the night before, but she decided not to bother
Annabel with them now. Nancy had wondered why
Georgina hadn't appeared at breakfast—and decided it
was probably because she'd slept late after her
nighttime wanderings.
Annabel turned her hazel eyes on Nancy. “By the
way, Nancy, I hope this case isn't getting to you. After
all, this is supposed to be a vacation.”
“Don't worry about me,” Nancy assured her. “I'd
rather be doing something about the case than sit by
and watch all this stuff happen.”
“Well, I hope you'll take the afternoon off and join
us for the boating party,” Annabel said.
Nancy gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Count on me for
that, Annabel.”
Nancy walked back up the wooden stairs to the
bottom of the lawn at Moorsea Manor. From the top of
the stairs, Nancy was reminded of what a magnificent
place it was. With its stately stone facade gleaming in
the sunlight and ivy spilling over its ancient eaves, the
house was breathtaking. Nancy clenched her fists in
determination—she had to get to the bottom of this
mystery and save Moorsea for the Petersons. She
couldn't let Annabel lose her ancestral home.
“Nancy, lass,” a man's voice shouted. Turning, she
saw Malcolm and George strolling toward her from the
small parking area next to the house. “What a beautiful
day,” Malcolm exclaimed. “I was about to take my wee
bairn out for a spin with George when I spotted you on
the lawn. We were hoping that you would join us.”
“Your wee bairn?” Nancy said as they joined her.
“My baby. My brand-new convertible Jaguar. It's my
prize possession. All it needs is a couple of pretty lasses
riding inside.” He flashed the two girls his signature
grin.
“Come on, Nancy,” George urged. “You should see
Malcolm's car. It's really something. It'd be a hoot to
take a ride in it.”
“We'll see some nice views of the sea,” Malcolm
said. “With the wind in your face and the sun
sparkling—what better way to pass the morning?”
Well, I would like to ask Malcolm more questions,
Nancy thought, studying the playful gleam in his eye.
She felt a sudden wave of irritation toward him. Was
his humorous personality for real? she wondered. Or
was it a cover for something darker? “I'd love to come,”
she said, and they headed off for his car.
Ten minutes later Nancy was clutching the backseat
of Malcolm's cherry-red Jaguar as he floored it around
hairpin curves. Inches away from the car, enormous
cliffs plunged down to the rocky shore thirty feet
below. From the front passenger seat, George glanced
nervously back at Nancy. Cupping her hand to her
mouth, George muttered, “I wish he'd stop showing
off. We're going to end up impaled on those rocks
below.”
Nancy nodded grimly. Why was Malcolm driving
like such a hotrodder? she wondered. Was he trying to
scare them off the case?
Nancy's knuckles were white as she gripped the seat
and leaned toward Malcolm. “Slow down!” she
shouted, but the sound of her voice was drowned out
by the wind.
Soon, the houses of Lower Tidwell appeared,
zooming into sight like a movie in fast motion. Malcolm
would have to slow down now, Nancy realized.
They proceeded down the main street with Malcolm
hunched over the steering wheel, clucking about a slow
car ahead. He slapped his thigh, then said, “That car is
going at a snail's pace. Do they think I have all day?”
On Nancy's left, the stark office building of the
Singh brothers came into view. Nancy was surprised to
see both men standing outside their front door on a
Sunday. They were probably showing houses to a
client, she reasoned, catching sight of a third person
behind them. Suddenly one of the Singh brothers
shifted his weight to the side, and Nancy gaped. The
third person was Georgina Trevor!
George and Nancy traded alarmed glances.
Georgina must have driven into town when Nancy and
the Petersons were down at the beach.
“Malcolm!” Nancy said, tapping his shoulder. She
had to get back to Moorsea Manor right away to search
Georgina's
room.
“Can
you
turn
around?
Immediately?”
“Turn around?” Malcolm asked. His face was filled
with disappointment as he craned his neck toward
Nancy. “You don't mean it! Why?”
“I need to get back to Moorsea Manor.” Nancy
fumbled for an excuse. “I . . . uh, I'm expecting a
transatlantic call in five minutes. Do you think your
wee bairn' is up to the job of getting us there in time?”
“Of course she's up to it,” Malcolm replied in a
sullen tone. “The question is whether she wants to be.”
“Come on, Malcolm,” George urged. “Be a good lad
and drive us home.”
“Okay,” Malcolm said glumly. “If you insist.”
Back at Moorsea Manor, Malcolm skidded into his
parking space with a loud crunch of gravel. Then
without a word to the girls, he jumped out of the
Jaguar and slammed his door. By the time Nancy and
George stepped out, Malcolm was already jogging
briskly up the front steps of the house.
“What's his problem?” George wondered with a
puzzled frown.
“I guess he's insulted because a phone call is more
important to us than a car ride with him,” Nancy said.
“Maybe he wanted us to ooh and aah over his car
more.”
“That's very grown-up of him,” George said dryly.
“Do I detect a slight change of opinion over Mr.
Malcolm Bruce?” Nancy asked with a sly grin. She
punched George playfully on the arm as they hurried
to the Petersons' office to fetch Georgina's room key.
Nancy pulled George to a sudden stop just in front
of Reception. Running footsteps clicked loudly on the
stairway above them. Nancy and George whirled
around. Whoever was running sounded frantic, Nancy
thought.
Malcolm appeared, ashen-faced, at the top of the
stairs. “There's a snake—coiled in my bathroom sink!”
he gasped. “A huge black snake!”
14. Swept to Sea
Annabel rushed out of Reception, joining Nancy and
George at the base of the stairs.
“What's all this commotion?” she asked, glancing
from Nancy to George.
“I'm afraid I'm the cause of it,” Malcolm said as he
descended the stairs.
Annabel paled. “Why? What happened, Malcolm?”
In a shaky voice, Malcolm told Annabel about the
snake. The moment he had finished, she bounded up
the stairs, two at a time, with Nancy, George, and
Malcolm on her heels.
Up in Malcolm's bathroom, Annabel, Nancy, and
three feet long, curled up placidly in the sink as if it
lived there. “Whew—it's just a garden snake,” Annabel
proclaimed. “Completely harmless. I'm going to ask
Hugh to remove it.” With a little shudder, she left the
room.
Nancy turned to Malcolm, feeling puzzled. He really
did seem shaken by the snake, she thought. She
doubted he was pretending. Then what was he doing
with the sign in his closet if he wasn't responsible for
the other pranks? “Malcolm,” she began, “I thought I'd
let you know what I found the other day.” She opened
his closet door and pointed inside.
Malcolm's jaw dropped, and then a hurt look came
into his eyes. “You were snooping in my closet?”
“I'm a detective, Malcolm,” Nancy explained. “The
Petersons wanted me to get to the bottom of all these
weird things that were happening at the inn, so they let
me search some guest rooms for clues. We thought the
sign might be another trick. Remember when I said
that George and I almost slid backward down that
hill?”
“I didn't mean for that to happen, really!” Malcolm
said in an anguished voice. Then he clamped a hand
over his mouth. “I can't talk about this anymore.”
“Would you like to talk to the police, then?” Nancy
asked.
“No,” Malcolm said, his blue eyes widening. “Okay,
I'll tell you then.” In a sheepish tone, he explained, “I
was driving my Jag a bit too fast the day I arrived at
Moorsea. I ran into the road signs, side by side at the
fork in the road. I knocked them down—by mistake, of
course—and then I must have stuck the A sign back
where the B sign belonged. But I didn't realize my
error, I promise!”
“But why did you take the B sign and hide it in your
closet?” George asked.
Malcolm's face turned red, and he refused to meet
George's eyes. In a stricken tone, he said, “I was in a
hurry—I just wanted to get away. I was about to stick
the B sign back when I heard a car approaching. I
didn't want to get caught, you see—bad publicity, and
all”—he flashed George an embarrassed glance—“so I
threw the sign in the back of my Jag. I know I did
wrong, and I meant to replace the sign, but with you
two lovely girls around, I just forgot.” He sneaked a
hopeful grin at George.
“Yeah, right, blame it on us,” George muttered,
rolling her eyes.
Nancy studied Malcolm. He certainly was kind of
silly, she thought, but his story sounded true. In any
case, she doubted whether someone so impulsive and
easily distracted could have planned the pranks and the
dognapping. What could Malcolm's motive be,
anyway? More and more, Georgina, the Singhs, or the
three of them together seemed the likeliest suspects.
And even though Nancy couldn't figure out a motive
for Georgina, she was acting awfully suspicious.
“All right, Malcolm. I believe you,” Nancy said. “But
tell me, had you locked your bedroom door this
morning?”
“Yes,” Malcolm answered. “I can't understand how
anyone got in.”
Nancy drew George aside and said, “I've got to
search Georgina's room.”
“I'll keep Malcolm company till Hugh arrives,”
George offered.
Nancy found Annabel in the kitchen telling Hugh
about the snake. As soon as she finished, he grabbed a
large paper bag and a pair of thick work gloves and
hurried out of the room. Nancy pulled Annabel into
the pantry, away from the kitchen staff, who were busy
preparing lunch.
Nancy filled Annabel in about Georgina's recent
activities—the sleepwalking, talking to the Singhs, and
lying about staying in her room to nurse a headache.
“It's possible that after the treasure hunt, Georgina lied
about getting a clue that sent her to the roof,” Nancy
declared. “I wonder if anyone actually saw Georgina
slipping on the roof and hurting her ankle.”
“I certainly didn't,” Annabel said. “And I doubt
other guests saw her, because they were busy following
their own clues.”
“I'm wondering if she could be in league with the
Singhs,” Nancy said. “See, the twins could have hired
Georgina to do the pranks. After all, they wouldn't
want to be seen trespassing at Moorsea because they'd
instantly be suspected, but Georgina as a guest would
have free run of the place.”
Annabel looked thoughtful. “That makes sense,
Nancy, except that Georgina seems so . . .”
“Clueless?” Nancy finished. “It's kind of hard to tell
whether she's putting on an act or whether she's really
that spacey. Anyway, I'd really like to search her room.
If I can find the matching earring, we'll be in luck.”
Annabel led the way back to her office. As she
pulled Georgina's extra key off the peg board behind
her desk, Nancy noticed that the key to Room Seven
was missing.
“Hey—Georgina could have sneaked in here this
morning and taken Malcolm's extra key,” she
remarked, pointing at the empty peg. “Maybe she
forgot to put it back after leaving the snake in his sink.”
Annabel did a double take as she noticed the missing
key. “You're right. Georgina, or . . . whoever, probably
took that key.”
With Georgina's room key in hand, Nancy hustled
upstairs. The house was entirely still. All the guests
were probably outside enjoying the beautiful weather
before lunch, she reasoned.
Quickly—aware that Georgina might return at any
minute—Nancy slipped inside the room. She made a
beeline for the bureau. A makeup kit sat on top of it,
with a heart-shaped papier-mâché jewelry box nearby.
Inside the jewelry box were a few pairs of earrings.
A thrill went through Nancy. Nestled among them
was a single gold stud, identical to the one she had
found inside the cave!
Nancy put the earring in her pocket and hurried
downstairs to find Annabel. In Reception Annabel was
sorting through some old photographs and organizing
them into an album. She raised her eyebrows when
Nancy showed her the matching earring. “So Georgina
is our villain,” she said, shaking her head in
amazement. “I guess now we should contact the police
and show them this earring as proof.”
“It's just one piece of evidence, Annabel,” Nancy
countered. “It's not total proof. Before calling the
police, I'd like to catch Georgina doing one of her
pranks. If the police question her now, she'll be on her
guard. Also, we still don't know whether she or the
Singhs are the masterminds. I don't want the Singhs to
be alerted so they can cover their tracks.”
Annabel sighed. “All right, Nancy. As
usual, I trust
your judgment.” She picked up a photo of a dapper-
looking couple and their young daughter to place
inside her album.
“Who are they?” Nancy asked curiously.
“This is me with my parents when I was six,”
Annabel explained. Cupping her chin in her hand,
Annabel gazed at the picture dreamily. “My parents
look happy here, but I know it was a tough time for
them. My sister, Gloria, had run away from home the
year before. She never came back, and everyone
assumed she was dead.”
“She ran away?” Nancy asked, surprised. “That's so
sad. But . . . how old was she then?”
“Gloria was twelve years older than me, so she was
seventeen when she left home. She was completely
wild—the black sheep of the family. I remember her
fighting constantly with Mum and Dad. Then suddenly
she was gone.”
“Why did she fight with them?” Nancy asked.
“No one really knows,” Annabel replied. “My
parents were good people—loving and not too strict.
Gloria was just one of those types who could never be
satisfied, no matter how much anyone tried to
accommodate her. At least, that's what Mum said. Still,
she blamed herself for Gloria's problems.”
“Why?” Nancy asked.
“Because when Gloria was three, Mum and Dad
moved to India for two years for Dad's job. They left
Gloria in England with Mum's sister. Even though
Gloria resented my parents and fought with them, Dad
absolutely doted on her. He used to call her his little
morning glory.' ”
“His little morning glory?' “ Nancy repeated. She
held up the earring between her thumb and forefinger,
studying the etching of the morning glory on the flat
gold surface of the stud. “Do you have any pictures of
Gloria?” Nancy asked, eagerly scanning the pile of
pictures.
“No,” Annabel answered. “My poor parents were so
heartbroken after Gloria left that they threw out her
pictures in a fit of grief. Whenever Mum looked at
those pictures, they made her cry. My parents decided
they'd best get on with their lives for my sake.”
Nancy held out the earring for Annabel to see. “Do
you remember whether Gloria owned a pair of earrings
like these?” she asked.
Taking the earring from Nancy, Annabel examined it
with a puzzled frown. “No, I don't remember. Why?”
“I could be wildly off base,” Nancy said, “but I'm
Mystery at Moorsea Manor Page 10
