Danger for Hire

by Carolyn Keene

“Nice fingerprints!” Chief McGinnis complimented her the next morning. “Almost a complete set, too. Where’d you get them?”

  “From the door of my car,” Nancy explained.

  “Let’s run ’em through the computer and see what turns up,” the chief said.

  Fifteen minutes later an officer came in with a manila folder. The chief opened it, scanned the contents, then handed it to Nancy.

  “Well,” she said when she had looked it over, “that explains where Adam disappeared to for six months. If you’ll excuse me, Chief, I think I’ll have a little talk with Tom Hayward about this.”

  • • •

  “Prison?” Tom Hayward said, astonished. “A Hayward guard?”

  “For grand larceny,” Nancy affirmed. “Adam stole a car.”

  Tom shook his head. “But how can this be? We screen our employees thoroughly. We check for things like this. They take lie detector tests.”

  “An experienced liar can beat the detector,” Nancy pointed out.

  “But not that easily,” Tom replied. “There’s usually enough doubt about the results to disqualify the candidate.”

  “So how did Adam slip through?” Nancy wondered.

  “That’s what I’m going to find out,” Tom resolved. “It may take some doing, though. Adam was hired more than a year ago.”

  “Anything you find out will be a help,” Nancy told him.

  Tom tossed the fingerprint report onto the broad expanse of his glass-topped desk. His office was very large. Its corner windows overlooked green countryside and a man-made pond. In the pond a powerful waterjet shot an arc of water high into the air. Rainbow hues danced in the mist.

  “I’ll have to fire Adam, of course,” Tom said.

  “Wouldn’t you rather leave him on duty so you can keep track of him?” Nancy suggested.

  Tom brightened. “Good idea. We’ll keep him off the streets.”

  “McGinnis will blanket the area with patrols tonight, right?” Tom inquired.

  Nancy replied, “Yes, and I’ll be watching our three main suspects.”

  “Three at once? How?” Tom wondered.

  “Adam will be on duty at the CD warehouse,” Nancy said. “My assistant has Neil Masterson’s house under observation. That’s two. As for Stanley Loomis, I’ll follow him myself.”

  “I’m going with you,” Tom announced.

  Nancy was surprised. “You don’t have to. I can cover him—with the help of some friends, of course.”

  “I believe you, but even so, I’m going. I’m tired of sitting around waiting for the next robbery to happen,” Tom said with conviction. “I need to get involved.”

  “Fine with me,” Nancy agreed. “It means I can give my friends Bess and George the night off. I’ll pick you up here at sundown. Wear dark clothes in case we wind up on foot.”

  “No problem.”

  Just then the phone on Tom’s desk trilled. He snatched up the handset. “Yes?” A pause. “Okay, put him on—”

  The conversation lasted only a minute, but it was long enough to propel Tom out of his plush leather desk chair. He paced back and forth behind his desk, a worried look on his face. Concerned, Nancy watched as the phone cord stretched to its limit.

  “Yeah . . . yeah . . . Can’t you? No . . . okay . . . I see. Well, keep me informed.”

  Hanging up, he sank back into his chair with a weary sigh.

  “Bad news?” Nancy asked.

  “The worst,” Tom said. “That was our banker in Chicago. The price of Hayward Security stock has dropped another three and a half points. I have now lost three quarters of a million bucks. In one week.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nancy said, stunned. “Let’s hope we get some positive results tonight.”

  • • •

  Nancy spent the rest of the day filling in the details on Adam Reeves. She read the court records of his trial, interviewed his neighbors, and phoned his ex-boss at the gas station. She found nothing unusual, though.

  That evening she picked up Tom as arranged. Nancy got the feeling that he was itching for some action. He was tense and likely to be disappointed, she knew. For the most part surveillance was a passive activity.

  Stanley Loomis worked late. At eight o’clock he drove to a steak house. At eight fifty-five he stopped at a video store and rented a movie. Then he drove home.

  Nancy and Tom watched his house from her car for another hour or so. The lights were off except in the living room, where the bluish flicker of the TV could be seen through the window. At ten forty-five the lights went out. All was quiet.

  “There’s nothing happening here,” Tom said after a few more minutes. “Let’s head down to the warehouse district.”

  “Fine by me,” Nancy said. “We can check with the chief.”

  The warehouse district was quiet, too, according to the officers in a police car they stopped. Tom was impatient.

  “They’re around here somewhere. I can feel it!” he exclaimed, hitting Nancy’s dashboard with his fist. “What do you say we check under the Interstate bridge?” Tom said.

  “That’s almost out of the district. There’s nothing in that area except some scrap metal yards,” Nancy countered.

  “Exactly. See, I figure the gang hangs out somewhere near the warehouse district, not in it. They wait until they’re sure the ‘heat’ has cooled, and then they move in.”

  “Sure,” Nancy agreed, looking at Tom with increased respect. He was very sharp! “Why didn’t I think of that? Let’s go.”

  From a distance the bridge was a graceful, looping M outlined in lights. Up close it was a soaring steel dinosaur lumbering into the river on colossal concrete legs. Nancy coasted slowly through the wasteland that lay under the span. Wrecked cars and garbage were strewn about.

  On the far side was a collection of auto salvagers, concrete mixing plants, and scrapyards. Twisted chain link fences wandered along the roadside.

  “Looks deserted,” Nancy remarked uneasily.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Let’s drive around,” Tom suggested.

  Yellow anticrime lights turned the area into something from a nightmare. Nancy turned left near a scrap metal yard.

  “There! See him?” Tom exclaimed suddenly, pointing.

  Nancy snapped her head around. Leaning against a chain link fence near the open gateway to the scrapyard was a figure in black. A rubber Wolfman mask was pulled over his head.

  “Yes!” Nancy twisted the wheel and swung toward him. As her headlights swept over him, the Wolfman darted inside the yard. Strange, she thought. Hadn’t he seen them approaching sooner?

  “Let’s go!” Tom said. “We can catch him!”

  “Shouldn’t we call—”

  “There are two of us. We can corner him!” Tom had his door open already. As Nancy braked to a halt, he leaped out and dashed into the yard in pursuit of the Wolfman.

  Nancy grabbed her keys and followed. She was worried. Tom was taking a terrible risk.

  On the other hand they now had one of the robbers cornered. The chain link fence was twelve feet high and topped with barbed wire. No way was the Wolfman going anywhere. This was their best break yet, she knew.

  Inside, she looked around. There was no sign of either Tom or their prey. Which direction should she go?

  “Nancy! Up on the scaffolding!” Tom called from somewhere nearby.

  She turned toward the scrapyard’s office building. It was an old wooden structure two stories high. Metal scaffolding enveloped it. Then she saw the Wolfman darting up a ladder.

  “I see him!” she called.

  Nancy raced to the ladder. Should she follow? She looked around. Still no sign of Tom. He was probably on the opposite side of the building, she realized, closing in on the Wolfman from the other direction.

  She decided to risk it. This time she was not facing her adversary alone. Nimbly she sped up the ladder. No Wolfman. She scrambled up another ladder and found herself on the roof. The stairwell enclosure in the middle of th
e roof provided the only cover. The Wolfman had to be hiding behind it!

  Nancy’s heart was pounding. Quietly she tiptoed to the edge of the roof and looked down. On the ground two stories below her was a collection of scrap metal. Razor-sharp edges glinted in the half light.

  “Tom?” she called. Where was he?

  Suddenly two hands smashed into her back. With a scream, she went hurtling off the platform toward the jagged metal below!

  Chapter

  Eleven

  AS NANCY FELL, a picture of her father flashed into her mind. He’s going to be furious with me, she thought.

  Then her fall was broken against a pair of strong arms, and she slid easily to the ground. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t dead.

  “I—I can’t believe you were standing here!” she said to Tom. Another few inches and she would have been sliced to ribbons by the scrap metal.

  He was amazingly calm. He said, “It’s a lucky thing I was!”

  “Thank you. I thought you were up on the scaffolding, too!”

  She wanted to stay right there with his arms around her for a few minutes, but a troubling thought had struck her. “The guy in the wolf mask is still up on the roof.”

  “You’re right,” Tom agreed. “Look, we’d better call the police.”

  She raked back her hair with her fingers. “You don’t want to trap him anymore?”

  “Not after what just happened to you.”

  Before they were halfway to her Mustang, they heard an engine roar to life. A second later a low-slung car shot around the corner of the building.

  “Look out!” Nancy yelled. Grabbing Tom, she pulled him out of the way. Together they tumbled to the ground.

  The car shot past them and sped through the gate. Its lights were off, including the license plate bulb, so Nancy missed the number. She sprang to her feet, but by the time she had run into the street, the car was turning a distant corner. She saw its lights snap on as it did.

  “Rats!”

  Tom ran up next to her. “I didn’t get the number, did you?”

  “No!” she said in frustration. “I can’t even say for sure what model it is.”

  “Maybe we can catch it?”

  “Doubtful,” Nancy predicted.

  Tom shrugged. “At least we got close.”

  Nancy was suddenly angry. Stalking toward her car, she muttered, “Close isn’t good enough, Tom. Not for me.”

  The first thing Nancy did upon arriving home half an hour later was to confirm the whereabouts of her suspects. She phoned Cindy.

  “I hope I’m not calling too late,” she said apologetically.

  “No problem, but I don’t have any news,” Cindy reported. “Mr. Masterson has been home since a quarter past six.”

  Nancy thanked her and hung up. Next she dialed the nighttime number at Hayward Security headquarters. Guards were required to phone in every hour to confirm that they were on duty and awake. If they failed to report in, then headquarters dispatched a van to check on them.

  The switchboard operator told Nancy that Adam Reeves had phoned in every hour.

  “You spoke to him personally?” Nancy asked, to be certain.

  “Sure. Well, sort of. The guards usually don’t say much,” the operator explained. “They give their ID number, say ‘Reporting in,’ and then hang up.”

  “Well, thanks a lot for your help.”

  Stanley Loomis was also a suspect, but she was positive that he had not been at the scene. He couldn’t have left his house and driven to the area faster than she and Tom. Also, the Wolfman had been tall and agile. Loomis was short and fat. Still, that didn’t put him completely in the clear. This gang had more than one member, and some of them might work for Loomis.

  • • •

  The next morning Nancy drove to Loomis’s main office. Like Tom, Loomis had a fleet of vans, she saw. He had more than Tom did, in fact.

  That meant he employed a lot of guards. Nancy needed to find out more about them. She went to one of the cafeterias in the warehouse district that was popular with workers.

  It was nearly empty. The cashier was reading a paperback. Nancy asked for a pack of gum. As she paid for it, she said, “Can I ask you a question or two?”

  “What for?” the cashier asked warily, handing Nancy her change.

  “My name’s Nancy Drew,” Nancy began.

  The woman’s face lit up. “Haven’t I seen your name in the paper? Aren’t you the girl detective they’re always writing about?”

  “That’s right,” Nancy confirmed. “And I’m trying to help a friend.”

  “What do you want to know?” the woman asked, smiling.

  “Warehouse workers eat here a lot, right?” Nancy asked.

  “They’re our main customers,” the cashier affirmed.

  “Do the security guards ever come in, too?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Nancy nodded encouragingly. “Do they ever talk about the companies they work for? Do they ever complain?”

  The cashier laughed. “Nancy, every worker complains!”

  “What about the security guards, though?” Nancy persisted.

  “Why don’t you ask that guy over there.” The cashier pointed.

  “Thanks,” Nancy said.

  The man was in his late forties and had a ruddy complexion. He was drinking coffee at a Formica-topped table by the window. Although he wasn’t wearing a uniform, a Loomis & Petersen jacket was hanging over the back of his chair.

  A newspaper was open in front of him. He was reading the want ads, Nancy saw. “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions?”

  “What for?” the man inquired without looking up.

  Nancy ran through the same routine that she had with the cashier. Satisfied, the man offered her the seat across the table.

  “Thanks,” Nancy said, sitting. “You work for Stan Loomis?”

  “Not anymore,” the man said glumly. “Laid off a week ago.”

  Nancy lifted her eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Things are tough everywhere, I guess,” the man replied. “Company had to tighten its belt.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry. How long did you work for him?” Nancy asked sympathetically.

  “Seventeen years! Still can’t believe it,” the man muttered.

  Nancy leaned toward him. “You must be pretty angry.”

  “Well, I’d rather somebody else got laid off than me, I’ll say that,” the man grumbled.

  Nancy zeroed in on her target. “Would you say Stan Loomis is honest?”

  “Sure,” the man said without hesitation. “Stan was on the wrong side of the law once. He told me all about it. But he reformed. He’s as honest as my mother—and believe me, kid, that’s honest!”

  Nancy smiled. “I believe you. What about Hayward Security—think you might get a job working for them?”

  “Wouldn’t want it,” the man said firmly.

  “Why not?” Nancy was surprised.

  “ ’Cause I’ve talked to their guards. The pay’s lousy.”

  “Any other reasons?” Nancy asked.

  The man stirred his coffee thoughtfully. “Not that I can put my finger on. The guys who work there are kind of—I don’t know, unhappy. They don’t have a lot of nice things to say about the company, you get my drift?”

  “I think so. And thanks,” Nancy said, rising. “You’ve been a big help.”

  • • •

  When Cindy Larson arrived at Nancy’s house that afternoon, she asked, “What can I do to help?”

  Nancy slid the telephone toward her. “You can call more discount stores. I’ve listed numbers from the rest of the county. That will free me up to work on our profiles.”

  Cindy’s face fell. “But I’ve called so many already! Isn’t there something else I can do?”

  “Getting bored?” Nancy asked with a smile.

  “Well, a little,” Cindy admitted sheepishly.

  “Don’t get discouraged. You never know
when a clue will turn up.”

  “I suppose.” Cindy reached for the phone.

  Suddenly Nancy felt guilty. She placed her hand on Cindy’s to stop her from dialing. “Actually, there is something else you could help me with—”

  “Not more garbage, I hope?” Cindy groaned.

  Nancy shook her head. “No. What time is the mail delivered in your neighborhood?”

  Cindy looked at her watch. “Right about now.”

  “Does Neil Masterson’s wife get it out of the mailbox?”

  “No, Mr. Masterson does that when he gets home from work. At least, that’s what I saw him do the last couple of evenings.”

  “Good enough,” Nancy said, rising from her chair. “Let’s go.”

  They drove to Cindy’s neighborhood. It was a new development—mostly ranch-style houses.

  They cruised up and down the block several times, checking to see that no one was in Neil’s yard. Then Nancy quickly pulled up to the curbside mailbox and took his mail.

  “Nancy, isn’t opening other people’s mail illegal?” Cindy asked, aghast. She looked a bit pale, Nancy saw.

  “We’re not going to open it,” Nancy said, driving away.

  “Then why steal it?”

  “We’re not stealing it. We’re borrowing it,” she said.

  “Now I’m really confused! Why borrow it if—”

  “I’ll show you why in a minute.”

  Back in her bedroom, Nancy opened her windows wide. Next, she sorted through Neil’s mail. There was some junk mail and also what appeared to be a bill from River Heights Hospital.

  In addition, there was an envelope from Loomis & Petersen. Interesting. Nancy put it and the hospital bill in the center of her desk. Then she went to her closet and took out a bottle of clear fluid. “This is highly flammable,” she warned.

  Using an eyedropper, Nancy dribbled some of the fluid on the envelope from River Heights Hospital. Instantly the wet part of the envelope became transparent.

  As Nancy had suspected, it was a bill. The amount due was $5,425. A very hefty sum. Nancy blew on the wet spot. Within a minute the envelope was once again opaque.

  “That’s incredible,” Cindy said, shaking her head.

  Next Nancy dribbled fluid onto the envelope from Loomis & Petersen. Her eyes went wide. Inside was a check made out to Neil Masterson. The amount it paid him was exactly $5,425!