A Secret in Time

by Carolyn Keene

  “George!” Bess called, running toward her cousin as the truck came to a stop.

  George hopped out of the truck and onto the driveway, wearing her white Frosty Freeze smock and cap. She was grinning and holding out two paper-wrapped Popsicles. “Try a Rocket Pop,” she said.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Bess said. “All this waiting in the hot sun has made me thirsty.”

  Nancy took the other Popsicle. “You’re a lifesaver, George.”

  “No problem,” said George. “Hop in. There’s only one passenger seat, but I think you’ll both fit.”

  “I don’t know about that, after all the ice cream you’ve been feeding me,” Bess said.

  Nancy and Bess squeezed into the front seat and fastened the seat belt around both of them as George set the truck in motion and drove back out to the street. “I hope you don’t mind if I can’t take you home right away. I’ve got another hour left on my shift. Then I have to take the truck back to headquarters. It’s only a few exits away on the highway.”

  “Don’t mind us,” Nancy said, licking her Rocket Pop. “But do you think we could make a short stop before you leave River Heights? It should only take a minute.”

  George shrugged. “Sure. Meanwhile, it’s time to make the little kiddies happy.” She pressed a button on the dashboard, and the cheerful song blared out of the speaker on top of the truck.

  Bess stopped eating her Rocket Pop for a moment to listen. “That’s such a cute song,” she said.

  • • •

  “Don’t you ever get sick of that song?” Bess asked an hour later as the Frosty Freeze truck pulled away from its last stop. “I mean, the same thing over and over and over again.” She covered her ears with her hands. “It’s awful!”

  “You stop hearing it after a while,” George said, laughing at her cousin. “Where to, Nan?”

  Nancy checked her notebook. “Megan Krasnoff Realty, nine sixty-five Vernon Road,” she said. “That’s between Center and Grove streets.”

  On the way, Nancy and Bess filled George in on Lydia’s mysterious appearance at the vacant store, as well as their visits to Mary Lou Jennings and Kimberly Burton.

  “I want to know if it really was Lydia I saw,” Nancy said as they pulled up in front of the real estate office. “And if it was, we need to find out what she was doing there. I’ll be right back.”

  Megan Krasnoff Realty was located in a small brick building on a residential street. The door was open, so Nancy walked in. A young man with slicked-back hair was sitting behind the nearest desk.

  “May I help you?” he asked, looking up at Nancy.

  Nancy improvised quickly. “I saw your For Rent sign in that vacant store on Center Street, the one next to the dry cleaner. I was wondering if it was still available.”

  “I’ll have to check,” the man said. He tapped a few keys on his computer keyboard. Nancy tried discreetly to move behind him so she could see what information came up on the monitor, but the man blocked her view.

  “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. “It’s already been rented. Perhaps I could show you something else? We have several properties on Main Street, which is a good location for a business.”

  “No,” Nancy told him. “I really had my heart set on Center Street. You wouldn’t happen to know who rented it?”

  The young man gave her an apologetic look. “We can’t give out that information.”

  “Oh,” Nancy said, disappointed. Then she had an idea. Pretending she needed something in her pocket-book, she set it down on the corner of his desk, then let it drop to the floor. “I’m so sorry,” she said as the man leaned over to pick up her purse.

  As soon as he bent forward, Nancy looked at the monitor. The print was small, but she could see one thing clearly. The person who’d rented the property was Lydia Newkirk.

  Nancy took the purse from the man and said, “Please forgive me. Sometimes I can be so clumsy.”

  “No trouble,” he told her. “You’re sure there isn’t any other neighborhood you’d consider? We have lots of listings right now.”

  “Let me think about it,” Nancy said. “I’ll call you.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the door.

  “I don’t believe it,” Bess said, after Nancy told her and George what she’d found out in the office. “I’ve never known Lydia to be a liar.”

  “Facts are facts,” said George as she pulled away. “First she lied about having the flu, and now she’s sneaking around behind her boss’s back.”

  “And if she’s planning to start a business,” Nancy added, “she needs a lot of cash. What better way to get it than to sell an expensive piece of jewelry?”

  “Sounds like a definite motive to me,” George agreed.

  “So now we have two very strong suspects,” Nancy said. “Kimberly Burton and Lydia. Mr. Gordon’s still on the list, too, but so far nothing points to him. I spoke to Chief McGinnis this morning. He said Mr. Gordon hasn’t done anything except go to work and then return home at night.”

  “This is such a pretty drive,” Nancy said as they followed the road’s graceful curves. On either side of the highway were gently sloping hills with thick green foliage. As they neared the steep gorge that gave River Heights its name, the hills became rockier and there were fewer trees. The highway led onto the River Heights Bridge, which crossed the Muskoka River.

  As they neared the bridge, George swerved sharply into the right lane.

  “Why’d you do that?” Nancy asked, holding on to the passenger door to keep from lurching into Bess.

  George pressed her lips together and glanced at the rearview mirror.

  “George? Is something wrong?” Nancy asked.

  “I don’t know,” said George, looking at the mirror again. “But I have a feeling we’re being followed.”

  Turning around in her seat, Nancy saw an orange van driving close behind the Frosty Freeze truck.

  “Switch lanes again,” she told George. “Let’s see what they do.”

  George quickly moved back into the left lane. The orange van did the same.

  “Oh, great,” said Bess. “This has been one terrific day.” Her tone was sarcastic, but Nancy thought she saw a hint of fear in her friend’s eyes.

  Suddenly the orange van moved closer and bumped the Frosty Freeze truck from behind.

  “George!” Bess said nervously. She braced herself against the dashboard and turned around to look at the van. “Can you shake them?”

  “I’m going to try,” George said, fighting to keep the truck from swerving. “But this truck wasn’t exactly built for speed.” She jammed her foot on the accelerator and moved back into the right lane. The orange van sped up also and pulled up alongside them.

  Nancy turned her head to get a better look at the van. It was painted orange all over except for three narrow lime-green stripes running along the side. The windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see who was inside, and she couldn’t get a look at the license plate.

  “Can you go any faster?” Nancy asked George.

  George shook her head grimly. “I’ve already got my foot all the way to the floor.”

  Just then the van started to bump their left side. George tried valiantly to outmaneuver the van, but still it kept bumping them, pushing them closer and closer to the bridge railing.

  “Oh, no!” Bess cried, gripping the dash so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “We’re going to go over!”

  Nancy tried not to let herself look to the right at the steel railing, the only thing that stood between them and a steep drop into the river below. “Don’t worry. The guardrail will hold,” she said, trying to sound convincing.

  The orange van gave another shove, stronger than the first. George clung desperately to the wheel, turning it sharply to the left. But the van’s impact was too powerful. It forced the Frosty Freeze truck right through the bridge’s metal guardrail.

  7

  A Valuable Discovery

  Nanc
y, Bess, and George screamed as the Frosty Freeze truck tore through the metal rail with a loud screech. The impact caused them to lurch forward against their seat belts.

  When the girls looked up, they saw that the truck was teetering precariously over the side of the bridge, still tinkling its happy tune. Like a giant seesaw, it tipped forward, caught on its rear axle. Nancy could see the rushing waters of the Muskoka River far below.

  “What are we going to do?” Bess wailed. Then, trying to get control of herself, she smiled weakly. “Maybe we’ll get to go swimming after all.”

  “We won’t be swimming,” George said. “We’ll be driftwood. If we fall, the force of the impact will kill us!”

  Suddenly Nancy had an idea.

  “George, is there a back door to this truck?” When George nodded, Nancy unhooked the safety belt she and Bess shared. “We’ve got to move—now!” she said in an urgent voice.

  Quickly undoing her own seat belt, George grabbed her mobile phone, and all three girls scrambled toward the back of the truck. George struggled with the latch on the door.

  “Hurry!” Bess urged, her voice trembling.

  Finally George got the latch open, and Nancy gave the door a powerful kick.

  “Jump!” Nancy cried as the door flew open.

  All three girls landed in a pile on the pavement. Quickly untangling themselves, they stood up in a daze. Traffic had stopped in both directions, and several motorists rushed over to see if the girls were all right. The orange van was nowhere in sight.

  “I’ll call the police,” George said, pulling her phone out of its pouch.

  Bess glanced back at the truck, which was still hanging over the water. Suddenly she burst into tears. “Oh, Nancy, I really thought we were going to . . .”

  “But we didn’t,” said Nancy, giving her friend a hug. “We got out in time.”

  “This time,” Bess said through her tears. “But who knows when our luck will run out?”

  Within minutes a police car pulled up, and two officers jumped out. One, a tall, heavyset man, took a look at the ice cream truck, then ran to the trunk of the police car and removed a coil of heavy cable. He threw it to his partner, a petite blond woman.

  “Secure it to the post,” said the officer, whose nameplate read Robert Walker. “I’ll radio for a tow truck.”

  Nancy turned to Bess and George. “We sure are giving the towing companies a lot of business today.”

  The blond officer, whose name was Jean Daniel, attached the cable to a hitch on the back of the ice cream truck. Then she looped the other end several times around a steel post on the bridge and secured it.

  Officer Walker spoke into his walkie-talkie and then turned to the girls. “Looks like you had a little problem here.”

  Nancy explained how they’d nearly been run off the road, giving the policeman a detailed description of the van.

  “An orange van with green stripes,” Officer Walker mumbled, jotting down the information Nancy had given him. “No license plate number?”

  Nancy shook her head. “I tried, but we just couldn’t get a good look.”

  “I see,” said Officer Walker. “We’ll run a check and see what we come up with.”

  “When you talk to Chief McGinnis,” Nancy added, “please mention that this incident was probably related to the stolen brooch.”

  For the second time that day a tow truck appeared, dodging in and out of the stalled traffic on the bridge. The driver got out and, aided by Officer Walker, placed an enormous metal hook underneath the back of the Frosty Freeze truck. After Officer Daniel removed the cable, the tow truck slowly pulled the ice cream truck back onto the bridge. The motorists standing nearby applauded.

  Nancy, Bess, and George walked around the Frosty Freeze truck to assess the damage. The front fender and hood were dented where they had struck the railing, and the headlights were shattered. When George turned the ignition key she was relieved to hear that the engine was still running smoothly and that the merry tune still played, as well.

  “What should I do with the truck?” the tow truck driver asked. “You want me to take it somewhere?”

  George shook her head. “No, thanks. As long as I can still drive it, I’m going to take it back myself. It would look much worse if my boss saw it hanging off a tow truck.”

  “Just as long as your boss sees this,” the truck driver said, handing George a bill.

  George grimaced. “I’m a little nervous about showing this to Ms. Franklin, my supervisor,” she said to Nancy and Bess.

  “And I’m a lot nervous about getting back into that truck,” Bess added, her blue eyes lingering on the truck’s dented front end. “Maybe the police officers can give us a ride home.”

  “The damage has already been done,” Nancy said. “I doubt the van’s going to come back for us. They probably think we’re floating in the river by now.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Bess wondered. “Okay, I’ll go.” Turning to her cousin, she added, “Just do me one favor.”

  “Sure,” agreed George. “Name it.”

  “Turn off that stupid music!”

  Laughing, George did as Bess had asked. Then, after thanking the police officers for their help, the three girls climbed into the Frosty Freeze truck and took off.

  As they drove, Nancy took her notebook from her purse and flipped it open. “The driver of that van could have been anybody,” she said, looking at the notes she had taken on the case so far. “Lydia, Kimberly Burton, or some person we haven’t encountered yet.”

  “Those wild colors on the van would certainly fit Lydia’s personality,” George commented.

  “Kimberly’s, too,” said Bess. “And since Kimberly’s an antiques dealer, she probably needs a van.”

  “For jewelry?” Nancy asked.

  “We don’t know what else she deals in,” Bess reminded her. “She said she has a variety of interests, whatever that means.”

  “That’s true,” Nancy said. “Maybe Chief McGinnis can run a check on Lydia and Kimberly to see what kind of cars are registered in their names. But I keep thinking about the possibility of another suspect. I have a weird feeling about that van, as if I’ve seen it somewhere before. But not with Lydia or Kimberly in it. I would have remembered that.”

  George’s brow was knit in concentration. “You know, I think I’ve seen that van before, too. Only I can’t remember where.”

  “It’s also possible that the driver of the van is working with either Lydia or Kimberly,” Nancy pointed out. At the bottom of her list of suspects, she added a big question mark.

  George turned off the highway and onto a private road that went up a hill. Soon they reached a small guard’s house and an electronic gate. George flashed her Frosty Freeze ID card at the guard, and the gate slowly opened.

  “Wow,” Bess said. “Tight security. Are they afraid someone’s going to hijack an ice cream truck?”

  “It’s company policy,” George said. “Every employee has to have an ID card.”

  George drove into an enormous parking lot filled with Frosty Freeze trucks and employees’ cars. Several large buildings were clustered together next to the lot. Nancy saw a few smaller buildings at the other end of the parking area. Pulling in between two other trucks, George parked, and the girls got out.

  “Do you want us to come with you for moral support?” Nancy asked.

  “Yeah, we can back up your story,” Bess offered.

  George shook her head. “Ms. Franklin’s pretty fair, and I’ve got the police report to prove I’m telling the truth. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.” George took a few steps away, then looked back at them over her shoulder. “Of course, if I do lose my job, I’ll have more time to help you with the case . . . and my car’s still running.”

  “Good luck,” Nancy said, and Bess gave her cousin the thumbs-up sign.

  Ten minutes later George rejoined them in the parking lot, a big smile on her face.

  “You’re sti
ll employed?” Bess asked hopefully.

  George nodded. “Ms. Franklin was really understanding. She said the company’s insurance would cover the damage. She blamed me for only one thing.”

  “What’s that?” asked Nancy.

  “Transporting unauthorized parties in a company vehicle.”

  “I think she means us,” Bess said to Nancy.

  George nodded. “But I can still help out with transportation. I’m not working tomorrow, so I can drive you around. And the day after, you can use my car, as long as you drive me here for work.”

  “Thanks, George,” Nancy said. “That would be a big help.” She and Bess followed George to her car.

  “Would you mind making one more stop?” Nancy asked as they pulled out of the Frosty Freeze parking lot. “I just realized we’re not far from Russell Brown’s shop. It’s on Route Twenty-two, on the other side of the bridge.”

  “No problem,” George said.

  “Oh, no!” cried Bess. “We have to go over that bridge again?”

  “There’s no other way to get there,” Nancy said.

  “I’ll cover my eyes,” Bess said. “Just tell me when we’re back on solid ground.”

  • • •

  Several minutes later George pulled her car over to the side of a country road and parked next to a wooden sign that had the words Russell Brown Antiques painted on it in faded white letters. A path led from the sign to a red farmhouse with white trim.

  Bells jingled as Nancy opened the door and entered the house, Bess and George behind her. Russell Brown was standing inside.

  “May I help . . .” he began, but then he recognized Nancy and Bess. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you. Have you had any progress catching the thief?”

  “Not yet,” Nancy told him. She introduced George to the store owner, then looked around. Mr. Brown had converted most of the ground floor of the house to the antique shop. Most of the pieces looked right at home in the old farmhouse. There were patchwork quilts and hand-painted wooden cabinets and even an old rocking horse. Nancy liked the homey, comfortable appearance of the rooms.