“All I have to say is this,” Kyle said, narrowing his eyes. “Whoever rid the world of Jack Broughton deserves a medal!”
With that he went back to his law books.
“What did he have on you, Kyle?” Nancy repeated softly. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise. You have my word.”
He remained turned away from her, but she could see the tension in his back.
“I’m asking you first, Kyle,” she continued, “because I care about you. Bess is a very special friend of mine, and I don’t want to see her hurt. But if I have to, I’ll start asking other people. I’d rather not, because just asking questions can start rumors. So I’d like to hear it straight from you. What was Broughton holding over you?”
Kyle searched her face, as if asking himself if he dared trust her. At last he gave a sharp nod. “A lot,” he said almost in a whisper. “A whole lot.”
“Something serious, you mean?”
He gave an odd laugh. “Is homicide serious enough for you? I was tried as a juvenile, and the records were supposedly sealed, but Broughton managed to ferret it all out.”
“You killed somebody?” Nancy asked in horror.
“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t. But I couldn’t prove it,” he replied. “If only . . .”
He covered his face with his hands for a moment, then took them down and said, “What happened was this. I was leaving a basketball game one night with my friend Terry. We were both fourteen. And this guy we knew—Jim, an eleventh-grader—offered us a ride in this fancy car. We figured it was his father’s, right? How were we supposed to know he’d stolen it?”
He stopped to rub the back of his neck, then continued. “So we’re cruising along, listening to a tape, when a cop gets on our tail and turns on the blinkers. Jim steps on it and tries to lose the cop, but he skids on some wet leaves and wraps the car around a big tree. Terry’s thrown out and killed instantly, and I’ve got a broken arm and glass cuts all over my face. Wouldn’t you know it? Jim wasn’t touched. And while I’m lying there in pain, he crawls past me and shoves me over behind the wheel, to make it look like I was the driver!”
“Oh, no, how awful!” Nancy exclaimed. “The police didn’t believe him, did they?”
Kyle’s face and voice were eerily calm as he said, “I think they must have suspected the truth, but they couldn’t prove it any more than I could. It was a matter of my word against Jim’s. In the end, his lawyer got him off with a plea of grand theft—auto, and I was put on two years’ probation. Of course, I stayed out of trouble for those two years, and eventually the whole thing was mostly forgotten. Until Broughton came along, that is.”
Nancy said, “I can see why you’re bitter. But why were you willing to buy his silence? You didn’t do anything to be ashamed of.”
“Look at it this way,” he replied. “You’re on a committee that’s looking over law school applications. You’ve got ten applicants for every spot. It figures you’ll cross people off any way you can, right? And if you’re choosing between two people who’ve got about the same qualifications, and someone named Jack Broughton gives you evidence that one of them might just be an ex-car thief who was responsible for the death of his best friend, then your decision about who to pick gets a lot easier.”
“That’s not fair!” Nancy burst out. “But I do hear what you’re saying.”
“And what would the cops think if they found and started checking out my record?” Kyle continued. “I can’t believe they believe that burglary story any more than I do. So here I am, a ready-made fall guy with a record. Even if they didn’t find enough evidence to indict me, the word would get around, and I’d always be under suspicion. I can kiss my legal career goodbye, at the least.”
Nancy filed his comments away for further study and said, “But, Kyle, once the police learn that Broughton was a blackmailer, it will open up lots of suspects and possibilities. Maybe he learned something from the files here and was using it against somebody. This somebody may have killed him instead of paying the blackmail. I can’t believe you’re the first person he blackmailed. I bet he was blackmailing people at his last job, too, and one of them might have followed him to River Heights.”
Kyle’s face brightened for a moment, then fell again. “Nice try, Nancy,” he said. “But there’s still the matter of my record. Once that comes out, I’m finished, even if I do have an alibi for the time of Broughton’s murder.”
“You told me you were at the movies,” Nancy said. “Er—what was it you said you saw?”
Something in her tone must have alerted him. He looked up at her with sharpened attention and said, “Danger by Moonlight. It’s playing at the Keith. What’s the matter—you want me to tell you the plot?”
Nancy shook her head. “I’m sorry, Kyle. Danger by Moonlight was playing at the Keith, but it closed two days ago. Now they’re showing something called Avenue of Shame.”
“Oh, right.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I must have gotten the titles mixed up.”
Nancy studied her hands. “And the plots, too?” she asked. “I don’t think so. I’m sorry, Kyle, but I don’t believe you were at the movies last night. And that makes me wonder what you were doing at the time Jack Broughton was killed.”
He pushed his chair back and stood up. Nancy took a step back, toward the door.
“That’s what you’re wondering, is it?” Kyle said in a tone that oozed menace. “I don’t think you’re wondering at all. Your mind’s made up already. You’ve already tried and convicted me, haven’t you? Well, fine.”
He took a step in her direction, and Nancy got ready to defend herself against a sudden attack.
“But let me tell you something,” he continued. “If you’re really interested in finding the person who killed Jack Broughton, you won’t have to go far from home. Because the murderer is none other than the eminent attorney Mr. Carson Drew, your father.”
Chapter
Six
NANCY WAS FURIOUS. How dare Kyle accuse her father of being a murderer! Her father was one of the most respected citizens of River Heights. She almost slipped and started to yell at him but stopped herself just in time. She was in the middle of an investigation and couldn’t afford to let her emotions interfere with her judgment in the case.
“That’s an extremely serious charge,” she said icily. “You’d better be able to back it up.”
“You bet I can,” he replied angrily. “And don’t think I’m happy about this. Carson Drew was a hero of mine—until last night. Now I don’t know what to think.”
“What makes you think my father is connected to Broughton’s death?” she demanded.
Kyle turned his back on her and walked toward one of the bookshelves. As he fingered the spine of a volume of appellate court decisions, he said, “This may take a minute, but let me do it in my own way. You’re right about one thing. I didn’t go to that movie last night. I saw it a few nights ago.” He turned toward Nancy, almost pleading with her. “It was the first thing that came to mind when I thought I needed an alibi. The truth is, I spent most of the time in question downstairs, across the street from the entrance to the building.”
“Why? What were you doing there?”
“Trying to work up the nerve to come up here and tell Broughton to go jump in the lake,” he said bitterly. “I knew it meant the end of my dream of becoming a lawyer, but I couldn’t stand to let that leech go on sucking my blood!”
“And when did you finally come back up here?” Nancy asked.
“I didn’t,” he replied. He held out his hands in a gesture that begged for her understanding. “I couldn’t do it! I kept telling myself that I could find a better way out of the trap I was in, that I didn’t have to give up everything. But deep down I knew that I just didn’t have the guts to confront him and let everything come out.”
“Exactly when were you across the street?”
“I left the office between five and five-thirty,” he said. “I meant to come back af
ter everybody left. I grabbed a sandwich in the coffee shop, then stood in a doorway down the block, arguing with myself, for a long time. Finally I just went home.”
“ ‘A long time’?” Nancy quoted. “How long? An hour? Two hours?”
Kyle glanced to either side, as if expecting to find an answer there. “I don’t know,” he said. “When did you get here? I left right after I saw you show up. I was afraid you’d see me and mention it to Bess. I had told her I had to work late, you know.”
Nancy nodded. “All right. I got here at seven, give or take a minute or two. And you were watching the entrance the whole time, from just after five-thirty until seven? That makes you a very important witness, Kyle. You probably saw the murderer!”
“I think I did,” he said wearily. “I already told you. Your father showed up a little before six. I was surprised to see him because I knew he was supposed to be out of town. He arrived in a taxi, with a briefcase and a small suitcase, and went into the building. And when I went home, he still hadn’t come out!”
Nancy stared at him. “That’s impossible!” she declared. “He wasn’t in the office when I went upstairs. You must have been seeing things!”
“Maybe he hid when he heard you coming,” Kyle said. “Because I do know I saw him go into the building. I thought it was odd for him to show up then, but I didn’t really think about it until this morning when I found out about Broughton.”
“This morning? Or last night?” Nancy said. “I have only your word that you were down in the street all that time.” Nancy, who rarely got angry, found herself on the verge of losing her temper. “Did you go up to the office after all and have your face-off with Broughton? Maybe he pushed you a little too far. Is that the way it was, Kyle? And maybe this story about my father is made up to keep people from noticing that you had both the opportunity and the motive to kill Jack Broughton.”
Kyle’s face reddened and he took a quick step toward her, fists raised to the level of his chest. “You’re not going to frame me for this murder, Nancy Drew,” he lashed out. “Don’t think you will. I’ll fight you any way I can.”
Nancy jumped aside as he stormed out the door. For a moment she considered going after him, but what was the point? She couldn’t force him to talk.
She knew it had been a mistake to accuse him like that. Ordinarily, she might have kept her suspicions to herself to avoid spooking him, but she wasn’t at her best just then. She had to admit that Kyle’s story about her father had rattled her.
Why on earth had he invented such a lie? Carson Drew had given Kyle his first real job, with real responsibilities, in a real law firm. Kyle ought to be grateful to him. Instead he was throwing mud at him.
Nancy asked herself how well she really knew Kyle. Not very well, it seemed. He certainly wasn’t acting like the same guy she had arranged to date one of her best friends! Unless . . .
What if he sincerely believed he had seen her father entering the building? It had been dark, after all. He could easily have made a mistake, especially if he only caught a glimpse from the side or the back.
The explanation made sense, but how could she persuade Kyle that it was right? The way he felt about her right then, he probably wouldn’t listen to her even if she were screaming “Fire!”
One person might convince him—her father. If he told Kyle where he had been the evening before, Kyle would have to admit his mistake. It had to be done at once, Nancy knew. Kyle had to be stopped before he spread the damaging story.
Nancy picked up the phone on the library table and dialed an extension. “Ms. Hanson, it’s Nancy. Is my father still at the courthouse? You don’t happen to know the room number, do you? Okay, thanks.”
The courthouse was just three minutes away, on the opposite side of Judiciary Square. Nancy walked briskly, breathing in the crisp, pure air and admiring the classical silhouette of the courthouse against a brilliant sky. Leaves of red, yellow, and russet skittered across the sidewalk, urged on by the light breeze.
She spotted her father just outside a courtroom, talking with another attorney. He spotted her, too, and beckoned her over.
“Frank, you’ve met my daughter, Nancy, haven’t you?” he asked, putting an arm around her shoulder.
“I certainly have,” Frank replied, smiling. “I’m a big fan of her work, too. Working on a new case, Nancy?”
Before she could answer, Frank’s smile had vanished. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Carson. Forgive me. I heard the news this morning about that young man in your firm, but it slipped my mind. Excuse me, I’d better run.”
Carson watched him go, then turned back to Nancy. “It’s been that way all morning,” he said in a tired voice. “People don’t know the right thing to say, so they avoid me altogether or get away from me as soon as possible.
“Never mind,” he added stoically. “They’ll get over it. Would you like to have a little late lunch with me?”
“That sounds great,” Nancy replied, glad for a reason to postpone questioning him.
As they walked back across the square to the coffee shop, Carson said, “This liability case is starting to look tough. Never mind. No talking business at lunch—it ruins the digestion.”
After a brief wait they got a booth, and Carson ordered a large salad and an iced tea. Nancy asked for a grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, french fries, and a root beer.
Her father made a face. “You’re so lucky. You don’t have to worry about your weight or your cholesterol,” he remarked. “Or your digestion.”
“Yet!” Nancy replied, laughing. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “Dad? There’s something I need to talk to you about. Kyle told me that he saw you arrive at the office yesterday evening at a little before six.”
Carson looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Nancy, I’m disappointed in you,” he said. “I thought you agreed to tell me when you were starting to dig into Jack Broughton’s death.”
Nancy felt her cheeks grow red at his reproach. “Dad,” she said softly but firmly, “you told me you wanted me to tell you what I was doing. Fine. But you can’t expect me to check in with you every hour. I have to follow up any leads I come across, the way I would in any case. Sure, this case is different. I’m the one who discovered the body, for one thing. And I’m your daughter. Anything that affects you affects me, too—such as rumors that place you at the scene of the crime.”
Her father gave her an odd look. “You mean place me at my office? Why on earth shouldn’t I be there?”
Nancy gaped at him. “Well—were you there last night?”
He sat back as the iced tea and soda arrived, then said, “Yes, I was. Just as Kyle told you.”
It took Nancy a moment to believe her own ears. “Dad!” she exclaimed. “You were in the office from six o’clock on last night? But—why didn’t you tell me? Or the police?”
“Whoa,” Carson said, holding up his hand. “Not so fast. First of all, I wasn’t there from six on, I was there at six, or thereabouts. I went by to drop off some things to be typed and to pick up a couple of files I needed to study before going to court today. I don’t suppose I was upstairs for more than five or ten minutes, at the most.”
Nancy took a moment to let this new information sink in. Then she asked, “What about Jack Broughton? Did you see him?”
“No. I did notice a light in the library, but I didn’t go down that way to see who was there. I was too tired, to tell the truth. So I simply picked up what I needed from my office, left the dictation cassettes for Ms. Hanson, and left. Then, on the way home, I stopped at the Heights Café and ate so Hannah wouldn’t have the bother of fixing my dinner. I was home by seven-thirty or so.”
Their sandwiches arrived. Carson asked for the check, to avoid a delay later.
“But, Dad,” Nancy began, “why didn’t you say anything about this last night?”
Carson pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes. “Nancy, honey,” he said at last. “I was very, very tired last n
ight. And when you told me about Jack, I was shocked. It just didn’t occur to me.”
Nancy took a bite of her sandwich and frowned. “One thing I don’t understand,” she said. “Kyle says he didn’t see you leave.”
“He was keeping the building under surveillance? How peculiar,” Carson said, surprised. “Well, he obviously doesn’t know there’s a door out the back of the lobby to the parking lot. I went out that way because I’d left my car in the lot while I was out of town.
“We’d better eat and get back,” he added. “My case has been recessed until tomorrow, but I’ve got a load of work to tackle.”
As they left the coffee shop, Nancy said, “You’d better tell the police you were at the office last night, Dad, and right away. You might have been on the spot when Jack Broughton was killed.”
“I realize that,” he replied. “Actually, I did tell that detective this morning. He seemed very concerned about my admission. I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid I might be a suspect in this murder case.”
• • •
The reception area of Carson Drew’s office seemed jammed with large men. When Nancy counted, she realized there were only five of them. One of the five was Detective Washington.
“Oh, Mr. Drew,” Ms. Hanson said, her face filled with relief. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. These gentlemen—”
Washington stepped forward. “Mr. Drew?” he said. “Could you spare me a little more time, sir? Some questions have been raised about your possible involvement in the death of Jack Broughton.”
“Involvement, Detective?” Carson repeated. “I can’t say I like your choice of words.”
“Yes, sir,” Washington said. “Er—the suggestion has been made that there may be some irregularities in your financial dealings with your elderly clients and that the deceased discovered this and threatened to bring it to public notice. Do you have any comment?”
“I certainly do,” Carson said vigorously. “It is pure slander and totally without foundation. And I’d like very much to know the source of this so-called suggestion. I’m sure it’s no one reputable.”
False Pretenses Page 4
