Into Thin Air

by Carolyn Keene

  Her ultimatum got through to Mark. He turned his head to Nancy. “Am I really being a jerk about all this?”

  Caught off guard by his candor, Nancy almost smiled. “Mark, you’re a smart guy and probably a good detective. I admit you got a raw deal,” she said slowly. Then she added, “But the answer is yes!”

  For a moment Mark was silent. When he finally spoke, he said, “You know, maybe you’re right.” He opened the car door and put one leg out on the curb. “I’ll just walk the rest of the way home and think things over.”

  “Thinking things over is always a good idea,” Nancy agreed. “See you.”

  “’Bye, Mark,” Bess said softly after he had gotten out of the car. George slipped out of the back seat and climbed in beside Nancy.

  “Poor Mark,” George commented as Nancy pulled the car away. “Do you think he’ll actually try to break into Johnson’s house?”

  “I hope not,” Nancy answered. “He could get in a lot of trouble.”

  “It’s been two weeks since Johnson was killed,” said George. “For all we know, the house is empty with a For Sale sign stuck in the front lawn.”

  “I have an idea!” Bess announced, leaning forward into the front seat. “What if we call up a real estate agency in Brewster? Maybe we can find out.”

  “Right!” George agreed. “If it’s been emptied out we can tell Mark. That’ll put a stop to this harebrained idea.”

  “Bess,” Nancy said, glancing back at her friend with a smile, “you’re brilliant.”

  “Of course I am,” Bess said with a laugh. “But I learned everything from my best friends. Come on. We can call from my house.”

  “It’s already nine-fifteen,” George pointed out. “Are real estate agencies open this late?”

  “Sometimes,” Bess said. “Most people work during the day, so evening is when a lot of agents take clients around to look at houses.”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Nancy. She drove to the Marvins’ house, where the three girls hurried inside.

  “I’ll call directory assistance in Brewster to get the phone number of a real estate agent,” Bess said, stepping up to the telephone table in the living room. “Someone should be able to point us in the right direction.”

  Nancy and George flopped down on the sofa to wait. A few minutes later Bess hung up.

  “Here’s the number of an agency,” she said, holding out a slip of paper.

  “This should save Mark a lot of trouble,” George observed.

  “Hopefully, it’ll save us all a lot of trouble,” Nancy said, dialing the number. “I’d like to speak to an agent about a property that may be for sale in Brewster.”

  A friendly male voice answered. “I’m Rufus O’Malley. Perhaps I can help you.”

  Nancy made an okay sign with her hand to Bess and George. “I’m inquiring about a house owned by Christopher Johnson.”

  “You mean the late Christopher Johnson,” corrected the agent. “What about it?”

  “I’m wondering if it’s for sale—I had heard that Mr. Johnson passed away.”

  “You’re in luck, ma’am. It’s just been listed,” O’Malley told her. Nancy felt a flutter of excitement, and she beamed at George and Bess, who were listening intently.

  O’Malley continued, “It is a beautiful property with a view of the river. Would you like to arrange a showing?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nancy said. “Can you tell me if the furniture is still in the house? I, uh—I heard Mr. Johnson had some nice antiques,” Nancy improvised. She hoped Johnson’s house wasn’t one of those ultramodern places. “I was wondering if they might be sold with the house.”

  “Unfortunately, no. The furniture was removed before the house was turned over to us. Yes, Mr. Johnson had some nice pieces, didn’t he? Lots of valuable antique chinoiserie, I’m told, with the enamel and inlay and so on. You can see it all at the auction.”

  Nancy caught her breath. “Auction? Of course, that’s right. The contents of the house are to be auctioned off. Do you know when and where it is?” She was barely able to conceal the excitement in her voice.

  “It’s tomorrow night at seven, at the Brewster Auction House,” O’Malley said. “Now when would you like to view the house?”

  “Er—thank you,” Nancy said. “You’ve been very helpful, but on second thought, I don’t believe that house is for me.”

  “I have two other houses that you might—”

  “I’ll call for an appointment,” Nancy said quickly, and hung up.

  “Tell us!” Bess exclaimed. She and George could barely contain their eagerness.

  “Guess what?” Nancy said, a broad smile spreading across her face. “Mark won’t have to break into the house at all. There’s an auction house in Brewster that’s selling off all of Johnson’s furniture tomorrow!” Nancy suspected it would be easy to persuade Mark to go to the auction instead.

  When she called his number, however, there was no answer. “Maybe he went out for a late dinner,” she said, dropping the receiver back in the cradle. “George, would you try him later? I’m kind of tired and I’d like to get home to bed. It’s been a long day.”

  “Okay,” George said. “Bess will give me a ride home later.”

  Bess nodded. “Of course I will.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow, then,” Nancy said, getting up to leave.

  When Nancy got home her father was reading in his study. She said both hello and good night and went up to her room. Just as she settled into bed, with thoughts of the day’s events tumbling through her head, the phone on her bedside table rang.

  “Hello?” Nancy said, picking it up and glancing at the clock. It was almost eleven. Who would be calling so late?

  “Hi, Nan,” came a familiar male voice on the other end of the line.

  “Ned!” She smiled and sat up, switching on the light next to her bed.

  Ned Nickerson was Nancy’s steady boyfriend. Since Ned had gone off to Emerson College, though, they didn’t see nearly enough of each other to suit Nancy.

  “Did I call too late?” he asked.

  “It’s never too late to hear from you,” Nancy told him. The sound of his voice banished all thoughts of Mark Rubin, Anderson Industries, Johnson, and the missing money.

  “I called a couple of hours ago, and Hannah told me you were out. We had a nice chat, though.”

  “I was with Bess and George and this guy Mark who moved in next to George—into the Bradford house,” Nancy explained. “Actually, I’ve gotten involved in a nonmystery.”

  “A nonmystery?” Ned laughed. “That doesn’t sound like the Nancy Drew I know!”

  She filled Ned in on Mark and the case he was working on. She concluded, “So if we can just prove to Mark that his client and the embezzled money all burned up, maybe he’ll drop the case and choose a new career. Then he can get on with his life.”

  “Sounds like you’re safe and sound, anyway,” Ned teased. “That’s comforting. Hey, is there any chance you can come here this weekend? We’re having an impromptu party, and I’d love you to be my date.”

  “Oh, Ned,” Nancy said mournfully. “I wish I could. I really miss you.”

  “Yeah?” he said. “I miss you, too.”

  For a moment Nancy found herself resenting the promise she’d made to help Mark. She reminded herself once again, though, that she always kept her commitments. “Ned, maybe I can wrap everything up in the next few days. I’d love to come. Can I let you know in a day or two?”

  “Sure you can,” Ned replied agreeably. “I’ll die if you don’t make it, but I don’t want that to influence you.”

  “Oh, Ned,” Nancy murmured.

  His laugh interrupted her. “Look, do what you have to do,” he said warmly. “I’ll be here, alive and waiting for you.”

  Nancy decided for the thousandth time that there wasn’t a better boyfriend in the world than Ned. “I’ll do what I can to get there. In the meantime, don’t forget I’m crazy about you.”r />
  After they said goodbye, Nancy switched off the light and fell asleep with a smile on her lips. If she wasn’t the luckiest girl in the world, she knew she came close.

  • • •

  With a start, Nancy opened her eyes—the telephone was ringing.

  She glanced at her alarm clock. The glowing red numbers told her the time was 4:13 A.M.

  She grabbed the phone and put it to her ear. “Hello?” she said sleepily. “Ned, is that you?”

  “Nancy? It’s me.” The voice was tense and clipped. “Mark.”

  Nancy tried to think through the cobwebs in her brain. “Mark?”

  “Mark Rubin, Nancy! Sorry to wake you. But it’s an emergency. I’m in Brewster.”

  “Brewster?” Suddenly Nancy was wide-awake. “Mark, you didn’t!”

  “I’m afraid I did, Nancy,” Mark said weakly. “And I got caught. I’m in the Brewster City Jail!”

  Chapter

  Five

  NANCY BLINKED, staring at the face of her alarm clock. “You what?” she cried into the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Nancy. I really am. Can you come over and get me out of here? Then I can fill you in on all the stupid, embarrassing details.”

  “I’ll be right over,” Nancy growled, hanging up. She tugged at her hair and mouthed a frustrated scream. In one short day Mark Rubin had definitely become more trouble than he was worth. Getting her up at four in the morning! The sun wasn’t even up yet!

  She went to her bathroom and splashed her face with cold water. Then she quickly dressed and scribbled a note to hang on the refrigerator so her dad and Hannah wouldn’t be alarmed if they found her gone.

  Tiptoeing out of the house, Nancy walked out to the driveway and got in her car. During the drive to Brewster, the sun began peeping over the eastern horizon.

  It was just five when she pulled into the Brewster Police Station. Dawn was flooding the sky with rose-pink light.

  “Hi. My friend Mark Rubin called to tell me he’d been arrested,” Nancy told the desk sergeant, who was sipping a cup of coffee and reading through a bunch of papers.

  The officer looked up. She was an attractive blond woman of about thirty-five. “Okay,” she said matter-of-factly, searching down a list on a clipboard in front of her. “Yup, he’s here all right. Now, what’s your name?”

  “Nancy Drew.”

  The sergeant pulled out a long form and started filling it out. Without looking up, she asked, “Do you have some identification?”

  Nancy opened her handbag and took out her driver’s license. She laid it on the sergeant’s desk.

  The woman began to copy Nancy’s River Heights address from the license. Suddenly she stopped and scrutinized Nancy’s face. “Say, you aren’t the Nancy Drew who’s the amateur detective, are you?”

  Nancy smiled. “The same.”

  The desk sergeant was clearly impressed. “You’re younger than I thought you’d be,” she said. “So how did a smart girl like you get mixed up with a clown like this guy Rubin? He was breaking into a house in an expensive neighborhood, and he got stuck, half in and half out of a window. Apparently he’d been hanging there for half an hour before someone notified us.”

  Nancy covered her eyes with her hand in dismay. When she made eye contact with the sergeant again, she had to stifle an urge to laugh.

  “I guess Mark went a little overboard. He’s a private investigator, and he’s on a case,” she explained.

  “Oh, I know all about it,” the desk sergeant said. “He told us the whole story. How he saw a dead man, and how he’s going to get back all the missing Anderson money. Good luck to him. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, it was all burned to cinders two weeks ago.”

  “What do I have to do to get him out?” Nancy asked. “I know he broke the law, but he’s more a threat to himself than to society.”

  The sergeant pushed her chair back from the desk and laughed, long and loud. She attached the form to a second clipboard hanging on the wall beside the desk. “I guess you’ve done the police enough favors to earn one for yourself. Let me see what I can do for you.”

  She disappeared into an inner office and reappeared a minute later, a satisfied look on her face. “He’s on his way,” she told Nancy. “Why don’t you have a seat over there.” She motioned to a row of orange molded-plastic chairs in a waiting area.

  Forty minutes later another police officer appeared with Mark in tow. The young man glanced quickly at Nancy, shame and embarrassment clearly apparent in his eyes.

  “Sorry,” Mark said weakly.

  Nancy gave him a stern look and turned away without answering.

  “Okay, Nancy,” the desk sergeant said. She took down one of the clipboards and slung it across the counter. “Sign here and he’s all yours. The house was up for sale, and one of our detectives spoke with the realtor. He wasn’t too happy about being awakened this early in the morning, but since the house was empty and you’re here, he won’t press charges. Just try to keep Mr. Rubin out of trouble, okay?”

  “I will,” Nancy promised, giving Mark another cold glance before signing the form.

  After she’d hustled him outside and into her car, Nancy drove out of the parking lot into early-morning commuter traffic. Mark sat in the seat beside her in stony silence. For once it seemed he was at a loss for something to say.

  When they were on the highway back to River Heights, Nancy finally spoke.

  “Do you want to tell me the whole story?”

  Mark knew he had gone too far. “You were right when you warned me not to do it, Nancy,” he admitted. “But it was the only thing that I could think to do. I was almost in when the window crashed down on me!” He sounded depressed. “I was kicking and wiggling like a fish out of water when the police found me.”

  Nancy couldn’t suppress a smile at the image of Mark dangling in the window. Maybe it was punishment enough for his headstrong foolishness. “Well, it’s over now. Just don’t try another stunt like that.”

  A highway diner came into sight, and Nancy pulled her Mustang off the highway.

  “Where are we going now?” Mark asked.

  “Breakfast,” Nancy replied, driving down the exit ramp and into a parking lot. “Maybe food will cheer you up a little.”

  While they were waiting for their breakfasts, Mark was silent. A friendly waitress placed heaping plates of hotcakes and sausage in front of them, along with two steaming cups of tea.

  “What’s on your mind, Mark?” Nancy asked as they dug into their food.

  “I guess this puts an end to our little partnership, doesn’t it,” Mark said sadly. “I don’t blame you. In fact, you were probably right to begin with. It probably wasn’t Johnson I saw, the photo really doesn’t prove anything, and the missing money was probably burned to a crisp. I would just forget this whole thing if it wasn’t for my reputation.”

  He glanced across at Nancy, trying to smile. “I’m starting to think maybe I’m not cut out to be a detective. Maybe I need to make a career switch. I could always go back to school.” He shoved a forkful of hotcakes into his mouth and began chewing.

  Nancy studied the sad expression on his face. “I thought that being a detective was what you’ve wanted to do since high school.”

  “I guess it was just a daydream.” Mark shrugged and looked down at his plate. “Everything I do seems to blow up in my face.” He gave a little laugh. “I guess my bad luck is trying to tell me something.”

  “It was good luck that you met me,” Nancy told him, trying to cheer him up. “After all, if you hadn’t you might still be in jail.”

  “True.” Mark sighed.

  Nancy couldn’t help feeling sorry for Mark. Jail had obviously been a humbling experience. Maybe it had been for the best. Still, she hated to hear anyone talk about giving up on a dream.

  She stared straight into his deep blue eyes. “Mark, I’m going to help you for exactly twelve more hours.”

  Mark stared at her. “I
don’t get it. Why are you going to help me some more?”

  “If you had hung around River Heights for another hour instead of breaking into Johnson’s house, I could have saved you the trouble. They’re auctioning off all his furniture—tonight, in Brewster.”

  Mark’s eyes widened. Nancy’s words seemed to have banished his troubled thoughts completely. “Are you serious? Nancy, I love you! This could be our big break!”

  “Calm down, Mark,” Nancy said in a level voice. “I still think we might be on a wild-goose chase. But we may as well check this one last possibility and see if anything turns up. The auction’s at seven o’clock, and we can check out the furniture starting at six. If we don’t find anything"—Nancy put down her fork and raised her hands in a sign of surrender—"then I say we give it up.”

  “We’ll find something tonight,” Mark said cheerfully, going back to his breakfast. “I’m positive of it. My instincts—oh, no!” He stopped with his fork suspended in midair. “I’ve got to work this afternoon. But I get off at five forty-five. We could still get to Brewster by, say, six-fifteen.”

  “Okay.” Nancy nodded. “Maybe Bess and George will come along to help.”

  “Great!” Mark said. “I’ll pay for your gas, Nancy, don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” Nancy smiled in spite of herself. She had to admit, Mark Rubin was a hard guy to stay angry at.

  • • •

  They didn’t arrive at the Brewster Auction House until six-thirty, and Mark had worked himself into a state of high agitation by then.

  “Only half an hour to check all this out,” he lamented, staring at a warehouse-size room full of expensive furniture that had once belonged to Christopher Johnson.

  “We’d better get to work, then,” Nancy suggested. They strolled up and down the aisles between the pieces, glancing around them.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Bess asked.

  “We don’t know,” Mark explained patiently, as if it were perfectly clear to him. “Something the police didn’t see. Something incredibly small, or else so obvious that other people might overlook it.”