Trial by Fire

by Carolyn Keene

  “Even that might not work,” Nancy said, smiling at her. “It hasn’t worked with you.”

  The elderly man who answered their knock eyed them with curiosity. He had sandy hair and laugh lines that made his face look permanently happy. “Which one of you did I talk to this morning?” he asked.

  “That was me,” Nancy said. “Thank you for seeing us. I’m Nancy Nickerson, and this is Ann Granger.”

  “Delighted,” he said. “Thomas Tyler at your service.”

  Nancy glanced around the neat, comfortable apartment. The top of a corner table was cluttered with framed photographs, probably of his family. She walked over to it and noticed a picture of—Jim Dayton!

  What was his photo doing here? She decided she’d work in the question during the course of the conversation.

  “Please,” Mr. Tyler said. “Have a seat.” He seemed determined to be the perfect host. Charming and witty, he had them laughing over cups of tea for half an hour before they got around to the subject they had come to discuss.

  “Mr. Tyler,” Nancy said, beginning, “did you work for the Gold Star Cab Company?”

  “I was their mechanic from the first day they hit the streets until a year and a half ago, when they kicked me out. Said I should retire, and saw that I did.”

  “Brownley and Reston?”

  “That’s right. First they brought in a new man—to help me, they said—a thug who didn’t know a brake shoe from a bedroom slipper. Then they cut back on my hours, but they still paid me for full-time. The new man didn’t do a thing, which took care of the rolling stock. Everything began to fall apart.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Ann said.

  “No, it doesn’t. Then they closed off the lower level where I was doing the maintenance work.”

  Nancy held up a hand. “The street level isn’t the lowest level?”

  “No, indeed. There’s a basement. The entrance was at the back on the right. You just drove on down. They put a door in there to close it up, and then they locked it. It cut the amount of our parking spaces in half, because I then had to work on the street level.”

  “Why did they do that?” Nancy asked.

  “I still don’t know. They fired drivers who’d been with them for years and began taking on part-timers. Then they bought new cabs, but they never used them.”

  “It sounds as if they wanted to lose money,” Ann said.

  “Well, they didn’t, even though the old cabs began to fall apart. You know riding in a Gold Star cab has become hazardous to your health. I even told my grandson that before he started working there.”

  “Your grandson? After all you went through, why would he want to work there?” Nancy asked, now knowing Jim’s connection to Mr. Tyler.

  “All Jim would say was that good-paying temp jobs are hard to come by. I know it’s only going to be a few weeks, but I still wish he hadn’t taken it.”

  Nancy thought that sounded familiar. Ned was in the same predicament, only he hadn’t found a job.

  A sudden suspicion began to grow in Nancy’s mind. “Were you working for Gold Star when Mrs. Harvey was hurt?”

  “No, that happened a couple of months after they put me but to pasture. But of course I heard about it. Crimson Oaks is like a small town. And I felt real bad about what happened to Vera. Haven’t had a decent night’s sleep since.”

  “Why?” Ann asked.

  “That cab’s brakes had failed twice before I left Gold Star. I warned Brownley that they needed work. But they didn’t do a thing, Ms. Granger. Not before I left, and not after, because I saw that cab on the street.”

  “You did all you could,” Nancy said.

  “No. I could have reported them. If I had, Vera Harvey wouldn’t be walking with a cane today.”

  Now Nancy was sure her suspicion was right. “Mr. Tyler, you’re Ann Granger’s source, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “What?” Ann asked.

  Mr. Tyler turned pink. “Young lady, you’re too smart for your own good. But so am I. You’re that lawyer’s daughter, aren’t you? You were on the news. They said that you’re a detective.”

  The reporter stood up. “You mean, she’s right?”

  “She’s right. I’m sorry, Ms. Granger. It never occurred to me I’d get you and Mr. Drew in so much trouble. Believe me, I’d never have let them put you in jail. I’d have come forward. Still plan to. You just tell me when.”

  Ann leaned over and shook his hand. “Mr. Tyler, it means a great deal to me to hear you say that, but I don’t want you to do it. There’s a principle involved here. I’m protected by the First Amendment, and I intend to stick by my guns.”

  “Well, let me know if you change your mind,” he said.

  Nancy noticed that Ann didn’t mention that the members of the grand jury weren’t the only people who wanted to know his name.

  “As I said, I’m sorry about the trouble I caused,” Mr. Tyler went on. “I just couldn’t sit back and see anyone else hurt, so I called you.”

  “But why the newspaper?”

  “After Vera’s accident, I went to Brownley and Reston and told them if they didn’t do something about those cabs, I’d report them to the Hacks Bureau. I thought Reston would beat me up, he was so mad, but Brownley cooled him down. Said I was right and they’d take care of things.”

  “But they didn’t,” Ann said.

  “No, but I didn’t find out until recently. My daughter in New York City had been nagging me to go and live with her. Well, I tried it for almost a year, but that was enough. Too many people on that island. I moved back here and found the same old cabs in the same rotten condition. My grandson told me it’s a miracle one car lasts for an entire shift.”

  “When did you move back here, Mr. Tyler?” Nancy asked.

  “A couple of months back. I went to the Hacks Bureau, and they sent me over to Public Safety. I explained that I wanted to report Gold Star, and they sent me somewhere else. Took me awhile before I realized I was getting the runaround. Everybody seemed to be covering for Gold Star.”

  Nancy thought back to the glowing reports she had gotten about Gold Star cabs from those very same offices, and wondered what she had stumbled onto.

  “One thing about business today,” Mr. Tyler was saying, “they can’t operate without insurance. When nobody downtown would listen, I figured that if I told Mid-City about the rotten cabs, they’d either get rid of Gold Star or make them clean up their act, as the young folks say.”

  “Only there was no Mid-City,” Nancy said, beginning to understand.

  “Right. But I thought it out. Expose Mid-City, and Gold Star would have to get another insurance company. To get one, they’d have to fix up their cabs. So that’s the route I took.”

  “So you called me again telling me to talk to Mrs. Harvey,” Ann said.

  “Yes. I found out Brownley and Reston had paid Vera’s bills themselves. If they did that, it meant they’d gone to Mid-City earlier to take care of the bills and found out it was phony then and there. But they’ve paid everybody’s bills and have never said a word to anybody. They’re as crooked as the Mid-City guys.”

  “So there have been other accidents?” Nancy asked to be certain.

  “Minor ones, mainly with Crimson Oaks people. But Gold Star’s got to be put out of business. And I’d like to be there when it happens. I’d give anything to know what they’re doing in that basement.”

  Nancy frowned. “I thought you said it was empty.”

  “No, I said they closed it off,” Mr. Tyler corrected her. “Before I left shipments of sealed boxes started coming in. Brownley stashed them downstairs. And he signed for the delivery of a brand-new air compressor. The garage had needed one for months. But where’d it go? Down to the lower level, and that was the last I saw of it.”

  “Interesting,” Nancy said.

  “I just hope they don’t discover that Jim Dayton is my grandson. They’re crooks and they’re hurting people, Ms. Granger. I was trying t
o stop them, that’s all.”

  “I know you were,” answered Ann, smiling at him. “And we’re grateful for your help. May we call you again if we have any more questions?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “He’s a nice man,” Ann said as they went back to the parking lot. “He had no idea what he was getting into.”

  Nancy wondered what she had gotten into and what was on the lower level of that garage that she’d have to investigate.

  “Nancy Nickerson” made even more money her second night on the job because she turned in her cab at twelve. To her surprise, another man was sitting in for Brownley. “He had some business,” the stranger told her.

  Perfect, Nancy thought. She went back to her locker to get her other jacket before deciding what to do next. When she got there, she ran into Jim Dayton.

  “Hi, remember me?” Nancy said.

  “How could I forget?” he said, obviously happy to see her. “Just getting off?”

  “Yes, how about you?”

  “Yep. I worked late tonight, and boy, am I beat,” he said. “Don’t have to keep it up for much longer, though. Only two more weeks.”

  “Well, I hope you make it,” Nancy said as she closed her locker door. And she meant it—in more ways than one. She wondered what would happen to him if the Gold Star management discovered that he was Tom Tyler’s grandson.

  “Good night now,” she said.

  “So long,” he said.

  Nancy returned to her car to wait until she was sure the cabs on the midnight shift had all left.

  She sat in the car for forty-five minutes. Then, rather than walk all the way around the block to Gold Star, she cut through the dark alley separating it from the car wash.

  Back on the street she saw that the rollup door was down. The office was empty, and the inside parking area appeared to be dimly lit. The midnight shift had hit the streets.

  As Nancy sneaked into the building, she heard voices in the back of the parking area. Brownley’s was one of them. The other brought goose pimples: Reston! She’d never forget his voice. Scurrying between two parked cabs, Nancy got as close to the two men as she could and peeked over the cars’ hoods. She could also see someone hiding in the shadows.

  It was Jim Dayton!

  Reston was opening the rear door of a cab whose engine was running. “A beautiful sight, isn’t it?” he said, pointing to something in the back. Nancy tried, but she couldn’t see inside the cab.

  Brownley grinned. “I’m just glad you didn’t have any trouble. From here on, we’re in clover. Which reminds me, Chicago’s been holding a big shipment for us, waiting for us to clear up this mess. Okay if I tell them to send it?”

  “Might as well. After Granger talks—and I promise, she will—our troubles will be over.”

  Nancy smiled grimly. If they thought Ann would tell who her source was, they were in for a surprise.

  “We can get back on schedule,” Reston was saying. “Open the door. The sooner I get downstairs, the better.”

  Brownley removed a ring of keys from his belt as Reston got back into the cab. “What about the Drew kid?” the dispatcher asked.

  “What about her? We don’t need to worry about her. She hasn’t found out anything yet, and she never will. We’re too smart for her.”

  Nancy wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted.

  “Call me when you’re ready to bring the cab up again,” Brownley said. “Oh, Mac may show up while you’re down there, but he always comes the back way.”

  Nancy heard the jingle of keys, then watched as a section of the side wall at the rear slid open silently. A peculiar odor started wafting through the garage, but Nancy was too busy plotting her next step to identify it. There was a back way to the lower level! She had to find it!

  She saw Jim slip outside, and as soon as the cab disappeared through the doorway, she made her move. Hurrying back outside and slipping around the side of the building, she cut through the alley again.

  She patted the concrete wall as she moved toward the rear of the garage. The other door must be at the back. She took another step and walked smack into Jim Dayton.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered.

  “I could ask you the same thing.” Suddenly Nancy froze. There was someone directly behind her! Were they both going to be caught?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “SHHH! IT’S JUST me,” came a whisper behind her. “Would you please tell me what you’re doing groping around walls in the dark?”

  Nancy spun around. “Ned! What are you doing here? What—what are you wearing?” The whole length of him was a soft white blur.

  “A uniform. I’ve got a job at the car wash. This is my second night. I saw you last night when you took your cab through.”

  Nancy was so stunned that she spluttered. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I’m not supposed to chat with the customers. ‘Get ’em in, get ’em out,’ they told me. I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with a simple ‘Good evening. Can I interest you in the hot wax?’ So I ducked you.”

  “Okay. But why a job there, Ned?”

  “Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you. You keep sticking your head into nooses. I’m here to make sure no one slaps the horse out from under you.”

  “My hero,” Nancy said and gave him a quick kiss.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” Jim cut in.

  “Oh, Jim, this is my boyfriend, Ned.”

  “Why are you investigating this place?” Jim asked, truly puzzled.

  “It’s a long story. All I can say now is that I’ve spoken to your grandfather.”

  “Did he send you out here to spy on me?” Jim asked. He was beginning to get angry.

  “Not at all,” Nancy said. “I’m looking out for something else. . . .

  But this was not the time for polite chatter.

  “Look, this is getting more dangerous by the minute, so be careful,” Nancy said. “Brownley and Reston have something going on in the basement.”

  “Hey, that’s my line. I was going to tell you in the morning,” Ned responded.

  “Tell me what?”

  “There’s a lot of traffic in and out of there, especially after midnight. Guys driving in. And starting around one—it’s almost that now—you can hear odd sounds from inside.”

  “What kind of odd sounds?” Nancy asked.

  “Some kind of machine,” Ned said. “It reminds me of a power mower, the same kind of buzz.”

  “It’s probably the air compressor,” Jim put in.

  “Ann and I talked to Tom Tyler, Jim’s grandfather, who used to be the mechanic here,” Nancy said to Ned. “He told us about the lower level.”

  Ned nodded. “I should have remembered that myself. I used to park here when I was taking CPR at the Y. I could always find a spot on the lower level because most people went up instead of down.”

  “Mr. Tyler said Brownley and Reston closed it off and something fishy’s been going on down there ever since,” Nancy said.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Jim told them. “My grandfather just can’t seem to forget all this. And I thought, while I’m working here, maybe I could put his suspicions to rest.”

  “Hey!” Ned grabbed Nancy’s shoulders. “Before I forget, guess who uses the other half of the street level? Right next to Gold Star? Fleet’s Courier Service. It’s one of the businesses that uses white vans! And Gold Star’s mechanic takes care of the cabs as well as the vans.”

  Nancy’s mental wheels began to spin. “How very convenient,” she said dryly.

  “I think they have a basement level. If they do, it may be possible to get into Gold Star’s basement through Fleet’s,” Jim suggested.

  “I’ve thought about that, too. Want to take a look?” Nancy asked.

  “I’d love to, but I have to get home—and right now,” Jim said as he glanced at his watch. “Sorry, you guys. Look, maybe we’ll get a chance to work together on
this before I have to go back to school. Nice to meet you, Ned.”

  As soon as Jim left, Ned said, “Nancy, don’t try it without me, understand? I leave at two, when the Gold Star guys take over. We can—”

  “What do you mean, the Gold Star guys take over?”

  “The dispatcher’s worked out a deal with my boss. They close the wash to the public at two and run the cabs through.”

  “Every night?” Nancy asked, puzzled.

  “I guess so.”

  Nancy leaned against the wall. “That’s funny. Brownley told me that if the cab was dirty at the end of my shift, to run it through your place. If he tells all the drivers that, what’s left to wash?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ve got to run. There goes a customer in the front. Promise me you won’t do anything without me, okay?”

  “I promise. The Mustang’s parked in the public garage. Second level. I’ll wait there for you.”

  “Deal.” Ned bent down and kissed her. Then he sprinted into the gaudy glare of the car wash.

  When he had disappeared inside, Nancy trotted around the block. There was no reason she couldn’t just look inside Fleet’s from the street. She wouldn’t go inside, just look.

  Fleet’s rollup door was open halfway. Stooping to peer under it, Nancy saw a line of vans backed against the side walls. Some were larger than others, but they were all white and all had aerials for two-way radios. A glassed-in office, similar to the one next door at Gold Star, was tucked just inside the door.

  Nancy scooted across to the other side and squinted at the door of the office. Above it was a sign: Fleet’s Courier Service. P. Reston, Proprietor. This was getting better and better!

  Nancy glanced at her watch, wondering if she should wake her father’s secretary to ask if the firm used Fleet’s. No, it was after one. It could wait. It was even more tempting to call Ann. The reporter kept weird hours, and she might still be up.

  Dashing past Gold Star, Nancy darted into the alley. She’d get the Mustang and find a phone.

  Then she heard a sound behind her. Someone else had walked into the alley.

  Reston. Nancy stepped back, pressing against the side of the garage. Reston walked across the mouth of the alley to an old car parked alongside the car wash. He opened the trunk, took something out, and then headed back toward the entrance of Gold Star.