Nancy gave a heartfelt sigh of relief and went over to the window. Fortunato was just a few feet away, talking to a tow truck driver. “Okay, okay,” he said. “It’s good for nothing but scrap, but stick it in Aisle Eight for now.”
The tow truck pulled away in a haze of diesel fumes, and Fortunato came into the trailer. He took up a lot of space. “So, what can I do for you?” he asked Nancy.
“You probably heard about what happened at my dad’s office,” Nancy began.
“Sure, there was a story on TV,” Fortunato replied. “So what? The robber didn’t make off with anything of mine, did he?”
“As far as we know, he didn’t take anything,” Nancy assured him.
Fortunato relaxed a little. “Oh,” he said. “Then why the personal visit from the boss’s daughter?”
Nancy tried to keep her tone casual. “Mr. Fortunato, did you have any contact with Jack Broughton, the man who was killed?”
Fortunato’s face became hard and mean. “I got nothing to say about that,” he growled. “No, I take that back. I got one thing to say. Broughton was scum, and whoever gave him the ax did the world a favor. Anything else? I’m a busy man.”
Nancy looked over at Bess, who motioned toward the door with her head. Nancy nodded. “Thanks for your time,” she said to Fortunato, and followed Bess outside.
They were silent until they reached Nancy’s car, then Bess said, “Well! If that wasn’t guilt, I don’t know what was!”
“Anger, maybe,” Nancy replied. “It’s clear to me that Fortunato did know Broughton. Whether or not he was being blackmailed by him I couldn’t tell, but he obviously never felt friendly toward Broughton.”
She started the car and drove a quarter of a mile to the nearest pay phone. “I’ll just be a minute,” she promised Bess.
It took over five minutes just to get through to Chief McGinnis of the River Heights Police Department.
“Hello, Nancy,” he said. “How are you and your dad holding up?”
“As well as can be expected,” Nancy replied. “It’s not easy, hearing all these terrible rumors about my dad and seeing that the River Heights Police Department is taking them seriously.”
“I’m really sorry,” the chief said. “Ron Washington is a fine cop, but he’s new to our force and doesn’t really know your dad. It’s his investigation, and I have to let him run it as he sees fit.”
“Dad and I both understand, Chief,” Nancy assured him. “And don’t worry—I’m not calling to ask for any special treatment. But I would like a small favor. Would you see if you have anything about an Al Fortunato on your computer?”
Nancy was relieved when the chief agreed to help. When she finally returned to the car, she was grinning.
“Well?” Bess demanded.
“Al Fortunato was arrested four times in the last six years, each time for assault,” Nancy reported. “But the charges were dropped three times. The fourth time, he plea-bargained it down to disorderly conduct and paid a fine. My dad was his lawyer, by the way.”
“So Fortunato has a history of violence,” Bess mused. “If Broughton was trying to blackmail him, Fortunato is the kind of guy who might have snapped and killed him, without meaning to.”
“Could be,” Nancy said. “But all we have is a potential motive with no hard evidence to back it up. And we don’t have any witnesses who can place Fortunato at the scene.”
Bess grimaced. “Do you always have to be so logical?” she demanded plaintively. “I think it comes from not eating enough. Why don’t we call Kyle and see if he’s free to meet us for lunch?”
“Detective work really builds an appetite, doesn’t it?” Nancy replied with a laugh. “Okay, give him a call. Do you need change?”
Bess got out and went to the pay phone. A couple of minutes later she returned to the car with a dreamy smile on her face. Nancy’s heart sank as she thought about what it would do to Bess if Kyle turned out to be the murderer.
“Kyle would love to have lunch with us,” Bess reported. “Do you know the Four Brothers Diner? He’ll meet us there in fifteen minutes.”
Nancy remembered the Four Brothers. It was an old-fashioned diner shaped like a railway car, with shiny metal sides and a big neon sign that said Eats. She drove to it and parked near the entrance. Kyle wasn’t there yet, but she and Bess went in and claimed a booth. While Nancy studied the menu, Bess scanned the jukebox.
“Fabulous!” she exclaimed. “They’ve got every fifties and sixties hit I ever heard of, and a lot I don’t know. Nancy, I think we wandered into a time warp!”
“The prices are behind the times, too,” Nancy observed. “I’m going to have to come here more often. Oh—there’s Kyle.” Bess waved out the window, then sat back with a contented smile. “Don’t you just love the way he walks?” she demanded.
“First one leg, then the other, you mean?” Nancy retorted. “Very original.”
“You!” Bess said, making a face. “What do you know about new love? You and Ned have been going together for ages. But this—this is new and wonderful!”
Nancy had just enough time to say “I’ll take your word for it.” Then Kyle was standing next to the booth, giving Bess a big smile. Nancy received a slightly smaller one.
“Have you ordered yet?” Kyle asked, slipping into the booth next to Bess.
“We were waiting for you,” Bess said, beaming.
The waitress came over and took their order, then turned and shouted it into the kitchen in true diner fashion. As she walked away, Kyle asked, “Did you learn anything at Fortunato’s place?”
“A little,” Nancy replied. “He obviously had had some contact with Broughton, and he didn’t like it, or him. And he seems to be the kind of guy who might throw a punch when he gets upset.”
“He seemed a little scary to me,” Bess added.
Kyle frowned. “Wait a minute,” he said, slapping his forehead. “I just remembered something about the night Broughton was killed and I was hanging around on the street downstairs. When I walked past the coffee shop one time, I peeked in and saw someone who looked familiar. I realize now it was Fortunato!”
“Kyle, you’re wonderful!” Bess exclaimed. “That means we can place him at the scene of the crime. He’s obviously the murderer! We should tell the detective who’s in charge of the case right away and have him arrest Fortunato.”
“Not quite so fast,” Nancy said grimly. “If Kyle tells the police about seeing Fortunato, he’s also placing himself on the scene. The police might think that Kyle’s motive is at least as strong as Fortunato’s and arrest him instead.”
She didn’t say it out loud, but she thought that this sudden recollection of Kyle’s was also very conveniently timed.
Bess’s face fell. “Oh,” she said. “I hadn’t thought of that. I guess you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t tell the police yet. But at least we know to watch Fortunato.”
At that point the waitress arrived with their sandwiches and sodas. “Anyone want my pickle?” Bess asked. Nancy declined. So did Kyle.
Nancy’s BLT was just the way she liked it— crisp bacon, crunchy lettuce, and ripe, juicy tomato slices on toast that was exactly the right shade of brown.
“What next?” Bess asked as she was finishing her hamburger.
The waitress arrived right then and said, “Any desserts? You should try the banana cream pie. We make it ourselves.”
Bess’s eyes grew wider. “I really shouldn’t,” she said in a tone that made it clear she was going to.
“Why don’t we share a piece?” Kyle said, putting an arm around Bess’s shoulders for a moment. “One piece of banana cream pie and two forks, please.”
The waitress gave Nancy a questioning look.
“I’ll have chocolate pudding,” Nancy said. “No whipped cream.” To Bess and Kyle, she said, “I’ll be right back. I want to make a call.”
The pay phone was at the far end of the counter, near the door to the rest rooms. As she approached
it, Nancy spotted an Out of Order sign taped to the coin slot.
“You need a phone?” the waitress called. “That one’s broken, but there’s a booth outside at the corner of the parking lot.”
“Thanks,” Nancy called back, and changed course for the door.
The telephone was inside a metal and glass booth with a folding door. There was a lot of noise from the traffic, but once Nancy slid the door closed it faded. She put in her coins and dialed David’s number. Four rings, then his machine answered.
She waited out the message, then said, “Hi, David, this is Nancy.” She was about to ask him to call her at her father’s office when she was distracted by a sudden squeal of tires. She peeked back over her shoulder and saw that a beat-up blue sedan had just sped into the diner parking lot. It was going much too fast, straight toward a row of parked cars. Just when Nancy was sure that it was about to crash, the driver swerved. The car went into a skid and began to slide sideways, heading straight for the phone booth.
Horrified, Nancy grabbed the door handle and pulled, but nothing moved. The folding door was stuck. She couldn’t get out!
Chapter
Eleven
FRANTICALLY NANCY jiggled the door, but there was no time. The car was going to crash into the phone booth and flatten her!
Then Nancy remembered the hard plastic receiver in her right hand. She lifted it high over her head and slammed it against the glass with every ounce of force she could summon. An eight-pointed star appeared in the safety glass, but it didn’t shatter.
“Come on!” she muttered through clenched teeth. “Break!”
Again she struck the glass. Finally it collapsed in a shower of small greenish transparent pebbles that glistened in the sunlight. Before the last of them had tinkled to the ground, Nancy dove through the opening and rolled away from the booth.
At the last moment the driver of the battered car seemed to regain control over it. It came out of the skid just two feet from the phone booth and started to move forward in the direction of the street. As it passed the phone booth, it fishtailed and the back fender struck the booth. The booth stayed upright, but the other panes of glass shattered.
Nancy got to her hands and knees as the blue sedan reached the street and darted in front of an oncoming car. As horns blared, Nancy had just enough time to notice that the license plate on the sedan was covered with dried mud, and the driver’s face was hidden by a ski mask.
As Nancy stood up and brushed herself off, Bess and Kyle came running from the diner.
“Nancy, what happened?” Bess cried.
Nancy stared at the remains of the phone booth. “That phone booth was just wrecked,” she said ruefully. “And I was almost wrecked with it!”
“People like that shouldn’t be allowed on the road,” Kyle declared. “It’s criminal!”
“That’s truer than you think,” Nancy replied. “What just happened was no accident. The driver was wearing a mask. The question is, was his attack meant to scare me off or to get me out of the way for good?”
“Nancy! That car!” Bess exclaimed. “There must have been half a dozen like it at Fortunato’s wrecking yard. I bet he followed us here!”
This thought had occurred to Nancy, too. Would a criminal choose a weapon that pointed so obviously to himself? He might, if he expected his crime to be taken for an accident.
Something else also occurred to Nancy. At the moment that the blue car was skidding in her direction, Kyle Donovan was inside the diner with Bess. That meant that unless he had an accomplice, Kyle was probably in the clear.
“With all this excitement, I totally lost track of the time,” Kyle suddenly said. “I’ve got to get back to the office.”
“We’re on our way there, too,” Nancy said.
“We are?” Bess said in surprise. “Oh, okay.” As they walked back across the parking lot, she added, “Since we’re all going the same way, I think I’ll ride with Kyle. That’s okay with you, isn’t it, Nancy?”
“Sure,” Nancy replied. As she said it, she realized that she had been looking forward to the drive downtown as a time to discuss what had just happened with Bess. Now Kyle was taking that time away from her. Well, she would simply have to talk to herself about the case!
The clues pointed pretty clearly toward Fortunato as being the guilty party. The person who staged the attack on her just now had to have known where to find her. She couldn’t be absolutely positive, but she didn’t believe anyone had been tailing her all morning. Fortunato could have followed her the mile or so from his place to the diner without her catching on, and he certainly had easy access to plenty of old, nondescript cars.
Nancy parked in the lot behind the office building and took the elevator up. As the doors opened on her father’s floor, she reminded herself that she still couldn’t exclude a killer from Broughton’s past in another town. If so, she was going to have a very hard time tracking that person down.
Nancy went to Broughton’s office, sat down at his desk, and pulled the telephone closer. The envelope with Broughton’s résumé was still in her purse. She glanced through it, looking for the section on employment history. Once she found it, she decided to work backward from his last job at a law firm in Omaha, Nebraska.
Her call was answered on the first ring. “Backman, Turner, good morning,” the receptionist said.
Nancy quickly explained who she was and asked to speak to someone who could verify Jack Broughton’s references. She didn’t mention that Broughton was dead.
A moment later a woman came on the line. “This is Alice Turner,” she said. “May I help you?”
Nancy explained once again. There was a long silence. Then Ms. Turner said, “I would much prefer not to be a character reference for Mr. Broughton.”
“May I ask why not?” Nancy replied.
Another long silence, then Ms. Turner said, very slowly, as if choosing her words with care, “I have no wish to slander anyone. Let me just say that I would hesitate to entrust sensitive, confidential information about my clients to anyone whose honesty or discretion I had any reason to doubt. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a call on another line.”
Well! Nancy thought as she replaced the receiver. That was about as close to an accusation as a cautious attorney was likely to make. Apparently Broughton’s career as a blackmailer had started before he came to River Heights. How much before? And why had he been hired at her father’s firm with such a bad reference?
Nancy was about to place a call to Broughton’s previous employer, in Billings, Montana, when Kyle and Bess came in. Kyle was carrying three thick files.
“These are the other files that Jack kept out longer than usual,” Kyle reported. “Bess and I thought we should go through them together.”
“Good idea,” Nancy replied. “Whose are they?”
Kyle put the stack on the desk and opened the top one. He scanned a couple of pages, then said, “This one’s a start-up software company that’s planning to go public early next year. That’s always a sensitive time for a new company. Any negative information can cost the founders a lot of money.”
“Do you think that’s what Broughton was looking for?” Bess asked.
Kyle shrugged. “Maybe. But there’s nothing to show that he found any.”
The second file was that of a local surgeon whose wife had died, leaving him with two small children. Most of the documents concerned trust funds. Kyle thumbed through them, then said, “I don’t see anything out of line here, either. I suspect Jack was simply fishing, hoping to hook a big one.”
He opened the last of the files. “Winona Carlisle,” he read. “In care of Crestwood Manor.”
“That’s that very ritzy nursing home out near the country club,” Bess remarked.
Nursing home? Nancy’s ears pricked up. Someone, probably Broughton or his killer, had promised David Megali some information about elderly clients in nursing homes. Someone, almost certainly the killer, had tipped off both the police and
the press that Carson Drew was stealing from his elderly clients.
“Here, let me see that,” Nancy said, reaching for the file. She flipped through the pages. Winona Carlisle was apparently a very wealthy woman who owned several office buildings. The file also contained a list of substantial contributions to local and national wildlife organizations. There were check marks and percentages next to the names of some of the organizations, with a note at the bottom, “For will.”
Nancy showed it to Kyle. “That probably means Mrs. Carlisle’s will, right?”
“That’d be my guess,” Kyle replied. “But you can check easily enough. If the firm drafted her will, there should be a copy in the file. The original wills—the ones that have been signed and witnessed—are kept in the vault.”
Nancy went through the file quickly, then again, more carefully. “No will,” she said. She picked up the phone and dialed her father’s extension, but there was no answer. She tried Margaret Hildebrand. “Do you know if the firm is holding a will for someone named Winona Carlisle?” she asked.
“I’d have to check,” the firm’s librarian admitted. “Would you like me to find out? I can call you back.”
Five minutes later Margaret appeared in the office doorway, obviously very upset. “I don’t know what Mr. Drew is going to say,” she began. “This has never happened before.”
“What?” Nancy asked, though she could already guess the answer.
“The last will and testament of Winona Carlisle should be on file here,” Margaret said. “But I just checked in the vault, and it isn’t where it ought to be. It may have been misfiled—I’m going through the whole drawer again—but I thought you ought to know right away.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said. “You’ll be sure to tell my dad when he returns?”
The librarian nodded her head. “I sure will He’s going to be very unhappy when he hears.”
“So,” Kyle said after Ms. Hildebrand left. “The vault was broken into the night Jack was killed. He really did surprise a burglar, just as the police said.”
Nancy frowned. “Not so fast,” she said. “It could be that the burglar, if there was one, was after one specific thing—Winona Carlisle’s will. And we know Broughton took a special interest in her and that the copy of her will is missing from her file. He could easily have taken it, and the signed will from the vault, then faked the burglary to cover his tracks. The question is, why? Was he extorting money from Mrs. Carlisle, or planning to?”
False Pretences Page 7
