Nancy pursed her lips thoughtfully. It was certainly interesting, that Kristin should frequent the favorite cafe of Pierre Panchaud, the Southwincfs sole survivor.
She would look up Pierre as soon as she finished interviewing the other Southwind witnesses. She had a few questions for that man.
Later that evening Nancy stepped out of her hotel bathroom, vigorously toweling her damp hair. She was looking forward to relaxing, reading a magazine, and reviewing her notes on the perplexing case. Just then the telephone jangled. Dropping the towel, she tied the belt of her terry-cloth robe and hurried over to the night table.
Picking up the receiver, she heard a male voice say thickly, "Eez thees ze most bee-ootiful girl in Tahiti?"
Nancy was stumped for a moment. Then she caught on. "Ned, that was awful!" she said, laughing.
"Nancy! I can't fool you, can I?" Ned's laughter joined hers on the line. "How are you?"
"Fine!" The sound of her boyfriend's voice was sending a happy tingle through Nancy's nerves. "How are you doing?"
"Tearing my hair out over a term paper. It's half the grade for the course. But I'd rather hear about your case." His curiosity was noticeable even over the wires.
"It's taken a strange turn, Ned."
Nancy quickly filled him in on the events of the past few days. When she was finished, he let out a low whistle.
"A five-year-old murder! You sure know how to pick them, Nancy. You really think it was one of Lucinda Prado's inner circle?"
"It sure looks that way. Lucinda and her family left the Southwind on Friday night. Kristin's big party was Saturday night. I read the witnesses' statements. Nobody at the anchorage expected Lucinda back until Monday."
"So the only people who knew she was aboard the yacht were the people at Kristin's party," Ned added. "Who's your number-one suspect?"
"It's too soon to guess, Ned," she replied, holding the phone in her lap. "I still wonder why the house was empty when Bree woke up. And where was Manda? She was an overnight guest there too. Where was Bree's father?"
"Good questions!" Ned's voice sounded troubled. "Listen, if you need me, say so. I can hop a plane and be in Tahiti in twenty-four hours."
"Thanks, Ned, I appreciate that. But I can handle myself. I'll be fine."
"I hope so. You're my precious, irreplaceable Nancy Drew. I do worry about you. Especially when there are nut cases running around with broken bottles!"
A warm feeling rushed through Nancy. With a smile, she murmured, "I'll be extra careful on this one, Ned." She blew a kiss into the phone. "I love you, Nickerson!"
"Love you, too, Drew. Take care!"
Slowly, regretfully, Nancy replaced the receiver. She wondered if she had made a mistake in turning down Ned's offer of help. There was a killer out there, a shrewd enemy who seemed to want only one thing: Nancy Drew and Bree Gordon—dead!
* * *
The following morning Nancy met Bree in the Taravao's broad lobby. They had made plans to visit another witness, Alistair Pendleton, an Englishman who had seen Lucinda on the night of the accident. Bree looked tired and drawn. She put her hands in the pockets of her short denim skirt, her dark eyes mournful. Nancy decided she would try to keep Bree's mind off her mother as much as possible.
As they walked out to the car. Nancy asked, "Bree, has Kristin ever mentioned a cafe called the Chat Noir?"
"Not that I know of." Bree's eyebrows arched with curiosity. "Why do you ask?"
Nancy opened her car door. "I saw her there last night, gambling in the back room."
Bree made a pinched face. "Oh, brother! Dad will be furious. After the last time, Krissy swore she'd never do it again."
Nancy pushed open the passenger door from the inside. "What happened the last time?"
"Dad and Krissy went to Vegas last year," Bree explained. "Krissy went a little crazy at the tables. Dad covered her losses. They were still arguing when they got home."
Nancy needed no further information to imagine the battle.
"If you don't mind a personal question," she began, "did your parents ever fight about money?"
Bree was silent, obviously reliving the past.
"Money was never an issue that I knew of. Not like Mother wanting to quit the film industry. She was determined to retire to Tahiti—and soon. It made for some rousing battles, believe me.
Sensing the girl's distress, Nancy fell silent. She remembered Tuttle's comment. He'd thought that Brian was very interested in money, probably his wife's. However, now, according to Bree, that wasn't the case at all. Nancy herself had gotten the impression that money wasn't all that important to Brian.
Which left only one other motive for him to kill his wife—Kristin Stromm.
With his marriage in trouble, had Brian been attracted to the beautiful Swedish actress? Nancy left the speculation dangling for the moment.
As they drove through Pendleton's neighborhood of Pamatai, Nancy admired the fine old bungalows built on a ridge overlooking a sparkling turquoise bay.
Alistair Pendleton answered the doorbell, finally embracing Bree when his failing eyesight confirmed who she was—the daughter of his old friend. He invited the girls inside. Bree offered to prepare some lemonade in the kitchen while Nancy and Pendleton retired to the drawing room.
"Oh, I'll never forget that night." Leaning back in a plush chair, Pendleton lit his meerschaum pipe. "I was staying on my boat then, and the rough sea kept me awake. Precisely at two a.m. I
heard a motor. Looking out the porthole, I saw Lucinda go past in a dinghy. I watched her until she climbed aboard the Southwind, just to make certain she was safe, you understand." He took a long pull on his pipe. "Shortly thereafter, I became a bit queasy."
"So you went topside," Nancy prodded.
"Quite." Brows tensing, he chewed the pipe-stem. "The bell buoy was bobbing like a cork in a millrace, green light swinging. I saw the Moorea ferry on her way in, the waves smashing her bow. Oh, yes, and there was that woman."
"What woman?" Nancy asked, her eyes narrowing with interest.
"On the beach. Dark-haired, wearing a trench coat. She was walking up and down. Quite anxious, if you ask me. I assume she was looking for a boat, you know. But I didn't see any, and neither did she." He tapped the pipe against a small ashtray. "She didn't linger. Once or twice, she seemed to look at the Southwind, as if trying to come to a decision. Then she drew up her collar and hurried away. Odd, eh?"
"I'll say." Nancy filed away this bit of news. "When did you notice that the Southwind was missing?" she inquired.
"At two-thirty, I believe. Yes. I looked out the porthole again. Southwind was gone. Lucinda was a smashing sailor, but not even she would have gone out in that storm."
"Had you been surprised to see Lucinda back aboard the yacht?" Nancy asked.
A frown on his lips, Pendleton glanced quickly at the kitchen. Turning to Nancy again, he deliberately lowered his voice.
"I do hope you'll keep this to yourself, Nancy. Bree's a lovely girl, and I know it would only upset her." He lit his pipe again. "I wasn't at all surprised to see Lucinda. She and Brian had had the most dreadful quarrel on deck that afternoon." His face puckered in distaste. "I do wish couples wouldn't fight in public."
That was one story Nancy fully intended to keep to herself. "Mr. Pendleton, would you say the Gordons' marriage had just about had it?"
"Not really," Pendleton replied, after a moment's reflection. "For all his arrogance, Brian's a bit weak. He leaned on Lucinda. She was very proud, fiery, yet old-fashioned in her ideas about marriage. Oh, she talked divorce a lot. But that's all it was—just talk."
Nancy thought of Kristin Stromm. "Would Lucinda have divorced Brian if there was another woman in the picture?"
Pendleton frowned. "Divorce, no. Have a public row, yes."
"She was that jealous, huh?"
"Quite! Poor Brian would have had to scramble up the nearest palm tree."
"Thanks for your help, Mr. Pendleton," Nancy
said, smiling in spite of her growing uneasiness about Bree's father.
Bree came in with two glasses and then, catching Nancy's eye, wandered out to the garden.
Nancy pressed on. "Tell me, is there anyone else in Tahiti I could talk to about Lucinda Prado?"
"Well, you could try Rupert Holmberg." The Englishman set aside his pipe. "He was always hanging about the Southwind, trying to get Lucinda to sign for one of his comedy films. In fact, he bought his own boat several years ago. Carbon copy of the Southwind. Rupert was very much impressed with Lucinda's yacht."
"How do you know that?" Nancy set down her glass. "Are you a friend of Rupert's?"
"Actually, it's more of a business relationship. He's not my sort of chap at all." Pendleton stood up. "Before my retirement I was employed by an insurance firm. Once in a great while I still write a policy. Two months before Lucinda's death Rupert asked me to write a three-million-dollar policy on her."
Nancy stiffened as the significance of the fact sank in. Pendleton caught the look on her face. "I thought the deal a bit dicey myself, but Rupert assured me that it was done all the time in Hollywood," he offered.
"Do you recall the precise terms of the policy?"
"Oh, yes. The coverage was not on Lucinda or her life expectancy, you understand. It was on something called forfeiture of assurance."
"What's that?" Nancy asked.
"Well, apparently Rupert and Lucinda had been discussing her participation in his new comedy film. Although no contract had been signed, Rupert felt that he had Lucinda's 'assurance' that she would star in it. In order to protect that 'assurance,' Rupert took out the policy. In the event that catastrophic illness or death prevented Lucinda from doing the film, Rupert would be able to collect compensatory payment."
To Nancy it sounded like a perfect scheme to swindle the insurance company. "And you're telling me a company accepted that policy?"
Looking highly uncomfortable, Pendleton replied, "Well, Rupert did pay cash, you know. A sixty-thousand-dollar premium. The bidding company thought it a marvelous investment. Lucinda was a healthy, vigorous woman of forty-two—they thought they would never have to pay it."
"Big surprise for them," Nancy added. "Do you have any idea why Rupert wanted that policy?"
"He refused to say, but there were rumors of severe money troubles," Pendleton reminisced. "Without Lucinda as the star of his next comedy film, he was certain to end in bankruptcy." He shook his head in amazement. "Protecting that 'assurance' was a most prudent move, as things turned out. That three million bailed Rupert out of financial trouble."
At that moment Bree came back in from the garden. "Am I missing something?"
"Nothing much. Mr. Pendleton has been a big help." Nancy exchanged a look of understanding
with the Englishman as he opened the front door. "Thanks again."
"You're quite welcome, Nancy. Take care of yourself, Bree."
As they headed back to the Renault, Nancy pondered these new developments. What did Rupert have in mind when he took out that policy?
Bree had told her that Lucinda was determined to quit the film business. Rupert had desperately needed a Lucinda Prado movie to bail himself out of trouble. He would have gone broke but for that timely insurance policy.
Nancy turned grim. That policy put a whole new light on things. If Rupert had known of Lucinda's decision to retire, then he would have had the strongest motive for killing her—a three-million-dollar motive!
After a shoreside lunch Nancy and Bree visited the Rue des Halles, Tahiti's bustling open-air market. As they strolled along the sun-baked pavement, Nancy had to remind herself to ignore the colorful merchandise that spilled from the jumble of tiny shops. Her one aim now was finding the diving store that belonged to Pierre Panchaud.
A bell jangled as Nancy pushed the door open. A muscular, dark-haired man in his late twenties stood behind the counter, examining a pair of scuba tanks. He had a lean face, with a cleft chin and a pair of piercing hazel eyes.
Those eyes narrowed as the girls approached the counter. "Bree Gordon."
"Hi, Pierre. It's been awhile, I guess." Bree's smile was polite.
Setting aside the scuba gear, he asked, "What brings you downtown, mademoiselle?"
"We wanted to talk to you about the Southwind," Bree said hopefully.
"I did all my talking to the maritime board. The Southwind's ancient history." Pierre's expression turned decidedly unfriendly. "I've put the sea behind me."
Nancy spoke up. "That's not what I've heard."
"And who are you?" he asked dryly.
"My name's Nancy Drew. I'm a friend of Bree's."
"Then I don't need to answer your questions." His tone had turned frosty.
Keeping her voice polite, Nancy met his hostile gaze evenly. "Have you something to hide?"
"Nothing at all." Pierre drew himself erect. "I will tell you what you want to know about the Southwind."
"How long had you known Bree's mother before she died?" Nancy inquired.
"Not long. I was in Japan five years ago, I needed a ride home to Tahiti and heard the Southwind was fitting out. So I signed on and sailed with her to Tahiti."
"Tell us about the storm."
"There's not much to tell. I had the all-night watch," Pierre said matter-of-factly. "The family had already gone ashore in the dinghy. I took it back out to the boat and relieved Tayo. Then he went ashore in it. Around two a.m., Lucinda climbed up the stern ladder and startled me. I hadn't expected her back until Monday. She told me she was sleeping aboard, then went to her stateroom. That's the last I saw of her." His tone deepened. He seemed to be reliving the accident.
"The storm surge worsened. I went below to check out the pumps. On my way back I stopped in the galley for a bite to eat. The Southwind was really rolling with the swell. I could hear the buoy's bell ringing outside. I looked through one of the portholes and saw the buoy's green light and the big Moorea ferry passing astern."
He paused for a moment as Nancy waited expectantly. So far his story sounded no different from the other accounts she'd heard. He took a breath. "When the freighter rammed us, I ran up the companionway, yelling 'Abandon ship!' That boat went down like a brick! I barely had time to grab a life preserver and jump into the sea."
Nancy turned to Bree, concerned that the girl might be finding this hard to take, but her lips were set in a determined line. "Do you know Kristin Stromm?" Nancy pursued.
"By sight. She came aboard the Southwind once or twice. And I've seen her movies."
"Have you ever seen her at the Cafe Chat Noir?" asked Nancy, flashing him a speculative glance.
Pierre froze. His expression suddenly became
angry. "You're mistaken," he said stiffly. "I don't go there."
Nancy recalled what Josh Tuttle and the cafe's maitre d' had told her. "People say they've seen you in there."
All at once, Pierre balled his fist. His enraged blow rattled the counter.
"I don't like being called a liar!" Furious, Pierre shook his fist at Nancy. "Do yourself a favor. Get out of here! If you mess with me, you're really going to get hurt!"
Chapter Nine
Nancy was startled by the hostile gesture, but she stood her ground. "Is that a threat, Pierre?"
"Take it any way you like." He pointed firmly at the front door. "Just get out of here!"
Nancy knew she would get nothing more from Pierre. "Let's go, Bree." Taking her arm, Nancy led the girl out into the crowded street.
Bree trembled with suppressed anger. "He's a bum, Nancy. He always was." She stalked away angrily.
Nancy glanced back at the dive shop. Pierre Panchaud was no friend of the Gordons. As a diver he was certainly familiar with spear guns. But had he killed Lucinda? And, if so, what could his motive possibly have been?
"Where to next?" asked Bree as they headed back to the car.
"I thought we might have a look at the spot where the Southwind was anchored," Nancy replied. "Tayo
found that chain. Perhaps there's another clue down there."
"Good idea." Bree nodded in agreement. "We can rent some scuba gear back at the hotel."
As they drove back to the Taravao, Nancy mulled over Pierre's story. The man was certainly unpleasant enough, but Nancy found it hard to think of him as a murderer. Pierre had never even met Lucinda before that summer.
The other suspects had genuinely compelling reasons to kill her. Kristin had hated Bree's mother. She had considered Lucinda her biggest screen rival.
Nancy reflected again on the obvious fact that Rupert stood to gain much-needed money. And for Brian, Lucinda's death had been the ticket out of a stormy marriage.
Nancy shook her head as she considered her most recent encounter. Pierre's story meshed perfectly with the reminiscences of the other Southwind witnesses. All reported the same things—the ferry passing astern, the green light on the buoy, the ringing bell.
Nancy frowned thoughtfully. So Pierre must have been belowdecks that night, just as he had said. The man's alibi seemed ironclad.
But why did Pierre lie about the Cafe Chat Noir? And why had those two Frenchmen attacked her after she had casually mentioned Pierre's name?
Nancy had to wonder if the two men were involved in Lucinda's murder. If so, how? They were definitely linked to Pierre Panchaud.
Nancy felt more than a little bewildered by so many possibilities and so little proof. But she was not about to give up. Things were just getting interesting.
After changing Nancy entered the Gordon penthouse suite. She found Amanda Withers on the sofa, prim as ever in a tailored apricot linen suit. She shuffled business papers, her steel-rimmed glasses low on her sharp nose. Nancy paused expectantly in the doorway.
Manda removed her glasses. "Hello, Nancy. Are you looking for Bree?"
"Yes. We're meeting here." Nancy took a chair across from the secretary. "She's renting some scuba tanks so we can have a look at the SouthwincTs old anchorage."