032 High Marks for Malice

by Carolyn Keene

  Chapter

  One

  I CAN’T BELIEVE anyone actually studies here. This campus looks more like a luxury resort,” Nancy Drew said. She rolled down the passenger window and took in a deep breath of crisp mountain air.

  Basson College was nestled in a valley in the gentle mountains of western Maryland. “Ned, if you transferred here, I’d come visit you every weekend.”

  Nancy’s boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, six-feet-two of all-American good looks, laughed. Just then he spotted a parking place in the visitors’ lot. “First I’d have to rent a better car,” he said, noticing a silver Mercedes and a maroon Jaguar.

  “This one’s good enough for me,” Nancy said, pushing a strand of her reddish gold hair off her forehead.

  Releasing his seat belt, Ned leaned over and nuzzled Nancy’s ear. “That’s what I like about you; you’re so easy to please. And you smell terrific.”

  Nancy smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It’s Scents of Spring, a Christmas present from George.”

  He reached down and released her seat belt. “Glad you came?”

  “Of course. I love being with you. But I’m afraid I’ll be in the way. This is supposed to be a reunion with a friend you haven’t seen since ninth grade. You and Line have a lot to catch up on. You won’t be able to relax and talk with me around.”

  “There’s not a whole lot to catch up on. We may not have seen each other, but we have kept in touch.” His mouth stretched in a sheepish grin. “Besides, he told me not to show up without you.”

  “You’re kidding. Why?”

  Ned got out, pocketed the keys, and walked around to her side. “I guess I’ve told him so much about the bright, beautiful private detective who just happens to be my girl, that he wanted to see for himself.” Holding the door open for her, he eyed the long, shapely legs that Nancy’s short navy skirt and calf-hugging boots showed off to best advantage. “And I keep wondering if I’m being stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the two of you would be a perfect match. He’s the smartest guy I’ve ever met. He can talk about anything, and any place, too, since he’s lived all over the world. His father’s rolling in money.”

  Nancy’s blue eyes sparkled as she looked up at Ned and grinned mischievously. She extended her hand and Ned helped her out. “If he’s that rich, I just became a lot more interested in meeting Lincoln Sheffield.”

  “On top of everything else,” Ned went on, “he’s not the worst-looking guy in the world. He’s what Bess would call a major heartthrob.”

  Nancy laughed. “My tastes are a little different from Bess’s. Don’t worry, Nickerson,” she said, pecking him on the cheek. “You’re stuck with me. It’s you I love.”

  “I love you, too,” Ned answered, sounding a tad relieved. He draped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her, sending tingles down Nancy’s spine. Then he sighed. “As much as I hate to break this off, we’d better get moving. Line said he’d meet us at the bell tower at four.”

  “Oh, good. I love carillons,” Nancy said.

  “This one chimes every hour on the hour,” Ned said. “It should be easy to find—it has to be the tallest building on campus.” Taking her gloved hand, he led her out of the parking lot.

  Nancy gazed ahead, enchanted. Stately redbrick buildings, with rows of white columns fronting them, formed a semicircle around a magnificent fountain, which had been drained for the winter.

  “I’m impressed,” Nancy said. “I don’t understand why I’ve never heard of this university before.”

  “Line says they don’t advertise because they don’t have to. Basson graduates enroll their kids as soon as they’re born.”

  “Line’s father went to Basson?”

  “And his grandfather, who doled out the money to put up one of the dorms.”

  “Really? Are all of the students rich?”

  “Most of them,” Ned said. “But the emphasis here is really on grades. If you can’t maintain better than a C+ average, out you go.”

  Nancy raised her eyebrows. “That must make for some motivated students.” A glint of gold poking through the bare branches of trees in the distance caught her attention. “There, Ned. That must be the tower.”

  The campus was nearly deserted as they skirted several classroom buildings and cut between two dorms. Christmas garlands of pine boughs festooned the doors, and multicolored lights twinkled from windows here and there.

  “Why do you think Line hasn’t gone away for the holidays?” Nancy asked.

  “You got me. There is just his dad—his mom died when he was little. Line was supposed to spend Christmas with his dad in Hong Kong. I guess he had to change his plans at the last minute.”

  “What does his father do?” Nancy asked.

  “Owns Sheffield Computers.”

  Her eyes widened. “That Sheffield?”

  “That Sheffield. Well, here we are.” In a picture-book clearing was the carillon, its walls covered with ivy. Atop the golden roof, a statue of an angel was poised as if ready to take flight.

  The tower was attached to a tiny stone chapel that was surrounded by vegetation—ivy and evergreens, thick even in the winter.

  Suddenly the bells chimed four o’clock, followed by the strains of a familiar carol. Three sides of the tower were open at the top, and the pure, sweet sound of the bells rode a playful breeze out over the campus. Concrete benches ringed the chapel, an invitation to sit and listen.

  Ned scanned the area in surprise. “Well, this is a first,” he said, checking his watch. “Line Sheffield is late.”

  “Come on, Ned. We just got here ourselves.” Nancy sat down on a bench, removed her gloves, and unbuttoned her coat. The new year was only days away, but because of a freakish warm spell, it felt more like early spring.

  “Line’s always on time,” Ned said, joining her on the bench. “But the longer he takes to get here, the longer we can be alone.”

  “I’m all for that.” Nancy snuggled against him, her head on his broad shoulder.

  They watched the sun top a nearby mountain and slide behind it. The sky began a light show of color, slipping from pink to mauve to a pale purple. It was beautiful to watch, but after a while Nancy sensed that Ned was growing impatient.

  “Line’s really late.” Ned looked at his watch. “He’s probably glued to a computer somewhere,” he grumbled. Digging a slip of paper from his wallet, he peered at it in the dusk. “Cassandra Denton, Becker Hall. That’s the friend of Line’s you’ll be staying with. Maybe she knows where he is.”

  “We passed Becker on the way here,” Nancy said, standing and stretching. “The second dorm, I think.”

  “Let’s go.” Ned grabbed her hand and took off, walking rapidly. Nancy rushed to keep up with him.

  “Ned, slow down,” she said. “I’m not exactly dressed for jogging.”

  “Sorry.” He looked back over his shoulder, his brown eyes anxious. “It’s just that it’s odd that Line would be late.”

  It was a short walk to Cassandra Denton’s residence hall, where Ned planned to call Line’s apartment from the phone in the dorm lounge. But the phone could only be used to dial rooms upstairs, so he called Cassandra.

  “She says he’s probably working on his computer,” he told Nancy when he’d hung up. “But she can call outside from her phone, so she’ll try his apartment for us.”

  “Maybe he was working so hard that he lost track of the time,” Nancy said.

  He shrugged helplessly. “You’d have to know Line. This just isn’t like him.”

  Five minutes later a very tall, slender redhead, her hair hugging her attractive face in a cap of short glossy curls, trotted down the stairs. Her electric blue leotard and
matching tights revealed a perfect figure.

  She must have been exercising, Nancy decided.

  “Hi. I’m Cassandra,” the girl said. She pulled on the fur-lined denim jacket she had been holding.

  “You must be Nancy,” she said, giving Nancy a cool once-over before turning to Ned. “And you’re Ned. Welcome to Basson. Line doesn’t answer.”

  “Where could he be?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t know. The only thing I can suggest is going back and waiting for him. He’s probably at the carillon by now. Where are your bags?” she asked Nancy.

  “In the car. We didn’t think we’d be coming here so soon.”

  “Oh. Thought maybe you’d changed your mind about staying with me. Let’s go.” Snapping her jacket, Cassandra strode toward the door.

  “I’m looking forward to staying with you,” Nancy said, surprised at Cassandra’s apparent hostility. Cassandra acted as if she had taken an immediate dislike to Nancy.

  You’re reading her all wrong, Drew, she told herself firmly. Cassandra could have no reason for disliking you. We’ve just met, for pete’s sake. She’s probably just worried because Line hasn’t shown up.

  And still hadn’t. It was now almost five. The sky was dark blue, and the lights were on all over the campus. The bell tower, however, was dark. The floodlights at the corners of the chapel hadn’t come on yet.

  “I don’t get it,” Cassandra muttered. “Where could he be?”

  “Well, let’s not give up on him yet,” Ned said. “We’ll wait. I bet he’ll be here any minute.”

  Nancy, standing near the bench she’d shared with Ned not long before, gazed at the bushes on the right side of the chapel. Something pale peeked through the tangled roots of one of the evergreens.

  Puzzled, she walked toward it, digging for her penlight. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been there before, she was sure. Picking her way through the bed of ivy and ground cover, Nancy approached the pale patch.

  Then the thin yellow beam of her penlight swept across a hand, palm up, long fingers spread wide.

  “Ned,” she called, her throat tight. “Ned, come here, quick!”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, running to Nancy. Cassandra was close behind him.

  Nancy used the tiny penlight to play along a well-muscled arm and a pair of broad shoulders in a pale gray pullover. She moved the circle of light until it illuminated a handsome face. But there was no life in its features. It was still and deathly pale.

  “Line!” Cassandra’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

  Nancy had found Ned’s missing friend.

  Chapter

  Two

  HE’S DEAD!” Cassandra cried.

  Ned stooped beside Line’s body, snapping off branches of the bush in which his friend lay entangled. His face was as pale as Line’s. Nancy started to check for a pulse. But before she could touch him, Cassandra shoved her aside roughly and cradled Line’s head in her lap.

  “No!” Nancy said sharply. “Don’t move him!”

  “What difference does it make? He’s dead, isn’t he?” Cassandra asked. “Oh, Line!”

  Line’s mouth opened and a groan of pain escaped.

  Cassandra gasped. “He’s alive!”

  “Go get help,” Ned said, hoarse with relief. “Call an ambulance.”

  “No!” Cassandra’s voice was shrill. “I don’t want to leave him.”

  “You know where a phone is. We don’t,” Ned argued. “Go, Cassandra. Hurry.”

  She hesitated for a second, then jumped up and disappeared into the darkness.

  Nancy touched Line’s face gently. His skin was cool and clammy. “He’s in shock,” she said. “We should keep him warm.”

  Ned shrugged out of his coat and spread it over his friend, tucking it gently around him. “I hope the ambulance gets here soon. What do you think happened, Nan? He’s scratched up—probably from the bushes—but I don’t see—”

  “He has a fracture, for one thing,” Nancy said, shining the light along the length of his left leg. Its grotesque angle left no doubt she was right.

  Something glittered near Line’s knee. Carefully Nancy reached over. “His keys,” she said, picking them up and handing them to Ned.

  Suddenly Line groaned again, and Nancy moved the penlight to his face. His eyes, a remarkable blue, were open and he blinked against the glare.

  “Line?” Ned said. “It’s me, buddy. Nickerson. Can you hear me?”

  “Ned?” Line turned his head to see his friend.

  “Don’t move. You’re going to be all right. Cassandra’s gone to call an ambulance.”

  “Nancy,” Line whispered. “Where’s . . . Nancy?”

  “Here, Line.” Nancy directed the light toward her face so he could see her.

  His tongue darted across his lips, and he took a deep breath as if gathering strength. “Check—fish tank—Important.” He spoke so softly, it was difficult to understand him. “Man’s buried—fish tank.” Then his eyes glazed over and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  “What’s he talking about?” Nancy asked.

  “Who knows? He’s delirious. Where is that ambulance?”

  Cassandra came running out of the darkness. “They’re on the way. How is he?”

  “In shock,” Ned answered, “but he came to for a minute. He recognized me and asked for Nancy. That’s a good sign.”

  “He asked for you?“ Cassandra’s head jerked around, and she glared at Nancy. “Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted. “Something about a man being buried in an aquarium.”

  “An aquarium? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He was delirious,” Ned assured her. “He didn’t know what he was saying.”

  “I should have been here!” Cassandra cried. “I knew I shouldn’t have left!”

  The wail of an approaching siren cut her off. Cassandra ran through the surrounding grove of trees, shouting, “Here! Back here!”

  Ned reached for his friend’s hand, his eyes full of concern.

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy said. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.” But she wasn’t sure at all.

  • • •

  It was an agonizing hour and a quarter before the emergency room doctor, the nut brown skin of his forehead dewy with perspiration, came out into the waiting room. Seeing the three teenagers hovering anxiously, he hurried over to them. “Did you come with Mr. Sheffield?” he asked.

  Ned cleared his throat. “Yes. How is he?”

  “Well—”

  “Dr. Garrison?” a cultured voice called from behind them. A tall, distinguished-looking man approached hurriedly.

  “That’s our registrar, Mr. Chapin,” Cassandra whispered.

  “I heard that one of our students had been admitted. Who is it and what’s the problem?”

  “The boy’s name is Lincoln Sheffield,” Dr. Garrison said. “He’s in a coma. He has a few fractures—left leg and wrist, ribs—along with minor scratches and bruises. But—”

  “Excuse me,” Chapin interrupted, eyeing Nancy, Ned, and Cassandra, “but could we discuss this in private?”

  Ned opened his mouth to protest, but Dr. Garrison cut him off. “These young people found my patient and acted quickly and responsibly. If they hadn’t, he’d be dead.”

  “Line and I are old friends,” Ned explained. “Since his father’s in Hong Kong, I’m as close to family as he’s got.”

  Dr. Garrison nodded, ignoring Chapin’s look of displeasure. “As I was saying, we won’t know more until we see his Xrays, but I suspect a head injury. His condition is critical, and—”

  “But he’ll be all right?” Cassandra broke in.

  The doctor hesitated. “I can’t say yet. A fall such as his usually—”

  “He fell?” Ned asked.

  “His injuries are consistent with a fall from a considerable height.”

  It was precisely what Nancy had suspected. “The bell tower,” she said. “We found him at the base of
the bell tower.”

  Chapin sighed deeply. “This happens every year. Some young idiot tries to climb the carillon to remove the statue on top. They rarely make it high enough to hurt themselves when they fall.”

  “I know Line wouldn’t pull a prank as stupid as that,” Cassandra said heatedly.

  “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do,” Chapin said gently. “Please, keep me posted on his condition, Dr. Garrison. Here’s my card.” With his left hand, he jotted a number down on the card, his elbow jutting out.

  “Call me at any hour, at my home, if necessary,” Chapin continued, “at the number on the back. In the interim, we’ll try to get in touch with his father.” Nodding an abrupt farewell, he left.

  Nancy watched him go, surprised by his interest and concern. Perhaps this was typical at a school the size of Basson. The administration probably knew all the students personally.

  Cassandra glared after him. “Line would not climb that tower!” she said again.

  “Well, it certainly appears he did,” Dr. Garrison said. “By the way, which one of you is Nancy?”

  “I am,” Nancy said. “Why?”

  “Mr. Sheffield came around long enough to say your name. I thought you’d like to know.”

  Puzzled, Nancy said, “Thank you,” and turned to find a tight-lipped Cassandra staring at her. The redhead’s fists were clenched at her sides.

  Ned gave the doctor the phone number at Line’s apartment. “He has an answering machine. If I’m not there, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

  “What are your visiting hours?” Nancy asked.

  “Well . . .” Dr. Garrison paused. “You might as well know: your friend’s on his way to intensive care.”

  “Oh.” Ned visibly sagged.

  Nancy took his hand and squeezed it. “Does this mean he won’t be able to have visitors at all?” she asked.

  “No. But only two at a time for no more than ten minutes, every four hours between eight A.M. and midnight. Normally the visitors are restricted to immediate members of the family—”

  “But his father’s out of the country,” Ned reminded him.

  The doctor nodded. “Under the circumstances, I’ll alert the nursing staff to allow you in. We will try to contact Mr. Sheffield, of course.”