037 Last Dance (13 page)

Authors: Carolyn Keene

Tags: #Mobilism

Sixteen

N
ANCY REMAINED
in the small, cluttered office for a few moments after Jon had left, thinking. As far as she was concerned, another suspect had just been ruled out. Whatever Jon Villiers might have lied about, whatever he’d done, he wasn’t behind the attacks on Laurie—he cared too .much. And they would serve no purpose.

Nibbling at her lower lip, a frown furrowing her brow, Nancy stepped out into the hallway.

Who was left to suspect? Now that she’d ruled out Adam Boyd—he’d been in the hospital with two injured hands when Laurie’s brakeline was
cut—and Jon himself, there seemed to be no one with a real motive.

There was Jon’s uncle Mike, but that was unlikely. The attacks on Laurie seemed, at the very least, geared to driving her away from Moves and Jon. Nancy knew that would be the last thing Jon’s uncle would want. The more Laurie loved and trusted Jon, the more it would suit the older man’s purposes.

What about Pam? There was definitely something between Pam and Jon. Maybe it was in the past, but . . .

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute!” Nancy whispered as an incredible idea suddenly struck her.

What if she’d been on the right track when she’d thought Adam Boyd was behind all the mischief? He and Laurie had loved each other in the past, and he was jealous of Laurie and Jon.

But Nancy took the idea one step further. Laurie and Adam weren’t the only ones with a past. What about Jon and Pam? More to the point, what about Jon and Sheila Day?

Nancy had assumed that Sheila was out of the picture—that she was still in Chicago, where she and Jon had been dance partners. Nancy had been guessing that Jon had come to River Heights partly to get away from Sheila. He met Pam right away, then dropped her as soon as he met Laurie.

But if Pam and Jon had dated for such a short time, why did they seem to know each other so well? The times Nancy had seen them together, there had been a connection between them that could only come from knowing each other a long time.

And they danced together so perfectly. . . .

What was it Jon had said? “She—Pam was suspicious about you from the first.” Now, there was an interesting slip of the tongue. Could he have been about to say,
“Sheila
was suspicious about you . . .”?

In fact, what if Sheila Day had been in River Heights all along? What if she was the one trying to kill Laurie? It would make perfect sense. . . .

From the main part of the club came the soft strains of a slow song. Nancy nodded to herself. Right on cue, she thought.

Quickly and quietly, she made her way to the doors and slipped inside the dancing area, being careful to keep to the shadows.

Pam Hastings was standing in the center of the enormous, burned-out room. As Nancy watched, she set a large portable radio down on the floor beside her. Music flowed from its speakers.

Pam was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Even in the poor light, Nancy could see the wild glint of emotion in the girl’s eyes.

Facing her, his hands in his pockets, was Jon.

Nancy was surprised, since he’d been in such a hurry to leave the club and see Laurie.

“For once, Jon Villiers,” Pam was saying, “you’re going to listen to me. I love you. I’m the only woman who can make you happy.”

Jon’s answer confirmed all Nancy’s suspicions. “Sheila, give it up,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Sheila Day—alias Pam Hastings—stepped toward Jon, holding out her arms, as the music continued. “Let’s dance, like we used to. We had a good thing going.”

“We did,” Jon agreed, his voice steely, “but I told you again and again—it’s over. You and I are through.”

Sheila shook her head. “You don’t understand. I did it all for you—I did so many things for you.”

Jon’s shoulders slumped as if a great weight had suddenly fallen on them. “Like what?” he asked wearily, barely listening.

Sheila shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands. “All of it. The slashed tires.”

“So that was really aimed at Laurie, not Nancy,” Jon guessed, suddenly more alert.

Sheila nodded. “They both have Mustangs—I got them mixed up.”

“What else have you done?” Jon asked.

As Nancy watched, Sheila seemed to puff up with pride. “I left a noose on Laurie’s porch, and I held that nosy Nancy Drew under the water at
the lake, too, She never learns, you know. When that didn’t work, I arranged the grease ‘accident’ in the kitchen—to scare her off.”

Nancy saw Jon shudder slightly. “And you’re responsible for this, too?” he asked, indicating the burned-out club with a wave of one hand.

Sheila shrugged. “You didn’t give me a choice, Jon. I tried to talk to you, but you wouldn’t listen. I had to do something big, don’t you see?”

Jon simply stared at her, stunned by what she’d done.

Sheila went on, almost proudly. “I knew you’d love me again, if I could just get Laurie out of the way. We need to get away from here, you and I, mate a new start. I decided to kill two birds with one stone, if you’ll excuse the expression. I hit Laurie over the head and dragged her into the cellar, then. I set the fire.” She paused, and a frown altered her features. “Everything would have been okay, if it hadn’t been for Nancy Drew. By rights, she and Laurie both should have gone up in smoke.”

Jon was shaking his head in amazement. “You’re crazy,” he muttered.

Sheila’s eyes shone with tears. “That’s right,” she answered, sounding a little worried. “Crazy about you.”

Jon started to leave. “I’ve got to get to Laurie,” he said.

Sheila immediately stepped in front of him.
“No,” she said. “There is no Laurie, not anymore. I cut the brakelines in her car—it’s too late. She’s dead.”

“Get out of my way,” Jon said, through gritted teeth. It looked to Nancy as though he was just barely able to control his temper, disgust, and horror.

“She’s alive?” Sheila asked, in a whisper.

“She’s alive,” Jon confirmed furiously. He would have pushed past Sheila and gone then—except that she pulled an automatic pistol from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Mm.

“You’re not going to her,” she breathed.

Jon stood completely still, his eyes on the gun. “Sheila, give it up. Enough people have been hurt.”

“You’re not going to her,” Sheila repeated.

Jon took a step toward her. Sheila pulled back the hammer. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she whispered brokenly. “You want her, not me.”

“Sheila—”

“I’m going to kill you,” Sheila said, pointing the gun directly at Jon’s chest. “Goodbye, Jon.”

Chapter

Seventeen

J
ON HELD UP
both hands in a useless effort to protect himself. “Sheila, don’t,” he whispered desperately.

She laughed. “It’s too late,” she said, holding the gun in both hands and waving it wildly from side to side. “Do you hear me? It’s too late! You don’t love me anymore—you love her!” For a moment pain twisted Sheila’s features, but then she was .smiling again. “1 was hoping to get you back, I admit that—but I had this backup plan.”

Jon said nothing. His hands remained in midair, and his eyes were still fixed on the pistol.
Nancy, meanwhile, was inching her way closer, moving silently through the shadows.

“You know,” Sheila went on, “you’ve gone soft since the old days, when we used to work with Mike. I should have seen it before. You’re nothing but a—a coward.”

Jon moistened his lips. He had every reason to be scared, but he was keeping his head. Nancy admired him for that.

Hold on! she thought as she slipped between charred tables and chairs.

“Give me the gun, Sheila,” Jon said, cautiously holding out his hand. “We’ll talk. Somehow, we’ll work everything out.”

Sheila shook her head. “That isn’t going to work. I know you’re only trying to get the gun away.”

Nancy held her breath as Jon took another step toward Sheila.

“You don’t want to kill me,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” Sheila argued. “That was plan B—killing you for the insurance money and starting over somewhere else. I’d be lonely, but I’d be rich, too.”

“What insurance money?” Jon asked, frowning.

Again, Sheila gave that chilling laugh. “You have a terrible memory, darling,” she said. “Remember when we were engaged, and you took
out that policy on your life so I’d be provided for if something happened to you?”

Jon nodded slowly, looking baffled.

“Well,” Sheila boasted, “I’ve kept up the premiums. Now, Jon darling, I’m going to collect.”

“Collect?” Jon echoed. “You won’t get a penny, Sheila—you’ll be in jail for murder.”

Easy, Nancy thought. Don’t get her excited.

Sheila shook her head. “I’ll clean out the office safe before I go—the police will think you were killed by burglars.”

Nancy was closer than before, but she was still too far away to stop Sheila. Seeing her raise the pistol, she grabbed a sooty soda glass from a table and hurled it behind Sheila, in order to distract her.

When Sheila whirled, startled by the sound, Nancy rushed toward her, grappling for the gun.

“No!”
Sheila screamed, hatred in her eyes.

The girls struggled and the pistol discharged once before Nancy finally wrested it from Sheila’s grip.

Jon came up behind Sheila and caught her by the arms when she tried to lunge at Nancy again. His face filled with sadness, he again said the words that had driven Sheila to despair in the first place.

“It’s over.”

• • •

Nancy, George, and Bess were all crowded around Laurie’s bed as Nancy explained the case.

“So all along it was Pam—Sheila—doing those awful things,” Laurie said. “Is she in jail?”

Nancy nodded. “Jon called the police and, when they got there, Sheila confessed to everything.”

Just then, Jon stepped into the room. There was a resolute expression on his face. Nancy thought she knew what he had come for. Poor Jon, she thought. And poor Laurie, too.

“We’ll see you later,” George said to Laurie, taking Bess by the arm and starting toward the door. Nancy was right behind them.

“Please don’t go,” Jon said. “I want all of you to hear this.”

The three girls stopped and turned to look at Jon and then Laurie.

“I’m leaving River Heights,” he announced. “At least for a while.”

Laurie looked alarmed for a moment, but then she lowered her eyes and Nancy guessed that she was relieved, as well as sad.

Jon cupped his hand under Laurie’s chin and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “It’s because I care about you so much that I want to go away,” he said softly, his voice full of tenderness. “Too much has happened—we both need time to think about what we really feel. I’ll be back
someday, Laurie, and if you still want me, we can start again.”

Laurie nodded sadly. After kissing her once again, very gently, Jon left the room without looking back.

Nancy, George, and Bess clustered around Laurie’s bed once more. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but she was trying hard to smile.

“I’ll bet he really will be back someday,” she said.

“I think you may be right,” Nancy agreed, smiling at her friend. “Who can tell what the future holds?”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.