“I should hope so,” Annette muttered. “By the time we’re done, the marathon will be over.” She glanced up the hotel’s drive. “Well, we can at least get started right away. Here comes one of the suspects now.”
A light blue car with an ICT placard in the window pulled to a halt behind the police car. Nancy recognized Kevin’s face behind the wheel.
She felt a knot twist inside her stomach as she recognized something else—a large scrape on the car’s right rear fender.
Kevin was driving the same car the sniper had escaped in!
Chapter
Twelve
AS KEVIN GOT OUT of the car, the two officers approached him. “Kevin Davis?” Sergeant Stokes asked.
“That’s me,” Kevin said cheerfully. Waving at George, Nancy, and Annette, he said, “Hi! How was your run?”
As the officers identified themselves, Kevin looked puzzled. He gave George a questioning look as the group filed into the hotel and headed for a grouping of chairs and a sofa. George smiled encouragingly at him, but Nancy noticed that her eyes were filled with worry.
“I’ll find Derek,” Annette offered as the others sat down. “He has those anonymous notes.”
With a nod Detective Zandt said, “Why don’t you wait with him in your room? We’ll be up to see you shortly.” After giving him her room number, Annette hurried toward the elevators.
“Mind telling us where you’ve been for the last hour or so?” Sergeant Stokes asked Kevin.
Kevin hesitated before answering. “I was . . . attending to business. Why?”
Why is he being evasive? Nancy wondered.
When the officers told Kevin about the shooting, Kevin looked at George with alarm. “You were there, too! Are you all right?”
George nodded, and Nancy was relieved to note that for once Kevin didn’t seem interested in another “little bit of drama” for his big story on Annette. He seemed genuinely concerned for George.
“Mr. Davis, we need to know where you were at the time in question,” Detective Zandt went on.
Kevin’s mouth fell open. “Am I a suspect?”
“Your car matches the one the gunman drove,” said Stokes. “The color, the scrape, ICT placard.”
“I’d rather not say where I was,” Kevin said, suddenly flustered. “But I had nothing to do with any shooting or anything else illegal!”
Detective Zandt hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his slacks. “How do you explain the car?” he asked Kevin.
“I can’t. I only took it fifteen minutes ago. ICT has a pool of cars. You sign a log when you take a car out and when you return it. And you put down the time. Check the log if you want.” Kevin pulled a pad and pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote something down. “Here’s the ICT number. Call the office.”
“I’ll do just that,” said Detective Zandt, getting up and heading for the bank of phones near the elevators.
Sergeant Stokes leaned forward in his chair and said to Kevin, “We understand you’re covering what’s been happening to Annette Lang here. Is it fair to say that the more that happens to her, the better it is for your career?”
“Sure,” Kevin replied, shrugging. “We figured that it would be a good thing for both of us.”
The sergeant gave Kevin a puzzled look. “And just how would it be good for Annette Lang?”
“Annette wants a shot at a job like mine, in sports broadcasting,” Kevin explained. “You see, about a year ago she was given a trial with ‘SportsTalk’—that’s another cable sports show. But on the first day’s taping, she was so nervous that she froze up in front of the camera. The ratings were so bad they never asked her back.”
Kevin shook his head ruefully. “It’s a pretty cutthroat business. She never got a second chance until now. The ICT brass have been impressed with Annette in the footage we’ve shot.”
Nancy looked at Kevin in surprise. This was news.
“And it looks as if I might be headed to a job with a bigger network show,” Kevin went on proudly. “Which means that ICT will be in the market for a track analyst real soon. They’ll probably give Annette serious consideration.”
Nancy looked up as Detective Zandt returned and sat back down. “I called ICT. Kevin Davis signed the car out at four o’clock, like he says. And he was in the office just before.”
“Hmm,” said Sergeant Stokes, stroking his long sideburns. “Who had the car before Davis?”
“The log says it was in the garage since eleven this morning. But from what the guy told me, it seems as if security there is pretty lousy. There’s just one guy with the cars, and if he leaves, the cars are unattended. The keys just hang there on a numbered board. I got the feeling that it would be easy for someone to take one.”
“Let’s be reasonable here,” Kevin urged. “If I was going to commit a crime, would I use a car with an ICT placard?”
Kevin had a point, Nancy had to admit.
The police officers exchanged a look. “All right, Mr. Davis, that’s it for now,” said Stokes. “But we may want to see you again.” He looked at his partner. “Let’s find Annette Lang and Derek Townsend.”
There was an awkward silence after the officers left. “Uh, excuse me, I have to call my agent,” Kevin finally said. He looked at George and squeezed her hand. Then he got up and left the two girls alone.
“George?” Nancy said tentatively. “Nothing would make me happier than if Kevin is innocent. I hope you believe that.”
George sat still a moment, then turned toward Nancy. “I know,” she said softly. “I guess I couldn’t help getting upset about it back in the park. It’s just that . . . well, I feel as if there’s something really special happening between Kevin and me. And to think that he might have . . .”
Her words trailed off into a huge sigh. “But you’re right—a lot of stuff does point to him.”
“And to Irene Neff and to Gina Giraldi,” Nancy reminded George. “We don’t know for sure that Kevin did do it, either.”
George smiled weakly. “Right again, Nan.” Her smile brightened as Kevin walked back up to them.
“Great news!” he said. “My agent says that ‘Worldwide Sports’ wants me to announce for them on a trial basis, starting next month! I’m taking you all out to dinner to celebrate—and I won’t take no for an answer!”
George’s glum mood seemed to melt away as she looked up into Kevin’s handsome face. “It’s a date!” she told him. “If that’s okay with you, Nan,” she added quickly.
“Definitely,” Nancy agreed. She could see how important this was to George, and she wasn’t about to let down her friend.
“So meet me here at seven-thirty,” said Kevin. He hesitated, then asked George, “Would you mind if I talk to Nancy alone a minute?”
“Uh, sure,” George agreed. “I’ll be over by the message board.”
“Listen,” Kevin told Nancy once George was out of earshot, “I have no hard feelings about you suspecting me. I know I acted suspiciously just now. I didn’t want to say where I was this afternoon because . . . well, I bought George a good-luck gift for the race.”
He glanced over his shoulder to be sure George wasn’t looking, then retrieved a small box from his jacket pocket and opened it for Nancy. Inside was a thin silver chain from which dangled a small silver charm in the shape of a running shoe.
“Oh, it’s darling!” Nancy exclaimed in a low voice. “George is going to love it.”
Kevin held a finger up to his lips. “Don’t say anything. It’s a surprise.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Nancy assured him. Kevin looked sincere, and Nancy wanted to believe him—now more than ever. George’s happiness depended on it.
• • •
“I shouldn’t have had the chocolate soufflé,” Bess groaned as she, George, Kevin, and Nancy returned to the hotel after dinner. “I’m going to turn into a total blimp.”
“If you are, so am I,” Nancy told Bess with a laugh, “since I had it, too.�
��
George grinned at her friends. “One thing I love about being in training is carbo-loading. I mean, I ate a huge plate of pasta with pesto sauce, plus soup and salad and chocolate cake.” Reaching out for Kevin’s hand, she said, “Thanks for taking us.”
In response, Kevin gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I guess I’d better head home,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day, what with interviews and prep work for Sunday’s race.”
“I can’t believe it’s the day after tomorrow,” George said, her eyes glowing with excitement. “I’d better get to bed.”
Bess yawned. “After that dinner I’m ready to call it a night. Thank you, Kevin. It was fabulous.”
“My pleasure,” he replied. “Good night, all.” He kissed George lightly on the lips, then left the hotel.
There was an elevator waiting, and the girls stepped in. When it stopped at the fourth floor, Nancy said, “You two go on. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“What are you doing?” Bess asked, holding open the elevator door after she and George got out.
“I want to see Irene Neff and Gina.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Need some help?”
Shaking her head, Nancy replied. “No, thanks. If there are too many of us, they might get defensive.”
As the doors slid closed, Nancy considered how to approach the two women. I might as well be direct, she decided. Brenda’s already blown my cover. It was ten-thirty, and Gina was probably in bed. If she was caught unprepared, she might let something slip or leave evidence in view.
After getting out on the ninth floor, Nancy made her way to Room 915, which she remembered was Gina’s. When she knocked on the door, there was no answer. She knocked again, more loudly. Still nothing.
Gina’s breaking training, Nancy thought. On an impulse she got out her lockpicking kit. Seeing that the hallway was deserted, she went to work. A moment later the lock clicked open.
Nancy pushed the door inward, but it would only go a few inches. The security chain held it closed. Through the narrow opening, Nancy saw that the room was dark.
So she is in there, Nancy thought. All I’m finding out is that she’s a sound sleeper. As Nancy shut the door, she paused. Was that a noise inside? She froze, listening, but heard nothing else. Probably just my imagination, she decided.
Continuing down the hall, Nancy went to Room 926, Irene Neff’s room, and knocked on the door. Irene opened the door and looked surprised to see Nancy.
“What is it? It’s late,” Irene said coolly.
“We need to talk,” Nancy told her. Without giving Irene a chance to say no, Nancy breezed past her and entered the room. There were papers scattered over the table. A coffeepot and a half-full cup sat there as well.
“You know, you’re getting to be a pest,” Irene snapped. “What do we have to talk about?”
Nancy sat on the couch facing the table. “Did the police see you today?” she asked.
Irene’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. I had nothing to tell them—or you.”
“These attacks against Annette are getting more intense, and I need to find out a few things,” Nancy said, swallowing her irritation.
“From me?” As Neff paced in front of her, Nancy thought she looked more nervous than angry. “Why me? I didn’t shoot at her. I’ve been in meetings all day.”
Nancy was about to ask Irene about her day’s schedule when she saw something on the table that made her stop in her tracks.
In the middle of the mess of papers was a distinctive piece of notepaper. It had exactly the same red marbled pattern as the one that had advised the sniper to be at the fountain in Grant Park!
Chapter
Thirteen
NANCY TRIED not to show her excitement as she took a second glance at the paper.
Wait a minute, Nancy thought. The handwriting on the note was different from the writing she had seen on the marbled paper on the message board, Nancy realized. This was more rounded and vertical.
“I have to finish up some work,” Irene said suddenly, looking edgy. “Let’s cut this short.”
“It won’t take long,” Nancy assured her.
Irene stopped pacing and faced Nancy. “You don’t understand, I’m a busy woman,” she snapped. “I don’t have time to play detective games with you, so you can just find someone else to pester.”
Nancy made no move to get up. “All right,” she said. “I suppose you’ve already told the officers on the case how Annette Lang turned down an endorsement deal with TruForm, which gives you a motive for wanting to hurt her—”
“That’s not true!” Irene sputtered.
“I happen to know it is true,” Nancy countered, without saying how she had found out. Fixing Irene with a steady gaze, she went on. “And I imagine you told the police that your job hinges on Renee Clark winning the Heartland Marathon, so I won’t have to mention it to them.”
Nancy rose from her chair and said smoothly, “Well, good night, Ms. Neff. Sorry to bother you.”
“Wait a minute.” Irene’s voice was urgent. “What are you saying? Do you really suspect me of being connected with the attacks?”
“You have an interest in eliminating Annette from the race,” Nancy said, sitting back down. “And you suggested shopping at the Winning Margin this morning. Someone attacked me there.”
Irene sank down on the couch next to Nancy. “But this is absurd! I’m no criminal.”
“One other thing,” Nancy continued. “There was a note on the message board before Annette, George, and I went out to run. It gave the exact time and place where the shots were fired.”
Irene stared blankly at Nancy. “Those detectives said something about that, too. You think I wrote the note?”
“It was written on very unusual paper— exactly like that piece,” Nancy explained, pointing to the red marbled note. “That isn’t your notepaper?”
“Of course not!” Irene reached among the papers on the table and grabbed a sheet of ivory paper with Irene Neff printed at the top. “This is mine.”
Nancy kept her eyes fixed on the other woman. “Then whose is this other paper?”
“How should I know? I mean . . . there may be dozens of people who have paper like that.” Irene fidgeted nervously with the sheet of personal notepaper she still held.
Shooting Irene a skeptical glance, Nancy said, “You don’t know who sent you this note?”
There was a long pause. Finally Irene turned to face Nancy, her mouth set in a grim line. “I won’t tell you. I can’t.”
Nancy stood up. “Ms. Neff, somebody shot at Annette. She might have been killed. This is no time for holding anything back. I thought you might prefer to talk with me in private here, rather than being questioned by the police, but it’s up to you, naturally.”
Irene leaned into one corner of the couch. She looked trapped. “All right, I’ll tell you,” she said at last. “But you have to promise not to tell the police.”
“I could get in major trouble for withholding evidence of a crime,” Nancy told her. “But I’ll promise not to tell the police if it isn’t necessary. That’s the best I can do.”
Ms. Neff sighed deeply, then said, “The note was from Renee, but I can’t believe she’d do anything criminal. She can hardly bring herself to make a rival runner feel bad by beating her in a race.”
This tallied with what Jake Haitinck had told her and Bess about Renee Clark the night before at the dance club. “Is this her regular style of notepaper?” Nancy asked.
“I’ve gotten one or two other memos from her on it, but I don’t know if she has a lot of it or not. I don’t know . . . really!”
Nancy took another look at the note. “This is definitely not the handwriting that was on the message board,” she said, thinking aloud. “Can you think of someone else who might have persuaded Renee to improve her chances by starting this campaign against Annette? Gina, possibly? Charles Mellor?”
“I cannot imagine Renee having somethi
ng to do with anything illegal under any circumstances. Period.”
Nancy’s gut instinct told her that Irene was telling her the truth. She thought for a moment, then asked, “What about Charles Mellor? How did he become Renee’s trainer?”
“Her old trainer retired two years ago,” Irene explained. “Renee was just another runner then, nothing special. Charles came up after a race and started giving her tips, and she listened. Next thing, he was her trainer, and she was a major contender.”
Nancy stood up. “Okay. That’s all for now.”
Irene clasped her hands nervously together as she, too, rose from the couch. “You’re not going to bother Renee with this now, are you? She needs her sleep.”
Nancy paused. “What about Charles Mellor?”
“You can give him a try,” Irene said, gesturing to her phone.
Nancy got no answer from Mellor’s room. It was now after eleven, so she decided to call it a night.
When she got back to her room, Bess and George were already asleep in their beds. After changing into her nightshirt, Nancy slipped between the sheets of the cot, but she had a hard time falling asleep.
The race was the day after tomorrow, and she didn’t feel any closer to finding who was after Annette. If she didn’t make some progress—and quickly—the Heartland Marathon might be the last race Annette Lang ever ran.
• • •
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Nancy heard Bess’s cheerful voice and rolled over onto her stomach. “Hrmphh,” she mumbled sleepily.
“Come on. George is already working out at the gym, and I’m starving. Get up, Drew.”
Cracking open one eye, Nancy saw that Bess was perched on the edge of her bed, her arms crossed over the oversize pink cotton sweater she was wearing with white leggings.
“Okay, okay,” Nancy said, pushing the covers aside and swinging her feet to the floor. “Just give me a few minutes to get dressed.
Fifteen minutes later Nancy had showered and was dressed in jeans and a blue pullover. “Ready,” she said, grabbing her shoulder bag.
Running Scared Page 7
