Trial by Fire

by Carolyn Keene

  Brownley said, “Beautiful! Beautiful, Mac! We’ll keep this one out of sight down here until it’s time to move it. No way am I putting any paint on this baby. Wish I could keep it myself. But next time, remember—no daytime deliveries.”

  Nancy lifted her head high enough to see. The dispatcher stood talking to a stranger and peeling bills off a wad of money in his hand.

  “We’ll change the numbers on the engine block tonight, switch plates, and send it on to Freddie day after tomorrow. Here’s a thousand. You done good, Mac, boy.”

  So that’s what this is about, Nancy mused. Stolen cars!

  The man counted the bills and crammed them into his pocket. “Looks like you guys are behind schedule,” he said.

  “A little. But we’ll be moving them in and out of here double-time until we’re caught up. We’ve got the paint, but we may have to buy another compressor so we can paint two at a time.”

  “Good idea.”

  “Mac, can you come back tonight and help us take some of these through the car wash?”

  “Sure. One-thirty, okay?”

  “Fine. Run them through twice,” Brownley said. “This new paint doesn’t wash off as easily.”

  “If you say so. Let’s get back to the money-making business. What kind of car do you want next?” the man asked.

  “Come on back up to the office and I’ll show you the list. Ever steal a Jaguar, Mac, boy?” With a hand on the stranger’s shoulder, he led him toward the exit ramp.

  Once they were out of sight, Nancy stood up. The latest arrival was a beautiful white Mercedes. She tiptoed over to get a closer look. The ignition wires were dangling beneath the dashboard. I was right, Nancy thought. It had been stolen.

  She checked the other passenger cars. None had license plates. Seventeen of the twenty had loose ignition wires. Brownley had a steal-to-order business going here!

  At the opposite end of the garage, a Dodge, its windows, grille, and bumpers covered with paper, glistened under a bright light. Nancy touched a fender. The paint was still wet. And there was Mr. Tyler’s compressor. They used it to spray a stolen car Gold Star gold so it could be disguised until enough time had passed to sell it safely.

  Nancy gazed at the row of cars now disguised as cabs. It was quite a collection—American cars, German, Japanese. The fourth from the end looked familiar. Nancy crossed to it, her heart tap-dancing in her chest. There was a slit in the back seat, and on the dashboard, a red, quarter-sized blob. Her nail polish. Ned’s car!

  From behind her, Nancy heard a muffled groan. Startled, she whirled around. The sound had come from a wire enclosure beside the compressor.

  She hurried over to it. At first all she saw in it were car batteries, Gold Star roof lights, a trash barrel, and stacked cans of motor oil.

  The sound came again, but louder. Something rolled into view, and Nancy gasped. Ann Granger lay on her back, bound hand and foot, tape across her mouth. She stared at Nancy, her eyes unfocused.

  “Shhh!” Nancy said. Ann blinked groggily.

  The door of the enclosure was secured with a hefty padlock. Nancy took out her set of picks and went to work on it. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. Time stretched. Nancy was in agony, working as fast as she could.

  Just as the hasp pulled free with a click, Ann made an urgent sound deep in her throat. Too late Nancy realized that the click had not come from the lock, but from behind her. She turned around and found herself facing the business end of a silver-plated automatic pistol.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “THAT OUGHT TO hold you.” Brownley tightened the last knot around Nancy’s ankles, after tying her hands behind her back.

  Reston, lips stretched in a slash of a smile, squatted beside her, the gun to her temple. With the other hand, he snatched the tape from Ann’s mouth. “So you finally woke up, Granger. Good. Let’s not waste each other’s time. Who’s the snitch in our organization?”

  “I don’t know,” Ann said, speaking with difficulty.

  Suddenly Nancy noticed Jim Dayton lurking in the shadows. He was holding a baseball bat. She felt a small twinge of hope that they just might get out of there alive.

  Meanwhile, Reston was not sympathetic. “Either you give me the name, Ms. Granger, or our young friend here joins the angels.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know who it is,” Ann said. “Whoever it was just left messages for me. Please, I don’t feel well.”

  “The stuff we gave you will do that,” Reston said. He jabbed her in the side. “Come on, Miss Investigative Reporter, talk—or you’ll feel a lot worse. Who’s the snitch?”

  “She doesn’t know,” Nancy said, wondering if Bess was safe. “If she did, would she have fallen for that trick of yours to meet you at the Grand Cinema? Stop poking her! She hasn’t been out of the hospital that long, remember?”

  “Hey, Reston, she don’t look so good.” Brownley peered down into Ann’s face. “You sure that stuff you used to put her out was all right?”

  “What difference does it make?” Reston turned the gun on Nancy again. “You tell me who it is, then,” he said and raised his arm, as if to hit her.

  Ann squirmed to sit upright. “Please, don’t hurt her!”

  Unfortunately, Jim picked that moment to charge forward. He went to slam Reston with the bat, but Brownley was quick to intercept. He spun Jim around and punched him so hard that he knocked him out.

  “I see you ladies have engaged some help,” Reston said and nodded a thanks to Brownley.

  Nancy peered at Jim lying on the floor, and her heart sank. She recovered quickly and said, “Don’t waste your breath, Ann.” Nancy looked Reston in the eye. “He’s going to kill us, whether he gets the name or not. He has to. We know too much.”

  “You also talk too much,” Reston growled.

  “It must be a very successful business,” Nancy went on, “considering the trouble you’ve gone to to protect it. How much have you been pulling in?”

  “No harm in my telling you. You won’t be passing it along. About a million a year.”

  “Pretty good,” Nancy said. “Certainly enough to spread some around to people who can help keep you in operation. How many people are on your payroll?”

  Reston shrugged. “Ten. They’re cheap, all things considered. A hack inspector here, a police records clerk there. They don’t ask for much. But they’re a big help.”

  “And the judge? He was about to blow it for you, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes, which was unfortunate. It was very handy having someone who could tip us off about search warrants, or secret indictments that would put certain friends behind bars. No matter. We’re grooming someone to take his place. Now—” He placed the gun against her temple.

  “One last thing,” Nancy said, her mouth dry. She had to play for time. “What were you holding over the judge’s head?”

  Reston grinned. “Gambling debts. For every tip he gave us, we knocked ten thousand off his bill.”

  “How much was framing my father worth?”

  “Fifty thousand. And it worked. Your daddy’s going to jail, little girl.”

  “Sooner or later, you will, too—for first-degree murder.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Brownley stared at Reston. “You killed Renk? You said it wasn’t you! You said somebody had done us a favor!”

  “So I lied. After little Ms. Drew got away from me, I went to relieve Casper out near the judge’s place. And who shows up? Ms. Drew again.”

  “You didn’t tell me about that!” Brownley said, eyeing his partner as if he were seeing him for the first time.

  “I don’t report to you. I could hear Renk beginning to cave in loud and clear. He had to go. What do you care?”

  “If he doesn’t care,” Nancy said, “he should. You made him an accessory to murder.”

  “Wait a minute! I didn’t know anything about it!” Brownley’s ruddy complexion had turned ashen.

  “Maybe not. But you will know about ours,” Nancy poi
nted out. “If he kills us, you might as well have pulled the trigger. He tried to kill us once before.”

  “No, I didn’t, girlie. If you mean that car bomb, that was a mistake. The bozo I hired did it all wrong. Why would I kill her when I needed information from her.”

  Brownley backed out of the wire enclosure. “I don’t want anything to do with murder, Reston. You kill them and you’re on your own.”

  For the first time, Nancy saw uncertainty in Reston’s icy gray eyes. “Maybe you’re right.” He backed out of the cage and slammed the door. “You come up with me. We’ll talk.”

  Brownley looked worried as he secured the padlock.

  As soon as they were out of sight, Nancy began looking around for a means of escape.

  “I’m so sorry, Nancy,” Ann said. “They fooled me. I thought it was you driving that cab. I opened the door to get in, felt a stinging in my arm—and that’s all I remember.”

  “Forget it. My dad’s hearing is this afternoon. If we don’t get out of here, we’ll probably wind up in the nearest river and my dad’ll wind up in jail.” She peered out of the enclosure. “And it doesn’t look like Jim will be able to help us.”

  Scooting over to the wall, Nancy leaned her back against it and pushed herself to a standing position. She then reached into the trash barrel for one of the oil cans and tilted it toward her wrists. There wasn’t much left in it, but what little there was oozed over her hands, coating them with the thick fluid.

  It took draining the dregs from two more cans before her wrists were slippery enough for her to work the cord off. She then untied her feet and freed Ann.

  But their problems were far from over. The enclosure was locked, and Nancy had no idea what happened to the pick she had been using when she was caught.

  “Pssst!”

  Nancy’s head snapped up. Bess, on all fours, scuttled over to the wire cage. Her eyes were twice their usual size. She looked heavier than usual, too.

  “Nancy! Ann! You’re okay!” She looked at the lock with alarm.

  “My pick set may be out there on the floor somewhere,” Nancy said. “See if you can find it.”

  Bess pawed through the trash outside the door. “Here it is. Now what?”

  “The weave of the wire is too small for me to get my hands through,” Nancy said. “You’ll have to get it open for us.”

  “Me?” Bess swallowed and squared her shoulders. “Okay. Tell me what to do.”

  Nancy prompted her, forcing patience and encouragement into her tone. It seemed to take forever, but after a struggle, the lock clicked open and the door came ajar.

  “Quick! This way,” Nancy said and started for the row of boxes.

  “Uh, I think I’m going to need help.” Ann’s voice was weak. Her legs seemed to be even weaker. “It’s that stuff they gave me.”

  Nancy and Bess looked at each other in dismay, then moved back to her side. Awkwardly, they maneuvered her between the cars and pushed and shoved her through the space at the end of the boxes.

  At the bottom of the conveyor, Bess shook her head. “No way she can make it up this thing, Nancy. You go on. I’ll stay with her.”

  Ann shook her head. “No! Leave me. You’ve got what you need to help Carson. Get out of here. Go to him.”

  Nancy would have loved to do just that, but she felt responsible for her two friends and Jim. It was certain that if they didn’t get away, Reston would be glad to shoot them.

  She looked at the door to the courier service. “Let me check and see if we can slip out from Fleet’s side. If we can make it to the street level, we can hide in one of the vans until the coast is clear.”

  “No.” Bess’s voice was firm. “I’ll do that. You go on. Here.” She yanked the tail of her blouse from her jeans and pulled a bulky envelope from under it.

  “I thought you looked awfully lumpy,” Nancy said. “What is it?”

  “Cassettes of your dad’s and the judge’s voices. The dummies had everything marked plain as day.”

  Nancy shook her head in amazement. “Bess, you’ve been super. I’ll get help for you all as soon as I can.”

  “Wait,” Bess said. “I’ve got something else for you. It—” She stopped. “What was that?”

  The conveyor swayed and began to quiver. Someone was coming down!

  Nancy thought fast. Maybe it was Ned—but she couldn’t count on that.

  “Come on!” she whispered. She grabbed Ann’s right arm, Bess took the left, and they crossed to the door of Fleet’s. Nancy yanked it open—and ran smack into Brownley.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “GET IN HERE!” Brownley hissed and yanked them into the electronics workshop. He eased the door closed quickly, then cracked it just enough to see who was climbing down the conveyor.

  While he was occupied, Bess snatched the envelope of evidence from Nancy’s hand and crammed it back under her blouse. By the time Brownley said, “Mac’s come back. Wonder why,” the envelope was safely out of sight.

  He closed the door and turned to face them. His skin was flushed, his eyes wide and staring. “Thought you were home free, didn’t you? Well, you aren’t!”

  “You aren’t, either, are you?” Nancy moved from beside Ann and walked slowly around the workshop. “What were you doing in here? Trying to remove incriminating evidence connecting you with the judge?”

  Papers were strewn all over the floor. File drawers hung open. Tapes had been pulled from the shelves and lay at all angles. Bess would have been too smart to leave such a mess.

  But the batch of papers Brownley was clutching really gave him away. Like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, he dropped them. “Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he growled.

  “I think she does,” Bess said, picking up Nancy’s lead. “What she said over there sank in. They can get you for the judge’s murder, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Who’s going to believe you didn’t know Reston killed him?”

  “But I didn’t know!”

  “Then why were you going to cut and run?” Ann asked. She was looking a little better.

  Brownley ground his teeth. “I’m not going to jail for something I didn’t do. Grand theft auto, that’s one thing. I deal in stolen cars. I’m good at it. But I’m no killer, and I’m not taking the rap for Reston. I’m clearing out of here.”

  “What about us?” Nancy asked. “If you leave us here, that’s four more murders they can get you for. Help us get out of here, and—”

  “And what?” The door flew open—and Reston stepped in. “Mac told me you left as soon as I turned my back. Where’d you come from?” he asked, noticing Bess. Then he turned to his partner, his eyes like steel. “You were going to run out on me, weren’t you, Brownley?”

  Nancy snorted. The dispatcher was a possible ally, and against Reston they’d need all the help they could get. “He’s not smart enough to run out on you,” she said.

  Brownley eyed her sharply. “I caught them trying to escape.”

  “Why make matters worse than they already are?” Nancy asked Brownley. “My boyfriend was hiding when you caught us the first time. He got us out of that cage and went up the conveyor to get the police. They’re probably swarming all over the place by now.”

  Reston gave his nasty grin again. “Good try, little girl. But it won’t work.” He snatched the door open and shoved her back to the Gold Star side. Someone had moved one stack of boxes. Reston stepped through, then waited, gun drawn, for the rest of them to join him.

  “Sit!” he ordered. “Until I decide what to do with you.”

  They sat down gingerly on the hard concrete, their backs against the unpainted cars. As Reston kept the gun trained on them, they waited. And waited. They were in a war of nerves.

  Nancy knew they had to get away! Where was Ned? Suppose he hadn’t been home after all!

  After a half an hour Reston began to crack. He started to pace and mutter. Another fifteen minutes, and his left eye bega
n to twitch.

  Finally he said, “I’m getting out of here. If there are police upstairs, which I doubt, you three will make fine hostages. The first sign of trouble,” he snarled, wagging the gun toward Nancy, “and you get it first.”

  Nancy got up slowly, stiff from sitting so long. Then, from the corner of her eye, Nancy saw someone scurry between two cars. She almost fainted with relief. It was Ned! He was working his way toward them.

  Reston beckoned to Nancy. “You. Come here. We’re going upstairs. You’ll be my shield.”

  “What about me?” Brownley asked.

  “Take whichever one you want. Keep the other one between us.”

  As she edged toward Reston, Nancy saw Ned move closer. She hoped he’d stop there. Any closer, and he’d be exposed.

  Then Ann caught Nancy’s attention. The reporter’s eyes were almost closed. She looked pale, but surprisingly, she winked at Nancy. She had seen Ned, too! Her eyes darted toward Bess, back to Nancy, then back to Bess again.

  Nancy looked at Bess with a quick sidewise glance and became very still. Bess’s lips were puckered. She puffed out her cheeks—once, then twice—and patted her chest.

  The whistle! She was reminding Nancy of the whistle!

  Nancy gave her a tight nod. Tensed for action, she waited.

  Suddenly Ann moaned and began to crumple to the floor. Reston turned toward her.

  Nancy moved in a blur of activity. Grabbing the chain around her neck, she yanked the whistle from under her sweater, put it in her mouth, and blew for all she was worth.

  Reston whirled around. Nancy was balanced on one foot, ready for him. The other foot shot upward, the toe of her shoe slamming into the man’s hand.

  The gun arched toward the ceiling. As Reston grabbed his wrist in agony, Nancy’s foot was in action again. This time she caught the point of his chin. His head snapped back, and he hit the floor as if he’d been struck by lightning.

  Brownley had hesitated for a fraction of a second too long. He darted toward the door, but Ned tackled him. The impact slammed the dispatcher against the grille of one of the cabs. He was knocked cold.