025 Rich and Dangerous (11 page)

The portly man lifted his head when Nancy walked by. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed quietly.

“Heavens!” muttered a woman, making a face at Nancy as she passed. But Nancy barely noticed. Her mind was in a whir. Someone had pushed her right to the brink of a horrible death, and only luck had saved her.

Pushing the carved oak doors open, Nancy sighed with relief. There was Bess, still seated with Detective Ritter, just as Nancy had left them not long before.

Hurrying toward her friend, she thought she heard sniffing sounds behind her. Sorry, folks, she felt like saying, but there was no sense bringing any more attention to herself. The pungent odor she gave off was noticeable enough.

So much for my new outfit, she thought, looking down at the stained jacket and skirt. Trying hard to maintain her dignity, she brushed some coffee grounds from her sleeve and made her way back to the table.

To Nancy’s surprise, Ritter was leaning in close to Bess, obviously flirting. For her part, Bess seemed super uncomfortable but was obviously trying her best not to offend the lieutenant.

“Ahem,” said Nancy. The two of them jumped when they heard her voice.

“Nancy!” cried Bess when she saw her friend. “What happened to you?”

Nancy glanced over at Ritter, who was looking her up and down in total shock. No way was she going to give him the pleasure of telling him what had really happened. Things were embarrassing enough as it was.

“Never mind about me,” she said quickly.
“There’s something we have to check out. Can you take us to the power grid?”

The detective hadn’t quite recovered from the sight of the disarrayed Nancy. “Why do you want to get involved with a power outage?” he demanded to know. “The hotel people and Con Edison can take care of it without your help.”

“Please!” she insisted. “I don’t think we should waste any time.”

Slowly Ritter rose from his chair, glowering at Nancy. “You’re a weirdo, you know it?” he said, shaking his head. “All right, come on, I’ll see what I can do.”

Ritter led them down into the catacombs where Nancy had so recently had her brush with death. “The grid must be around here somewhere,” he muttered.

“Nancy,” Bess whispered as they went, “are you okay?”

“Yes, but you’ll never believe what just happened,” Nancy replied. Then, turning her attention back to their little expedition, she asked Ritter, “Are you sure you know the way?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied huffily, “I was a Boy Scout once.” But he seemed completely confused by the maze of hallways they were in.

Finally they came to a door with a sign that read DANGER—EXTREMELY HIGH VOLT-AGE.
“This must be the place,” said Ritter, pushing on the door.

As the door swung open, all three of them gasped in horror. There, attached to the grid, was Maximilian the waiter.

His eyes were wide open in surprise, but Maximilian saw nothing. He was dead.

A
LL RIGHT!
S
TEP
back! Don’t touch a thing! I don’t want any evidence tampered with!” Joe Ritter was in his element. He ordered Nancy and Bess back from the scene of Maximilian’s death and whipped a small black walkie-talkie from his pocket.

“Okay, fellas—can you hear me? We got a little mess here at the Plaza. A little accident up here on the main power grid. A guy’s been electrocuted. Send me some support right away.”

“Oh, FU never fall asleep tonight. Not with that in my brain.” Bess turned away and shut her eyes tightly.

Nancy slipped an arm around her friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to see this, Bess. I should have suspected—” She tried to comfort her.

Within minutes the place was swarming with police photographers and fingerprinters. Nancy and Bess stood around watching the professionals at work for a while. Then they decided to go back up to Nancy’s suite so Nancy could change her clothes.

Later, up in the suite, a kind of grim mood overcame them. It was hard to shake the memory of Maximilian’s death. And even worse for Nancy was knowing that his murderer was still out there.

“Maximilian knew too much, I’m sure of it,” Nancy murmured. She was curled up on the divan, running her fingers through her freshly washed hair, trying to sort everything out.

Bess leaned on an elbow. “But
what
did he know, Nancy?”

A triple knock on the door told them George was there.

Bess ran to the door and flung it open. There was George, her back to the room. Out in the hall behind her, Jack Kale was throwing her a wave. “I don’t suppose you’d like to do this again, would you?” he was saying.

“Actually, I would.” George’s knees practically buckled as she spoke.

“Maybe next time I can see you in River
Heights,” he said with a little laugh. “Well, I guess I should say good night.”

“Till next time,” replied George with a shy smile. “Night, Jack—”

Bess felt she might as well be invisible. George watched Jack walk back to his suite as if in slow motion. Finally, when he was out of sight, George headed into the room. She seemed blissfully unaware—of her friends, the open door, her handbag, her jacket. . . . She sighed over and over again with happiness.

“So?” Bess giggled, her spirits finally lightening after the grisly discovery they’d made at dinner.

George looked around, as if waking up and noticing where she was for the first time. “Oh, Bess, Nancy . . .” she murmured. “Hi.”

Nancy and Bess shot each other amused looks. It wasn’t often that their poised friend acted so out of it.

“Sooooo . . .” Nancy tried this time.

“Oh—” replied George. “You want to know about Jack? He’s wonderful. So—charming, so—” Her eyes lit up at the very thought of Jack Kale.

“So handsome?” Bess finished for her.

“Yes, and sweet, too. Very sweet. Incredibly sweet, in fact.” George sat in a club chair with a rapturous smile plastered on her face.

“I take it he didn’t try to murder you?” Nancy asked with an amused smile.

“Oh, no. Nancy, it
can’t
be him. He’s just too wonderful. He took me to an incredible place for dinner and then to this gambling parlor in the East Eighties.”

Bess’s eyes grew big. “Gambling’s illegal.”

“Oh, Bess, I know that! Anyway, he dropped five thousand dollars or so, but he said he could afford it.”

Nancy’s eyebrows went up. Jack Kale’s only real connection to wealth was his aunt. Five thousand dollars was a lot of money to blow in one night!

After a few moments George seemed to be waking from the trance she was in. The smile was still there, but there was also a glimmer of the old level-headed George coming through what she was saying.

“He’s not really
bad.
At least, I don’t think so. But he does have a problem—he is messed up about money, you know? He takes big chances and then he panics. That’s what I saw tonight, anyway.”

“What do you mean, he panics?” Nancy asked.

George’s eyes flickered with disappointment. “He admitted stealing the ruby. He said he was only going to use it as collateral for a loan, and he swore he was going to give it back. But honestly, Nancy, he really loved Sarah. He was awfully grateful that she and Joshua raised him. Imagine how hard it is to be an orphan.”

It was plain to see George was smitten, but her
instincts about people were always on the mark, Nancy knew. If George Fayne thought Jack Kale was okay, Nancy had to believe it. That is, unless George had completely flipped.

Just to make sure, Nancy put it to her directly. “George, be honest, have you lost your mind over this guy?”

George looked up at her friend and considered the question carefully. “Well, maybe a little, Nancy. I mean, I’d never want to get involved with someone who gambled. And I really don’t approve of him taking the ring—but I swear, Jack Kale would never hurt a fly. He’s not the type.”

That sounded more like George.

“So it
was
Jack who took the ring. I wonder if he took the jewelry box, too.” Nancy was thinking out loud now.

“Oh, no. I forgot to tell you. Jack thought that whole theft was a real hoot. He always knew all the jewels in that box were fakes. Whenever they stayed at the Plaza, Sarah kept her good stuff in the hotel safe—except for the ruby, of course.”

“Well, if we rule out Jack Kale . . .” Nancy was on her feet, pacing. Then she fell silent and looked up at the ceiling.

Bess looked up, too, and saw nothing there but carved plaster roses. “So, Nancy, who did it?” she wanted to know.

Nancy bit her lip and answered slowly. “Knowing who did it doesn’t do much good
unless you can prove it, Bess. And there’s only one way I can do that.”

“And that one way is?” asked George.

“I need some stationery.” Moving to the rosewood desk, Nancy pulled out three sheets of embossed Plaza Hotel notepaper.

“Here goes,” she murmured, scribbling furiously.

Bess and George watched as she wrote a message on each sheet of paper. She tucked each sheet into a separate envelope, sealed them, and stood up.

“Come on, guys,” she said, heading for the door and making her way to the Amberly suite.

The suite was locked for once, but Nancy, taking her lock pick out of her pocket, promptly sprang the lock and walked in. Bess and George watched as she placed the envelopes one by one under Alison, Jack, and Pieter’s doors.

That done, she motioned them back to her suite. “It’s just a matter of time now. Soon the murderer will walk right up to our door,” she announced confidently.

“Okay. I can’t resist any longer. Out with it! What did you write?” Bess’s blue eyes were sparkling with curiosity.

“Here’s the message,” answered Nancy. “I wrote: ‘I know you killed her, and I can prove it. What’s it worth to you? Meet me at my suite. I’ll be waiting—
alone.’ ”

“Ugh,” muttered Bess. “Somehow the thought
of meeting a murderer face-to-face just doesn’t thrill me.” Nancy could tell that the picture of Maximilian was in her mind.

“Come on, let’s get ready,” said Nancy. Bess and George threw her confused looks, but Nancy moved straight ahead.

“Okay, George, you’re the tallest. Here’s a step stool to put by the door and a net to drop, courtesy of Prince Ururu of Rarotonga. He stayed in this suite before us, so if it smells of fish, it
should.

“Bess, I have a starter’s pistol for you. My dad was using it for a skit at the Interpol convention. When the door opens, aim it straight at the person’s heart, and whatever you do, act like you mean business.”

“You want me to shoot this thing?” Bess took the gun from Nancy as if it were molten lava.

“It’s only a starter’s pistol,” said George from her position on the step stool next to the door.

“Don’t
shoot it, whatever you do!” Nancy advised. “Just
look
like you’re
going
to shoot it at the first false move.”

Shaking her blond waves, Bess took the pistol and focused on the door with a steely look. “The things I do for you, Nancy Drew!” she muttered. “I hope you appreciate me.”

“You know I do,” Nancy smiled sweetly, her rope ready.

The three friends stayed in their positions for
about ten minutes, the tension in the room palpable. Then, it happened.

With a creak, the doorknob turned, and the door slowly swung open.

Instantly the girls went into action. George’s net came down over the head, Bess aimed straight for the heart, and Nancy swept her rope under the ankles, tripping up the unsuspecting visitor, who went down to the floor with a cry of outrage and a resounding thud.

“Hit the light, Bess!” Nancy cried excitedly. “We’ve got our killer!”

Bess did as she was told, while Nancy put a full-nelson hold on their prey. Blinking in the light, the three hunters got their first look at the murderously angry face of the man they had just caught—Carson Drew!

W
HAT IN THE
name of . . . ?” Carson Drew tried to kick his way out of the dusty netting as the embarrassed girls freed him. “Is this your idea of a joke?”