The wave pool was a much smaller pool than his regular one. It was designed for building strength. It had a motor at one end that generated waves, strong or weak depending on the setting. The whole point was to swim against the current.
As Scott started stretching, I noticed a weird smell in the air. It was like a thunderstorm. Maybe that’s it, I thought. Maybe we’re about to have a big storm. But that didn’t seem right. I hadn’t seen a single cloud on my drive home.
Suddenly, it clicked.
“Scott, no!”
I ran. Scott looked up just in time for me to tackle him, head on. His foot couldn’t have been more than two inches from the water.
“Ow! What the heck? Get off me!”
We wrestled for a moment. My arm slammed painfully against the tile, and I could tell I’d have a wicked bruise in the morning. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, so long as I could get him away from the pool. The last thing I wanted was for both of us to fall in together.
When we rolled into the wall of the training area, I let go of Scott.
“What is your problem?” he yelled.
I lay there for a second, panting. Then I pulled my keys out of my pocket.
“Watch.”
I tossed the keys into the pool. There was a sound like bees buzzing, and a giant electrical spark leaped along the surface of the water when they hit it.
“Someone’s tampered with the motor. The whole thing is one huge electric chair.”
Scott’s stalker had just upgraded from creepy to killer.
CHAPTER 11
THINGS THAT GO BOOM IN THE NIGHT
NANCY
“So, one of us stays with Lexi at all times. No matter what. Right?” I looked both Bess and George in the eye, to emphasize how serious I was. After the scares of the last few days, who knew what might happen next.
Bess screamed. “Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!”
As though I hadn’t already looked and made sure there was no traffic coming. She was a just a little nervous because she’d had too much coffee.
“Agreed?”
“Right! Someone with Lexi at all times. We got it.” That was George. She was always much more levelheaded about these things.
“What are you going to be up to?” said Bess.
“Whoever’s harassing Lexi was able to get into the women’s locker room and leave a note in her locker. So we’re looking for a woman, probably a fellow athlete, right?”
“Or a member of the press,” said Bess.
“Or one of the janitors,” added George.
“Right.” I paused for a moment, thinking it all through. “Well, regardless, the one place where we know for sure her stalker has been—has actually, physically touched—is Lexi’s locker. So I’m going to start by looking there.”
I merged onto the freeway and into downtown LA traffic. Man, was this city one big snarl. A traffic jam in River Heights meant that there had been an accident somewhere, or that someone’s dog had escaped and was playing in traffic. In LA, jammed just seemed to be the normal state of affairs. It was when traffic moved that things felt weird.
Finally, though, we made it to the Olympic Arena. After we got through the doors, we split up. Bess and George headed over to watch Lexi train. I headed for the locker rooms. I wasn’t 100% sure my pass would get me in there, but I’d learned that the best thing to do in a situation like that was to act like you were supposed to be there, and people rarely challenged you.
I pulled out my cell phone. Not only did I have a call to make, but this was another good trick I’d learned. If you were on a phone when you breezed by, people often felt too awkward to try to talk to you, and you had a good reason “not to hear them” if they did.
“Hey—is this Vijay?”
“Talking to you live in mono. The infamous Nancy Drew, I presume?”
I had to laugh. I’d never met Vijay in person, but from what Joe, Frank, and George all told me, he seemed like a great guy. And he was definitely fun on the phone.
“That’s me. Although I don’t know how ‘infamous’ I am.”
“The only person to ever crack Frank and Joe’s cover? The best detective east of the Mississippi? Or is it west? I can never remember where River Heights is.”
“You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Information is my job, lady friend. So what can I do you for?”
“I hear you’ve got cameras hidden throughout the arena.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors,” said Vijay, his voice deadpan. I laughed again.
“Well, if you do have cameras, do you think you could check the footage for the women’s locker room, and see if anyone has been messing around with Lexi’s locker?”
“If we had put cameras around the space, I would have been the one to do it. And if I had been the one putting up cameras, I wouldn’t really have been able to get into the women’s locker room, would I?”
“Right. Good hypothetical point. Well, could you look for any footage of someone tampering with her fencing blade?”
“That would be more doable. But it’d take a while. Not even sure where I’d start to look. I guess I’d have to watch the fight, then follow the blade back through the various cameras, to try and see at what point someone sharpened it. That will take a while. I mean, would take a while. If I had hidden cameras in the arena. Which I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“Thanks, Vijay. You’re the best.”
“Peace out girl scout.”
As I slipped the phone into my pocket, I realized it had totally worked. I had been so distracted by talking to Vijay, I hadn’t even noticed when I’d breezed right by security and into the women’s locker room! Nancy Drew one, Olympic security zero.
The locker room was just endless rows of red metal lockers and wooden benches. It looked like a slightly upscale gym. This was the behind-the-scenes part of the arena. It was no frills—a place for serious people to do serious work.
Lexi’s locker was number 173. From the outside, it looked just like all the others. Red metal, a little shorter than I was, maybe eight inches wide. I dug through my purse and pulled out a makeup compact. After a quick look around to confirm I was alone, I flipped it open, pulled out a makeup brush, and began to dust for fingerprints. Blush, I had long ago learned, had many uses.
Sadly, the front of the locker held no information—or rather, too much. A quick glance showed dozens, if not more, sets of fingerprints. There’d be no way to figure out who had brushed it in passing and who had broken into it. Besides, the person who’d broken in had probably used gloves to do it. I imagined that would probably be the case, but you always had to try the obvious answers first, just in case. I’d cracked more cases due to stupidity on the parts of the perpetrators than anything else.
Lexi had given me the combination, so I opened the locker. Not much was in there—her street clothes and a few books. I rifled through the pockets and flipped through the books, but I didn’t find much of anything. A photo fell out of one of the books when I opened it, or rather, half of a photo did. I picked it up off the floor. It was of Lexi. Someone had torn it in two. It might not have been anything… but I wanted to ask Lexi about it anyway. You could never be too careful.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Lexi’s dad had to run some errands, so we promised to drive Lexi back to the Starlet when her training was over. Bess, George, and I spent most of the day in the stands, watching Lexi destroy her opponents. She seemed a shoo-in for the gold medal—if she lived to make it to the actual games.
“So how are you feeling?” I asked Lexi, in between one of her matches.
“All right. Leg burns a little, but I think it’ll be fine.”
I couldn’t believe she was back to fencing just a day after being injured. But I guess you didn’t make it to the Olympics without being dedicated.
“Well, you seem to be doing just fine, even with the injury.”
“Yeah. It’s going to take
more than a little flesh wound to slow me down.”
“Ha! We’ll be cheering for you in the stands.”
“Thanks.” The smile slipped from Lexi’s face for a second. “Thanks for everything, Nancy. I think I’d be a total mess if I didn’t know you were out there, watching my back.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “Get back out there and do what you do best. Leave the detecting to me.”
I walked back over to Bess and George. It felt good to be working on a case for someone I cared so much about.
“Excuse me, miss? Miss?”
I turned around to find a camera in my face.
“I’m Alex Smothers. I’m with Sportztime—perhaps you’ve watched our shows?”
I hadn’t, but I’d definitely heard of Sportztime. They were one of those Web start-up companies that had actually managed to challenge television and newspapers. Lots of people went to them for their sports news. And Alex Smothers was the brainchild behind it all, as well as their star reporter.
“I saw you talking to Lexi Adams, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?”
“Of course you can,” Bess had sidled up next to me. She put on a big smile for the camera. George joined her on my other side. “We’re old friends, the three of us. We go all the way back to River Heights Elementary School.”
“Oh, great! This is great stuff. I’m doing a documentary piece on Scott Trevor, and as his girlfriend, I’d love to get some more information about Lexi. May I?”
He pointed to the camera. I hesitated, then nodded. It would probably help our cover to look like a bunch of innocent childhood fans.
“Great. Rolling in three… two… one… So, tell me your names and how you know Lexi?
“I’m Nancy, Nancy Drew. And we were in Mr. Angstrom’s third-grade class together.”
“George Fayne. I was in the same class.”
“Me too! And my name’s Elizabeth Marvin. But everyone calls me Bess.”
“Great. So, do you think it’s appropriate for two Olympic athletes to be dating each other? I mean, doesn’t that take something away from the innocent spirit of international competition?”
What? I thought. That was certainly a loaded question.
“I think it’s great that two focused, dedicated people with so much in common have been able to find each other,” I replied.
“Yeah,” added Bess. “They’re in love. It’s totes cute.”
“Great, this is great. So if it’s not inappropriate, why do you think they hid it for so long?”
“Probably because they knew that creeps in the media would be all over them if they knew,” George said. She has a knack for saying the things the rest of us just think.
Alex laughed, a loud, fake bark of a laugh.
“Do you think this will negatively affect their performance in the games? Are they really focused on their performances, or are they too busy being ‘in love’ to take all of this seriously?”
“I think that if they do poorly at the Olympics, it will be because their relationship was a reason for guys like you to harass them constantly!” said Bess angrily.
“You know what, we actually have to go,” I said. I’d had enough of this guy’s attitude. Why is it that journalists always have to look for a scandal or something wrong?
“Well, thanks for your time, girls. Check out Sportztime tonight. I think I’ll be running some excerpts from this interview tonight. And if you ever have more to say, here’s my card.” He handed us three of his cards. On the front they read ALEX SMOTHERS—PRESIDENT AND CHIEF CORRESPONDENT, SPORTZTIME.COM—FORMER OLYMPIC GOLD MEDALIST.
I slipped one into my pocket. My fingers brushed against the photo I had put in there earlier. I’d forgotten to ask Lexi about it. I looked around and saw her packing up her stuff. Bess, George, and I headed over to her.
“Ready to go?” she said as she slung her bag of gear over her shoulder.
“You don’t want to change or anything?” I asked.
“Nah. I’m kind of avoiding using the lockers as much as possible. You know?”
I nodded.
“How was talking with Alex?” Lexi asked.
George snorted. “He’s a piece of work!”
“I know, right?” said Lexi. “He’s so irritating. I guess it’s his job and all, and Lee says that all the press is going to be great for Scott, but I wish he’d just buzz off.”
We headed out to the street. At the door, I hesitated. I looked both ways. It was getting dark now, and I didn’t see the car anywhere.
“Uhh… anyone remember where I parked?”
Lexi laughed. “Some things never change, eh?”
“Luckily, Bess and I have taken care of this problem.”
It took me a moment to figure out what George meant. Then I remembered: the remote starter they had installed in the car! I hadn’t had a chance to use it yet. I pulled out my keys and clicked the big button they’d put on my key ring.
BOOOOOOMMM!
Two hundred feet down the street, a giant ball of fire erupted into the sky.
CHAPTER 12
RESTRAINING ORDER
FRANK
You’d think that being a secret agent on a deadly mission in the middle of the Olympics would have to be exciting all the time, right? Well, you’d be wrong. This was crunch time for the athletes, and if they’d been focused before, now they existed for only one reason: to train. I was a ghost in the arena, pretty much the only person there without something to do.
Of course, that did have one benefit: No one noticed me keeping an eye on Scott from a distance. Although, truth be told, I could have been standing two feet from him, staring at him, the whole day and I don’t think anyone would have noticed that, either. Even the towel boys and janitors seemed to be feeling the pressure. Everyone was moving at about twice their normal speed.
And there I was, sitting in the bleachers. I almost wished I had a book with me. Except I knew as soon as I opened it we’d be attacked by motorized snakes or Scott would spontaneously combust or something. To kill time, I got out some pens and found a long piece of cardboard. I spent an hour stenciling “Scott Trevor—Biggest Fan!” on one side of it. I might as well do my best to stick to my cover story, even if it made me look totally lame. I even drew a little pool, with a stick figure swimming through it. When I was done, it looked like an overeager second grader had made it, but I was still pretty proud.
The sign got me some attention. Scott gave me a thumbs-up, and Lee came over with some official Olympic swag—a tracksuit, a handkerchief, and a bunch of promotional programs and posters. Mr. Adams gave me a dirty look when he saw the sign, but for the most part, he seemed to be keeping a wide berth away from anything related to Scott. Nancy said that Lexi had had a talk with him, and it seemed to have had some effect. Publicly, at least. Who knows what he was capable of behind the scenes? I watched him closely, but though he gave Scott dirty looks at every opportunity, I never saw him get close to Scott.
Making a sign wasn’t exactly wrestling bad guys to the ground, but at least it gave me something to do. For a while. Then it was back to just staring out at the arena.
“Biggest fan, eh?” said a voice behind me suddenly. I looked over my shoulder to see a woman in one of the Olympic athlete jackets standing a little behind me. Her hair was wet from the pool, and because she was standing on the bleachers and was already quite tall, she towered over me. Joe had pointed her out to me yesterday—Isabelle Helene. He’d briefed me on their short interactions, and I wasn’t surprised that my sign about Scott caught her eye. Maybe, I thought, this will be a good a chance to size her up.
“Yeah—I won a contest!” I did my best to sound like an eager high school kid, excited to get to talk to a real live Olympic athlete.
“So how many world records does he hold?” Isabelle asked. She sat down hard on the bleacher behind me, and put her feet up next to me.
“Three! In the hundred meter, two hundred meter, and four hundred m
eter freestyle.” I’d done my homework. If she thought she could stump me that easily, she had another thing coming.
“So what are his times?”
“Uh…” I thought for a moment. I knew I’d read them, but could I remember them on the spot? Then it came to me. “46.91 seconds, 1:42 seconds, and 3:40 seconds.”
“Humph.” Isabelle sniffed audibly, clearly displeased that I’d gotten them right. She was silent for a moment. Then she gave a short bark of a laugh.
“All right, ‘Biggest Fan,’ whose record is he about to beat for most gold medals by a single athlete?”
My mind blanked. I knew he was about to break the record, but I had no idea who was the current record holder. I tried to think of a good guess. Mark Spitz was up there, I knew. And Jesse Owens. Isabelle was staring at me, a self-satisfied smile growing on her face. I took a gamble.
“Mark Spitz?”
“Nope! Ha! I knew you were just some poser.”
She got up to walk away. I can’t say I was sorry to see her go. She was some piece of work. But I was curious.
“Hey!” I yelled at her retreating form. “Who was it?”
Isabelle didn’t respond.
But our conversation had alerted all of the journalists to my presence. They were all looking to get some background footage of the Olympics, and with my sign, I guess I made a great visual. Over and over again, I got asked how excited I was to be there, if I thought Scott would break the gold medal record, etc. Hours passed. The arena got darker as the sun set. People began to leave. I was so used to the reporters that when a pretty redheaded woman with a camera in front of her face came up to me and started asking questions, I didn’t think anything about it. At first.
“So you’re Scott’s ‘Biggest Fan,’ eh?” she said.
“Yup. That’s me! See?” I held up the sign for the camera and gave a goofy grin. If I thought of it as an acting exercise, this wasn’t so bad.
“Yeah, I know kid, I saw you on the television the other night. Frank…”
“Carson. Frank Carson.”
“Right. Carson. Well, mind if I ask you a few questions?”
Gold Medal Murder Page 8
