"You trying to tell me you pushed her in?"
"Don, can we please just go home instead of standing here dripping?" Nancy asked abruptly. "The parking lot's right over there, and I think I'll be sick if I don't get a shower pretty soon."
"What do you mean, sick?" the man in charge of the ride said. "There's nothing wrong with that water! You could drink it for breakfast!"
"Sure you could," Don snapped. "If you wanted to turn into a—"
"Don, let's go." Nancy took his arm and dragged him away. As they headed toward the parking lot they could still hear the man at the tunnel shouting at them.
Nancy looked over at Don. He was grinning, and at the sight she couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her own face. In a second they were both doubled up with laughter.
"This is the last time I let a date decide where we're going," Don said. "It's too dangerous. From now on I'm sticking to Pizza Palace. At least you know what to expect there."
"It hasn't been much of an evening for you, has it?" said Nancy as they reached her car. She took a blanket out of the trunk and spread it carefully across the front seat. She didn't want to spread any more of that horrible water around than she had to. "First I call you a crook, then I practically drown you. Well"—she smiled mischievously—"I told you when I first saw you at the party that I didn't want to get serious. Maybe next time you'll believe me."
"Oh, I will. Who knows how you'll try to convince me another time?"
Now that Nancy knew Don wasn't going to try to get her to go out with him anymore, she suddenly felt at ease with him again. She just wished he had proof of his innocence.
"You know, I've got an alibi, anyway," Don said, as if he'd read her mind. "At least I think I do—if you'll take my father's word for it. That time I saw you yesterday was the only time I left the house all day. I was showing my dad how to computerize the household accounts." He chuckled. "I'm still not sure he understands how to do it, but he'll vouch for my having been there."
"That's good to hear," Nancy said. And she meant it.
"Can we stop at my house before I take you home?" she asked Don as they reached the outskirts of her neighborhood. "I know this sounds awfully businesslike, but I'd like to check the phone machine and see if there are any messages. This isn't the kind of case that shuts down at the end of the day."
"That's fine," Don said. "I'm in no hurry. I can even wait downstairs if you want to take a shower and change. You got a lot more of that gunk on you than I did."
But when she turned onto her street, Nancy realized that she wasn't going to get that shower after all. Not for a while, anyway.
Ned's car was parked in the driveway. As her headlights lit up the front of the house, Nancy saw Ned sitting on the front porch. And he didn't look happy. He jumped to his feet and stalked toward them when he saw them.
"Uh-oh. You'd better wait in the car," Nancy told Don nervously as she turned off the ignition.
"No way!" he protested. "I'm going to tell him you didn't do anything wrong. Hey, Ned," he called as he got out of the car. "This wasn't a date, you know. Nancy was just—"
"I'm not interested in what you have to say, Cameron." Nancy had never seen Ned so angry. "I want to talk to Nancy. Now."
Nancy took a deep breath to make sure her voice wouldn't shake. "Well, you'll have to wait for a little while, Ned. Let me take Don home first, okay?"
"Fine." Ned bit out the word. "But I'm coming with you."
"Good," Nancy said, as composed as she could be. "Then we'll have a chance to explain everything to you."
But it looked as though Ned wasn't going to give them a chance to explain anything. "Why don't you leave Nancy alone, Cameron?" he asked the minute they were all in the car. "What does it take to show you she's not interested?"
"Look, Ned, I—" Don began.
"Save it," Ned snapped. "I don't want to hear it."
"Ned, will you just listen for one second?" Nancy asked. "Don and I weren't out on a date. We went out so I could talk to him about the case."
"She's right, Ned," Don said. He gave a short laugh. "She thinks of me as a suspect—nothing more."
"No, no! I know you're not guilty now," Nancy interposed. "But I didn't know that until this evening, Ned. So now we can all relax. Okay?" Ned was silent. "Okay?" Nancy asked.
"Okay," Ned said at last. "Sorry if I went overboard. Wait, what's so funny?"
"You're not the one who went overboard," Nancy told him.
"What are you talking about?" Ned asked. "Come to think of it, you guys do look sort of wet. What happened?"
"Nancy can fill you in on that later," Don said. "Here's my street."
Suddenly his voice grew sharp. "Hey, what's going on at my house? My parents are supposed to be out this evening."
Don's house was at the end of the block. Except for the light on the front porch, it was completely dark.
But as they moved closer they saw a light flickering inside. It moved from one room to another, passing from the front of the house to the back.
Then, when they were just in front of the house, they saw the dark silhouette of someone stealing past a window.
"Don! There's a burglar in there!" Nancy gasped.
Chapter Twelve
Nancy was out of the car and racing up Don's walk before she'd even fully decided what she was going to do. Don and Ned were close behind.
"Who's there?" Nancy shouted as she reached the front door, which was slightly ajar. "What are you doing in there?"
Slam!
"That's the back door! He's getting out the back way!" Don yelled. "If we run, maybe we can cut him off!"
Together he and Ned rushed around the side of the house. Nancy held back, waiting to see whether they'd chase anyone to the front. She could hear them crashing around in the yard, but there was no sign of any intruder. Was it possible he—or she—was still in the house?
Cautiously Nancy inched the front door open. Swinging free, it creaked a little on its hinges. Nancy peered in.
It would be crazy to walk in there, she told herself. She shivered. What if someone was watching her from inside, waiting for her to make a move?
Nancy reached around the door until she was touching the wall. She slid her hand along it. There had to be a light switch somewhere—
"Nancy? Is that you?" It was a raspy voice behind her.
Nancy whirled around. Someone was staggering slowly toward her, and as the figure drew closer she was able to make out who it was.
"Patrick!" she cried. "What's happened to you? Ned! Don! Come here!"
Patrick Emmons, his nose bleeding, his shirt half torn off, took one more wobbly step—and collapsed.
Nancy rushed over to kneel beside him. He was speaking so faintly she could hardly hear him.
"Be all right in a minute . . ." he murmured. "Just had the—wind knocked out of me. Fm— really okay."
In a minute he sat up. "That's better," he said, still rather groggy. He shook his head as if to clear it. "I just collided with a guy in a very big hurry."
"Who was it? Where?" Don asked urgently.
"Right there—two houses down." Patrick pointed. "I was taking a walk." He lived on the next street over from Don's, Nancy knew. "I guess he was just taking a run. He ran right into me and knocked me down. He didn't even stop to see how I was."
"Which way did he go?" asked Nancy. Patrick pointed down the road.
"Come on, Ned! Let's see if we can catch him!" Don said. He and Ned tore down the block.
"Who was it?" Patrick asked. "A friend of theirs? What was he running from?"
"We saw a burglar in Don's house," Nancy answered. "When we got to the front door, he ran out the back. He must have banged into you while he was running away."
"Another burglar?" Patrick sounded bewildered. "That's kind of a weird coincidence, isn't it?"
"I don't think it's a coincidence. I don't think it was another burglar, either." Nancy's mouth was drawn tight. "Want to come in
with me and see what he's done this time?"
"I guess so," Patrick said in a resigned voice.
Cautiously they stepped inside, and Nancy switched on the hall light.
"Are you sure someone's been in here?" Patrick whispered.
Nancy remembered Don's house fairly well from the times she had visited him in high school. She didn't know what kind of damage she was expecting—but she hadn't been expecting no damage at all. The whole downstairs looked neat and untouched. A vase of dried flowers was perched precariously on the edge of the piano in the living room—but it hadn't fallen. The TV, VCR, and stereo system were all in place in the den. The silver candlesticks in the dining room still stood on the sideboard.
Puzzled, Nancy walked up the stairs with Patrick at her heels. The master bedroom was as neat as the downstairs. Don's brother's room was a mess, but just an ordinary mess, the kind any sixteen-year-old boy would make. A tiger cat was sleeping in a pile of clothes in the corner. It opened one eye lazily as Nancy walked through the room.
"I wish you could tell us what's been going on here, little guy," she said. But the cat just closed its eye and snuggled back down.
Then Nancy and Patrick walked into Don's room—and stopped short. So this had been the intruder's target.
All the drawers in the bureau had been dumped onto the floor, and ink poured over their contents. Books had been yanked out of the bookcases, and their pages ripped out. The mirror was smashed. The bed was dripping with after-shave. And all Don's athletic trophies had been pounded shapeless with a fireplace poker. The poker was still lying beside the pile of dented metal, but Nancy was sure there wouldn't be any fingerprints on it. If this was the same guy who had attacked Monica's and Wendy's houses, he would have been too careful to leave prints.
As she looked around the trashed room Nancy felt sick. This was only a form of revenge against Don. All the intruder had wanted to do was get him.
Poor Don, she thought. What a night he's had.
That reminded her of something. "Patrick, you were pretty sure Don was the guy behind all these attacks," she said. "I know now that there's absolutely no way he could have been involved. He's even got an alibi for the times both robberies were committed yesterday. What made you suspect him?"
"I didn't say I suspected him." Patrick sounded shocked. "It was just a—well, a speculation. You must have blown up what I said into something bigger."
"But you said—" Nancy searched her memory for his exact words. "Oh, no," she said. "Then that means I put Don through all this for nothing."
Patrick was staring at her. "All what?" he asked. "You mean you—you accused him?"
"Practically," Nancy said. "Boy, do I feel—" But before she could go on, she heard Don's voice.
"Nancy? Are you up there?"
"Yes, I am," she called down. "So's Patrick. You'd better come up and see your room, Don."
Don came pounding up the stairs, Ned behind him. "We ran about four blocks, but we didn't see— Oh, no . . ." His voice trailed off in horror.
"Oh, yes," Nancy said. "Whoever it was doesn't seem to have overlooked anything. And this is the only room he touched. Don, do you know anyone who has this kind of grudge against you?"
Don had gone over to the pathetic heap of bashed-up trophies. He was holding one now, turning it over and over as though he could somehow restore it with his bare hands. When he finally answered, he sounded like a sleepwalker.
"Of course I don't. I mean, I don't get along with everybody, but—I'm just a regular guy! What could I have done that was bad enough to make someone hate me this much?"
"Don't blame yourself. It may not be anything you've done," Nancy said quickly. "Whoever this is has a grudge against a lot of people. I just wondered if any names might pop into your head, that's all."
Her list of suspects seemed to be growing bigger and smaller at the same time. Today she'd added Don to the list, but now he was definitely off it again. That meant she'd have to add someone else—but who?
Or would she have to add someone else? She'd been sure Judd was guilty before she began investigating Don. With Don's name cleared, wasn't it possible that Judd was in the running again?
"Could you see the guy who knocked you down at all?" she asked Patrick.
He shook his head. "It was too dark. All I noticed was that he was wearing a leather jacket. I felt it when he banged into me."
A leather jacket. Judd did have a leather jacket. Of course, so did hundreds of guys in River Heights. The jacket alone didn't prove anything.
But it certainly didn't make Judd look any less guilty, either.
Suddenly Nancy noticed that Patrick was staring at her strangely. "Nancy, I don't mean to get personal," he said, "but you look kind of messed up yourself. Did you fall down or something?"
"Fall down? Oh!" Suddenly Nancy remembered the Tunnel of Love. The past hour had driven it out of her head entirely. Her clothes had dried out a little, but now she realized how awful she must look.
She giggled. "I guess you could say that. Or maybe it would be more exact to say I fell out."
"Out of what?" Patrick and Ned asked in unison.
Don spoke up. "Nancy, I can straighten things up here. Why don't you go home and fill Ned in? Then take a six-hour shower and go to bed. No, I'll manage," he said when Nancy opened her mouth to protest. "There's not that much to do, anyway. It's only—it's only trophies and things. ..." His voice trailed off again as he looked around the room.
"I'll help you clean up," Patrick said. "We'll have the place back to normal in no time. You should go home, Nancy. I'm sure you're not planning to sleep in tomorrow."
Nancy winced. "Not likely. Not until I find out who this crackpot is. Well, Don, if you're really sure—"
"Yes," he said firmly.
"Then Ned and I will take off. I'll talk to both of you first thing tomorrow. And, Don, I'm really sorry. About everything."
On the drive back to her house, Nancy told Ned how she had fallen into the water, and when he finally stopped laughing, he was properly sympathetic.
Now they were standing by her front door. "You'd better not kiss me good night," Nancy told Ned. "Whatever was in that water might be catching. I'd love to ask you in," she went on, "but—I've got to be honest—all I can think about is taking a shower."
"Well, as long as you're not thinking about Don—or anyone else. It's late, anyway. I should be getting home." Ned gave her a gingerly pat on the cheek. "That probably won't give me typhoid," he said.
Nancy smiled. "I don't think so. And I'll take a rain check on that kiss, if you don't mind."
"No problem. Want to do something tomorrow night? If you're not busy putting people in jail, I mean?"
"Well, Mr. Nickerson, I'm a busy, busy girl. But I think I can manage to squeeze in some time for you."
"Good." Ned touched her cheek again. "I'm glad we straightened everything out," he whispered.
"Me, too," Nancy said, and she blew him a kiss. "Thanks for being so understanding, Ned. I'll see you tomorrow—and I'll be clean."
The minute his car pulled out of the driveway she bolted up the stairs and turned on the shower.
After twenty luxurious minutes—and three shampoos—Nancy decided she'd finally washed out every trace of slime and dirt. Now all she had to do was throw her T-shirt and skirt into the wash and get ready for bed.
Nancy was almost asleep before her head hit the pillow. But it was only an hour later that something jarred her awake. She sat up, her heart pounding.
Oh! she thought groggily. It's just the phone. It must have been ringing for a long time.
Who could be calling so late? Nancy groaned and reached over to her bedside table..
She cleared her throat and picked up the receiver. "Hello?" she said as alertly as she could.
"Nancy!" The voice at the other end was a sobbing scream.
"It's Wendy. Nancy, he's found me. And he's going to kill me!"
Chapter Thirteen
/> Instantly Nancy snapped wide-awake. "Who's going to kill you? Is there someone in the house?" she asked.
"N-no," Wendy stammered. "But someone's been calling me. At first I thought it was a joke—maybe a friend or something—because whoever it was just kept laughing and hanging up. But then it got awful. He said—he said—he said he knew all about me. He knew everything I was doing. His voice—he sounded like someone in a horror movie. And a couple of minutes ago he called and said he was coming over to kill me!"
"Wendy, I'm putting on my clothes now," Nancy said. "I'll be over as fast as I can. When I get to your house I'll knock three times loudly and three times softly. Don't open the door unless you hear that knock. Okay? And, Wendy, you've got to call the police—now!"
"I can't," Wendy said tearfully. "I just can't involve them. Please hurry, Nancy. I can't stand being alone here."
Nancy hung up the phone, threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and raced downstairs. Her sandals were at the foot of the stairs. She picked them up and carried them out to the car with her. With a roar the Mustang jumped to life, and she backed out of the driveway.
It was 1:15 a.m. by the car clock. "At least the roads are clear," Nancy muttered. She was free to drive as fast as she safely could—and it seemed like only seconds before she was pulling up in front of Wendy's huge house.
It was completely dark.
"Oh, no," Nancy whispered. Had the attacker gotten there before her?
Her heart was thudding as she walked up to the front door and knocked. Three times loudly, three times softly. Then silence.
Nancy repeated the knock, and this time she heard a tiny creak. Someone was lifting the mail slot.
"Nancy? Is that you?" came a timid whisper through the slot.
"Yes, it is," she whispered back.
Slowly the door swung open. Then Wendy grabbed Nancy's hand and pulled her inside.
"I'm so glad it's you!" she gasped. "I kept thinking I heard someone breaking in!"
Well, Nancy thought grimly, that might very well be happening. "Where was the sound coming from?" she asked.