Danger in Disguise

by Carolyn Keene

  The man blocking the door was tall and dark-haired and was staring straight at her. Nancy looked around and saw more guys gathering, forming a semicircle with her at the center. She could feel their silent challenge fill the dimly lit room.

  This was a scene she’d have to play just right, or she could be in big trouble!

  Chapter

  Six

  DOES ANYBODY HERE feel like shooting pool?” asked Nancy, trying to sound confident as she elbowed her way through the lineup of guys. She half wished she was back watching the soaps with Dee Shannon.

  She could see that the swaggering character at the door had been thrown off guard by her question. He obviously didn’t expect a “nice girl” like her to be a pool player. He watched as she made a ritual of selecting a cue from the brace on the wall. She took each one down and tested it for balance across her palm and for straightness by eyeing it along the shaft.

  Nancy had learned to shoot pool in the billiard room of one of her father’s lawyer friends several years earlier. She’d been at a very determined age and went back again and again until she got her technique down pat. She made a silent wish that all that practice would pay off now when she needed it most.

  “First game is mine,” said a stocky, tough-looking guy who had been leaning against a nearby table.

  Nancy guessed from the way the others deferred to him that he was a leader here.

  “What’re we playing for?” he asked, looking her up and down.

  “How about information?” Nancy answered.

  “What kind of information?”

  Nancy knew it was always safest to keep a half truth as close as possible to the whole truth.

  “I’m trying to help out a guy I know,” she said. Snickers rippled through the crowd, as if a girl like her was the last person a guy would turn to for help. She had to gain some respect and do it fast.

  “My break?” she asked her opponent.

  “Sure. Why not?” he said. “What’s your name anyway? I don’t like to shoot with anybody unless I know their name.”

  “Nancy Drew,” she said, then wished herself luck and crouched down to line up her shot.

  She stroked the cue complete with follow-through, just as her father’s friend had taught her. There was a murmur of approval as several balls rumbled into the pockets, and she realized she’d been holding her breath since her shot. She let it out slowly so no one would notice.

  “What should I call you?” she asked her opponent as she chalked her cue and forced herself to appear at ease. It wasn’t easy, with a roomful of tough characters watching her.

  “Ace.”

  She saw some knowing looks exchanged around the room and no snickers this time. She called her next shot and sank it.

  “So tell us your story,” said Ace.

  “Like I told you before, I’m here to help a friend,” she said, improvising a story rapidly. “In fact, he’s from this neighborhood.”

  She walked slowly around the table, sizing up her next shot. Then she aimed and sank that one too. Still in her crouch, she peeked under her outstretched arm to check Ace’s reaction. She had to be careful not to make him look foolish in front of his buddies, and being beaten by a girl could do just that. Yet she didn’t want to cheat if she could help it.

  “My friend is in pretty big trouble,” she went on.

  She tried to sound calm, but the situation was making her nervous. Her hand was shaking slightly as she took her shot. She missed, honestly.

  “Let her take it over. She was shook up about her friend,” said someone in the crowd.

  “No thanks,” Nancy answered quickly. “That’s not my style.”

  There was another murmur of approval as she stepped back from the table. Ace looked a little guilty as he lined up his shot, but he took it anyway. To Nancy’s great relief, the ball sped across the green felt and into the side pocket. Right then, she’d rather lean against the wall and watch Ace show off his moves.

  “What is it you’re trying to find out for this friend of yours?” he asked as he sauntered around the table, sizing up the position of the balls just as she had done.

  “About the guy who’s behind all his troubles,” said Nancy.

  “Don’t you know any guys who could take care of this for you?”

  “It isn’t the kind of thing I can let other people know about, and he’s counting on me.”

  “Since when does anybody count on a girl?” the character by the door piped up, and there were snickers again.

  Nancy looked hard and straight into his sneering face, her stomach flip-flopping. She held her breath a minute before answering.

  “Since I promised to help him,” she said.

  “All right,” said Ace, clapping her shoulder as he sauntered past her toward the other end of the table. He turned to the guy by the door. “Now, let the lady tell her story, McCarthy,” he said with a hint of a warning in his tone.

  “How’s she going to help someone?” McCarthy muttered. This time there were no answering snickers. He scowled and skulked back against the door.

  “You got a name on this guy you’re after?” asked Ace.

  “Michael Mulraney.”

  Another murmur traveled around the room, and Ace straightened from his crouch to study her face for a moment before responding.

  “I’m afraid you’re a little late,” he said. “Somebody beat you to the punch with that one. Old metal-mouth’s dead and gone.”

  Metal-mouth, how odd, Nancy thought. She studied Ace. She’d swear he was telling the truth. As far as Ace knew, Mulraney was dead, just as Dee Shannon had said he was. Nancy didn’t exactly know what she’d expected to find out, but she was disappointed.

  “And you’re lucky he is dead and gone,” Ace added. “I don’t care how tough you are, you wouldn’t want to go up against Mulraney.”

  “Tell her what he did for a living,” said McCarthy in his smart-aleck way from the sidelines.

  “He was a professional.” When Nancy showed no sign of comprehending, Ace went on. “He was a hitter.”

  “Yeah. He killed people for fun and profit,” said McCarthy in a mocking tone. “From what I heard, he did it mostly for fun. Is that what he did to your boyfriend?”

  “Not my boyfriend, my friend,” she said as firmly as she could manage. Her mind was reeling. The further she delved into this case, the more dangerous it became. A hit man!

  “Lay off, McCarthy,” Ace warned.

  Nancy could feel the tension between them.

  “What happened to Mulraney?” she asked hastily to cool them down. The last thing she wanted was to end up in the middle of a brawl between these two.

  “Word on the street was he did exactly what you claim he did to your friend. He let somebody down. Only this time he did it to the wrong dude, and that dude cashed in Mulraney’s chips for him.”

  “Permanently,” McCarthy added with a nasty smile.

  “That’s right,” Ace confirmed. “There was a big construction project over on the west side at the time. Rumor was they dumped him into the foundation.”

  “How do you know that’s true?” Nancy asked.

  “Because nobody ever saw him again, and he left a lot of loose ends behind, the kind of stuff a guy would clear up if he had a chance to.”

  “What kind of loose ends?”

  “Like people who owed him lots of money,” McCarthy interrupted again. “And Mulraney always made a point of collecting his debts, one way or another.”

  “Did he have any friends?” Nancy asked Ace.

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  She heard the edge of suspicion in his voice. “I guess I want to hear the details to satisfy myself that he’s really dead.”

  “You can take my word for it. He is. Mulraney was alive one night, hanging out on the street, acting like his usual miserable self. Next day he was history.” Ace took the shot that clinched the game for him. “Besides, he was too mean to have friends.”


  Nancy looked crestfallen as the ball rolled into the trough. Since that was actually how she felt about what she’d learned so far, it wasn’t too hard to pretend.

  “Sorry,” said Ace, sounding as if he really was.

  “Good game,” Nancy said.

  She walked to the brace on the wall and hung up her cue, then extended her hand to Ace for a shake. He took it solemnly. “Any time,” he said.

  Nancy moved toward the door, but McCarthy stepped in front of her to block her way just as he had when she first came in.

  “McCarthy, you called for winners, didn’t you?” said Ace, chalking his cue and giving Nancy a conspiratorial grin. “That means you’re up against me.”

  Nancy saw McCarthy’s sneering facade slip a notch as mocking laughter rippled nearby. This was a weak moment for him, and she’d better take advantage of it. She walked around him to the door, paused a moment to salute Ace, then was outside the pool hall at last. She let out a long sigh of relief.

  Walking to her car, Nancy thought about what she’d learned. It looked as if the original Michael Mulraney really was dead. Nobody’d seen a body, but that was probably how things were done in the circles he frequented.

  She opened the door of her car and slipped gratefully inside. Her visit with Ace and company had left her more than a little tense. She switched on the ignition and pushed in the tape she had left in the deck. Maybe some music would help.

  But instead of the song she’d expected, an all-too-familiar deep voice rumbled from the speakers. “You’d better watch your step, Nancy Drew!”

  Nancy’s hand dropped from the tape deck as she listened. It was the same menacing voice she’d heard that night from the copy room.

  “You could get hurt—maybe you could even get dead!”

  Chapter

  Seven

  NANCY DIDN’T LIKE being threatened. She frowned. So the man with the deep voice knew who she was, and he thought he could scare her off. Well, she wasn’t backing out now!

  With a screech of her tires, she pulled out into the traffic and drove to the Municipal Building.

  At Councilman Terry’s office, George was in a planning meeting, so Nancy sat down to wait for her in the reception area. The receptionist smiled at her. “Are you coming to our big fund-raiser tomorrow night?” she asked Nancy.

  “I don’t know—am I invited?” Nancy asked, surprised.

  “Oh, of course,” the receptionist assured her. “Didn’t George tell you? All the staff members are encouraged to bring a few guests. You know, the more money we can raise for the councilman’s campaign, the better.”

  “I can see the logic.” Nancy laughed. “The more the merrier, right?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” The receptionist nodded. “All of Mr. Terry’s biggest backers are going to be there. Even Bradford Williams—he’s coming from Chicago for it. He’s such a wonderful man!” She looked slightly starry-eyed. “Handsome, generous . . .” Her voice trailed off as a door opened.

  “Nancy! What are you doing here?” George walked over to them, looking crisp and businesslike in her tailored jacket and slacks.

  “I came by to ask your advice,” Nancy said, trying to signal with her eyes that she needed to talk to George alone.

  George winked. “Just call me Miss Lonelyhearts,” she joked. “Let’s talk on the way out. I got finished early today.”

  Saying goodbye to the receptionist, who seemed disappointed to lose her audience, Nancy and George headed to the elevators while Nancy repeated the details of her eventful afternoon.

  The elevator doors eased open, and a young man of medium height with slicked-back black hair stepped out, moving fast and not bothering to look where he was going. His briefcase grazed Nancy’s leg as he pushed past, but he didn’t stop.

  He turned to give her an annoyed look as if she’d run into him instead of the other way around. Then he hurried on his way, hawk nose in the air, walking faster than ever in the direction of the councilman’s office.

  “Who was that?” asked Nancy, staring after him. Something about him struck a chord in her memory. Maybe it was just his unpleasantness. She was beginning to think this must be her day for running into unpleasant characters.

  “His name is Franklin Turner,” said George, grimacing. “He’s one of Councilman Terry’s aides.”

  “I thought politicians were in the business of making friends. Terry won’t win any popularity contest by having that guy on his staff.”

  “Turner is what you might call a political appointee,” George explained as they got on the elevator. “His parents are old friends of the councilman’s family. The way I heard it, they want Turner to get into politics and thought working here would be great training for him, especially since the councilman’s next stop will probably be Washington.”

  “From what I saw, Turner needs all the training he can get!”

  “You’re right about that. If he had to depend on his personality to get ahead, he’d be in big trouble,” said George as they got off the elevator. “But, if it’s any consolation, he’s even less enthusiastic about being here than we are to have him. The job doesn’t interest him much. It was completely his family’s idea.”

  “Hmm.” Nancy couldn’t feel much sympathy for someone whose parents’ money was greasing his way into public service.

  “Punctuality isn’t one of his strong points either,” said George, checking her watch. “Three o’clock, and he’s just getting to the office. He was probably out late last night. I hear he loves the Chicago club scene.”

  “Hmm,” said Nancy once more. “Well, he sounds pretty awful. Let’s not talk about him anymore. Is there a pay phone around here? We should call Bess and see if she wants to help out.”

  It was time to get down to some hard-nosed investigating of the Michael Mulraney case. They gave Bess a call, but she wasn’t home, so Nancy and George were on their own.

  There was just time for George to get to the newspaper office and check the articles morgue before it closed for the day. Maybe she could find something about the accident that killed the original Mulraney.

  Meanwhile, Nancy went to the police station to see if she could find out what was going on with the investigation into Kathy Novello’s death. Though she wasn’t hopeful, there was always a chance that Detective Hicks had turned up something she could use.

  “We did the standard follow-up, looked the place over, talked to the neighbors,” he said. “We didn’t find a thing. We’re still doing background checks on her, but so far we’ve come up blank everywhere.”

  Of course Nancy wasn’t about to give up that easily.

  “Was there anything unusual about any of the neighbors you questioned?” she asked.

  “The guy downstairs seemed disappointed that he had been out at the time and missed the excitement.”

  “Would you mind giving me his name?”

  Hicks squinted at her. “Unofficially, all right? Norman something.” He shuffled through some papers in his Out basket. “Norman Fredericks, but I’m telling you he’s no lead. He doesn’t know anything. He wasn’t even around when it happened.”

  “You’re probably right,” said Nancy.

  But whatever Hicks might say, she intended to have a talk with Mr. Fredericks.

  • • •

  “I didn’t find out a thing,” said George when they met at the pizza parlor later. They couldn’t find Bess—she was probably out with her new heartthrob again. “There’s no record of Mulraney’s death—or of his life either, for that matter.”

  “Interesting,” murmured Nancy, half to herself.

  “What’s so interesting about it?” asked George as she contemplated her hero sandwich unenthusiastically. “Seems pretty much like running into a blank wall to me.”

  “First of all, this makes it look like the guys at the Side Pockets Club could be right about how Mulraney died, and Dee Shannon was probably lied to.”

  “How do you know that?” George delicately po
pped a shred of lettuce into her mouth.

  “The fact that there’s no record suggests to me that it could have been a contract killing after all, a professional hit with no loose ends and no trace left behind. If his death was a simple accident, as Mrs. Shannon said, it would have been reported in the paper.” Nancy took a sip of her diet soda while she thought a moment. “Even so, she could be partly right. Both Mrs. Shannon and the Side Pockets guys said his death had something to do with a construction site.”

  George and Nancy looked at each other.

  “And the new Michael Mulraney is in the construction business,” said George slowly.

  Nancy nodded unhappily. She knew George was thinking what she herself had tried to avoid thinking. She liked Michael Mulraney and wanted to believe he was just a hard-working guy struggling to help his family. She didn’t want to believe that struggle had made him so desperate he might have killed for it. She picked up her shoulder bag and started fishing for the keys to her car.

  “I think we’d better get on with this investigation,” she said.

  George looked down at her half-eaten hero. “Don’t bother saying it. I know the routine.” She sighed out loud. “I’ll have this wrapped to go.”

  • • •

  Norman Fredericks lived on the second floor, directly below Kathy Novello’s apartment. He needed no softening up to talk.

  “I keep a close watch on things around here. I guess you might say it’s my main form of entertainment,” he admitted.