118 Betrayed By Love

by Carolyn Keene

  Nancy wasn't convinced. "That's what I want to know," she said, frowning. "We've been friends a long time, and it doesn't take a detective to figure out that you're not being honest with me. Come on, Angela—what's up?"

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Finally Angela confessed, "You're right. Something is wrong, but I'd rather not talk about it over the phone."

  "You and Rafe haven't had an argument or anything, have you?" Nancy asked.

  "No, of course not," Angela said quickly. "It's just that something weird happened yesterday, and Vm hoping you'll be able to help me figure out what to do about it."

  "What do you mean, weird? Can't you at least give me a clue?" Nancy urged.

  "I'll tell you the whole story as soon as you get here," Angela said. "I'll ask Howard to have the plane waiting for you and Ned at O'Hare on the afternoon of the nineteenth. If you board by six o'clock, you ought to arrive on Long Island around eight-thirty. Our chauflFeur will meet you at the airport and bring you to Soundview. Rafe's coming to dinner, and Howard has promised that he'll be here, too, for a change— he's been spending so much time at the office lately that he's hardly ever home. Mother says she's beginning to forget what he looks like. I can't wait for you to meet him."

  "I'm looking forward to it, and so is Ned," Nancy said. "In the meantime, can't you talk to Rafe about whatever it is that's bothering you?"

  "No, because I don't want to worry him."

  "Well, you sure are worrying me," Nancy grumbled.

  Angela sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have mentioned it until you and Ned got here. And who knows? Maybe I'm overreacting. Forget it for now, okay? Gotta run."

  Thoroughly mystified, Nancy hung up the phone just as Ned came into the living room, carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming cocoa and a bowl of popcorn.

  "So what's with Angela?" he asked, putting the tray down on the coflfee table in front of the sofa. "Prewedding jitters?"

  "Maybe. It sounds more serious than that, though. She's pretty upset about something, but she won't tell me what it is until she sees me." Nancy reached out, took a handful of popcom, and began to munch absently. "Angela wants us to fly out on the afteraoon of the nineteenth instead of the twenty-second. Is that okay with you?"

  Dropping down beside Nancy, Ned put an arm around her. "Sure. My exams will be over, and I can't think of anything I'd rather do than spend more time with you. Nan. We've hardly seen each other lately."

  "I know." Nancy snuggled into his embrace and rested her head on his shoulder. "I can't remember the last time we spent a day together like this. I've missed you, Ned, I really have."

  "I've missed you, too." He pressed his lips to hers. "Mmmm! You taste delicious."

  Nancy laughed. "That's the popcom, silly! Better have some before it gets cold."

  "I'll take my chances," he murmured, and kissed her again.

  Ordinarily Ned's kisses thrilled Nancy right down to her toes, but that night her response wasn't nearly as enthusiastic as usual, and Ned noticed.

  "What's the matter, Nan?" he asked as she pulled away, a puzzled expression on his face. "Not in the mood for romance? Or am I losing my touch?''

  Nancy shook her head. "None of the above." She picked up the mugs of cocoa and handed one to him, keeping the other for herself.

  "Then what is it?"

  "Angela," she said. "I'm really worried about her, Ned. She sounded—I don't know—almost desperate on the phone. She practically begged us to come early. I finally got her to admit that something was wrong, but when I tried to find out what it was, she said she wanted to wait until we got there, to tell us in person."

  Ned shrugged. "Maybe she and Rafe are having problems. Angela's so nuts about the guy that she'd probably freak out over some minor disagreement."

  "I don't think so," Nancy said. "I asked her if they'd had an argument, and she said no."

  "Then it's probably prewedding jitters, as I said before," Ned stated. "And you have to admit that Angela's always had a tendency to make—"

  "Mountains out of molehills." Nancy finished his sentence for him. "She's said the same thing herself many times."

  "There you go. That proves my point." He put down his mug and reached out to massage her shoulders. "Take it easy, Nan. You're a dynamite detective, but we're not talking about one of your cases here, and Angela isn't one of your clients. This wedding is supposed to be a happy occasion, remember? I don't know about you, but I intend to enjoy every minute of it, beginning on Thursday when we wallow in the luxury of Mr. Tremain's private jet."

  Nancy relaxed a little as Ned gently kneaded her tense muscles. She tried to convince herself that he was right about Angela. But her detective instincts told her that something was wrong: She had a terrible feeling that their friend was in real trouble.

  Chapter Three

  NANCY LEANED FORWARD to peer through the window of the sleek black limousine as it purred along the narrow, winding road that led to the Chamberlain estate. It was past eight-thirty, and a rising moon gave the snowy landscape an unearthly glow, making it almost as light as day.

  "Everything looks so beautiful, and so different from the first time I came here with my dad," Nancy said to Ned.

  "Everything is different," Ned reminded her. "A lot has changed since then."

  "That's for sure!" Nancy agreed. "Whoever would have guessed that three years later Angela's father would be dead, Mrs. Chamberlain remarried to his business partner, and Angela about to be married herself?"

  ''At least one thing hasn't changed—you and me. Fm glad we'll be spending Christmas together," Ned said, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze.

  Nancy leaned back against the leather seat and moved closer to him. ''Me, too." Then she sighed. "I only hope nothing happens to spoil it."

  Ned frowned. "You're not still worrying about Angela, are you?"

  "I'm trying not to, but I can't seem to help it," Nancy admitted.

  "Well, try harder. That's an order," Ned joked. Then, glancing out the window, he added, "Hey, we're here!"

  The limousine had passed between the imposing gateposts that flanked the entrance to Soundview's circular drive, and now it glided to a stop in front of the huge Tudor-style mansion. The chauffeur opened the limousine door for Nancy and Ned. As they got out, the door to the house swung open, and a slim, dark-haired girl in an ankle-length brown velvet dress raced down the steps to greet them.

  "I thought you'd never get here. Oh, I'm so glad to see you both!" Angela cried. She flung her arms around Nancy, then turned to Ned, who gave her a bear hug.

  It's great to see you, too!" He lifted her off the ground and spun her around in circles before setting her back on her feet.

  Angela took her guests' hands and pulled them toward the house. "Come on inside before we all freeze.'* The chauffeur followed them with Nancy and Ned's luggage. "Arthur, would you please take the bags upstairs?" she asked. "Nancy will be in the room next to mine. Ned's room is directly across the hall."

  "The red suitcase is mine," Nancy added.

  As Arthur took the luggage upstairs, Parker, the tall, stately butler, approached and unbent enough to greet Nancy and Ned with a warm smile. "Good to see you again. Miss Drew and Mr. Nickerson," he said.

  After he helped them off with their coats, Angela, chattering a mile a minute, led the way across the marble floor of the spacious entrance hall.

  "Everyone is in the library. It's the coziest place to be on a day like today. I hope you had a good flight. I heard on the news that there was a big snowstorm starting in the Midwest, and I was afraid the plane might be grounded, but obviously it wasn't since you're here. . . ."

  As she babbled on, Nancy got a good look at her friend for the first time, and what she saw disturbed her. Angela certainly wasn't the picture of a happy, blushing bride-to-be.

  Although she was smiling brightly, her smile seemed forced. Her heart-shaped face was very pale, and there were dark circles under her gr
een eyes, as though she hadn't been sleeping well.

  Nancy wished she could speak to Angela in private and find out what the trouble was, but there was no time for that now. They were entering the library, and a ruggedly handsome, silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored gray business suit walked over to Ned and vigorously shook his hand.

  "You're Ned Nickerson, of course,'' he said in a deep, booming voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last. I'm Howard Tremain, Angela's stepfather. Welcome to Soundview."

  "Nice to meet you, too, sir," Ned replied with a smile.

  As Ned crossed the room to where Felicia Tremain was seated by the fireplace in a wing chair, Howard turned toward Nancy.

  "And this is the famous detective, Nancy Drew!" Nancy was surprised when instead of shaking her hand, he kissed her cheek. "I hope you don't mind, Nancy, I've heard so much about you from Angela and my wife that I feel as if I already know you."

  Before Nancy could reply, Felicia Tremain called, "Stop monopolizing Nancy, Howard. I haven't seen her in ages. I want to welcome her, too, and introduce her and Ned to our future son-in-law."

  "Of course you do, darling," her husband said. He took Nancy's arm and escorted her to Felicia's side.

  Bending down to give Angela's mother a kiss, Nancy was shocked by the change in her since the last time they had met. In her youth Felicia had been a fashion model, beautiful and extremely thin, but the multicolored silk caftan she wore couldn't conceal the fact that she was now positively gaunt. Carefully applied makeup only emphasized her prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes, green like her daughter's but feverishly brilliant. Her jeweled necklace hung slackly about her throat.

  "Nancy, how wonderful to see you, and how lovely you look!" Mrs. Tremain exclaimed. "I'm dying to hear all about your exciting career and Carson's latest case. But first you must both meet Rafe. Rafe, come say hello to Angela's friends."

  Nancy looked over at the attractive, pony-tailed young man in faded jeans and a baggy sweater who was standing in front of the fireplace with his arm around Angela's waist. The firelight flickered on a gold earring in his left ear.

  Releasing Angela, Rafe strode forward and shook hands with them both. "Hi, Nancy, Ned. Nice to meet you at last. From what Angie tells me, you're the only ones who made life bearable in River Heights."

  His grin was infectious, and even though Nancy was concerned about Angela and shaken by her mother's appearance, she smiled back. '*Oh, River Heights isn't all that bad. I've lived there my whole life, and I've managed to survive."

  "I guess New York is definitely where it's at for a fashion designer like Angela," Ned said. "For an artist, too."

  "New York's terrific, but Europe's even better." Rafe reached for Angela's hand and drew her close. "I still can hardly believe that Howard and Felicia are giving us a year in France and Italy for a wedding present. It's a dream come true for us."

  "Well, I was thinking about a toaster, but Felicia talked me out of it." Mr. Tremain glanced at his wife and winked.

  "Seriously," he continued, looking at Nancy and Ned, "Angela is very special to me—the daughter I always wanted but never had. Nothing could make her mother or me happier than helping these two make a wonderful start together."

  "I'm sure Angela has told you how immensely talented Rafe is," Mrs. Tremain said to Nancy and Ned. "He recently had a one-man show at the Silver Palette in Port Wellington that was very well received. Howard has commissioned him to do my portrait after he and Angela return from Europe." She made a face. "By then I hope I'll look a little less like the Wicked Witch of the West."

  "Nonsense!" Mr. Tremain said sharply. "You're as beautiful as you ever were."

  Just then Parker came into the library to announce that dinner was served. Mr. Tremain helped his wife rise from her chair, and arm in arm they led the procession to the dining room. When everyone was seated around the candlelit table, Howard excused himself.

  "Felicia is on a restricted diet," he explained. "I always check with our cook to make sure her food has been properly prepared."

  He returned a few minutes later, and Parker and a maid served the delicious meal. As Nancy savored her Cornish game hen a I'orange, her gaze flickered from Angela to her mother. Angela said very little and ate almost nothing; Mrs. Tremain talked nonstop, taking a few bites every now and then.

  "So, Nancy, how is my dear friend Carson Drew?" she inquired. "I've been following his current case in the newspapers."

  "Oh, he's great. The Steinbeck. trial has turned him into a bit of a stranger, though— I've hardly seen him since October," Nancy said with a sigh.

  "Being a criminal attorney has to be a diflSi-cult job," Mrs. Tremain said. ^'Imagine how hard it would be, each time you take on a client, when you must look him in the eye and believe him when he tells you he's innocent."

  "Mr. Drew once told me it's just as difficult to defend an innocent person as a guilty one," Ned noted. 'That's always bothered me. I mean, you'd think innocence would count for something."

  Everyone laughed. "Well, I'm sure Carson Drew is an impeccable judge of character. It's probably an important part of why he's so good at what he does," Mr. Tremain offered.

  "Nancy's a pretty good judge of character, too," Angela said quietly. "It's something I've always appreciated about her."

  "Well, thanks Angie, I—" Nancy stopped talking when she saw Mrs. Tremain grimace and drop her fork onto her plate with a small clatter.

  "What's wrong, darling?" her husband asked anxiously.

  "I—I don't feel very well," Mrs. Tremain murmured. "I hate to spoil this lovely party, but I'm afraid I must go to my room."

  Her husband hurried to her side and helped her to her feet. "You did take your medicine today, didn't you?"

  "Yes, she did," Angela said. "I gave it to her myself. Mother, do you want me to come with you?"

  Clinging to her husband's arm, Felicia Tre-main shook her head and managed a wan smile. "No, dear. Howard will take care of me while you entertain our guests. I'll see you all in the morning. I'm sure I'll be fine after a good night's rest."

  As the older couple left the dining room, Rafe took Angela's hand. "Try not to worry, Angle," he said softly. "She always recovers from these attacks, you know that."

  "Yes, I know, but that doesn't make them any easier to take," she murmured.

  Dessert was served, and delicious though the pear tart was, Nancy noticed that no one finished theirs, not even Ned. With his help, Nancy tried to keep the conversation going, but it was difficult because neither Angela nor Rafe had much to say.

  After coffee in the library, Rafe told them he had to leave. "I just got a part-time job with a contractor in the village, so I have to get up real early," he said. "It's lousy work, but at least it pays the rent," he said. He kissed Angela lightly on the cheek. "I'll come over tomorrow niglit after work, Angle. And please get some sleep, okay? You look exhausted."

  As soon as he was gone, Angela collapsed on the big leather sofa and buried her face in her hands.

  Nancy and Ned sat down on either side of her, and Nancy gave her a hug. "Oh, Angela, I know how upset you must be about your mother, but—"

  Angela raised her head. "It's not just Mother, although that's bad enough. I feel as if Fm having a nightmare, and I can't wake up! I told you on the phone that something weird had happened, remember?"

  "I certainly do," Nancy said. "It's been driving me crazy ever since! You said you'd tell me about it when you saw me. Well, I'm here, and so is Ned. Will you please tell us now?"

  Instead of answering, Angela jumped up and ran to a credenza on the other side of the room. She opened one of the doors and took out a white box, which she placed on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

  "What's this?" Ned asked. "Looks like a wedding present."

  "I suppose you could call it that," Angela said with a shiver. "It was delivered the day before I phoned you, Nancy. Open it."

  As Nancy lifted the lid, she read aloud the words prin
ted on it in flowing, metallic script:

  "The Silver Palette. Isn't that the name of the gallery where Rafe had his one-man show?"

  Angela nodded. "It's also an elegant gift shop. A lot of our wedding presents have come from there."

  Setting the lid aside, Nancy parted the layers of tissue paper. "What on earth . . . ?" she exclaimed, staring at the shattered china inside.

  Ned peered over her shoulder. "I don't know what that thing used to be, but whatever it was, it looks as though somebody deliberately smashed it to bits."

  "It sure does," Nancy agreed. "What's this?" She took out a newspaper clipping from under the shards of china—and gasped. It was an announcement of Angela Chamberlain's engagement to Raphael Marino, and Angela's photograph had been viciously scribbled over with red marker.

  "The announcement appeared in the local paper back in September," Angela said, her voice quivering. "Whoever sent it must have been holding on to it for months. And it gets worse." She took an envelope out of the pocket of her dress and gave it to Nancy with a trembling hand. "This just arrived in the mail today."

  Nancy noted that the envelope bore a Port Wellington postmark—the town where Angela lived. Her name and address were printed on the envelope in neat block capitals, and so was the brief note inside.

  "'Miss Moneybags,"' Nancy read aloud. " 'That is what I call you because that is all you are. Rafe Marino doesn't care about you. He's only marrying you for your money. You might as well know that he is in love with someone else. Watch your step or you could be badly hurt.'"

  There was no signature.

  "Oh, wow!" Ned whispered. "No wonder you're a wreck."

  "The worst part of it is that I'm afraid it's true." Angela's eyes filled with tears. "I never could figure out what Rafe saw in me. I mean, he could have anyone he wants. All the giris at school were after him. How he even managed to notice I was alive, I don't know, even now. You know me—I've hardly ever lifted my head up from my sewing machine long enough for anyone to notice me."