s face tense. “Why should I suddenly want to go on a long trip?”

  Carson’s frown deepened. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but . . .” His face was deadly serious. “Nancy, Joe confronted me in the hallway outside the courtroom after his brothers were convicted,” Carson went on.

  “And?” Nancy asked. “What did he say that’s bothering you so much?”

  “He was furious. He blames me for putting the DA onto his brothers’ scheme.”

  “That’s crazy!” Nancy burst out. “You were just a witness. He’s got no right to pin their convictions on you.”

  Carson let out a deep sigh. “I know, Nancy. What worries me most, though, is that Joe seems bent on revenge.”

  “What kind of revenge?” Nancy asked.

  “It was probably only a threat, Nancy, but Crain told me he’s hurt people for his brothers before. And he’d do it again!”

  Chapter

  Six

  NANCY LET OUT A GASP. “What did he mean by that?” she asked.

  “I don’t really want to find out,” Carson answered, running his hands through his hair. “What worries me, though, is what Crain said next. He told me he wouldn’t stop at me, but would go after my family, too.”

  Nancy frowned. She didn’t need this. She had enough trouble already. T
he last thing she needed was a vengeful crook coming after her father—or her.

  “That’s why I think it might be better for you to get out of River Heights for a while,” Carson added, carrying his dishes to the sink. “At least until Crain calms down.”

  “What about you?” Nancy asked, running water on their breakfast plates.

  “I don’t think he’d dare try anything with me, Nancy. It’d be too much of a risk for him. Honestly, it’s you I’m worried about.”

  Nancy thought for a moment and shot her father a quizzical look. “You know, Dad, I’d have an easier time staying away from Crain if I knew what he looked like.”

  Carson put his hands on Nancy’s shoulders and laughed. “I guess it would make it easier. I’ll get you a police photo right away.”

  The telephone jangled, interrupting their conversation.

  “Probably for me. I’ll take it in your office.” Nancy hurried into the den. An anxious male voice greeted her as she picked up the extension. “Hi, Nancy. It’s Ned. How are you making out?”

  “For someone who got three hours’ sleep last night, not too bad,” Nancy answered, leaning against her father’s desk. “I’ve got a lead, and I’m off and running. Interested?”

  “If it’ll help clear you, I’m definitely interested! Give me an hour.”

  “Since I’m going to Mapleton, why don’t we meet halfway?”

  “Good. Meet you at the Happy Pancake. Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “Just finished,” Nancy said ruefully. “But I can always watch while you eat. See you in a half hour.”

  Nancy hung up, then, lifting the receiver again, she tapped out Bess’s number. The phone at the other end rang six times. Then a faint, slurring voice answered, “ ’Lo, Zissbess.”

  Nancy blinked. “Bess?”

  “Nancy!” Bess’s sleepy voice began to clear. “What’re you doing? It’s the middle of the night.”

  Nancy tried not to smile. “Actually, it’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

  “It feels like the middle of the night.”

  “Listen, have you had breakfast yet?” Nancy asked.

  “Breakfast! Nancy, I was sound asleep two minutes ago.”

  “I’m meeting Ned at the Happy Pancake at eight o’clock. If you and George want to help clear me, you’re welcome.”

  Nancy heard fluttering sheets through the receiver, followed by the sound of Bess’s excited voice. “I’m out of bed, and I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes. Don’t leave without me.”

  “No danger of that, Bess. After I hang up, give George a call, okay? Tell her I’ll pick her up in fifteen minutes. Then we’ll come and get you. Dress warm!”

  • • •

  The Happy Pancake was a popular coffee shop on the road halfway between River Heights and Mapleton. Stained clapboards and antique farm implements gave the place a rustic air.

  Nancy and her friends took a booth at the back of the shop. The window at the end looked out onto rolling, snow-covered fields. A smiling teenage waitress in a green uniform took their order. Ned asked for a plate of pancakes smothered in raspberry preserves. The cousins stuck with doughnuts and tea.

  “What are your plans now?” George asked as Bess eyed Ned’s pancakes enviously.

  Leaning to the side, Nancy felt a chill blow in around the edges of the window. “Well, I guess the first step is to interview those two witnesses. The woman’s name is Elizabeth Hackney. I don’t know the man’s first name.” Then Nancy shot a glance at her boyfriend. “Hold it! Ned, you know Mapleton. Does the name Eklund ring a bell?”

  Ned swallowed a mouthful of pancake, then answered, “Sure! Donald Eklund. He owns a jewelry store on Hayes Avenue.”

  “Middle-aged, kind of short, balding?” Nancy probed.

  “That’s him.” Grinning, Ned sawed away at his mound of pancakes. “He’s a baseball nut. He paid for our Little League uniforms.”

  George flashed a curious glance. “What makes you think he’ll open up to you, Nan?”

  “For one thing, he was a lot less convinced than Mrs. Hackney that I was a crook.” Nancy took a sip of her tea. “I think he’ll talk to me.”

  Ned speared his last forkful. “Well, there’s one way to find out . . .”

  Nancy waved the waitress over and asked her to bring the check. They left the shop a few minutes later. Ned’s car took the lead. Nancy’s blue Mustang stayed a safe distance behind him.

  After a short drive she followed Ned into downtown Mapleton. A hardware store, bakery, and boutiques crowded the avenue. Donald Eklund’s jewelry store, a two-story building with a beige stucco facade, occupied a corner lot. The name Eklund’s, in stylized aluminum letters, stood out in relief on the front wall.

  Entering the store, Nancy was struck by how quiet it was. Display cases, filled with gems mounted on black velvet, ringed the dark green walls of the spacious showroom.

  A blond saleswoman, impeccably dressed in a blue wool suit, walked toward them, high heels clicking on the tiled floor. “May I help you?”

  Nancy offered a professional smile. “Good morning. We’d like to see Mr. Eklund.”

  The saleswoman’s gaze traveled from Ned’s Emerson College ski jacket to George’s powder blue parka and Bess’s woolen ski cap with its white pom-pom. Her mouth tensed distastefully. “I’m sorry. You can’t see Mr. Eklund without an appointment.”

  “Please—this will only take a minute,” said Nancy politely.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Eklund only deals with—certain clients. If you’d care to see some jewelry, I’d be happy to show you—”

  The slamming of an oak door at the store’s rear drew Nancy’s immediate attention. Looking past the saleswoman, she saw Donald Eklund chatting with a tall, heavyset man in a coat and hat. The man held an expensive leather briefcase in his left hand.

  Then Mr. Eklund noticed Nancy and her friends. Trailed by his visitor, he came over. His face registered disapproval as he saw Bess eyeing a triple-strand necklace of cultured pearls. “What’s going on here, Ms. Prentice?”

  “Sir, these kids—”

  Nancy neatly sidestepped the woman. “Excuse me, Mr. Eklund. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions.”

  “Nancy Drew!” Mr. Eklund shouted, turning pale at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

  Nancy was stunned by his reaction at first, but then she suspected that, thanks to Mrs. Hackney’s mistaken identification, the jeweler was now convinced that Nancy really was a con artist.

  “Please.” Nancy kept her voice calm and reassuring. “Hear me out. About last night—”

  “What are you doing out of jail?” he interrupted, then, turning sharply, swiveled his index finger at Bess. “Stop leaning on that case, young lady!”

  Bess stood up straight, smiling apologetically. “Sorry. I just wanted a better look. I think pearls are just—”

  “Stand away from that case and keep both your hands where I can see them!” Mr. Eklund snapped. Nervous perspiration dampened his forehead.

  The man with the briefcase scowled.

  “Would you please listen for a minute?” asked Nancy.

  “No thank you, Ms. Drew!” the jeweler shouted. “I’ve had enough of your confidence games to last me a lifetime. What did you have planned when you came in here? Were you going to keep me talking while your fellow thief—”

  “Thief!” the visitor echoed. Nancy watched as he shoved his right hand into his coat pocket.

  He quickly withdrew a snub-nosed revolver. Cocking the hammer, he warned, “Hold it right there!”

  Nancy blinked in horror as the man pointed the gun right at her face!

  Chapter

  Seven

  NANCY TOOK A STEP BACK and noticed the gleam of a handcuff connecting the man’s left wrist to his briefcase. He was obviously a jewelry courier, making a delivery for Mr. Eklund. No wonder he’d been so quick to pull his gun.

  Keeping her voice calm, she said slowly, “Look, I’m
not a thief, and I’m not going to try anything.”

  The man kept his gun steady on Nancy, but turned to Bess. “You! Get away from that case.”

  Swallowing hard, Bess nodded and took her place beside George.

  “Keep them covered, Fanning.” Mr. Eklund mopped his sweating brow with a handkerchief. “I’m going to call the police.”

  “What’s wrong with you, Mr. Eklund?” Ned cried out in confusion. “We’re not thieves. We just wanted to talk to you.”

  Mr. Eklund blinked in astonishment. “Ned Nickerson! Don’t tell me you’re in her gang, too!”

  Ned stood protectively at Nancy’s side. “I’m not in any gang, Mr. Eklund. Nancy’s my girlfriend. I swear to you—she’s no thief!”

  Seeing Ned brought Mr. Eklund back to himself. Nancy took advantage of his momentary silence to add calmly, “If you feel that strongly about it, Mr. Eklund, go ahead and call the police. I’ll stand right here and wait for them.”

  George glanced at her, aghast. “But, Nancy, you’re already in tr—”

  “We haven’t done anything wrong,” Nancy interrupted calmly. “I’ll stick around with you and wait for the police, Mr. Eklund. But you can let my friends go.”

  Mr. Eklund looked more uncertain than ever. Fanning looked to him for direction.

  Facing the courier, Nancy added, “Tell me, have you ever heard of a thief who stood around waiting to be arrested?”

  Frowning in confusion, the courier lowered his pistol. Nancy let out a long and relieved sigh.

  The jeweler scrutinized Nancy’s face. “I can’t understand it. Beth Hackney was so certain it was you.”

  Nancy kept her voice level and soothing. “But you didn’t think it was me, did you, Mr. Eklund?”

  Shoulders slumping, the jeweler offered a baffled look. “No, I didn’t. Not when I first saw you. The girl I saw—she did look like you, but she was different.”

  “Different in what way?” Nancy asked, keeping her excitement in check. Now she was getting somewhere.