Trial by Fire

by Carolyn Keene

  “Hannah’s come?” Mrs. O’Hara rushed out of the pantry.

  “It’s okay,” Nancy said to the officer and followed him to the back door.

  There were two cars outside. One of them was Nancy’s.

  Hannah was lifting a cake carrier from the rear of her station wagon. “I baked a cake this morning,” she called to Mrs. O’Hara. “Thought I’d bring it along so you’d have something in the house to serve to visitors.”

  “Oh, bless your heart.” The judge’s housekeeper pecked Hannah on the cheek and led her into the kitchen.

  “Are you all right?” Hannah asked as she passed Nancy at the door.

  “I’m okay.” Nancy managed a smile for her, then turned to stare at Bess, who stood nervously in front of the Mustang. “How’d you pick up my car?” she asked her friend.

  “As soon as you talked to me, I called Hannah and asked her to wait for me. She found the spare keys to your car and drove me to the Grand so I could follow her here in it.”

  Nancy hugged her. “You are a real pal. Thanks.”

  “Sure. I just thought that if it stayed there too long, somebody might steal it. Is there anything I can do? In there?” Bess nodded toward the house.

  “No. Now that Hannah’s here, she’ll take over. Your timing’s great. I was just about to call a cab.”

  After checking with the detective, Nancy said her goodbyes and promised to keep in touch with Mrs. O’Hara. As she and Bess drove through the back gate, she saw where the rosebushes on her left had been ripped by the van. Its fender must have been sticking out quite far to have done as much damage as it had.

  Nancy poured out her worries to Bess about how much more difficult it would be to clear her father now. She wasn’t paying much attention to the road—until a hard bump against the back of the Mustang alerted her to what was happening behind her.

  “What was that?” Bess asked, turning in her seat.

  “Some idiot is tailgating me at fifty-five miles an hour!” Nancy said. Her eyes flew to the rearview mirror, and she saw the ebony-tinted windshield of a dirty white van. It was so close that its front bumper might have been locked with Nancy’s rear one.

  “He must be crazy!” Bess said.

  “I hope that’s all he is,” Nancy responded. It might be pure coincidence that it was a white van, she told herself. There were a lot of dummies on the road who got a kick out of driving recklessly. She sped up to put a little distance between them.

  The increase in speed didn’t work. The van simply closed the distance and banged her again, so hard that she and Bess were thrown forward violently. Only her seat belt prevented Nancy from hitting the steering wheel. If there had been a car in front of her, she’d have been pushed into it.

  “Can you see his fender?” she asked Bess anxiously.

  Bess peered in the outside mirror on her door. “Uh-huh,” she said, her teeth clenched.

  “Is it bent? Sticking out on the side?”

  “Uh-huh. Do you know who it is?”

  “Sort of.”

  There was no time to explain. The van was closing in for another attack. The driver intended to force them off the road and over an embankment. From there it would be about a forty-foot drop. Straight down.

  Chapter Seven

  “THINK YOU CAN get away from him?” Bess asked, her voice cracking with strain.

  “Piece of cake,” Nancy said and hoped she sounded convincing. They were in a tight spot, and it was up to her to get them out of it.

  Fear had dampened her palms. She scrubbed one, then the other against her thighs to dry them. Her hands ached from her tight grip on the steering wheel. Drawing a deep breath to calm herself, Nancy settled down to outdrive her opponent.

  “Hold on,” she told Bess, who had braced her arms against the dashboard.

  Keeping an eye on traffic in the lane on her left, Nancy darted into it the first chance she had. As she knew it would, the van followed. A tractor-trailer that had been behind the van in the right lane sped up. Nancy glanced up quickly to see the driver curiously peering over at them from the cab of his huge rig.

  A plan began to take shape in her mind. “Bess, open your window and wave to that truck driver. Hurry!”

  Bess followed orders, her blond hair whipping in the wind. “Uh—are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked in a nervous quaver.

  The trucker edged alongside, and Nancy smiled up at him. She wanted him to remember them—and, if possible, supply a little help.

  “Nancy, have you flipped?” Bess asked. “The guy behind us is trying to kill us—and you’re flirting with a truck driver?”

  The man grinned down at them, then tilted his head toward the van behind her, his brows raised in a silent question.

  With one hand, Nancy signaled that she wanted to get in front of him. He nodded. She could have performed the maneuver without his cooperation since there was enough room, but having the trucker in on the scheme was an added safety factor.

  Flooring the accelerator, she shot ahead, then slipped in front of the rig. It moved up behind her, preventing the van from easing over between them.

  Very, very gradually, Nancy decreased her speed. Finally the driver of the van had to pass hen He was in the fast lane with an oil tanker coming on hard behind him. A hundred yards farther, he moved over in front of her.

  “Right where I want him!” Nancy shouted in triumph. With a beep of thanks to the trucker, she began to edge up closer to the van.

  “What are you doing?” Bess shrieked.

  “This guy left hidden mikes all over my uncle Jon’s house yesterday,” Nancy said. “It’s a cinch somebody was listening when he decided to confess. They killed him before he could talk.”

  “You think the killer’s driving that van?”

  “It’s a possibility. We know he’s capable of it. He tried to kill us, didn’t he?”

  “Why are you chasing him, then? We should get off the highway and phone the police.”

  “I plan to. I wanted to have a license number to give them, but it’s smeared with dirt. And I must have made him nervous. Look at him.”

  The van was edging back into the fast lane again, coming dangerously close to causing an accident. He sped up, changed lanes, and, without using his turn signal to telegraph his intention, zipped off at the next exit.

  “Now can we go tell the police about him?” Bess asked.

  “We’re on our way. Maybe this time they’ll listen to me,” Nancy said. “This time I have a witness. And, Bess—you can close the window now.”

  By the time Nancy got home from the police station, it was after dark. There were no lights on in her house. Carson Drew had heard the news about his friend’s murder and had left a note saying that he would be at the judge’s house if Nancy needed him. Hannah was still there, too.

  Bess lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes, wearing a worried frown. “I wonder where Ann is,” she asked, fretting. They had called the hospital from the police station and been told the reporter had checked out. No one answered at her apartment.

  “The police may have stashed her somewhere. If she can phone us, she will. Want something to eat?”

  Bess looked tempted, but shook her head. “I think I’ll head home. You’ve had a rough day.”

  “I’m okay,” Nancy said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for getting my car for me.” Then Nancy shooed Bess out the door.

  Before Bess got into her car, she looked back at Nancy and grinned. “Hey, I forgot to tell you—George called. She’s having a ball.”

  “That’s great.”

  “She doesn’t feel so bad about her dress anymore. She said she still looks like a frilly giraffe in it, but the rest of the bridesmaids look even worse.”

  Nancy laughed. “Poor George.”

  Bess sobered. “I didn’t tell her what was happening here. I figured it would spoil things for her.”

  “You did the right thing. Talk to you tomorrow.” Nancy
stood outside the door until Bess’s headlights disappeared.

  The dark house felt big and empty to Nancy. She wasn’t frightened, just a little lonely and very, very worried.

  The events of the day had shown her the kind of people she was up against. It was obvious they’d do anything to find out who had led Ann to Mid-City Insurance.

  But what difference did it make who’d done it? The articles in the Morning Record had put them out of business immediately. There was nothing left to hide.

  Or was there? “What if Mid-City was just the tip of the iceberg?” Nancy said out loud. Suppose the insurance scam was a part of a larger scheme? Suppose there was a great deal left to hide? It was the only thing that made sense. “What else could they be up to?” she asked.

  Suddenly the doorbell rang. Nancy jumped. Steeling herself, she peeked out the window—and saw Ned’s tall frame silhouetted against the amber glow of the streetlights.

  Joyfully, she opened the door. Before she could say hello, he had swept her into his arms and was kissing her. Nancy returned the kiss eagerly. She decided he had just showered. His hair was still damp, and he smelled of soap and a woodsy cologne.

  “That’s the nicest thing that’s happened to me all day,” Nancy said when Ned lifted his head.

  He looked down at her solemnly. “I’m not surprised, considering what you’ve been through. I’m so sorry about the judge.”

  “Was it on the news?” she asked, leading him to the sofa.

  “That, and the fact that there’s an all-points bulletin out on a white van with a twisted fender.” He took a seat and pulled her down to sit beside him, nestling her against his side. “Are you all right?”

  “I am now,” Nancy said with a smile. She tucked her head under his chin and relaxed against him. “I’m glad you’re here. Did you have any luck finding a job?”

  “Nope. Hunting for a place that will hire me for two weeks is the pits. So far, I haven’t found anything. The way things are going, I should hire myself as your bodyguard. No charge, either.” He nuzzled her ear. “I love you, Nancy Drew.”

  Nancy felt so content that she was ready to purr. She and Ned had had their problems recently. They’d even dated other people for a while. But it hadn’t felt right to either of them. Now there they were, together again. “I love you, too, Ned Nickerson,” she said. “Probably always will.”

  “You’ll get no complaints from me.” Ned kissed her again, but broke off abruptly to exclaim, “Hey, is this a date? Have we finally managed to work in an evening together like a regular guy and girl?”

  “That’s what it seems like to me,” Nancy said.

  But Ned suddenly dropped his teasing tone. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a regular girl. You’re a detective saddled with the most important case of your life. Our date can wait, Nancy. You’ve got to clear your dad. Want to talk about it?”

  “Ned, you’re terrific. Yes, I do want to talk about it. Something just occurred to me before you came in.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Ned said.

  Nancy began to talk. For a couple of hours she talked about the case. Ned was a good sounding board. His quick mind and active imagination fed her own ideas.

  By the time she drove him home, Nancy was beginning to focus her plan. She was almost positive she was on the right track.

  “I’ve got to be,” she muttered into the darkness. She couldn’t afford to be wrong. If she was, her father’s career would be over—and she just might be dead.

  Chapter Eight

  ANN GRANGER CALLED at seven the next morning.

  “Where are you?” Nancy asked.

  “Back home, over the strong objections of the River Heights Police Department.”

  “Why?”

  “They checked me out of the hospital and wanted me to hole up in an apartment they use for people under protective custody. It took a lot of yelling and screaming before I convinced them that I had to be free.”

  “Ann, are you sure that’s smart?” Nancy asked.

  “It may not be smart, but it’s the only way I’ll be able to help your father out of this mess. After all, it’s my fault he’s in it. By the way, I’m sorry about the judge. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, he really didn’t.” Nancy was beginning to like Ann more and more. Ann was, in effect, risking her life to help Carson Drew. And it was very generous of her to express sympathy for Jonathan Renk.

  “I’m also sorry the trip to the Grand didn’t pan out. Did you wait for the guy long?”

  Nancy had stretched the truth the day before. She simply told Ann her source hadn’t shown. Evidently that part of the story had not made the news. Perhaps they hadn’t believed her. But Ann Granger would, and now that Ann was out of the hospital Nancy knew she would want the truth. She told Ann all about her harrowing half-hour in the kidnap car.

  Ann was horrified. “Nancy, I’m sorry! First I get Carson into trouble, and now you. I had no idea—”

  “I know you didn’t,” Nancy assured her. “Now, maybe you should change your mind about protective custody. It was you they were after.”

  On the other end of the line, the reporter was very quiet. Finally, she cleared her throat. “No. I can’t. Don’t get me wrong, Nancy. I’m not all that brave. But I have a family tradition to uphold,” Ann said. “My parents risked their lives in the early sixties, marching for their civil rights. Now it’s my turn to risk mine to protect my First Amendment rights. End of speech. What can I do to help?”

  Nancy and Ned had discussed this the night before, so Nancy was ready with an answer. “We need to know if Mid-City was the only scam those guys were running. Can you find out what else its parent corporation owns? They’re hiding something more, and we’ve got to find out what.”

  “I’ll try. That’s all I can do.”

  “Great. Since you don’t have a car, I’ll have Bess pick you up, okay?”

  “That’s too risky,” Ann said. “Hanging out with me will put her in danger.”

  “She’ll understand. I’ll phone her, then you can call her and let her know when you’ll be ready.”

  “Will do. Luck to us. ’Bye.”

  Nancy hung up. She knew they’d need more than luck to get through this. Then she made a quick call to Bess, who agreed to drive Ann wherever she needed to go.

  Nancy ducked into the shower. Afterward she pulled a navy suit and a pale blue blouse from the closet. A single strand of pearls and her navy blue heels completed the ensemble.

  Nancy considered this her “working woman” outfit. She wore it whenever she had to invade the nine-to-five world. For a few hours that day, she would be invading her father’s.

  Ned called just as she was leaving. “Man Friday reporting in,” he said. “I’ve got George’s car. I figured I’d start with the cable company.”

  “And tell them what?”

  “I’m an insurance investigator trying to track a white van involved in a hit-and-run accident. They’ll swear it wasn’t one of theirs. Then they should give me a couple of leads to other companies that use white vans. And so on and so on.”

  “Ned, that’s brilliant!”

  “I thought so, too. Meet you for lunch at the Pizza Palace. One o’clock. I’ll tell Ann and Bess, too. That way if one of us doesn’t show up, we’ll know that person’s in trouble. Good luck.”

  Luck seemed to be on everyone’s mind that day, Nancy thought as she locked the door behind her.

  The law offices of Carson Drew and his associates always made Nancy feel as if she should whisper. With its solid mahogany desks, leather-upholstered chairs, and wood-paneled walls, there was a quiet, dignified aura about it. The tang of lemon oil scented the air, mixed with the smell of leather-bound law books.

  Her father’s secretary, Ms. Hanson, welcomed Nancy and opened the door of Carson Drew’s office for her. “If there’s anything you need—if you have any questions—just ask. We’ll help in any way we can.” She slipped silently from th
e room.

  Her back against the door, Nancy looked around. There were so many places a bug might be hidden—behind any of the hundreds of books that lined one wall, in the lamps or ceiling fixtures, under the furniture.

  But she decided to eliminate the obvious first. Crossing to her father’s enormous desk, Nancy opened the top righthand drawer and removed a wooden box, a container for cassette tapes.

  “I will only tape a client’s conversation with his permission,” her father had explained. “And only for important information that I need to remember word for word. It’s treated completely confidentially. When I’m not there, that box is locked.”

  Nancy used the key Carson had given her and lifted the lid. There were slots for twenty-four cassettes, and all the slots were filled, just as her father had told her they would be.

  But she wasn’t ready to accept that at face value. Someone might have removed a tape and replaced it with another to make sure the first one wouldn’t be missed.

  She played them all on fast forward so that she could be certain those two dozen tapes were what they were supposed to be. They were.

  That done, she began a thorough search of the office. There wasn’t much on her father’s desk: a blotter; the telephone; a pen set in an oiled walnut holder; a paperweight, a heavy glass dome with a black-eyed susan embedded in it. A ladybug was perched at the edge of one leaf, and the top of the dome had holes for pencils. Nancy pulled off her jacket, draped it over a chair, and went to work.

  An hour later she sat down, discouraged and frustrated. She had been completely sure that either someone had swiped one of her dad’s tapes or that they had bugged his office and recorded his voice that way. But after going over his office with a fine-tooth comb, she hadn’t found a thing. Where was that luck everyone had wished her that morning?

  At the sound of voices, Nancy looked up. There was a courier from a messenger service in the outer office, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup while Ms. Hanson prepared an envelope for him to take. From their conversation, Nancy could tell he was a regular visitor. Nancy waited impatiently in her father’s office until he finally left. Now she could check for bugs out there.