Nancy looked carefully through a few drawers. Nothing. But then she noticed something on top of the desk that was very interesting indeed.
It was a paperback mystery called Deadly Potion, Deadly Bite by an author named Ivan Green. Nancy had read it herself, and the story stuck in her mind because of the bizarre way the murderer had killed his victims. He’d used poisons—all different types, including poison from insects!
Wow, Nancy thought. Yvonne finds a tarantula in her desk while Mick’s reading a fictional account of the same kind of crime. Was it just a coincidence?
She heard a noise in the hall and glanced at the door. There was Mick’s jacket, hanging from a hook. Nancy grabbed the lapel to check the front of the jacket. A button was missing!
Dashing back to the armchair, she dropped into it just as Mick returned.
“I brought you a whole bag full of ice,” Mick announced.
“Thanks,” Nancy said. She spent a few minutes holding the ice to her perfectly normal ankle, her mind speeding from clue to clue all the while. Once again, things were looking bad for Mick. But what about David? Nancy knew she would have to search his office, too, before she completely condemned Mick. She’d need Ned’s help for that.
Nancy lost precious time getting Mick to believe she was all right, but at last she made her getaway. She found Ned alone in the photocopy room, duplicating some articles. “Glad to see you’ve separated yourself from Sondra Swanson long enough to get a little work done,” she said sarcastically.
“Nancy—” Ned cried.
But Nancy wouldn’t let Ned get another word out of his mouth. “I need your help. Do you think you can keep David Bowers busy for fifteen minutes or so? I’ve got to search his office.”
“Piece of cake,” Ned said, pulling his copies out of the machine. “But listen. Sondra—”
“Forget it,” Nancy said. “We don’t have time to talk now. See you in a bit.” And with that, she hurried out of the room.
Nancy gave Ned five minutes to get David out of his office. Then she snuck in herself. If David catches me here, she thought, I’m dead. She went straight to his desk. The top drawer held pencils, pens, typing paper, and other standard office supplies.
In the second drawer Nancy found a few old greeting cards and a couple of low-quality novels. Obviously, the big-shot editor didn’t want anyone to know he liked to read junk, since he hadn’t put the books on his shelf next to the leatherbound classics. Nancy couldn’t help but giggle to herself about that.
But it was in the bottom drawer that Nancy found something really interesting. It was a note from a top officer at MediaCorp! “Here’s the check for that last free-lance job,” it said. “Let me know how the new job is going.”
Nancy pawed through the papers in the drawer, but she couldn’t find the check. David had probably already cashed it. Anyway, she didn’t really need it. She had the most important information. She knew that David was still working for MediaCorp! But as a free-lance editor—or as a hired assassin? Nancy’s mind reeled with new possibilities.
Nancy knew MediaCorp wanted Flash. But how badly? Could they really be as unscrupulous as Nancy was beginning to suspect? How far would a major corporation go to acquire a magazine they wanted? . . . As far as murder?
Chapter
Eight
THE QUESTION OF MediaCorp’s possible involvement in the trouble at Flash stayed with Nancy all Thursday afternoon and into the next morning. The thought scared her. In her many cases, she’d never come up against such a powerful criminal. MediaCorp wasn’t a human being—it was an institution. And how did you fight an institution?
Worse than that, Nancy still wasn’t sure the news syndicate was behind the threats. Then there was Mick. Slowly she was beginning to think he might be a pretty nice guy. But there was also plenty of evidence against him. He had such a complicated personality that Nancy had no idea how far she could trust him.
Nancy did know one thing for certain. The plan to have Ned help her on the case had really backfired. All he seemed to do was hang around with Sondra. He hadn’t brought in a single clue yet.
So, after a long Friday morning of hard work, worrying, and not much detective work, Nancy knew she’d be glad to get out of Flash at lunchtime—and even gladder that her two best friends, George Fayne and Bess Marvin, were coming into the city from River Heights for a lunch date with her. Nothing soothed troubles like complaining to your best friends.
Just before noon, Scott buzzed Nancy on the office intercom and told her that George and Bess had arrived. Nancy carefully put away her work and headed for the reception area. She bumped into Ned as she was stepping out of the interns’ office.
“Nancy,” he said, catching her arm, “we’ve got to talk. You’ve been avoiding me, and I want to know why.”
Ned’s eyes caught Nancy’s for a moment, but she quickly looked away. It was true, she was avoiding him. She’d purposely stayed late at Flash the night before just so she wouldn’t have to take the train back to River Heights with him. She’d felt horrible about it, but she just hadn’t been able to face a heavy discussion about Sondra or their relationship when she had the case on her mind.
“I know we have to talk,” Nancy told Ned, “but not right now. George and Bess are waiting for me.” She tried to shake off his hand.
“Okay,” Ned said calmly, not letting go. “Then when? This is important, you know.”
“I’m not sure,” Nancy replied, beginning to feel annoyed. “I’ve got a lot of work to do. I don’t have the time to sit around talking—and flirting with cute blonds.” She looked up suddenly, her gaze angry and challenging.
But Ned was getting angry, too. “Why don’t you stop being so jealous and think a little, Nancy? You’re supposed to be a detective. Did it ever cross your mind that I might be hanging out with Sondra because the girl I really want to spend time with is too busy?”
“And did it ever cross your mind that I asked you to be an intern to do more than just socialize? Where’s all the help you promised me?”
“Oh, come on, Nancy. You’ve got a free hour or two to have lunch with George and Bess. But when was the last time we had any fun together? I mean, who am I supposed to have lunch with today?”
Nancy felt defensive and guilty and angry all at once. She knew she’d been taking Ned for granted lately. She’d canceled out on the lake trip and she hadn’t tried to make up for it in any way. Still, he was the one who was spending time with somebody else, so who was he to complain?
“Look, Bess and George are waiting for me,” Nancy said, shrugging off the issue. “We’ll have to talk some other time.”
Ned pressed his lips into a thin, angry line. “Okay, Nancy. If that’s the way you want it.” Resignedly, he dropped his hand from Nancy’s arm and turned to walk away.
Suddenly Nancy felt as if she were losing Ned. And no matter what was going on between them, he was very precious to her. “Ned,” she called, “we’ll talk this afternoon, all right?”
But Ned didn’t answer. He just stalked off. Nancy heaved a huge sigh and went to meet George and Bess at the reception desk. She knew that if she had to be alone for more than five minutes, she’d probably start to cry.
Nancy found her friends talking to Scott. It looked suspiciously as though Bess were flirting with him. “Bess, George,” Nancy said, putting up a happy front. “You two look great!”
Bess’s straw-blond hair was fixed in tiny braids, which she’d gathered together in a ponytail. She was wearing a pink skirt and pink high heels—Bess was self-conscious about being shorter than her two friends.
George was her usual down-to-earth self, wearing gray corduroy pants and a matching V-necked sweater that showed off her beautifully toned athlete’s body. Her short dark hair fell in soft curls.
“You’re not doing too badly yourself,” George said. “Especially with this neat job. Really, Nancy, I’m jealous,” she said with a smile.
“So where do you want to
eat?” Bess asked. “I’m starved!”
“I thought you were on a diet,” George teased.
“I am. That’s why I’m so hungry.”
Nancy laughed, her dark mood easing. “You guys are impossible!”
Nancy suggested a little restaurant not far from Flash. It was decorated with big colorful posters and had sunny windows that looked out onto the street.
“So,” George said after they had been seated at a corner table and had ordered their lunches. “Flash seems like a wild place. The receptionist was playing games on his fancy computer, and some guy walked by wearing the weirdest hat I’ve ever seen.”
“That was probably Mick Swanson,” said Nancy. “He’s one of my prime suspects.”
“Totally gorgeous, too,” Bess giggled. “Maybe I could help rehabilitate him from a life of crime.”
“He’s too old for you, Bess,” Nancy said with a laugh.
At that moment the waiter brought over the food. Nancy and George had ordered lasagna, Bess had ordered a low-cal green salad.
Bess sighed and picked at her lettuce. “You guys are so lucky,” she said. “You can order whatever you want and never gain an ounce, while I eat nothing but salad and look like a horse.”
George cut into her lasagna. “Bess, you are not fat. Lazy, yes. But positively, definitely not fat. I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with your weight.”
“Easy for you to say, Super Athlete. You probably work off calories just thinking about your early morning jogs.” Bess stabbed a slice of cucumber and stuffed it into her mouth.
George laughed. Then she turned to Nancy and demanded, “All right, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?” Nancy asked, a little taken aback by the suddenness of her friend’s question.
“You’ve barely said a word today—and when you have, it’s been with all the joy of a beauty queen with chicken pox. Now what gives?”
Nancy sighed, pushing her lasagna around her plate. “I guess this case has me a bit down. Someone’s doing nasty things to Yvonne so she won’t sell the magazine—which she doesn’t intend to do anyway. And I’m up against a murderous corporation, a maniacal photographer, or a malicious practical joker, but I have no idea which one.”
“Don’t give me that,” George said. “No matter how confusing a case is, it never gets you as down as you are now.”
Nancy smiled. “You know me too well. Okay, it’s Ned.”
“What’s going on with Old Reliable now?” Bess asked sharply.
A little giggle escaped from Nancy’s throat. “Yeah, that’s how I always thought of him, too. He’d be around for me no matter what I did. But believe it or not, Ned Nickerson is stepping out on me! Crazy, isn’t it?”
“Who is the witch, anyway?” Bess wanted to know.
“Her name’s Sondra Swanson. Blond, gorgeous, and, to be honest, kind of nice. She doesn’t know Ned and I are involved with each other, so I can’t even blame her for going after him. All I can say is that she has good taste in guys.”
“Wait a sec,” George said, swallowing a bite of food. “Swanson. Isn’t that the name of the man with the funny hat? The person you say is your prime suspect?”
“She’s his sister,” Nancy explained.
“You’re kidding,” Bess said. She munched on a cherry tomato. “Hey,” she teased. “Maybe you’ve got this whole mystery figured out wrong. Maybe Mick’s not behind it. Maybe it’s Sondra, trying to help her brother take over the magazine!”
“Yeah,” George added. “Then all you’d have to do is find some evidence, get her thrown in jail, and Ned would be yours all over again. And after a bad experience like that, you can bet he’d never step out on you again!”
“It’s a great fantasy,” Nancy said, laughing. “I’ll keep it in mind next time I see them flirting by the water fountain.” Then her expression grew serious again. “The thing is, Ned has every reason to be sick of me. I have to admit, I haven’t been too nice to him these days. He says I’m more interested in my mystery than in him. And he’s right!”
“Nancy, don’t say that,” Bess scolded. “Ned has to understand that your work is your passion, your life!”
“Right,” George agreed. “You put up with him during football season, when he has to be in bed by ten o’clock every night. That’s not a real good time for you, but you don’t complain.”
“It’s true,” Nancy said, beginning to feel better. “I mean, I do complain when Ned’s in training, but I don’t go out and pick up some cute English major who doesn’t have to get up at five in the morning to do push-ups. Of course there was Daryl Grey . . .”
“He’s gone and forgotten,” Bess insisted. “It doesn’t make what Ned’s doing right!”
“Yeah,” George agreed. “Dating the prime suspect’s sister is simply bad taste!”
Nancy had to laugh. It was great having such supportive friends. No matter what she did, George and Bess were always on her side.
The three girls finished their lunches and shared a piece of chocolate cheesecake, amid a lot of joking and laughing.
“So, Bess,” said Nancy, “have you heard from Alan Wales lately?”
“My rock star is still on the road,” Bess replied, thinking wistfully of the guitarist she’d been dating. “I still don’t know what to think of our relationship. It’s not over, it’s just sort of on hold. Now George, on the other hand . . .”
George blushed.
“What?” asked Nancy.
“She’s too embarrassed to say anything, but she’s going to see Jon this weekend.”
George Fayne didn’t fall in love nearly as often as Bess did, but her new boyfriend, a skier, seemed to be very special to her.
Nancy smiled.
She appreciated her friends’ company so much that she treated them to lunch. Afterward, George and Bess went off to do some shopping and see an art exhibit before returning to River Heights. Nancy hurried back to Flash.
She felt much better. The lunch with George and Bess hadn’t solved anything, but the jokes and the gossip had worked wonders for a troubled heart.
Nancy waved hello to Scott and returned to the interns’ office. She pulled out the photographs she’d been working on that morning and spread them across the big plank desk.
Mick had asked Nancy to pick out the best pictures from the Danielle Artman shoot. It was harder work than she’d expected because so many of the photos were excellent. Nancy particularly liked one of Danielle kissing a rubber spider.
The work was interesting, and it felt nice to be sitting alone in the quiet office. It almost seemed to Nancy as if everyone else at Flash had taken the day off. No problems with Ned. No Sondra Swanson. No potential murderer lurking in the shadows.
Then the sound of a shot rang through the afternoon!
Nancy dashed into the hallway, glancing at her digital watch as she did. It was exactly ten after two. She saw people rushing to the publisher’s office and raced after them. Someone threw open the door, and the staff peered into the room, terrified of what they’d find.
Yvonne was standing behind her desk, her ashen face wearing an expression of sheer horror. Then, slowly, her body weakened and she sank to the floor as if dead.
Chapter
Nine
NANCY STARED AGHAST at Yvonne’s prone body. Oh, no, she thought. Yvonne is dead! If only I’d called the police after the murder attempt with the spider!
Nancy rushed over to Yvonne, bent down, and gently took her limp wrist to check her pulse. To her intense relief, the publisher’s heart was pumping like mad.
“She’s alive!” Nancy announced. The staff of Flash let out a collective sigh of relief.
Nancy took the publisher’s pulse a second time, feeling confused. It was funny that Yvonne’s heart was beating so fast. The pulse was supposed to slow down when someone passed out. Nancy shrugged and started massaging Yvonne’s shoulders, trying to wake her.
After a minute, Yvonne sat up groggil
y.
“Yvonne, what happened?” Nancy asked gently. “We heard a gunshot.”
Yvonne took a deep breath and pointed to the wall above her desk. A bullet was embedded in the wooden paneling. “I guess I fainted,” she mumbled.
“You’re okay now, though,” Nancy told her. “I’ll be right back. I just want to check the fire exit.”
Nancy jumped to her feet and ran to the back staircase. The gunman had to have escaped that way because the whole staff had come barreling down the hall in the opposite direction just after the shot was fired. But no one was in the stairway.
Nancy rushed back to the office and found Yvonne starting to explain what had happened. She was lying on the black leather couch, and someone had rolled up a sweater to use as a pillow.
“I was sitting at my desk working,” Yvonne began, “when I heard my door being pushed open quietly. I looked up and saw a figure—it looked like a man—wearing dark clothes and a ski mask point a gun at my head! I screamed and the man fired. Then he ran away. That’s all,” the publisher concluded wearily.
“I think it’s time to call the police,” Nancy said, looking meaningfully at Yvonne.
“Yes, I guess so,” the publisher replied, avoiding Nancy’s eyes. “Would you call them, please?”
Nancy picked up the phone on Yvonne’s desk and dialed 911, the police emergency number. “Hello,” she said, “there’s been a murder attempt at the offices of Flash magazine. No one’s been hurt, but we need some help.”
Nancy gave the police operator her name and Flash’s address and hung up. Then she let her eyes wander around the office, trying to discover a clue to the mysterious shooting.
She gazed again at the bullet buried deep in the wall. It was high up, only about two and a half feet from the ceiling. The gunman had missed by a long shot, Nancy thought. The bullet in the paneling was much higher than Yvonne’s head would be if she were sitting at her desk. By the look of the hole, Nancy figured the weapon used was probably nothing too powerful. That was surprising, too. Hitmen didn’t usually take chances.