The Wrong Track (8 page)

Nancy said good night to Jody and let herself into her condo. Checking her watch, Nancy saw it was only eight-fifteen. She had almost two hours before Bess and George would show up.

“Maybe I will lie down,” she said half out loud. Nancy lay on top of the goose-down comforter on her bed and immediately felt herself drift off to sleep.

• • •

Nancy woke up to the sound of the phone ringing and sunlight streaming in through her windows.

“Hello?” she mumbled, shaking her head to try to clear it. She couldn't believe how sick she still felt.

“Nancy?” Bess's voice cried. “Are you all right? We were told you got a bad case of food poisoning at the restaurant, and we decided not to disturb you last night.”

Nancy explained that the doctor didn't think it was food poisoning. Bess's reaction was one of shock. “What was it, then?”

“I don't know,” Nancy said. “I'll have to wait for the test results, I guess. Until I solve these cases, though, I'll have to be very careful.”

“You think there's something else going on at Tall Pines besides the theft?” Bess asked.

“I'm sure of it.” Nancy paused. “Someone locked us in that sauna. Someone switched the signs on the ski trail. I got dosed last night with something that made me very sick. Someone's after me, Bess. I'm sure of it.”

“You think someone knows you're a detective and wants you out of here?” Bess asked in a low, breathless voice. “But who?”

“I don't know. Someone's found out. Or—”

“Or what?” Bess asked.

“Or someone simply wants to sabotage Tall Pines, and I've been the accidental victim each time,” Nancy offered.

“Someone like Rob Watson, you mean,” Bess said.

“Exactly.”

After a short pause Bess asked, “What can George and I do to help?”

Nancy thought for a moment and then asked her friends to go to Jody's apartment, sneak in, and do a search of the girl's belongings. All three times that Nancy had been hurt Jody either had been there or had known where she was going to be. This made her highly suspicious. Could she have stolen the money and found out that Nancy was a detective? It was worth checking out.

“What are we looking for?” Bess asked.

“The rest of the fifty thousand dollars or some sign that Jody's made large deposits in her bank accounts recently,” Nancy said. “Check to see if she really did go home yesterday between ten fifteen and ten forty-five,” she added, remembering Jody's alibi.

“There's one problem,” Bess told her. “I don't know how to break into an apartment.”

Nancy had already thought of that. “Her mom should be at work, so try this: Tell the landlady you're planning a surprise party for Jody,” she suggested. “Take some balloons. She'll probably let you in to decorate.”

Bess giggled. “It just might work.”

“Of course it will,” Nancy promised.

Nancy lay down for a bit because she still felt awfully woozy, and she worked on a plan to check out Ben Wrobley. Slowly she got dressed and made her way to the building where the employees lived. She knew Ben taught at nine. It
was five past now, so that gave her plenty of time to search his place. At the employees' complex Nancy found a directory out front.

Ben's apartment turned out to be at the far end of the building. The door was locked, but the lock was only a simple one, not a deadbolt. She pulled a credit card from her pocket and slid it along the doorjamb. A second later she was inside.

The apartment was just one room, she saw. Although small, it was well organized. A daybed with bolsters served as a couch, and cabinets over the desk provided additional storage. The back wall had a compact kitchenette and a door leading to a bath. Large skiing posters hung on the other three walls.

Nancy went to the desk first because it was the most logical place for Ben to hide whatever it was he'd taken from the office. She opened the top drawer. Nothing there but pens and pencils and a blank pad of paper. She leafed through the papers in the file drawer, but there were only copies of skiing articles from magazines.

She went over to search the storage bolsters above the bed, finding only blankets and pillows.

There was one hiding place left. Nancy walked across the room to the dresser. The first three drawers were filled with Ben's clothes. The last drawer held four hand-knit ski sweaters. Nancy slid her hand between each of the sweaters and then under the bottom one. Her fingers skidded on something smooth and flat.

A rush of excitement coursed through her as
she pulled the object out. She'd found a file folder—taken from Dave Kendall's office, no doubt.

Nancy checked the tab. “Inge Gustafson” was printed on it in neat black letters. Ben had stolen Inge's personnel file.

Sitting on the daybed, Nancy spread the folder open. As she started to read the letters and Inge's contract her eyes widened. No wonder Ben was so angry!

The Inge Gustafson Ski School was a sham. Karl had paid Inge a lump sum to use her name, but according to their agreement she had no further obligations—she didn't even have to give a single lesson!

Meanwhile Ben was doing all her work. He must have found out she was never going to show and taken this file as proof of his suspicions, Nancy figured. What was he going to do with the evidence, though?

As Nancy's thoughts spun through the possibilities she heard the rasp of a key in the lock. She searched frantically for a hiding spot, but before she could move, the door swung open. It was too late.

Nancy was caught!

W
HAT ARE YOU DOING
in my room?” Ben demanded, outraged.

Nancy knew that whatever she did, she couldn't blow her cover. “I saw you take something from Dave's office,” she said. “I wanted to find out what it was.”

Ben grabbed the folder from Nancy's hands. “You're not reviewing Tall Pines for a ski magazine, are you?” The look Ben gave Nancy was extremely skeptical.

Nancy decided that if her cover had to be blown, she might as well invent a better one—that of investigative reporter.

“Well, no, not exactly,” she confessed, playing up her new role. “I'll tell you the truth—if you promise to keep it just between us.”

Ben was obviously skeptical. “Okay.”

“I heard about the theft a week ago, and I wanted to see if there was something going on at Tall Pines that the readers of
Tracks
should know about,” she bluffed.

“So you're doing an exposé,” Ben guessed.

“Exactly,” Nancy told him. “But if anyone here finds out, I won't be able to learn a thing, and then”—she snapped her fingers—“end of story, right?”

Ben ran his hands through his jet black hair. “I see your point, but I still don't get why you searched my room. I didn't steal the money. Rebecca Montgomery did.”

“I've interviewed her. She denies it, and I believe her,” Nancy said, her hands on her hips.

Ben unzipped his parka and tossed it on the bed. “Then someone else took it.”

Nancy gestured to the file lying beside Ben's jacket. “We both know that the Inge Gustafson Ski School is a sham. Maybe you wanted to get back at Karl for treating you so badly.”

Ben's eyes blazed with anger. “Maybe I do want to get back at him, but I wouldn't steal from him. I'm not stupid.” He paused. “You can get your story however you want,” he went on angrily. “And when you do, you'll find out I'm innocent. Now I think you'd better go.” With that Ben walked to the door and opened it. “Don't worry, though,” he said quietly. “Your secret's safe with me.”

Nancy smiled at the ski instructor. “Thank you,” she said softly. She didn't know if Ben was telling her the truth—either about his not being
the thief or about how he wouldn't tell anyone that she was “investigating” the theft at Tall Pines. Could she really believe him?

• • •

“Of course I understood,” Sheila said when Nancy went to call on her at her condo. “Come in. Karl and I felt just awful when we heard what happened last night. Are you all right now?” she asked, her crystal blue eyes showing her concern.

Nancy's smile was brave, and Sheila wouldn't have guessed how queasy she still felt. “I'm fine, really,” she fibbed gracefully. “I'd like to interview Karl if I could,” she said after she and Sheila were seated on the couch. “Do you know when he'll be back?”

“I'm not sure,” Sheila said. “He had some kind of problem to handle this morning.” She tapped her fingers nervously on the arm of the couch. “My husband's too trusting. I mean, who else would hire a person with a criminal record?” she blurted out.

Sheila must have realized what she had let slip because her mouth instantly clamped shut. Before Nancy could question her further the phone rang, and at the same time there was a knock at the door.

“Would you get the phone?” Sheila asked Nancy as she hurried toward the door.

Nancy picked up the receiver that was on an end table beside the couch.

“I've got what you want,” a man announced before Nancy could identify herself. “Meet me at that unfinished building tonight at ten.” Without
waiting for a response the man hung up. Nancy put the receiver down, completely puzzled by what she had just heard. Who was the man, and what did he have? What unfinished building was he talking about?

As she thought over the man's words Nancy remembered seeing Sheila the day before with the man in the black fedora by the new pond. There was an unfinished building there—the snack bar. Maybe the caller was the same man.

“Aren't these gorgeous?” Sheila came back into the room, her arms filled with flowers. “Karl sent them.” She sniffed deeply.

“They're beautiful,” Nancy agreed.

Sheila placed the floral arrangement in the middle of the coffee table and touched one of the petals. “This is a very rare iris,” Sheila told Nancy as she sat down again. “Who was on the phone?” she asked, curious.

Nancy told her about the man's call, careful to watch the woman's reaction. “He didn't leave his name,” she said.

Sheila flushed. She fingered the iris petal again, and Nancy could see her hand trembling. “He must have the anniversary gift I want for Karl.” Sheila's words were spoken hesitantly, and her eyes never once met Nancy's.

Nancy had a strong suspicion Sheila was lying and decided to ask her about the day before. “Didn't I see you near the skating rink yesterday?” she asked. “I wanted to try it out but didn't know it wasn't finished yet.”

The older woman's eyes narrowed. “No, it's
not done yet. You must have seen me there with the, uh, contractor. Karl asked me to meet him.” With that she got up off the couch, picked up the flower arrangement, and nervously paced the room. “Now where should I put these?” she asked absently.

It was obvious to Nancy that the woman was hiding something. But what?

Sheila set the bouquet down on a nearby table and checked her watch. “Oh, Nancy, I'm so sorry,” she said. “I just remembered I have an appointment in ten minutes, and I haven't even finished getting ready. Would you excuse me?” she asked, giving her a tense smile.

Nancy nodded and stood up. “Sure. Tell Karl I'll be in touch with him for that interview.”

“Of course.” As she held the door open for Nancy, Sheila smiled again. “Now, you take care of yourself,” she said in a motherly tone.

Nancy smiled back and took off for her condo. She wanted to see if the doctor had left a message about what had caused her to pass out the night before.

When Nancy let herself into her condo the phone was ringing. She rushed to pick it up and heard Dr. Gorman identify himself on the other end. “I have the results of the tests,” he said.

“And?” Nancy asked.

She heard Dr. Gorman clear his throat. “Nancy, I'm afraid your soup was poisoned.”

“Poisoned!” Nancy closed her eyes and began to think. First the sauna, then the trail signs—those could have been pranks aimed at the resort,
not her. But poison? It was obvious now that someone was after her. Why, though?

“Nancy?” Dr. Gorman asked.

“Oh—I'm sorry,” she said, then she paused. “Dr. Gorman, what kind of poison was it?”

“Convallatoxin,” the doctor explained. “It's similar to digitalis, which is used to treat cardiac patients. That's why your heartbeat was so slow. What I can't tell you is how it was administered.”

“Is it a powder?” Nancy asked, trying to imagine how someone had gotten the poison into her soup.

“No. The original source is a plant, but the lab didn't find any evidence of flower parts. They think the poison was a liquid.”

Nancy thought for a moment. “There were flowers on the table,” she said. “Someone accidentally nudged the table, and the vase tipped over.”