Heart of Danger

by Carolyn Keene

  Mr. Reigert’s eyes were glued to the screen, where the image of the girl appeared once again. This time her struggles were more violent. On the floor in front of her lay a gun.

  “Now you know we mean business,” the man said menacingly. “We’ll kill your daughter if you don’t pay up. Get the money from the bank—half a million in unmarked bills. Then we’ll tell you how to hand it over. When we have the money, you get the girl.”

  The camera zoomed in on the girl’s terrified face, and she began to speak.

  “Please, Father!” she pleaded. “If you don’t pay, they’re going to kill me! Do as they say—I beg you! Pay them the money!” The screen went black.

  For a long time Mr. Reigert sat in silence. “Tomorrow I’m going into town to get the money,” he said finally. “I’ll see Sam Lawson, president of the bank.”

  “So you’re convinced that that girl is your daughter?” Nancy asked.

  “I know she is,” Mr. Reigert replied. He rubbed his forehead. “Can’t you see the resemblance?”

  “Yes, they do look alike. But makeup can do wonders,” Nancy pointed out. “For all we know, the whole thing could be a hoax.” She thought for a minute. “Does Catarina have any distinguishing characteristics? Any birthmarks?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Mr. Reigert said reflectively, “she does. A small strawberry-shaped mark on the inside of her right ankle.”

  “That’s it!” Nancy exclaimed excitedly. “That’ll be our test! Now, if we can get in contact with the people who claim to be the kidnappers, we can refuse to pay up unless they show us her birthmark. If they can’t, or if they show us one that’s wrong, we’ll refuse to pay.”

  Mr. Reigert stared at Nancy. “Yes, that’s exactly what we’ll do. They’re bound to contact us to give us instructions about how to pay the money. Instead of giving the money to them, we can demand that they show us Catarina’s birthmark.”

  Nancy gave a frustrated sigh. “Yes, but that’s only the first step,” she said. “If they prove that the girl is your daughter, we still won’t have any way of knowing where she’s being held. We have no way of finding her—unless we pay the ransom.”

  “I won’t take chances with her life,” Mr. Reigert said. “If the birthmark proves that the girl on the tape is Catarina, I’m going to hand over the money.” He shook his head. “But it’s going to take every penny I have.”

  “Every penny?” Nancy asked in surprise. “But I thought—”

  “You thought that I was a wealthy man? Have you looked at oil prices lately, Nancy? Or the price of beef? This ransom is going to undo me. There won’t be a nickel left. That ought to surprise my wife and her good-for-nothing son!”

  Nancy stood up. “Mr. Reigert,” she said firmly, “if we discover that the girl is your daughter, we’ll know that we’re dealing with real kidnappers. It will be time to call in the police.”

  Mr. Reigert looked up, his eyes flashing. “Over my dead body!” he said. “Billy McPhee is the sheriff of this county. How he got to be sheriff is anybody’s guess—probably bought the job at the county courthouse. I grew up with that snaggle-toothed old coot and I don’t trust him. That’s why I brought you into the case! Billy couldn’t deduce his way out of a paper bag!”

  He glared at her. “And if you don’t think you can handle it, Nancy Drew, pack up and get off my ranch! Right now!”

  Nancy was sorely tempted to do exactly what Mr. Reigert suggested—pack her bags and leave. But she’d never been one to run from a challenge, no matter how frustrating, and she’d certainly never left a client high and dry in the middle of an extortion attempt. She shook her head. “I’m here and I’m staying,” she said. “I want to find Catarina.”

  Mr. Reigert nodded. “Good. But you’ve got your work cut out for you. Looks like things are coming to a head pretty quick.”

  • • •

  All the next day Nancy tried to dig deeper into the mystery. She studied the tape again, paying careful attention to the picture of Isabel. Something about it seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it, no matter how long she stared at it.

  She had another unsatisfactory conversation with Mrs. Reigert and a frustrating half hour with Mark, who just kept grunting noncommittally in answer to her more and more pointed questions about his earlier life.

  She talked with Mrs. Arguello again, trying to discover if she had taken the picture from Mr. Reigert’s drawer. But she got nowhere. Mrs. Arguello was obviously not going to talk.

  Gene was out somewhere on ranch business and he’d taken Joe Bob with him. That left only the other ranch hands, who never came into the house, and Angela, whom Nancy couldn’t find anywhere. She could only hope that Ned would find out something in Dallas.

  Without anything more to do, Nancy saddled up the palomino mare and started off in the direction of the box canyon. In the back of her mind was the idea that something might be going on there. She wasn’t sure what, but it was worth a try. If she rode up to the top of the bluff and looked down, she might be able to spot something.

  Unfortunately, just as she was getting ready to turn off the main trail to head toward the bluffs, she was hit by a sudden downpour. In Texas, she knew, they called those rainstorms gully-washers or frog-chokers. But even though the names given to them were funny, there was nothing humorous about the danger of flash floods they posed.

  Letting the palomino have her head, she galloped back to the ranch, soaked to the skin and terribly frustrated. It had not been a productive afternoon.

  However, after she had had a shower, washed her hair, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt, Nancy felt better. She decided to call Ned. It was almost four and still raining hard. She wasn’t sure that Gene would want to drive to the rodeo that evening, but in case he did, Nancy wanted to talk to Ned first. She dialed Ned’s uncle, hearing the crackle of static on the line from the electrical storm outside.

  “It’s great to know that you’re only a few hundred miles away,” Ned said when he answered the phone. “This separation stuff is for the birds, Nan.”

  Nancy smiled softly. “I know,” she said. “I hope your day has been more productive than mine.”

  Ned paused. “I haven’t found out much,” he admitted. “Jonelle went to work at the Plaza Balcones Club on June tenth last year. She gave her name as Jonelle Blake. But since she only worked for six weeks or so—she quit at the end of July to marry Mr. Reigert—the club didn’t keep her application on file. No one there remembers her. And I haven’t been able to find any trace of a woman using the name Jonelle Blake.”

  Nancy sighed. “I’m not surprised,” she said. “Maybe we’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ned replied. “My uncle Al says he remembers something about a woman named Jonelle—it’s not exactly a common name. We’re going to do some more digging.” His voice deepened. “Any more problems out there?”

  “Not really,” Nancy said. She brought Ned up to date on the events since their last conversation. “Frankly,” she added, “I’m getting a little concerned about the progress of this case. I’m afraid—”

  Suddenly there was a brilliant flash of lightning outside Nancy’s window, followed immediately by an enormous clap of thunder and a splintering crash. Nancy gave an involuntary shriek as the light on her bedside table suddenly went dark. Then she laughed shakily.

  “Sorry, Ned,” she said. “It was just a bolt of lightning . . . Ned? Ned?”

  But there wasn’t any use in trying to talk to Ned. The phone was dead. The lightning had apparently knocked out the telephone lines.

  • • •

  “What? Miss the rodeo?” Gene had said when Nancy asked if they were going to drive through the rain to Rio Hondo. “No way.” They asked Mark if he wanted to go with them, but he mumbled something about an errand in town and climbed into his Cadillac and drove off alone.

  The Rio Hondo rodeo was held in a huge barnlike arena cooled by big overhe
ad fans. The dirt floor was surrounded by wooden bleachers behind a high metal fence. At one end an announcer’s stand was draped in colorful bunting. The first event of the evening was the bucking bronco ride, and Nancy and Gene watched it while eating hot dogs lathered with mustard and catsup.

  “Watch closely,” Gene said, pointing toward a wooden chute. “They’ve put Mike Malory up on Old Blue. That pair is the best in the business.”

  Nancy held her breath as one of the gates opened and a milky blue horse exploded into the arena. The blue-shirted cowboy was gripping the saddle horn with one hand, the other arm flung high, spurred heels lifted against the horse’s muscular shoulders. The horse bucked viciously.

  “Wow,” Gene said admiringly. “Looks like Blue is giving Mike some ride. You see, in this event, it’s sort of a partnership between horse and rider. All the cowboys draw for their horses before the event. Everybody hopes to get a tough horse because a tougher horse gets you higher points. You’re scored on the way you time your spurring action with the bucking pattern of the horse.”

  In less than ten seconds the ride was all over. The pickup man rode alongside the bucking horse, and Mike Malory swung easily off Old Blue and onto the other horse. A clown in a ragged red shirt and bulky overalls danced out into the arena and waved his arms at the loose bronco, herding him expertly through an open gate.

  Gene touched Nancy’s arm. “See that clown?” he asked. “That’s Joe Bob. When the rodeo’s in town, he can’t stay away. He’s got to come do his clown act. And there’s none better. He can handle a wild bull or a mad stallion like they were toys.”

  Nancy stared. The clown in the ring moved around the dangerous horse with quickness and grace. She’d never have guessed that he was the slow, stooped Joe Bob.

  Gene glanced at her curiously. “How do you like it so far?” he asked.

  “Terrific!” Nancy exclaimed. “But what goes on back there?” she asked, pointing to the back of the arena.

  Gene stood up. “Let’s go see,” he suggested. “We’ve got time before the next event.”

  Nancy followed Gene around the arena and behind the fence. The area was filled with wooden chutes and fences and crowded with livestock and milling cowboys.

  Gene beckoned. “Here’s something you ought to see,” he said. “Climb up on this fence and take a close look at Tom Boy. Some people say he’s the meanest bull in captivity.”

  With the cowboys milling around her, Nancy climbed to the top of the wooden fence. Tom Boy was a giant red bull with a huge hump on his back and wicked-looking horns. Nancy looked at him apprehensively as he rolled his eyes and tossed his head, pawing the dust with pointed hooves.

  Nancy was clinging to the top of the fence, looking over, when she felt a hand on her back. She was about to turn around when the hand pushed, hard, and she found herself falling over the fence into Tom Boy’s stall!

  Chapter

  Eight

  NANCY GRABBED AT the wooden fence as she went over the top, trying to save herself, but it was no use. In the next instant she was flat on her back in the stall, staring up in horror at Tom Boy, who loomed over her like an enormous red mountain. For a split second he stood frozen, as surprised as she was. Then he lowered his horns with a rumbling bawl and began to charge.

  Nancy managed to scramble to her feet, but the huge bull caught her leather belt with one sharp horn and lifted her up, flinging her against the side of the stall and knocking the breath out of her. Nancy fell back to the dirt in a heap, gasping for air, while Tom Boy, bellowing, backed up for another try.

  Suddenly there was a hubbub of frantic activity in the pen. A cowboy opened a metal gate that led into another stall and two others dropped loops of rope over Tom Boy’s head and began to yank him toward the gate. A fourth jumped over the fence and tossed Nancy over his shoulder as if she were a sack of flour. The next thing she knew, she was safely on the ground outside the stall, and Gene was kneeling beside her, white faced and shaken.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, helping her sit up.

  Nancy nodded, rubbing her shoulder where Tom Boy had slammed her against the fence. There was a rip in her shirt and the skin was beginning to bleed. “Just a little banged up, that’s all.”

  She looked around. The cowboy who had pulled her out of the stall had disappeared before she could thank him. She glanced at Gene. He acted as if he was worried about her—but why hadn’t he jumped into the stall to help her, as the others had?

  She remembered the hand on her back. Somebody had pushed her into Tom Boy’s pen! Gene? Had he intended that she be attacked by the bull?

  “What happened?” Gene asked, bending over to examine the bloody scrape on her shoulder. “How did you fall?”

  “I didn’t fall,” Nancy replied curtly, wincing as his fingers touched raw skin. “I was pushed.”

  “Pushed!” Gene’s mouth fell open and he sat back on his heels, staring at her. If he was faking surprise, Nancy thought, he was doing a pretty good job of it.

  After a moment he shook his head. “I don’t believe that anyone would deliberately push you,” he said flatly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Who would do such a crazy thing?”

  The cowboy who had opened the gate appeared beside them then, his hands in his pockets. “She was pushed, all right,” he told Gene. “I saw the whole thing. It was one of the rodeo clowns, but I’ll be blessed if I know which one. They all look alike with that clown makeup on.”

  Gene looked up. “How’d it happen?” he asked.

  The cowboy shrugged. “You’d turned around to talk to somebody else, and he just stepped up behind her and gave her a good shove. The next thing I knew, she was lying on the ground in Tom Boy’s stall.” He shook his head wonderingly. “That bull is one mean beast. She’s lucky she’s not dead.”

  A rodeo clown! Nancy’s mind raced. Joe Bob was a rodeo clown! He had almost certainly tried to put her out of commission earlier. And if Mr. Reigert was right, Joe Bob would only operate on orders from Gene! Had the two of them engineered this attempt on her life, expecting to pass it off as an accident?

  Gene looked at her with a frown. “I can guess what you’re thinking, Nancy,” he said, shaking his head as he helped her stand up. “You’re dead wrong. Rodeo clown or no rodeo clown, it wasn’t Joe Bob who pushed you. I don’t know who it was or why he did it, but it wasn’t Joe Bob. I’d stake my life on that.”

  Nancy wanted to believe Gene. But why hadn’t he jumped into the pen to help her?

  • • •

  That question was still uppermost in Nancy’s thoughts as she and Gene drove silently back to the ranch. Her puzzling was interrupted, however. Gene had some questions for her.

  “I’m kind of interested in what you do for a living, Nancy,” he said casually as they drove along. The rain had stopped, and the clouds had cleared out, leaving a beautifully clear, moonlit night. “What sorts of things have you written? You look kind of young to have had much of a career as a writer.”

  Nancy shrugged. “Writing’s like anything else,” she said, trying to evade his question. Did he suspect that she wasn’t a writer? “Sometimes you hit it lucky. I guess that’s what’s happened to me.”

  “But what have you written?” Gene persisted. He turned off the main road, onto the lane that led to Casa del Alamo. The silver moonlight that flooded the open rangeland was so bright that they almost didn’t need the headlights. “Do you have any best-sellers?”

  “No, no best-sellers,” Nancy said, pausing to invent. “Mostly I do—crime reporting, for newspapers. A detective story or two. And of course I do ghostwriting, like the job I’m doing for Mr. Reigert.”

  “I see.” Gene was silent for a moment. “How did you two get connected? I mean, it seems a little unlikely that Mr. Reigert just opened up the telephone book and found you.”

  Nancy looked at him, convinced that something more than casual curiosity was behind his questions. “Somebody recommended me,” she said uncomfortably.


  “Oh? Who?”

  “Well—it was—” Nancy stammered. Suddenly she was hit by an inspiration. “It was an acquaintance who’s a reporter for one of the Dallas newspapers. I guess Mr. Reigert must have met him when he was in Dal—”

  “Hey, look!” Gene interrupted her excitedly. The truck lurched to a screeching halt as Gene put on the brakes.

  “What?” Nancy cried, looking around.

  “Over there!” Gene exclaimed. He pointed toward a shadowy clump of trees, then rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe it! I can’t believe what I’ve just seen.”

  “What is it?” Nancy demanded. “I don’t see anything.”

  Gene shook his head unbelievingly. “I must be going crazy,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s the full moon.”

  “But what did you see?”

  Gene rubbed his eyes again. “It was a kangaroo!”

  Chapter

  Nine

  THE NEXT MORNING Nancy watched Joe Bob closely as he ate his breakfast. If he had been the one who pushed her into Tom Boy’s stall, his face certainly didn’t reveal it. He looked as impassive as ever, his eyes fixed on the rapidly disappearing stack of pancakes on the plate in front of him.

  But Gene wasn’t at all impassive. He was reporting what he had seen the night before as they drove down the lane in the moonlight.

  “Big kangaroo, about waist high,” he was telling Mark excitedly. “It was just hopping along.” He shook his head. “I know this isn’t Australia, but I swear I saw it.”

  Mark was staring at Gene, and Nancy thought she saw fear in Mark’s eyes for a moment. But then it disappeared as quickly, and Mark was his ordinary self.

  “You’re as crazy as Nancy,” he said emphatically, with a glance in her direction. “There may be a kangaroo or two in the zoo in San Antonio, but they certainly don’t run around loose in this part of the country.” He grinned wickedly. “Are you sure that you and Nancy weren’t hitting the firewater last night?”