High Risk

by Carolyn Keene

  “So what do you want to know?” Michelle asked.

  Nancy pulled out a spiral pad and pen. “I’ve already got your name and address. Just let me jot down your employer’s name and a number where we can reach you during the day if we need to,” she said briskly.

  “I’m a salesperson at Karsh’s,” she said. She gave Nancy the switchboard number.

  Nancy knew that Karsh’s was a local department store. She also knew that salespeople didn’t generally make enough money to buy lots of expensive stereo equipment all at once. Her interest was piqued. She’d have to follow this up. If Michelle had some unexplained income, that could point to her being Foyle’s accomplice in the insurance scam!

  Nancy took a seat. “Okay. Now, start by telling me how well you knew Mr. Foyle,” she said. “I understand you dated?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Michelle twined her fingers in her leopard-print scarf. “But I, uh—I broke up with him a few days ago. He was, uh—kind of boring. I mean, he was nice, but . . .” She trailed off.

  “I know what you mean,” Nancy said with a bubbly laugh. But she was thinking, That’s a lie. When she’d seen Toby Foyle in Conchita’s on Thursday, he hadn’t looked like a guy who’d just been dumped. He’d appeared to be having a good time with the blond girl, whoever she was. Also, from what Mrs. Godfrey had said about Michelle calling several times a day, she doubted the girl had really been bored with Foyle.

  No, I don’t think Michelle dumped Toby, Nancy mused. If anything, Toby dumped her for the blond girl. That would certainly fit the theory about Michelle wanting revenge.

  Nancy pretended to make some notes, then paused and said casually, “Now, I’d just like to ask about your whereabouts on Saturday morning.”

  Michelle’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would that matter to you?” she challenged.

  “Oh, believe me, I’m not accusing you of anything,” Nancy said quickly. “We’re only trying to make sure that there are no other possible suspects. We don’t want the defense to try to cloud the issue at the trial, you see.”

  “Hmmm,” Michelle said. She didn’t seem convinced. “Well, since you ask, I got up early and went into Chicago to do some shopping. I was out until about three o’clock.”

  “I see.” That was no alibi. Nancy made some more notes on her pad. “I’m sure we can verify that with store owners in Chicago if we need to. I just have one more question, if it’s okay with you. Mr. Foyle was recently in a car accident, as I’m sure you know. He received some money in compensation for his injuries. Now, my question is—”

  Nancy was interrupted by an angry exclamation from Michelle. “What injuries?” she said. “He came out of that accident without a scratch. And what money? He sure didn’t spend any of it on me.”

  “I see.” Nancy scribbled some more. Her thoughts were racing. Michelle’s outburst had sounded honest—unlike most of the other things she’d said. If that was so, Michelle hadn’t known about Foyle’s insurance scam. She could still be the murderer, Nancy realized. But if she was, her motive was jealousy and had nothing to do with the scam.

  Of course, there was still the blond girl to consider. Maybe she had worked with Foyle to fake the insurance claim. Nancy let out a sigh of frustration. Unless I get some leads on who this mysterious blonde is, she thought, I’m batting zero on the accomplice theory.

  “Thanks for your help,” Nancy said, getting up. “May I call you if I have any more questions?”

  “Sure,” Michelle drawled. She seemed skeptical as she added, “Good luck on your case.”

  As Nancy got into her Mustang, she saw Michelle at the window of her apartment, twisting her fingers in her scarf and staring down at the car.

  Nancy drove away, wondering. Michelle had no alibi for the time of the murder, and Nancy was sure she’d had a grudge against Toby Foyle. Nancy herself had been a victim of Michelle’s murderous temper. If she could find some physical evidence to connect the girl to the scene of the crime, she’d have the makings of a real case. It bothered her a little that this solution seemed to have nothing to do with the insurance scam, but Michelle certainly was a strong suspect so far.

  It was early afternoon, so Nancy decided to drop by Ned’s house to bring him up to date. When she arrived, she was surprised to find Joe Packard sitting in the den with Ned.

  “Mr. Packard believes I’m innocent,” Ned announced, obviously pleased.

  Packard’s face was full of concern as he greeted Nancy. “I came over to offer my support. I read about the arrest this morning, and I knew right away the police were barking up the wrong tree,” he told her. “Ned couldn’t have killed that fellow—it’s not in him. I’m glad to hear your father’s representing him, Nancy. Carson Drew has an unbeatable reputation as a defense lawyer.”

  “That’s not all I’ve got going for me,” Ned told Packard. He put his arm around Nancy and said proudly, “Nancy here is the best detective there is, and she’s going to find out for us who killed Foyle.”

  “Terrific!” Packard exclaimed. “Have you started investigating yet?”

  “Yes, I have,” Nancy said.

  “What’s the scoop?” Ned asked eagerly.

  Quickly Nancy told him about her interviews with Dr. Meyers and Michelle, including her theory that Michelle might have killed Foyle in revenge for breaking up with her.

  “I’m not altogether crazy about the idea,” she added, frowning. “There’s no clear connection between her and the insurance scam, but she certainly seems violent enough. I mean, she came after me with a knife just because she thought I might be the girl who’d stolen her boyfriend!”

  Ned scowled. “I wish you’d let me come with you,” he said, his voice filled with concern. “I don’t like you endangering yourself. You could have been badly hurt!”

  “I wasn’t, though,” Nancy said, hugging him. “Anyway, you’re definitely worth the risk. But listen, before I go making any accusations, there’s one more possible accomplice I’d like to track down—the blond girl we saw with Foyle at Conchita’s. Think hard, Ned. Do you have any idea who she is?”

  Ned scrunched up his face in thought, then shook his head. “No, I know I’ve seen her somewhere, but I just can’t think where,” he confessed. “I’ll keep trying to remember.”

  Packard was peeling a match, a thoughtful look on his face. “It sounds as if you’re on the right trail, Nancy,” he said. “This Michelle Ferraro sounds capable of murder, but I also must say I agree with Ned—you’re taking big risks. Be careful.”

  “I will, Mr. Packard,” Nancy replied.

  “Good. Well, I ought to be going,” Packard said, getting to his feet. “Ned, if there’s any way I can help out, or even if you just want to talk, please don’t hesitate to call on me. You know, I’m right in the neighborhood.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Packard.” Ned cleared his throat awkwardly, then held out his hand. Packard shook it. “I really appreciate your support, sir. It means a lot to me.”

  “Forget it, son.” With a wink and a smile, Packard was gone.

  “It was nice of him to come by,” Nancy remarked.

  Ned grinned. “Yeah, wasn’t it? You know, between Mr. Packard’s visit and the great news about your new lead, I’m beginning to feel as if I have a chance. I feel like celebrating!”

  Nancy wasn’t so sure how solid her leads were, but she was pleased to see Ned acting happier. “Want to order in a pizza?” she suggested. “I could do with some lunch.”

  Ned scooped up her car keys and jingled them. “Let’s go out. I haven’t left the house since I got home from the police station yesterday. I could use a change of scene.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Nancy warned. “What if you’re spotted by reporters? Maybe you should just lie low for a while.”

  “Don’t worry.” Ned waved a hand. “No one’s been bothering me today. The phone’s hardly rung at all, and only one reporter came to the door. The story in Chicago must be keeping them al
l busy.”

  Nancy shrugged. She didn’t have the heart to dampen his spirits. “Okay, then,” she said with a smile. “If you really want to go out, let’s go.”

  “Great!” He was already loping out the door to the car, and Nancy had to run to catch up.

  “So what’s your next move?” asked Ned as they drove toward Mama’s, a pizza place on the outskirts of Mapleton.

  “I’m going out to the warehouse tonight,” Nancy replied, her eyes on the road. “I want to see if I can find any hard clues there. There’s a chance the police might have missed something.”

  “Will you take Bess and George with you for protection?” Ned asked.

  Nancy pulled into a parking spot in Mama’s lot, and they got out. “Yes,” she agreed. “Please don’t worry about me.”

  Inside the little restaurant a group of nine or ten teenagers sat at a long table next to the wall, and a plump, dark-haired woman was bustling around serving them sodas. Most of the other tables had only one or two people at them. A sign by the cash register read, Please Wait to Be Seated.

  They waited. As they stood there, Nancy noticed that one of the teenagers was staring hard at Ned. He nudged the girl next to him and whispered something in her ear. When the girl started staring at Ned, too, Nancy began to feel a little nervous. Had they recognized him from his picture in the papers?

  “Is everyone staring at us?” Ned murmured. He was starting to be uncomfortable.

  They didn’t have to wait long for the answer to Ned’s question. Above the low hum of conversation in the restaurant, an angry muttering started at the table. Then, all of a sudden, the guy who’d first noticed Ned stood up.

  “Hey!” he shouted. “Get out of here! We don’t want any murderers in here!”

  Chapter

  Eight

  DEAD SILENCE FELL instantly over the little restaurant. The gaze of every single patron snapped to Ned’s face.

  Nancy’s heart sank right to her toes. Glancing up at Ned, she saw that his face had gone completely white. Grabbing his hand, she pulled him toward the door. “Let’s go,” she murmured. “We don’t need any more trouble than we’ve already got.”

  Outside, Ned walked to the car like a robot. He climbed in and sat staring blankly ahead of him. After getting in on the driver’s side, Nancy put her hand over his. “Ned, it was just an ignorant comment,” she said, trying to comfort him. “The law says you’re innocent until proven guilty, and I’m sure everyone else in this town remembers that.”

  “I know that guy,” Ned said quietly. “That was Denny Goldman. He was in my class in high school.”

  “Oh, Ned. I’m so sorry.” Nancy didn’t know what else to say. She could only imagine how horrible he must feel, having people he knew condemn him in public.

  “Nancy, he thinks I did it!” Ned burst out suddenly. “How many other people think the same thing? How many of my friends are going to turn the other way the next time they see me on the street? Even if I don’t get sent to prison, everyone will always remember that I was accused of murder. What’s the rest of my life going to be like?”

  “Stop it!” Nancy said in a firm voice. “The rest of your life is going to be just fine. Know why? Because I’m going to find out who really killed Toby Foyle. I’m going to find out before the grand jury hearing on Thursday. Before you ever have to walk into that courtroom, I’ll have evidence that will convince the prosecutor to drop the charges. Then Brenda Carlton will write the splashiest story you’ve ever read, and everyone will know the truth—that you’re innocent. And that’s a promise, Ned Nickerson.”

  “Whoa!” Ned held up his hands, a faint grin on his face. “Okay, Nan, I get the message. Thanks for the pep talk. I really needed it. But let’s just go home, okay? I see now that you were right—I should keep out of sight until this thing is over. Let’s go home and make some sandwiches.”

  Nancy started the car. “I’ll make you another promise,” she said, smiling. “When it is over, I’ll take you to Mama’s for a victory pizza with the works. Deal?”

  Ned laughed out loud. “Deal!”

  • • •

  That evening over dinner Nancy updated her father on the investigation. She didn’t tell him about her plan to sneak into the warehouse with Bess and George that night. She thought it would be better if he didn’t know, since what she was planning to do wasn’t exactly legal. It would look bad for Carson, as Ned’s lawyer, to be involved in any kind of shady investigating. Besides, she knew it would only make him worry.

  Instead, Nancy told her father that she was going over to George’s house. She’d called both George and Bess earlier and made plans to meet them.

  They were waiting on the porch when she drove up in her Mustang at eight o’clock. Both wore jeans, sneakers, and dark blouses as Nancy had instructed. They hurried to the car.

  “Let’s go,” George said, strapping her long, lean frame into the front passenger seat. Her brown eyes sparkled with excitement. “I hope we find some good clues.”

  “Do you really think this girl Michelle is the one who killed Toby Foyle?” Bess asked from the back seat. She leaned forward, looping her arms around George’s headrest.

  Nancy pursed her lips. “Let’s say she’s the most likely suspect I’ve got at the moment. I’m pretty sure Foyle was cheating on her and she found out. She’s got a really violent temper—and she has no alibi. On top of that, she seems to have a lot more money than she should have. She has all this brand-new, expensive stereo stuff in her apartment.”

  “I don’t see what the money question has to do with this case,” George put in. “I thought you decided she wasn’t involved in the insurance scam with Foyle.”

  Nancy nodded. “You’re right. If she killed Foyle, money wasn’t the issue. It just struck me as odd, that’s all, a salesgirl having so many new, costly things. It doesn’t add up.”

  They drove in silence until they reached the service road on the outskirts of Mapleton, where the warehouses were. The area was dark and deserted. The byroad seemed to be seldom used, and there were no streetlights.

  Nancy steered into the graveled parking area in front of a warehouse that was surrounded by sawhorses. Her headlights shone on stenciled letters on the sawhorses.

  “ ‘Police line—do not cross.’ This must be the place,” George said with a nervous laugh.

  Nancy parked in front of the sawhorses and the three girls got out. Nancy cocked her head, listening for the sound of approaching cars, but the night was still. She surveyed the big building. A strip of yellow tape that said “Crime Scene” was stretched across the front door. The three girls circled the warehouse, looking for a way to get inside.

  “The doors are all pretty well sealed,” she commented. “Let’s see if we can find a window.”

  The windows were too high for the girls to use, but finally Bess spotted a ventilation duct about six feet off the ground on the front of the building. “Will this do?” she called.

  “I think so,” Nancy said after inspecting it. “Good work, Bess.” She dragged one of the sawhorses over, climbed up on it, and worked the grate over the duct free with her fingers.

  “Uh, I don’t think I’ll fit through that hole,” Bess said, her voice nervous. “Maybe I’d better wait out here for you guys.”

  Nancy laughed. “Of course you’ll fit, Bess. You’re as thin as I am. But if you want to stay out here, that’s fine. It would probably be a good idea to have someone on guard, anyway. Here, take my car keys. If you hear anyone coming, move the Mustang out of sight.”

  “Sure,” Bess agreed, looking relieved.

  Taking the flashlight from Bess, Nancy shinnied up and crawled through the duct, then dropped to the floor inside the warehouse. Behind her, George landed with a grunt. Nancy switched on the flashlight and gazed around. Rows of metal shelving, piled high with boxes, stretched into the shadows at the far end of the cavernous building. More boxes were stacked untidily on the floor.

  “W
hat are we looking for?” George asked.

  “First let’s check out all the exits. I want to see how the killer got away,” Nancy replied.

  Together the two girls walked the length of the building. Nancy noted that there were two loading bays on one of the side walls, but they were both closed up. It would have been impossible for any one person to open the massive doors without someone to help him or her.

  “What do they keep in here?” George wanted to know. “All I see is cardboard boxes with names and dates stenciled on them.”

  “Ned said a lot of companies store their old records here,” Nancy answered. Then she snapped her fingers. “Hey—I’m glad you brought that up, George. We should try to get a list of all the companies that have storage space here. The killer probably had access to the keys to this place, since Ned said the door was unlocked when he followed Foyle inside. If we can make a match between one of the companies and any of the people involved in this case, we’re in business.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Bess and I can work on that angle tomorrow,” George offered.

  “Great. Hey, look at that!” The two girls had worked their way around to the rear wall of the warehouse, and Nancy was pointing to a small door set in one corner. It opened by means of a crash bar, she saw. When the bar was pushed, the latch slid up. Nancy knew from their survey of the building that there was no handle or keyhole to open this door from the outside.

  “This is it!” she said excitedly. “This is how the killer got out.”

  “So what does that tell us?” George asked.

  “Not much,” Nancy had to admit. “But at least we can show the police that someone could have left this way.”

  Next, Nancy and George inspected the aisles, going back and forth from left to right. Nancy was looking for the chalk outline the police would have drawn to mark where Foyle’s body had lain. She shivered just thinking about it. It was definitely a grisly search.

  They found it near the back of the warehouse. “Ugh, this is creepy,” George said when she saw the chalk marks.