Scent of Danger

by Carolyn Keene

  As Zoe left, Jean explained, “Zoe always found violence hard to take. Even when we were children.”

  “When you were together in France, you mean?” Nancy asked.

  “Exactly,” Jean told her. “Zoe is my little cousin,” he explained. “And soon the Mathieu cousins will be together again, making perfume and getting rich in New York.”

  He paused. “First, though, I need to get rid of you.” Carefully he opened the door to the holding room. “Walk inside. Now!” he barked when she hesitated.

  Jean pushed her ahead of him into the room. The African cobra was coiled in a small pen in one corner, watching them warily. The room’s temperature had been adjusted to resemble its native desert, and Nancy felt herself starting to sweat.

  “The snake is hungry today,” Jean whispered. “Zoe said they only feed it once a week.”

  As Nancy watched in horror, Jean threw a rock at the motionless snake. It hissed a little and lifted its head, swaying slightly from side to side.

  Jean threw a second rock, and the cobra reared up into striking position. Its forked tongue flicked swiftly in and out, and the hooded head seemed to grow larger.

  Nancy felt herself go rigid with fear. The snake opened its mouth and hissed loudly, revealing long white fangs. Still holding Nancy with his right hand, Jean reached forward and unlatched the door of the pen with his left.

  Sensing danger, the snake struck out. With a final shove Jean pushed Nancy straight toward its lethal fangs!

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  NANCY STUMBLED FORWARD into the pen and nearly fell over the angry cobra. Unable to redirect its strike, the snake shot past her, sinking its fangs harmlessly into the side of the wooden pen.

  Hissing furiously, the cobra freed itself and reared up again. With desperate strength Nancy pushed off with her left foot and leapt backward out of the pen.

  She crashed into Jean, striking out wildly with her fists as she fell. He grunted in pain at the unexpected assault and struck savagely at her with the dart gun.

  As he raised the gun to hit her again, Nancy managed to twist it away from him. Jean grabbed at her arm, but she kicked him hard in the stomach until he loosened his grip.

  The snake hissed loudly from behind her, and she realized that it was about to strike again. As it shot forward she spun around and pumped a dart into it, hitting it squarely in the middle of the head.

  The snake kept coming for a second, then dropped, limply, at Nancy’s feet. Swiftly she turned back and trained the gun on Jean.

  The Frenchman’s face was contorted with anger. He started to lunge at her, then paused as a scream came echoing down the hallway.

  “Jean! Help!”

  “Zoe!” Before Nancy could stop him, he ran out the door in the direction of the scream. With a last look at the cobra, Nancy followed.

  The scene in the hallway was chaotic. Owen and George were holding Zoe. Bess was screaming at the zookeeper. “Where’s Nancy? What have you done to her?”

  Jean came running out and hit Owen in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. He tried to pull Zoe away, but George wouldn’t let go of her arm. “Tell me where Nancy is!” she shouted. “Where’s my friend?”

  “I’m right here, George,” Nancy called back, running down the hall. She pointed the dart gun at Zoe and Jean, shouting, “One more move and I’ll shoot! Put your hands up!”

  Owen got up from the floor as the civet thieves slowly complied. “I’ll call the police,” he said faintly.

  “I think you’d better,” Nancy agreed. “These two have got a lot of talking to do.”

  • • •

  “Nancy, I’m sorry. I should never have accused you of not caring,” George said sheepishly. It was late the next morning, and she and Nancy were sitting in George’s living room, waiting for Owen and Bess to arrive. They were going to the zoo to talk to Maurice Berry about getting Owen his job back.

  “I really flew off the handle, didn’t I?” George continued.

  “And I jumped to conclusions. I should have trusted your judgment more,” Nancy admitted.

  “No, you did the right thing,” George said decidedly. “Owen’s behavior did look suspicious, but I’m awfully glad it wasn’t,” she added.

  “So am I,” said Nancy sincerely. “He’s a great guy.”

  The doorbell rang, and Owen and Bess came in. “Owen gave me a lift over,” Bess explained. “Phew! Your house still smells like perfume!”

  “It’s hard to believe the party was less than a week ago,” Nancy said as they returned to the living room. “It seems like months.”

  “You guys never told us what happened at the station house,” Bess said. Nancy and Owen had gone with the police the night before when they came to arrest Jean and Zoe.

  “Jean was pretty tight lipped, but Zoe confessed right away,” Nancy said. “It turns out Jacques Mathieu was their grandfather. When he died she discovered the formula for Belle Soirée among his papers, but instead of turning it over to the company that had bought his company and rightfully owned it, she decided to reproduce the fragrance and market it herself.”

  Nancy shuddered, remembering Zoe’s twisted expression as she told the story. The zookeeper had been nearly hysterical. “Apparently, she really believed that the formula was rightfully hers. So she enlisted her cousin Jean to help her.”

  “He’s the spitting image of his grandfather Jacques Mathieu,” Bess said. “Why were they stealing the civets and not just buying the oil?”

  “Zoe was afraid other perfume makers would notice if she bought the oil from the regular suppliers,” Nancy explained. “There are only two or three of them, and it seemed risky to her. So when she heard that the River Heights Zoo was starting a civet colony, she applied for a job there.”

  “Don’t tell me she wasn’t really a zookeeper!” Owen asked in surprise. “She seemed to know what she was doing.”

  “No, she really was a zookeeper,” Nancy told him. “She said she loved animals.”

  “Then how could she allow them to be treated so badly?” Bess burst out. “That warehouse was awful.”

  “She said she didn’t know,” Nancy said. “Jean insisted on handling all those details.”

  “And he was completely cold-blooded,” Bess said with a shudder. “Look how many times he tried to kill you!”

  Nancy nodded. “And he could have killed Tyler,” she reminded them grimly. “It seems that Tyler found out about the civets and saw his chance to make some quick cash. He was blackmailing Zoe, so Jean decided to get rid of him.”

  “Unbelievable.” Owen shook his head. “And I thought the only things zoologists had to worry about were wild animals!”

  The others laughed. “Speaking of which, we’d better get over to the zoo,” Nancy said. “Mr. Berry asked us to be there by noon.”

  George and Owen drove to the zoo together in Owen’s car, while Bess went with Nancy in the Mustang. As they were approaching the entrance, Bess asked, “Will they let us in?”

  “They should,” Nancy replied, smiling. “Still, let’s park in the staff lot, just in case.”

  Owen parked next to Nancy, and the four of them walked across the lot to the back gate. “It all looks so harmless during the day,” Bess marveled.

  “Especially now that Jean and Zoe are behind bars,” George agreed.

  When they arrived at Maurice Berry’s office, the director stood up to greet them. “Please accept my apologies,” he said. “You should be very proud of yourselves,” he continued. “You’ve done us a great service.”

  “Nancy was the brains of the operation,” Bess said loyally. “We just helped.”

  Mr. Berry turned to Nancy. “I’m glad to find out first-hand that your reputation is so well deserved,” he told her. “Thank you again.”

  Nancy smiled—it always felt great to solve a case. “I was glad to help,” she said honestly.

  The phone rang in Mr. Berry’s office, and the others waited whi
le he answered it. There was a long silence as he listened to the person on the other end. Then he said, “Oh, good. Thanks very much for calling.”

  “That was the hospital. Tyler is going to be all right,” he announced, hanging up the receiver. “They got him there in time and administered an antidote to the poison.”

  “What happens to him after he’s recovered?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know. He certainly won’t be working here,” Mr. Berry told her. “We need to find two new zookeepers for World of Africa.”

  He smiled at Owen. “I wish you were graduating this year, Mr. Harris. I’d hire you in a second.”

  Owen beamed. George asked, “Does this mean he can continue working on his project?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Berry confirmed. He turned to Owen. “I’ll even speak to your college about a second internship this summer, if you’re interested.”

  “So you’d be around all summer!” George said, her eyes shining.

  “I’d love it. Thank you, sir,” Owen said, returning George’s smile.

  “Can we go see the civets now?” Bess asked. “I’m so glad the police found all of them!”

  “A little the worse for wear, but they’re adjusting well,” Mr. Berry said. He walked them to World of Africa, where all ten civets were scampering about in their special environment.

  Owen, George, Nancy, and Bess watched with delight as the civets wrestled playfully near the front of the enclosure. “They’re so cute,” George said with a sigh. “It’s hard to believe anyone would mistreat them.”

  “Or that they smell so bad,” Bess added, wrinkling her nose. She turned to Owen. “You’d better be careful you don’t pick it up, working with them. I don’t want my cousin dating a skunk!”

  Owen laughed and planted a kiss on George’s nose. “You don’t need to worry about that!”

  Suddenly Nancy snapped her fingers. “Oh, I forgot! Speaking of smells—” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a little glass vial. She handed it to Bess, saying, “I thought you’d like to have this.”

  Bess unstoppered the vial and sniffed it, then squealed with delight. “Nancy, this is Belle Soirée! Where did you get it?”

  Nancy smiled at her friend’s excitement. “I found it in Zoe’s office. I don’t think she’ll have much use for it in prison.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Bess dabbed some on her wrists and neck and offered it to the others. “Anyone?”

  “Phew, what is that?” Owen waved his hand in front of his nose. “It reeks in here!”

  “This is the most famous and expensive perfume in the whole world,” Bess told him, exaggerating slightly. “It’s made from civet oil.”

  “I’d rather smell like the civet!” Owen exclaimed, holding his nose.

  The others laughed, and after a minute a reluctant Bess joined in. “Men!” she huffed. “You have no taste.” Then, as George looked daggers at her, she added, “In perfume! You have no taste in perfume!”

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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