034 Vanishing Act

by Carolyn Keene

  "No, except for—except for Martin Rosenay," Nancy said. All of a sudden she knew exactly what had happened.

  So did Jesse. "Rosenay! Of course! He must have finally figured out that I was the supplier. He'd do anything to sell that junk of his. He must have called all the press in town, that little—" He stopped. "Well, there's certainly no reason for you to keep quiet now."

  "I guess not," Nancy agreed quietly. "I'm so sorry, Jesse. I hope you know I didn't expect things to turn out this way."

  "Oh, I know," said Jesse. More cheerfully, he added, "It could never have lasted, anyway. I always told myself that. And maybe I can fend them off for a while, at least long enough for me to track down a lawyer."

  "Good idea," said Nancy. "And speaking of tracking down people—I'd better call Mr. Thomas at TVR and let him know what's happened."

  "Why?" Jesse inquired. "He's sure to find out soon enough, the way things are going!"

  "Yes, but it wouldn't be fair to let this kind of news catch him unprepared," said Nancy. "He'll have every reason to be angry at me if the regular networks scoop him. I'm not saying he'll send reporters out here," she added hastily when she saw Jesse's face, "but he should know."

  But Mr. Thomas's personal line was busy. It was busy a couple of minutes later when Nancy tried again, and a couple of minutes after that. At last she gave up.

  "We'll just drive back and tell him in person," she said. "Is there a back door?"

  "In the kitchen." Jesse led the way, but just before Nancy opened the door he put out a hand to stop her. "Do you three think you can come back later?" he asked almost shyly. "It would be nice to have some supporting troops around. I have a feeling this is all going to get pretty heavy."

  "Sure," Nancy said immediately. "It's really the least we can do. Okay, Bess and George, when I open the door, run for the car. And don't answer any questions."

  They were almost to the car when the reporter at the front door saw them. "Girls! Girls!" he shouted, racing toward them. "What were you doing in there? Where's he been all this time?"

  "No comment," Nancy said firmly as they clambered into their seats. Frantically the reporter beckoned to the cameraman to come and join him in front of the car. "You'd better get out of the way when I start this thing," Nancy muttered under her breath.

  To her relief, the reporter and cameraman scuttled out of the way once the engine turned over.

  "Okay, we're off," Nancy said.

  "You solved the case, Nan," Bess said. But she didn't sound too enthusiastic about it.

  "Yes," Nancy agreed wearily. "And I'm not sure that's a good thing at all."

  "And he's been living there all this time?" Winslow Thomas asked in amazement.

  "That's right," said Nancy. "Giving guitar lessons and being a caretaker."

  "Well, blow me down," said Mr. Thomas, and he really did sound as though someone had blown him down. He sat at his desk a moment, considering—and then stood up and shook Nancy's hand vigorously.

  "Very impressive work, Nancy," he said. "As you know, I had my doubts, but you're obviously very good at what you do. Congratulations."

  "Thank you," Nancy began. "I'm happy to have cleared up one aspect of this case, anyway. But Mr. Thomas, do you think you could possibly downplay this story for a few days? I know it's big news for a station like yours, but Jesse seems—well, he seems a little out of it. I think it would be unkind to make him talk now."

  "I think you're right," said Mr. Thomas. "Let's be as kind as possible to the poor blighter." Where does he get these odd expressions? Nancy wondered irrelevantly. "I tell you what," Mr. Thomas went on. "I've got an appointment now, but before I go I'll have my secretary call a meeting of all the TVR executives so that we can

  decide how to handle this story. First of all, we'll schedule a press conference. When Jesse's feeling more on top of things—"

  "Jesse who?"

  It was Renee. She and Vint Wylie were standing in the office doorway—and both of them looked as though they'd seen a ghost.

  "What are you doing here, Renee?" Mr. Thomas snapped. "I thought you weren't on today."

  "I'm not," Renee said in a strangled voice. "Vint and I just stopped in to pick up something I'd forgotten. Mr. Thomas, wh-who are you talking about?"

  "Well, I have to confess I wasn't going to tell the staff yet," said Mr. Thomas, "but it seems Jesse Slade has come back to life."

  "Oh, no!" Renee put her hand to her throat. "I—I can't breathe!" she cried. "This is terrible!"

  And she burst into tears. "I can't handle this!" she cried, and raced out of the office.

  "Renee! Wait!" Vint called, rushing after her.

  Mr. Thomas shook his head. "These temperamental stars!" he said with a chuckle. "Well, I'm off." He gave them a cheery wave as he disappeared down the hall.

  "I wonder if Dan's around," Bess said hopefully. "He should hear about this, don't you think?"

  "I definitely think so," Nancy said. "Let's go to his office and see."

  Dan was in, and he was as amazed by their story as Mr. Thomas had been.

  "The poor, poor guy," he said, shaking his head. "When you think of what he's been through—he's got to feel totally shell shocked. Look, Nancy, do me a favor. If he wants somewhere to stay until all the publicity dies down, will you give him my address?" He was scribbling it down as he spoke. "I won't call him and bother him, but tell him he can call me or come by any time he wants."

  "That's great, Dan," Nancy said warmly. "I wouldn't be surprised if he takes you up on it. We're heading back there now, and I'll tell him first thing."

  "What time is it?" George asked as they passed the sign for Los Gatos. "I feel as if we've been doing nothing but drive for about ten hours."

  "It's six," Nancy replied. "We'll just check in with Jesse, and then we can go back to the hotel and call it a day."

  "And get some supper," Bess interjected.

  "And get some supper," said Nancy. "Oh, no. What's going on?"

  She'd just turned onto the dirt road leading to Jesse's house. "I bet every camera crew in Los Angeles is here," Nancy said hopelessly.

  It certainly looked that way. The little dirt road was crawling with people. Cars and camera trucks were parked all around the house. Reporters were thronging the front yard—and the hill in back was packed with spectators. The little house, all of its lights out, looked as though it was under siege.

  "Oh, why can't they leave him alone!" Bess cried. "We don't have a chance of getting in to see him!"

  "I'm afraid you're right, but we have to give it a try," Nancy said.

  Just as the girls got out of the car, a roar went up from the crowd. Nancy turned quickly.

  A light had just been turned on in Jesse's living room. Now the front door was opening a crack— and then all the way. And now Jesse was walking out onto the front step.

  He stood there for a second, silent, making no attempt to shield his eyes from the glare of the flashes. "All right! All right! I'll tell you everything you want to know!" he shouted at the crowd.

  At that exact moment a gunshot rang out— and Jesse Slade crumpled to the porch.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Another shot ripped through the silence— and then there was instant noise and pandemonium.

  "We've got to help Jesse!" Nancy shouted to Bess and George. But the screaming, panicky mob that was now rushing away from the house knocked her down before she could take a step. Dizzily she struggled to her feet and forced herself upright into the sea of elbows and knees. At last she pushed her way to Jesse's front steps, Bess and George right behind her.

  Jesse was hunched over, covered with blood. When he lifted his head, the skin on his face was pulled tight with pain.

  "Just—just my arm," he gasped. "Lucky. But get me inside."

  Nancy was already moving. She, George, and Bess dragged him into the house and slammed the door. Just then a third shot rang out.

  "Keep down, everybody!" Nancy ordered as sh
e bolted the door. "Call the police, George— and tell them to bring an ambulance!"

  She threw herself to the ground, slithered across the floor on her stomach, and lifted her head to peek cautiously out the window. On the road dozens of shrieking people were rushing to get into their cars. Nancy shuddered. Not all of them were driving away, but most of them were staying put, secure in their cars.

  "Let's get you cleaned up, Jesse," she said briskly, turning away from the window. Quickly she tore his shirt open at the shoulder. Then she sighed with relief.

  "You were right. It's only your arm," she said. "I can't get the bullet out, though—it's too deep. It must hurt incredibly."

  "Burns," said Jesse through clenched teeth. "Who do you think is after me?"

  "You'd know that better than I would," Nancy said as she hastily tied a strip of shirt around the wound. But Jesse just shook his head. She could tell that the effort of talking was too much for him.

  "Nancy," said Bess in a trembling voice, "do

  you realize we're trapped in here with a killer outside waiting for us?"

  "Don't worry, Bess," said Nancy as calmly as she could. "The police should be here any minute."

  "But what if he's right outside the door?"

  "The door's locked. We've done everything we can. They'll be here before you know it," Nancy assured her friend. She only hoped it was true.

  Jesse moaned. His lips were gray now, and his eyes kept rolling back in his head. Nancy checked his pulse. She could hardly feel it—and the bandage she'd put around his arm was already drenched in blood.

  "They've got to get here soon," she repeated. "We've done everything we can."

  But ten minutes crawled by before Nancy and her friends heard the welcome sound of the police siren.

  "They're here!" Bess was almost sobbing with relief as she ran to the front door and yanked it open.

  In just seconds the house was swarming with people. The reporters piled out of their cars and were furiously snapping pictures again. Two paramedics bundled Jesse onto a stretcher. They were pushing through the crowd to carry him out the door when Jesse whispered hoarsely, "Nancy," and stopped their progress.

  "Here I am," she said, moving over to stand next to the stretcher.

  "Where are you staying, in case I need to get in touch with you?" he asked, and Nancy told him the name of their hotel. "A friend of mine at TVR has a place where you can stay when you get out of the hospital," she added, "so you won't need to come back here if you don't want to."

  He smiled. "I—don't," he whispered. His head was lolling sleepily to the side now.

  "We'd better take him in, miss," said one of the paramedics. "You can call to see how he is later."

  Jesse gripped Nancy's hand for a second, and then the paramedics carried him away.

  Nancy felt tears stinging her eyes as she watched them load the stretcher onto the ambulance. What have I done to that poor guy? she thought. If I'd never come looking for him, this might never have happened! If only—

  "Miss?" A police officer was standing at her elbow. "I'm Officer Mclntyre. I wonder if I could get a statement from you."

  When she'd told him everything, he shook his head. "Not much to go on in the way of suspects," he said.

  "I do know of two possible suspects, though," Nancy said and told him about Renee and Vint.

  "That's something, anyway," Officer Mclntyre said. "I'll have someone track them down. But what about this Tommy Road? Do you really think he could still be alive?"

  "I don't know. I just don't know," said Nancy.

  Something flitted across her mind just then, but she didn't have time to identify it before it was gone. "That cliff was so steep I don't see how anyone could survive a fall from it. But I can't believe a body could disappear without a trace, either."

  "Stranger things have happened," said the officer. He turned to a younger officer who'd just come in. "Yes, Rogers? What is it?"

  "This, sir." The younger man held out his hand. "It's a spent rifle cartridge. We found it way up on the hill behind the house. No other signs of the gunman, though."

  Or gunwoman, Nancy said to herself.

  "Probably long gone," said Officer Mclntyre. "But we'll post two guards here overnight, just to make sure." He turned to Nancy. "I'd like your number, in case I need to ask you anything more. Other than that, you and your friends are free to go."

  In silence the three girls drove back through the dark to the hotel. Silent still, they parked the car in the garage, went into the bungalow, and sat down facing one another.

  At last Nancy spoke. "We never got any supper," she said. "Anyone hungry?"

  "I'm not, that's for sure," Bess said in a small voice. Then she burst into tears.

  "I feel so terrible for Jesse!" she wept. "He's been through so much. And he's—he's not even like a real person any more. There's nobody inside. He's just a—a robot!"

  "I feel bad, too," said George. "It was horrible to see someone who'd once been such a star living like that. I wish we'd never come here in the first place."

  When Nancy spoke, it was as much to reassure herself as her friends. "Anybody would get a little strange living alone for so long—especially with that cliff scene in his past," she said. "He'll become himself again now that he's out in the real world again. He won't be able to help it. Someone that talented can't hide from things forever."

  "As long as whoever's after him doesn't get him," George said darkly.

  Nancy shivered. "That's the thing I do feel awful about," she said. "If we hadn't found him, the person with the rifle wouldn't have, either."

  Then she squared her jaw and sat up straighter. "We'll have to catch that person, that's all," she said. "We started this, and we're going to finish it. But we need a good night's sleep first. I'd better call Ned. He'll be wondering what's happened to me."

  "Hello?" came Ned's groggy voice after she'd dialed his number. She was using the phone next to her bed.

  "Oh, Ned, I'm so sorry!" said Nancy, aghast. "I forgot about the time difference. I'll call you back tomorrow—"

  "No, you won't. Talk to me now," said Ned. k Tm getting more awake every second. How's the case going?"

  "Oh, Ned . . ." Nancy poured it all out to him, and when she was done she was almost in tears herself.

  "This just isn't the way cases are supposed to go," she said in a wobbly voice. 'Tm supposed to come in and solve them, and then everyone is happier and I can go home. But this time it seems as though I've only made things worse!"

  "Not true," Ned said emphatically. "You've helped that guy, whether it seems like it now or not. And you'll catch whoever shot him—you always do, you know. I'm not even going to tell you to be careful this time. You just go out and get that gunman. But be careful," he added at the last minute.

  Nancy giggled. "I love you, Ned. I feel a lot better now. I'm really glad I called—even if I did deprive you of your beauty sleep."

  "Hey, I'm already gorgeous enough," Ned said lightly. "Now you go and get some beauty sleep yourself—not that you need it, either. And give me a call when you get a chance. I love you."

  The phone woke her early the next morning.

  "Nancy?" It was a man's voice, hoarse and hesitant, and for a second Nancy was too sleepy to recognize it.

  "It's Jesse. I'm sorry to call you, but I didn't have anyone else to call."

  "Hi, Jesse," Nancy said, struggling to sound alert. "How's your arm doing?"

  His answer startled her. "The arm doesn't matter. Nancy, I'm in trouble. Really big trouble."

  Nancy was wide-awake now. "What's the matter?" she asked.

  "The matter is that there are two policemen standing at the foot of my bed right now. And they're here to arrest me!"

  Chapter Fifteen

  "Yes, I think we've finally got the proof we need," the police officer told Nancy. "It will be nice to see this case closed. I'm sorry for Slade, though. It doesn't look good for him."

  Jesse had been
so frightened by the sight of the police at the foot of his bed that he'd panicked. He hadn't been under arrest at all—the police had just wanted to ask him a few questions. But the direction the questions had led was all too clear to Nancy.

  "Where's your evidence?" Nancy asked, controlling her anger.

  When she'd finished talking to Jesse Nancy had woken George. Bess had been so sleepy that

  Nancy had had to give up trying to rouse her. She'd left a note before she and George hurried into clothes and rushed off to the police station to see what was going on. Now they were talking to one of the men who'd questioned Jesse—Officer Squires, a tall, gangly man with an infuriatingly patronizing expression.

  "We've got some very convincing evidence," he said. Nancy half expected him to add, "Young ladies." "Last night someone delivered us an anonymous package. I'm the one who opened it." For some reason he seemed quite proud of himself. "Inside there was a bloodstained T-shirt— and a note. Here's the note, if you'd like to see it. Careful not to touch it, though."

  Nancy and George stared at the note. It had been scribbled in pencil on a torn sheet of notebook paper.

  This shirt once belonged to Tommy Road, who was viciously murdered by Jesse Slade. I saw it happen and found the body. Slade's been hiding out all this time—but he can't get away from justice.

  It was signed, "A Friend of the Law." "But this is ridiculous!" Nancy protested. "There's no way to prove that the shirt is Tommy's—or that whoever wrote this note witnessed anything at all!" "There's no way to prove it," agreed Officer Squires. "But you may be interested in knowing that we did a lab check on the T-shirt. The blood type is the same as Tommy Road's. And the bloodstains are the right age."

  He stared smugly at her, and for a second Nancy could think of nothing to say.

  I know Tommy Road's not dead, she said to herself. I'm just sure of it. I've got to keep Jesse from going to trial for murder! But how do you explain a hunch to a police officer?