A Race Against Time (11 page)

“It’s Nancy Drew!” Mrs. Mahoney said to Officer Rainey. I was a little embarrassed by her enthusiasm. I had hoped to keep a lower profile with this man, but then I didn’t expect to be escorted right up to him either. Sometimes you have to take the bad with the good.

Mrs. Mahoney sat near the tea service. I sat down on one side of her, and Officer Rainey—who had politely stood as we approached the table—sat down on her other side. I liked that. He was directly across from me and I would be able to study his face as we talked. He still wore his security service uniform.

“Hello, Officer Rainey,” I said. “I’m so happy to find you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you from the minute I heard about this morning’s robbery.” I knew there would be no point in beating around the bush.

Officer Rainey’s face was a study in human expressions. He seemed to go from shock, to puzzlement, to anger, to embarrassment, to resignation—all in a split second.

“But how could you have known about—,” he began.

“Oh, Nancy knows everything,” Mrs. Mahoney said in a very matter of fact way. She didn’t even look up as she poured the tea.

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “No, I don’t. That’s exactly why I wanted to talk to you, Officer Rainey.”

I sat back in my chair as I had my first sip of tea. I recognized the flavor immediately. It was Darjeeling from India. It’s my favorite, because it tastes like chocolate to me.

“She even knows that Ralph Holman has been arrested,” Mrs. Mahoney said, passing a silver plate of small sandwiches neatly arranged on an embroidered linen napkin. Another two-tiered silver dish held cookies and tiny blueberry tarts.

“Nancy’s here in a purely professional capacity,” Mrs. Mahoney continued, “although she is a personal friend of mine. She and you are colleagues, you see. Nancy is also an investigator.”

“I see,” Officer Rainey said. He still seemed puzzled. He took a bite of roast beef sandwich and a sip of tea.
“I don’t really know you as part of any particular team of uniformed or undercover detectives. So I assume your interest in the case is unofficial?”

“Nancy has solved many cases that our very own police department had trouble with,” Mrs. Mahoney said. She leaned over and spoke in a low voice, as if she were telling him a secret. “Believe me, she knows what she’s doing.”

“And why is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me?” he said, after smiling briefly at Mrs. Mahoney. “You realize that I won’t be able to tell you any details as long as the official investigation is ongoing.”

“Of course,” I replied after swallowing. The roast beef sandwich was delicious—I’d had nothing since lunch except a bite of muffin. “I wouldn’t think of asking you to compromise your own work on the case,” I continued. “My main interest is in a man that I watched you chase off the stage this morning. He was a biker in red shorts who had jumped up to get a really close look at the money in the safe.”

Officer Rainey sipped his tea again and seemed to be thinking. Actually he seemed to be sizing me up, as if he were wondering how much he should tell me.

“Yes, I remember him very well,” Officer Rainey finally said. “I assume he’s a rider on one of the bike teams.”

“Didn’t you think it was strange that he just hopped
onto the stage like that?” I asked. “You were looking to the side talking to someone, but you were still very close to the safe. He didn’t seem to be worried about that at all. He just jumped up there anyway.”

Officer Rainey smiled at me, but it was one of those weird smiles. The smile that means “Don’t bother your pretty little head about something you’re too young or too inexperienced or not smart enough to understand.” Yuck.

“Well, sometimes sports competitors get really pumped up about a game or a race or whatever,” he said, as if he were teaching me one of the premier rules of life. “Their enthusiasm and exuberance make them do silly things. I figured he was just getting a close look at all that money to remind himself why he was going out there to win.”

“We’ve had more money pledged this year than ever before,” Mrs. Mahoney said. She nodded several times and popped a sugar-coated almond cookie into her mouth.

“Well, that’s just it,” I told them. “I’ve talked to that man myself. His name is Jasper, and he isn’t actually one of the racers. He had a mountain bike—”

“That certainly wouldn’t do,” Mrs. Mahoney interrupted. “You need a good road racer for this course.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And he was never a part of any of the teams or intending to race at all. So perhaps he
was interested in the money for another reason.”

“I see what you’re saying now,” Officer Rainey said. He put his teacup down and leaned forward, with his elbows on the lace tablecloth. “And I’m not only surprised. I’m really grateful to you. I was told he was one of the bikers.”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“He did,” Officer Rainey said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I tracked him down this afternoon as soon as I knew the money was gone. Of course I was as concerned as you were about his jumping up on the stage. I have to tell you that I’m also very embarrassed that it happened while I was there—that it happened on my watch.” The worried look returned to his face.

“Now, now,” Mrs. Mahoney said, patting his arm. “There’s enough blame for what happened to go around. The goal now is to get that money back and put the wretch who stole it behind bars.”

“Well, thank you, but I’m going to feel this way until I personally find the culprit who’s responsible,” Officer Rainey said. “It should never have happened while I was in charge of the safe, and the only way to restore my good reputation is to bring the thief to justice.”

“What about Ralph Holman?” I asked. “The
River Heights police seem to think he’s guilty of something. What are the charges, do you know?”

“Oh, I don’t believe for a minute that he had anything to do with the robbery,” Mrs. Mahoney said. “I’ve known Ralph all my life. Yes, I know he’s had some financial problems lately. Haven’t we all! But it’s simply not like him to do something illegal to make up for his losses. I’m sure they will never be able to indict him for stealing the Biking for Bucks pledge money. That’s just more of Chief McGinnis’s grandstanding: Arrest someone immediately. Never mind whether you have the actual criminal or not.”

“You said you tracked down this Jasper guy,” I said to Officer Rainey. “Does he live in town? I don’t remember seeing him before.”

“Not exactly,” Officer Rainey said. “I think he lives south of River Heights. I don’t know where—when I talked to him, he was still hanging around town.”

“And you still considered him a suspect after talking to him?” I asked.

“Absolutely,” he answered. “And you don’t need to worry about the case any longer. I’ll find him, believe me. And when I do, I’ll find that money and get it back in the safe.”

“Good luck,” I said, standing up. “Thank you so
much, Mrs. Mahoney. Please don’t get up. I can see myself out.”

“Thank you for coming, Nancy,” she said. “It’s always delightful to see you.”

As I left the conservatory, I could hear the two of them whispering about me and about the case.

I slowly wheeled my bike away from the Mahoney mansion. Luther’s voice echoed in my mind, telling me to follow the river. Then I heard the voices of Susie saying that Jasper Red Shorts lived somewhere on the river, and Officer Rainey telling me he thought Jasper lived south of River Heights. Hmmm.

The closest international airport was in the state capital, downriver. It would be a great place to lose yourself or get out of the country if you’d just ripped off tens of thousands of dollars from a charity. . . .

I was just three blocks away from the river. When I got there I turned south. Most of the land for miles along the river had been set aside as wilderness, public trails, and parks. So there weren’t that many residents down that way. If Jasper lived south along the river, I’d find him—and I’d check out every house and shack along the way if I had to.

I also planned to check for hidden boat-launching sites and keep an eye out for anyone cruising the
river that night. I had the photo of the mountain bike tire pattern, and that would be a big help. If I was lucky, I’d find the same pattern along the muddy bank and just follow the trail from there.

I had plenty to tell Bess, George, and Ned now. I reached behind my saddle and pulled out the cell phone. I didn’t know whether they’d be within calling range or not, so I was excited when Ned answered on the first ring.

“Nancy! It’s about time!” he said. “What’s happening? Where are you? What are you doing?”

“I’m heading south along the river,” I said. “How far did you get on the course?”

“We didn’t make it to Swain Lake,” he said. “But Bess was outstanding. We lost some ground . . . not much. We’re only behind Deirdre’s team by about twenty minutes. George was finally able to hack into the GPS system on her computer, so we know exactly where Deirdre’s team is camping.”

“And where are you now?”

“We’re on the river near Rocky Edge.”

“I’m heading that way. I’ll be there in about an hour.”

“Okay, be quiet when you come in,” Ned warned me. “Deirdre’s team isn’t far away, and we don’t want them to know you’re coming.”

“Good idea,” I said. I hung up, grateful that I could stop and see my friends—and most of all, get another change of clothes and a chance to rest.

When I neared Rocky Edge, I stopped pedaling and coasted the rest of the way down the bank. I felt a shot of much-needed adrenaline and warm feelings just seeing the small campfire my friends had built.

We all talked at once for the first several minutes—but we did so quietly. We knew our voices would carry to campsites farther up the river. And we certainly didn’t put it past Deirdre or her gang to plant a spy nearby to listen in on our conversations.

“Bess was fantastic,” George told me. “She kept really close to Deirdre. I am so primed to tear up the course tomorrow morning. I’ll cover Thad Jensen with mud as I fly back up this river!”

“What have you found out, Nancy?” Ned asked. “Tell us what’s happening.”

I filled them in on my day: talking to Luther, being caught by Chief McGinnis prowling around the back door of the bank, watching Mr. Holman being taken away in handcuffs, digging up the mountain bike tire track, talking to Red Shorts at Susie’s, and interviewing Officer Rainey at Mrs. Mahoney’s.

“So you didn’t get much accomplished, right?” George said with a smile.

“Yeah, right,” I said, smirking back.

“Looks like Red Shorts is the guy, don’t you think?” Bess asked.

“He seems to be,” I answered. “But I don’t know . . . he sure didn’t act like someone planning a major escape. That bothers me. And how does Mr. Holman fit in? Is he calling the shots? Are they accomplices? I have a feeling I’m missing something important, but I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to work with you, and we’ll all bring in the bad guy together?” Ned added. “We might be able to help.”

“I know, but I still feel strongly that there’s a lot at stake here as far as the race is concerned. I plan to solve this case—and in the meantime our team needs to fulfill its pledges.”

“And grind Deirdre and the boys into the ground once and for all,” George added. Always competitive, that George.

“But if you don’t find the money, it doesn’t matter
who
wins the race,” Bess pointed out.

“I’ll find the money,” I insisted. “You win the race!”

When I said that, I got another rush of adrenaline. A real urgency flooded over me. I had to make good on that promise.

I quickly put on fresh biking shorts and a jersey.
Then I pulled on a hoodie and workout pants over the bike clothes. The late-night air had turned chilly.

“I packed a sandwich, snacks, an energy drink, and a couple more energy bars in your panniers,” Bess said.

“Thanks,” I said. “And thanks most of all for bringing extra biking clothes!”

We all clasped hands and pumped them in the air. There was no cheer this time in case the nearby wilderness hid human ears. With hugs all around, and a kiss for Ned, I was on my way again. It was eleven fifteen.

I stayed off the main bike trail—the one that the racers would be using the next day. Instead I took the old path that ran between the public trail and the river.

The old path was hidden by undergrowth and weeds. It was a little rougher than the trail, but nothing the backup bike and I couldn’t handle. And I figured that someone on a mountain bike would be more likely to use the older path. I also didn’t want to call any attention to myself, since I knew other bikers might be camping along the riverbank and might wonder whose bike headlight was coming at them.

At first both the darkness ahead and the glare of my headlight were startling when I pulled away from the bright flames of the campfire. But my eyes gradually got accustomed to both extremes. I watched the path ahead carefully.

I had ridden just a little over three miles when I saw it in the river bank mud—the perfect squiggles of a mountain bike tire track.