Poison Pen

by Carolyn Keene

  Ned swallowed some soda and set his glass down. “What about you and me, Nan?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy told him, smiling. “I have it all figured out.” She turned to Rick. “Do you know where your aunt’s car was towed after the accident with Brenda?”

  He thought for a moment. “A place called Westlake Auto, I’m pretty sure.”

  “Is it still there?” Nancy asked.

  Rick nodded. “It should be. They aren’t scheduled to start work on it until tomorrow. Why?”

  “Because that’s where Brenda’s car is going for repairs,” Nancy told him.

  “I don’t use Westlake,” Brenda protested.

  “For now, you do,” Nancy told her, grinning. “Have the car brought in under my name. That’ll give Ned and me a chance to get in and look at Mrs. Keating’s brakes.”

  “I don’t see why I couldn’t do that,” Brenda muttered sulkily. “It wouldn’t be dangerous.”

  “Too risky,” Nancy said firmly. Turning to Ned, she said, “We’d better go. There’s nothing more we can do tonight, and anyway, we’re late for dinner.”

  As they were leaving, Nancy looked back at Brenda. The pretty brunette was standing on the porch with Rick, watching them go. Nancy didn’t miss the determined, rebellious expression on Brenda’s face.

  Uh-oh. She’s going to make trouble before this case is over, Nancy thought. I just know it.

  • • •

  Nancy cradled the receiver of her phone between her chin and shoulder and dialed George’s number. Then she sat back on her bed, counting the rings until her friend answered.

  “Hi,” she said when George picked up after the third one.

  “Hey, Nan. Great timing. Bess is over, and she’s dying to talk to you!”

  “What for?” Nancy asked.

  “Uh, I think she wants to tell you herself,” George warned, laughing. Then her voice became fainter as she said, “Okay, okay, I’m giving you the phone! Stop grabbing.”

  “What’s going on?” Nancy asked.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” came Bess’s voice over the line. “I had a date with David Park last night! Did you get my message?”

  “Oh!” Suddenly Nancy remembered Hannah’s giving her the message from Bess the day before. She’d been so preoccupied with the case that she had totally forgotten to return Bess’s call the night before. “Oh, Bess, I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “I got it. I just had a lot on my mind.”

  “Mmmm. I’m not surprised,” Bess replied. “I could see it coming the other night at the concert. You have a new case, don’t you?”

  “Guilty,” Nancy admitted with a laugh.

  “So—what is this case?” Bess asked.

  Nancy could hear George’s voice faintly in the background. “A new case? Tell her to come over and fill us in, pronto. She’s not about to do anything without our help!”

  A warm feeling spread through Nancy. She could always count on Bess and George. They were the greatest!

  “I’ll tell you about it in a second,” she said to Bess. “But first, I want to hear all the details of your date!”

  • • •

  “So what do we do, Nan?” Ned whispered.

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted. She stepped around a heap of oily engine parts, carefully holding the hem of her white dress away from them. “I guess we’ll have to improvise.”

  It was ten-thirty in the morning, and Nancy and Ned were standing by Brenda’s car, amid a hum of activity, at Westlake Auto. Ned had taken the morning off so that he could go with Nancy to check out the brakes on Mrs. Keating’s car.

  Nancy frowned, considering. “We can’t just tell the mechanic we suspect the brakes were sabotaged,” she said quietly. “He’ll think we’re crazy!”

  She straightened away from Ned as a harassed-looking man in stained white coveralls walked toward them, wiping his hands on a rag. The name Ernie was embroidered on a patch on his chest.

  “Can I help you folks?” the man asked.

  “Yes. Uh, I’m Nancy Drew,” she began hesitantly. “I—”

  The mechanic interrupted her, scowling. “Oh, you’re the one who owns this car. Look, I didn’t appreciate your attitude on the phone yesterday.”

  What was he talking about? Nancy wondered. Then she realized Brenda must have said something rude to the guy. “But I—she began again.

  Ernie cut her off. “I’m sorry, but there’s no way I’ll be able to get to your car before tomorrow.” He waved a hand at the crowded shop. “You can see how backed up we are. We’re so busy I can’t even keep track of what my men are doing.”

  The place did seem a little frantic. Men in white Westlake Auto coveralls hurried back and forth among dozens of cars in the huge space. As she looked around, Nancy had an idea.

  She was wearing white, too. If Ned could keep Ernie occupied, she could find Mrs. Keating’s car and look at the brakes. In the bustle the odds were that no one would notice her.

  “Oh, but you have to fix the car today,” she whined. “We need it.” She grasped Ned’s arm possessively. “Today is our one-year anniversary, and this is the car that we rode in on our very first date. We have such a big day planned, and if I don’t get to ride in this car today, I’ll just have a fit!” She squeezed Ned’s arm. “Honey, can’t you talk to him?”

  Ned glanced down at her in surprise, and Nancy gave him a discreet kick on the ankle.

  “Er—that’s right,” Ned said quickly. He leaned toward Ernie, lowering his voice. “Let me tell you, you don’t want to be around this girl when she’s having a fit. It’s not a pretty sight.” Looking back at Nancy, he shot her a quick wink.

  Oooh! I’ll get him for that later, she thought.

  Ernie’s expression was doubtful. “All the same,” he said, “I can’t get to it right away.”

  “Oh, please!” Nancy made her lower lip tremble. “If our plans are ruined I’ll—I’ll cry.”

  Ned put an arm around Ernie’s shoulder. “Can we talk about this for a minute, man to man?” Still talking, he led Ernie toward the office.

  Nancy watched them go, stifling a laugh. Not bad! Now I’d better get to it before they come back.

  It took only a few seconds for her to recognize Mrs. Keating’s silver sedan. It was parked near the back of the garage. As she wandered over, Nancy saw a pair of legs in white coveralls poking out from under the car’s body. Someone was apparently working on it already.

  That’s probably good, Nancy realized. If she played this right, she could even get an expert’s opinion on Mrs. Keating’s brake trouble.

  Bending down, Nancy said, “Excuse me.”

  There was a clattering sound as the mechanic slid out from under the car on a small, wheeled board. He stood up, dusting off his hands. Then he raised his eyes straight at Nancy. Her heart leapt into her throat.

  “You!” she cried.

  She was facing the man with the mismatched eyes!

  Chapter

  Twelve

  THE MAN gave Nancy a quizzical smile and asked, “Have we met?” But she was sure she saw a glint of recognition in his eyes.

  Her thoughts were in a whirl, and her gaze kept flicking back and forth between the man’s blue and brown eyes. In all the excitement of Brenda’s accident, she’d completely forgotten him. Yet he’d been at the mall the day of Brenda’s first car accident and near the Keatings’ house the night of the concert. What was he doing working on Mrs. Keating’s car now?

  “No, you don’t know me,” Nancy responded after a moment. “But I’ve seen you before.” She decided not to mention anything about seeing Rick chase him the night of the Ice Planet concert.

  “You seemed very interested in an accident involving this car,” she went on carefully.

  “Ah, of course. You were the good Samaritan,” the man said easily. “How could I forget a face as pretty as yours?” He unzipped his coveralls and stepped out of them. Underneath, Nancy noted, he had on an
expensive-looking suit.

  “Oh, I don’t actually work here,” he explained when he saw her look of surprise. “I just slipped in and—er—borrowed this extra coverall when the office was empty.”

  Nancy folded her arms, unsure of what to make of the guy. He was smooth—almost too smooth—and she didn’t really trust him. “Why?” she asked bluntly.

  The man shrugged. “It was more convenient than trying to explain to the mechanics that I wanted to examine one of their cars to see if its brakes had been doctored.”

  “What?” Nancy couldn’t contain her surprise.

  “Well, surely you suspect the same thing,” the man said in a reasonable voice. “After all, you were the one who told Maggie to get her brakes checked in the first place.”

  From the familiar way he used Mrs. Keating’s name, Nancy guessed he knew her. “Just who are you?” she demanded. “And what are you up to?”

  “Oh, excuse my rudeness,” the man said with a charming laugh. He held out his hand. “I’m Maggie Keating’s brother-in-law. Name’s Chris Trout.”

  Brother-in-law? Suddenly Nancy recalled her father telling her that Mrs. Keating was the widow of a lawyer named Wilford Trout. This guy must be Wilford’s younger brother. But what was he doing in the garage?

  Reaching out, she took Trout’s hand and shook it. “I’m Nancy Drew,” she told him.

  “Delighted,” Trout said in that same supersmooth tone. Reaching into the pocket of the coveralls, he drew out a flat, oddly shaped piece of silvery metal. “Well, Nancy, you can be my witness. This is the proof that Maggie’s brakes were sabotaged. I just found it.”

  Nancy’s mind was racing. What was Trout up to? Could he somehow be involved in the plot to kill Mrs. Keating? He had been at the mall when she ran into Brenda. Could that be a coincidence? Nancy had to find out more!

  “I didn’t see you find that thing,” she pointed out, hoping to goad more information from him. “Anyway, I don’t even know what it is. You say it’s proof of sabotage, but how do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “Very good!” Trout said approvingly. He held the piece of metal up so Nancy could examine it. “This is a brake shoe. Notice the wear here and here.” He pointed to two uneven spots on the surface of the metal piece and went on to explain, “Now, wear is usual in everyday driving but not quite like this. If you look closely, you can see file marks.”

  Nancy caught her breath. He was right!

  “It’s very subtle, though.” Raising his eyebrows, Trout added, “I doubt a regular auto mechanic would even catch it. It’s just that I have some expertise on the subject of brakes.”

  “How so?” Nancy asked cautiously.

  “I drive Formula One race cars,” Trout told her. He made a sigh that seemed a little exaggerated. “Unfortunately, racing is a very expensive hobby, what with the cost of the cars themselves, maintenance, entry fees, and so forth. I’ve been forced into temporary retirement, due to lack of funds.”

  His mismatched eyes held a strange gleam as he added, “But my luck may be changing. I think you can look for me on the racetrack again in the near future.”

  More questions whirled in Nancy’s head. Was he making some weird reference to the plan to kill Mrs. Keating? But then, why would he tell her about the sabotaged brakes if he was in on the plot? Unless he just wanted her to think he was trying to protect Mrs. Keating to throw Nancy off the track—

  Nancy shook herself. It was all guesswork until she came up with proof. Clearing her throat, she said, “About the brake shoe—”

  “Oh, yes. The brake shoe.” Trout looked down at the object in his hand, then gave Nancy a sudden, wolfish grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the proper people see it.”

  Before Nancy could even open her mouth to ask what he meant, Trout strode jauntily away.

  “Nancy, I think we’re going to have to give up for today,” Ned’s voice came from behind her.

  Startled, Nancy turned around. Ned stood there with the mechanic.

  “What?” Nancy asked, her mind still on the strange conversation with Trout.

  “I said, I think we’re going to have to give up on getting the car fixed today,” Ned replied.

  “Well, we’ll live,” Nancy said distractedly.

  “Gee, you’re sure you’re not too disappointed?” Ned asked, frowning at her.

  Suddenly Nancy remembered they were supposed to be putting on an act for Ernie. “Oh, of course I am,” she said, pouting. “I’m very disappointed. Ned, let’s go. I think I’m going to cry.”

  Doing her best to look upset, Nancy led the way out of the garage. As soon as they were around the corner and out of sight, though, she grabbed Ned’s hand. “Listen to this!” Quickly she filled him in on her encounter with Chris Trout.

  Ned whistled when she was done. “This Trout guy sounds like bad news,” he commented.

  “I agree,” Nancy said. “He acted like he wanted to help, but—I don’t know, I got the feeling he was hiding something. If he really wanted to help Mrs. Keating, why would he run off like that with the brake shoe? Maybe he’s actually in on some plan with Mr. Keating.” Her blue eyes had a determined gleam in them as she added, “One thing’s for sure.”

  “What’s that?” Ned inquired.

  “I’ve got some homework to do on both Bill Keating and Chris Trout.”

  • • •

  “Wow, Nancy,” Bess said wistfully. “This guy Chris Trout sounds kind of romantic.”

  “I don’t know,” said George. She poured herself a refill of soda and went back to her seat at the Drews’ kitchen table. “Sometimes the most charming guys are the ones who make the most trouble.”

  Nancy nodded her agreement. “The question is, what kind of trouble?”

  The girls had just eaten dinner, and now they were comparing notes on what they had learned that day.

  “He’s definitely a slippery kind of guy,” Nancy went on. “The only solid information he gave me was that he drives Formula Ones—you know, race cars. So I called some racing people, and they actually thought I was trying to track Trout down for money. The guy said something like, ‘Look, lady, you’ll have to wait in line behind me and half of Chicago.’ ”

  “Maybe he’s not so romantic after all,” Bess commented, taking a sip of soda.

  “But it sounds like he’s definitely broke,” said George.

  “Right,” Nancy said with a nod. “I called my dad about it, and he told me both Wilford and Chris Trout inherited a lot of money from their parents. But both of them let it slip away within just a few years. Wilford still made good money as a lawyer, though, and my dad says Wilford was always giving money to Chris. I wonder if Chris hoped Wilford’s widow would continue with the handouts,” she added, thinking out loud.

  “Maybe he’s trying to kill Mrs. Keating and get it blamed on Mr. Keating so that he can inherit whatever she has,” Bess suggested. “Ugh,” she added, shuddering.

  “That doesn’t make sense unless Mrs. Keating put a special provision for Chris in her will,” Nancy pointed out. “He’s not Mrs. Keating’s next of kin. He’s not even really related to her.”

  “Besides,” said George, “from what I heard today, I don’t think Mrs. Keating has much money to leave to anyone.”

  Nancy nodded. “That’s what Rick said, too. What exactly did you find out?”

  “Well, I talked to Mrs. Keating’s hairdresser, Maurice,” began George, reaching for the last of Hannah’s chocolate chip cookies. “He has this chic salon, but he was pretty chatty. I went in to talk to him about a new look.” She grinned and patted her dark curls.

  “You didn’t!” Bess cried admiringly. “Oh, this sounds fun. I wish I’d rescheduled my dentist’s appointment so I could have gone with you.”

  George crunched into the cookie, then went on with her story. “After a while I got the conversation around to Mrs. Keating,” she said. “Maurice is upset with her because she bounced three checks in a row. He says tha
t right before Mrs. Keating married Mr. Keating, she was talking a lot about how much money she was going to have after the wedding. Maurice thinks she married him for his money.”

  “Now, that’s interesting,” Nancy said. “It’s beginning to look as if both Mr. and Mrs. Keating went into their marriage thinking the other one would make them wealthy again.”

  “And they were both disappointed,” Bess added excitedly. “Hey, maybe they’re trying to kill each other!”

  Nancy smiled at Bess. “Maybe,” she allowed. “But so far we have no evidence that anyone is trying to kill Mr. Keating.”

  The three girls turned as Ned appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hannah let me in,” he explained. “What’s up?”

  Nancy was about to start filling him in when the telephone rang. She reached for the kitchen extension. “Hello?”

  It was Brenda. She was beside herself with excitement. “Guess what?” she cried. “I just got an anonymous phone tip!”

  “What?” Nancy asked. “Calm down, Brenda. What are you talking about?”

  “It happened just five minutes ago,” Brenda said. “The phone rang, and when I picked it up, this muffled voice told me I could get information that would help the woman who wrote the letter in my column. All I have to do is show up at Bluff Bridge at nine o’clock tonight.”

  “Brenda,” Nancy said sternly, feeling a prickle of unease, “the letter was a fake, remember? This could be a trap.”

  “I know that!” Brenda said scornfully. “I’m not an idiot, Nancy. I’m just calling to tell you I’m going to set a trap for him.”

  “You can’t go!” Nancy yelled into the receiver. Was Brenda actually dumb enough to try to outsmart a potential murderer? Then Nancy remembered something. “Your car’s still in the shop,” she pointed out, heaving a sigh of relief. “You don’t have any way to get there.”

  There was a sulky silence. “Well, how are we going to catch this guy?” Brenda asked at last.

  Nancy glanced at her watch. It was already eight thirty-five! “I’ll go in your place,” she said, thinking fast. “I’ll take Ned. And can you call Rick? Tell him to be on the far side of the bridge at ten of nine—and to watch for anyone approaching from that side.”