The Haunted Carousel

by Carolyn Keene

  “I can imagine.” So this, Nancy reflected, was why the lead horse had to be replaced! Why had Leo Novak told her a different story?

  Aloud, she asked, “Do you still have the horse?”

  “Oh, yes! I’m too fond of it to ever give it away, though right now it’s at the River Heights Day-Care Center. I lent it so the children who stay there while their parents are working can have the fun of riding it.”

  Joy told Nancy that before her father became head of his own machine-tool company, he had started out as a lathe hand in a machine shop and was an expert handyman and machinist. “He mounted my horse on a special hobby- 'norse s'tandx ‘tlnat ’ne macie ’ti'imse'lt, so it would jog up and down when I rode it. The stand even has a music box inside that winds up and plays when the horse gallops!”

  “Sounds wonderful!’’ Nancy said, dimpling. “I’d love to see it.”

  “I’ll take you to the day-care center some

  time and show it to you,” Joy promised. “Anyhow, it wasn’t until I heard about the haunted carousel on the TV news that I realized the Wonderland Gallop was back in Riverside Park—so naturally I had to go see it again. And then, of course, I read in the paper how you had agreed to try to solve the mystery—which is what gave me the idea of asking you to solve one for me.”

  “You’ve got me terribly curious,” said Nancy. “Tell me about your mystery.”

  “Maybe ‘riddle’ would be a better word for it,” Joy began slowly.

  Before she could go any further, the butler announced lunch. So Joy continued her story at the table. “Just before my father died,” she related with a slight catch in her voice, “he told me he’d left something for me in the lower right-hand drawer of his desk in the study. This is what I found.”

  She handed Nancy an envelope addressed to My darling daughter Joy. “Open it.”

  Nancy did so. Inside was a slip of paper bearing an odd message:

  Iris = ? = Old Glory “How strange!” Nancy murmured. “Do you

  have any clue at all as to what it may mean?” As Joy nodded in response, Nancy saw her eyes mist over. “Iris was my mother’s name.” Nancy hesitated a moment. “Do you have any recollection of her?”

  “None at all,” Joy said sadly. “I don’t even know what she looked like. Daddy didn’t even have a snapshot to remember her by—and he always regretted it.”

  “Hmph!” Mrs. Yawley, who was lunching with them, had been glowering at the two girls ever since they began their conversation. Now she uttered an audible sniff of disapproval. “Is it really necessary to discuss all this with a stranger, Joy?”

  The teenage redhead gave her a calmly defiant look. “I invited Nancy here to help me find out what Daddy’s letter means, Aunt Selma. I can hardly expect her to do that, can I, without her knowing a few facts about my family.”

  The thin-lipped woman sniffed again and frowned irately, but remained silent for the rest of the meal.

  Joy told Nancy that her parents had been young and poor when they got married; her mother, unhappily, had not lived long enough to enjoy John Trent’s eventual success. Partly

  because he had no picture of his wife, Mr. Trent had surrounded himself with irises in various forms.

  “For instance, if you’ll notice,’’ Joy went on, “this room has iris-patterned wallpaper. After lunch, I’ll show you some other examples.”

  When they rose from the table, she led Nancy through several rooms, ending up in her father’s study. In every room, there was at least one bowl or vase filled with irises. There were also ceramic and glass likenesses of the flower, wall paintings of irises, iris-decorated drapes, and numerous other such objects or furnishings.

  “Your father must have cherished your mother’s memory a great deal,” Nancy murmured.

  “Yes.” Joy nodded and was silent for a moment, then went on. “Yet because of his grief, Daddy could never bear to talk about her much. So I really know very little about her.”

  “I suspect one of these examples of the iris motif may hold the answer to that cryptic message he left you,” Nancy mused aloud. But for the moment, she was at a loss to unravel the puzzle—even though, privately, she had a feeling at the back of her mind that she had already sighted a clue somewhere in the house. So she asked Joy for time to think over what she had

  just learned, and promised to resume their conversation later.

  After leaving the Trents’ house, Nancy returned to the amusement park. She wanted to ask Leo Novak why he had told her the lead horse was replaced because of breakage, when actually the original had been sold to Joy Trent’s father.

  “Aw, that was way back when the Trent girl was just a little kid,” he retorted impatiently. “It happened when Mr. Ogden owned the carousel—and the trailer. If you don’t believe me, her dad had a photograph taken at the time and gave Ogden a copy—it’s still stuck up on the wall of the trailer. I thought you wanted to know about the last time the lead horse was replaced. The truck accident I told you about happened after I took over the carousel.”

  “I see,” Nancy said politely. “Well, thank you for explaining that to me, Mr. Novak.”

  Her next call was on the owner of the boat that had been stolen on the night she and Ned kept watch on the carousel.

  The owner, a gas station operator named Vic Marsh, told her he had been fishing on the river that night, just below the park, when suddenly he saw the carousel light up and start playing music.

  “Startled me out of my wits!” Marsh added with a chuckle. “So I went ashore and climbed up the hillside to see what was going on. Later on, when I came down again, I saw those two guys making off with my boat. It was too dark to see what they looked like, but I yelled and went after them. It was two against one, so I got roughed up a bit. They knocked me down and shoved off before I could stop them!”

  Nancy’s eyes widened as a thought struck her. The boat thieves could have been the two dark figures whom she and Ned had seen examining the carousel!

  11. Romany Rendezvous

  The more Nancy considered the question, the more certain she felt that the boat thieves were, indeed, the midnight intruders in the park. Rather than run out into one of the lighted streets that bordered Riverside Park on three sides—and thus run the risk of being spotted and captured—they had cleverly made their getaway in the darkness via the river, in the stolen boat.

  “Did you ever get your boat back?” Nancy asked Vic Marsh.

  “Oh yes, it was found abandoned the next morning, just a little ways downriver.”

  “And where is it now, Mr. Marsh?”

  “Back on its trailer, in my driveway at home.”

  “How was it returned to you?” she inquired. The gas station operator looked puzzled. “I went and picked it up myself, after the cops called me. Why?”

  “Because if no one else handled it in between times, it may still have the thieves’ fingerprints on it.”

  Vic Marsh’s eyes lit up. “Hey, that’s a smart idea!”

  “Any objection if I ask the police to go to your house and check the boat?”

  “Be my guest!”

  Nancy called Police Chief McGinnis from a booth just outside the service station and explained her notion.

  “Right you are, Nancy. I’ll send one of our experts out to dust for prints this afternoon.” The chief sounded enthusiastic. “I’ll let you know the results.”

  Nancy drove directly home, hoping for a quiet hour or two in which to catch up on some chores. As she entered the house, the telephone was ringing.

  When she answered, a pleasant woman’s voice asked to speak to Nancy Drew.

  “This is Nancy Drew,” the girl replied. “Miss Drew, you don’t know me, but I’m the woman in the silver car whom you saw driving away from the Trent house this morning.”

  Nancy felt a thrill of excitement, but struggled to keep her own voice calm and casual. “Oh yes, I remember. But how did you know who I was, or where to reach me?”

  �
��Because I recognized you from your picture in the newspaper story about the haunted carousel.”

  “I see. May I ask who’s calling?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation at the other end of the line. “I’d rather not answer that question for the moment, Miss Drew, if you don’t mind. It happens that I need your help. I wonder if I could meet with you somewhere.” Nancy was only too eager to learn more about her mysterious caller. “When did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “Right away—or as soon as you possibly can,” the woman answered in an urgent voice. “Very well. Would you like to come here?” “Oh—thanks but no, I’d prefer someplace else. If you could meet me at the Romany Tearoom in ten or fiften minutes, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Okay, I’ll be there,” Nancy promised and hung up.

  The tearoom was located among a busy stretch of small shops on the fringe of downtown River Heights. After parking her car, she entered and saw the woman caller waving to

  her from a small, candle-lit table by the big, beige-curtained window.

  “It was very good of you to come, Miss Drew.” The woman smiled and, with a gesture of her hand, invited her guest to have a chair.

  “I must confess, your call has made me very curious,” said Nancy, sitting down.

  “Small wonder! I apologize for being so mysterious, but as I said on the phone, there’s a reason. May I assume you’re a friend of Joy Trent?”

  “Yes, I am,” Nancy answered.

  “Then I’d like to ask you a favor.” The woman indicated a white cardboard box bearing a florist’s label that was lying alongside her purse on the table. “Would you deliver this to Joy this afternoon?”

  Nancy hesitated, troubled. She didn’t know this woman, and no matter how nice she seemed outwardly, she might still mean harm to Joy.

  “I don’t mean to sound impolite or unfriendly,” she murmured aloud, “but may I ask what’s inside?”

  The woman smiled. “You’re quite right to be cautious, Miss Drew—I don’t blame you a bit.” Then she lifted the cover just enough to show that opening it entailed no danger. “But if you’d like to be absolutely sure, you can go and check with the florist.”

  She indicated the name on the box and then pointed out the tearoom window. “His shop is just across the street.”

  Nancy’s slight, cautious frown relaxed into a sudden smile. She had decided to trust her own judgment of the woman’s character. “Very well.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Drew! My name and phone number are inside the box. Would you be kind enough to call me and let me know the outcome of the delivery?”

  As Nancy said yes, a waitress came to their table, carrying a tray of tiny, fancy sandwiches as well as cups, saucers, and a pot of steaming tea.

  “I’m grateful to you for trusting me, Miss Drew.” The woman’s attractive face reflected Nancy’s own smile. “Now let’s have some tea!” Fifteen minutes later, Nancy parted from her mysterious new acquaintance outside the Romany Tearoom. But instead of going straight to her car parked at the curb nearby, she stopped at an outdoor phone booth and called Joy Trent.

  “Hi, Nancy!” the red-haired girl responded. “Don’t tell me you’ve figured out my father’s letter already?”

  Nancy chuckled. “I’m afraid not, Joy. But something else has come up—something rather odd. I’ve been asked to deliver a package to you.”

  “To me?” Joy sounded surprised. “Who’s it from?

  “A woman who refuses to identify herself.” The teenage sleuth briefly explained how the package had been entrusted to her.

  “Oh gosh, now you’ve got me curious! Could you bring it right over?” Joy begged.

  “I’m practically on my way!”

  When Nancy arrived at the Trents’ house, she found Mrs. Yawley on hand with Joy. Judging from her facial expression, the tight-lipped woman was as curious about the package as her niece.

  Nancy debated briefly whether or not to mention that the woman she had met at the Romany Tearoom was the same person she had seen leaving the Trents’ house earlier. But she judged it wiser not to bring this up for the time being. In any case, she had a strong hunch that Mrs. Yawley already suspected who had sent the package.

  Joy took the florist box from Nancy and, with bated breath, untied it and removed the cover. A gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes brightened with excitement.

  “Nancy! It’s an irisV’

  She held out the box long enough to show its contents. Inside lay a purple flower—and a folded note!

  Joy hastily unfolded and read the message, then handed it to Nancy. It said:

  If you care to get in touch with me, call the Regent Hotel and ask for Mrs.

  Rose Harrod in Room 922.

  “Here, let me see that!” said Mrs. Yawley, impolitely snatching the note away from Nancy.

  “Golly,” Joy blurted out, lifting the iris from the box, “this may mean she knows something about Mother—or about that letter Daddy left me! I’m going to call her right away!”

  She started toward the phone, but stopped short as her aunt exclaimed harshly:

  “Oh no, you’re not! The woman who sent this is obviously nothing but a fraud and a troublemaker! Joy, I absolutely forbid you to contact that creature!”

  12. Fog Curtain

  Joy’s eyes flashed rebelliously. “You’ve no right to take that attitude, Aunt Selma!” she protested.

  “I’ve every right!” Mrs. Yawley snapped. “Just remember, young lady, I’m your legal guardian!”

  “And maybe you’d better remember what Daddy’s will said!” Joy’s voice trembled with indignation.

  The thin-lipped woman looked her niece up and down scathingly. “Just what are you referring to?”

  “According to the lawyer, Mr. Trimble, his will only names you as my temporary guardian,” Joy pointed out, holding up the iris. “So

  don’t think you can stop me forever from seeing the lady who sent this! You may not even remain my guardian until I’m twenty-one!”

  If it’s true that redheads have hot tempers, thought Nancy, Joy Trent certainly looks the part right at this moment! The young girl’s cheeks were aflame behind their sprinkling of freckles, and her bright red hair added to her fiery look.

  “Besides,” Joy went on, “it’s absurd to forbid me to see someone who may be able to tell me about my mother—or help to explain Daddy’s riddle! What harm can it do, for goodness’ sake, to hear whatever she has to say?”

  Turning to her friend for support, Joy added, “Don’t you agree, Nancy?”

  Before the teenage sleuth could reply, Selma Yawley rounded on her, “You keep out of this, Miss Drew! You’ve caused enough trouble already by acting as that wretched woman’s messenger!”

  Nancy was not intimidated in the least by Mrs. Yawley’s manner. Nevertheless, she thought it best not to take sides for the moment, even though there was no doubt where her own sympathies lay.

  “Why not wait and ask me that question tomorrow, Joy?” she suggested with a calm smile.

  “Perhaps you’ll both see things in better perspective then. In the meantime, it’s late, and I’d better be getting home.”

  It was hard to erase the unpleasant incident from her mind, however. At the dinner table that evening, she told her father what had happened and asked his opinion on the subject. “What should I have done, Daddy?”

  “What did you feel like doing?” said Carson Drew, responding to her question with another question.

  Nancy chuckled. “To be perfectly honest, I thought her aunt was behaving like a stuffy old witch, and I felt like telling Joy to use her own common sense and do just as she pleased. I mean, it seemed so unreasonable for Mrs. Yaw- ley to forbid Joy even to speak to the woman!” Nancy’s smile faded and she ended uncertainly, “The trouble was, I . . . well, I just wasn’t sure I had any right to butt in.”

  “What about her father’s point of view?” “How do you mean?” inquired Nancy, raising an eyebrow.
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  “Presumably, this John Trent must have been a pretty shrewd judge of character to be so successful. Wouldn’t he have had good reason for naming his sister to be Joy’s guardian?”

  “Perhaps he had no other choice—she may

  have been the only other relative he had,” said Nancy. “But, anyhow, that’s just the point. According to Joy, the family lawyer, Mr. Trimble, said that her father’s will only named Mrs. Yaw- ley as Joy’s temporary guardian. Also, that she might not continue as guardian until Joy was twenty-one. Doesn’t that sound as if he wasn’t wholly convinced Mrs. Yawley was the best choice?”

  “Hm, you may have something there.” Mr. Drew sipped his coffee thoughtfully for a moment. “And you say the lawyer’s name is Trimble, eh? That would be Fred Trimble, I imagine. I’ve met him in court a few times and at the bar association dinners. Let me sound him out about this, Nancy, and see what he has to say.” “Oh Daddy, if you could, I’d be grateful!” Nancy had just helped Hannah clear the table, when Bess and George arrived excitedly.

  “Oh, Nancy, we’re going to have a slumber party on the houseboat and we want you to come! Please say you will—it’ll be fun!” Bess bubbled with enthusiasm and anticipation.

  “Just the three of us, Nancy,” George chimed in. “No babysitting tonight. The Custers are staying at my house tonight, and Uncle Bill said we could sleep on the boat if we wanted to . . . What do you say, Mr. Drew?” George appealed to a smiling Carson Drew.

  “It certainly sounds attractive,” he replied. “Sleeping on a river in good weather is very calming.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, Dad.” Nancy hugged him. “Come on, kids, and I’ll throw some things in my overnight bag.” Nancy turned and ran upstairs, her two friends trooping after her.

  In her room, Nancy took a small zippered bag from her closet and folded her nightclothes into it. Then, with George and Bess’s help, she collected comb, brush, and toiletries from her dressing table.