“Roger,” the sergeant said.
A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Brody opened it to the chief of police.
“Brown!” Chief McGinnis exclaimed as he entered the living room. “So it was you.”
Brown cast his eyes downward as Nancy filled the chief in on the night’s incidents.
As the officers led Russell Brown away, Hannah sighed with relief. “Now I can finally feel safe in my own home,” she said.
Carson Drew smiled and put an arm around Nancy. “Good work,” he said. “You’ve caught the criminal, and we’re all still in one piece.”
Nancy smiled uneasily. She didn’t want her father and Hannah to worry any more than they already had, but she didn’t want them to have a false sense of security, either. Briefly, she told them of her suspicion that someone besides Brown was after the brooch.
“Well,” Carson said when she had explained, “I guess the first thing we’d better do is get the police back in here.”
Nancy hurried outside to Chief McGinnis, who was getting into his car. She quickly explained her suspicions.
The police chief nodded. “Rudinsky, you stay here until we send backup,” he instructed the sergeant.
Nancy was relieved that at least her father and Hannah would feel safer now. But Nancy knew she wouldn’t rest easily until she had managed to figure out exactly who the second suspect was.
• • •
Early the next morning, George and Bess picked up Nancy at her house. The three girls drove to the Frosty Freeze plant so George could begin her day’s work.
“Thanks again for the car,” Nancy said as George got out. “Mine should be out of the shop tomorrow.”
“No problem,” George said. “Just pick me up here at five.”
As Nancy and Bess drove home, Bess yawned. “That was quite a night you had. Even I’m tired from all the excitement.”
“I’m sorry I called you so late,” Nancy told her friend, “but you said you wanted to know what happened.”
“Oh, I did,” Bess assured her. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad they caught the crook.”
“I’m not so sure the case is closed,” Nancy said. She repeated for Bess her fear that there was a second thief.
“I don’t know,” Bess said, shaking her head. “Russell Brown could be lying about the knife and the notes. Maybe he doesn’t want to get in any more trouble than he’s already in.”
Nancy shook her head. “I have a feeling about this,” she said. “I don’t think he was lying.”
When Nancy and Bess arrived at the Drews’ house, they found Officers Walker and Daniel pacing the living room.
“What’s going on?” Nancy asked them.
“Not much,” Officer Walker replied. “Your housekeeper had to go out, but she left you a note on the kitchen table.”
“More notes,” Nancy said with a groan. “I hope this one’s good news.” With Bess in tow, Nancy headed for the kitchen and found a sheet of paper on the table. “All right!” she exclaimed.
“What is it?” asked Bess.
Nancy waved the paper in the air. “George Wilson called us back. I guess he believed us after all.” Grabbing the receiver of the wall phone, she punched out the number Hannah had written on the note. “Hi, Jolie, it’s Nancy Drew,” Nancy said into the receiver. “I’m returning your father’s call.”
Jolie replied, “I have the information you requested, those names of drivers who had our trucks out the day before yesterday,” she told Nancy. “Would you like me to mail you the list?”
“That would take too long,” said Nancy. “Could you read the names over the phone?” She pulled a notebook and pencil out of her purse.
“Sure. They’re in alphabetical order. Dennis Abrams, Jackie Bitterman, Lisa Cortes . . .”
Nancy jotted down the names as fast as she could while Jolie continued.
“Marco Roggero, Alastair Short, Lee Thompson . . .”
Thompson! Nancy stopped writing. Thompson was the last name of the woman who’d owned the rose brooch. Was this just a coincidence? Nancy was itching to get off the phone, but she forced herself to write down the rest of the names in case any of the others were significant.
“Thanks very much,” said Nancy after Jolie had finished. “And please tell your father that we won’t share this information with anyone but the police.”
“Thanks. And I’m really sorry it was one of our vans that came after you,” Jolie said. “Please call us if it was one of our drivers. I’m sure my father would want to know.”
“Sure,” Nancy agreed.
After she’d hung up, she raced upstairs to her bedroom with Bess close behind.
“So what did you find out?” Bess demanded, breathless from hurrying after Nancy.
Nancy started rummaging through a pile of papers on her desk. “I need the list from the expo,” she mumbled. “One of the drivers who works for Mr. Wilson is named Lee Thompson.”
Bess gave her a blank look.
“The brooch originally belonged to Agnes Thompson,” Nancy explained. “This could be the lead we’ve been waiting for.”
She located the two lists she’d borrowed from Mary Lou Jennings and handed one to Bess.
“Thompson, Thompson,” Bess murmured, running her finger down the page of names. Nancy did the same with the other list.
“I’ve got it!” Nancy exclaimed. “Here it is on the second page.”
Bess looked over Nancy’s shoulder. “It has to be more than a coincidence,” she said. “Thompson’s not a very unusual name, but I’ll bet there’s a connection.”
“I know the man who’s going to help us make that connection,” Nancy said, snapping her fingers. “And right now he’s behind bars at the River Heights police station.”
“Russell Brown,” said Bess, reading Nancy’s thoughts. “Let’s go!”
The girls were almost out the door when the phone rang.
“Oh, rats, I forgot to turn the answering machine on,” Nancy said. “I’ll be right back.” She ran into the kitchen.
Grabbing the receiver, Nancy said, “Hello?”
At first no one said anything, but Nancy could hear breathing on the other end of the line,
“Hello?” she repeated. “Is someone there?”
“Is this Nancy Drew?” asked a gruff, unfamiliar male voice.
Nancy didn’t like the sound of the voice, but she remained calm. “Yes,” she responded.
“This is what you’re going to do,” the man said. “You and your blond friend are going to bring the brooch to the intersection of Route Nine and Route Twenty-two in fifteen minutes.”
Nancy drew in a sharp breath. She’d been right about another thief being after the brooch. And she’d have bet anything that the man on the other end of the telephone line was Lee Thompson!
Stalling to give herself time to think, Nancy said, “And what if we don’t?”
“That’s easy,” the man said. “If you don’t bring me the brooch, you’ll never see your friend George alive again.”
13
Time Runs Out
Nancy clutched the receiver so hard her fingers turned white. If only I had made the connection about Lee Thompson earlier, Nancy thought, before he got hold of George. If she let Thompson know she was on to him now, he might injure George, or worse.
“Who is it?” asked Bess, coming back into the kitchen.
Nancy shook her head and put a finger to her lips.
“Is something wrong?” Bess asked, more anxiously.
At the same time, the gruff male voice spoke up over the phone. “Are you there?”
Shooting Bess a helpless look, Nancy said into the mouthpiece, “Yes, I’m here.”
“The clock is ticking,” the man said. He gave a sinister laugh that made Nancy shiver. Then he added, “Only fourteen minutes left. And don’t even think about bringing the police with you. If anyone follows you, you won’t see your friend George ever again.”
“I understand,” Nancy said. Her mind was racing, trying to figure out a way around the caller’s demand. Maybe she could phone Chief McGinnis and tell him where they were meeting the kidnapper. That way, the police could show up right after she’d handed over the brooch—or at least follow the man when he tried to escape.
As if he’d read her mind, the caller said, “It won’t matter if the police know where you’re meeting me. That’s not our final destination.”
Nancy shuddered at the words “final destination.” “We’ll be there,” she said tersely, then hung up.
“What? What?” asked Bess, hanging on Nancy’s arm.
“Thompson’s got George,” Nancy said quietly. “At least, I’m pretty sure it’s Thompson.”
“Got? What does that mean, ’got’?”
“It means he wants the brooch in”—Nancy checked her watch—“thirteen minutes or he’s going to hurt George.” Nancy didn’t want to say “kill” for fear of worrying Bess more than she already was.
“Oh, no!” Bess cried, pacing back and forth between the kitchen counter and the table. “Can’t we take Officers Walker and Daniel with us? They’re right here.”
“No,” Nancy said as she punched out Chief McGinnis’s direct line. “Thompson warned me not to.”
The chief of police picked up the phone and said, “McGinnis here.”
As quickly as she could, Nancy explained the situation and what she’d learned about Thompson.
“What if we hid an officer in the back seat of your car?” McGinnis suggested.
“I’m too afraid of what might happen to George if the timing’s not exactly right,” said Nancy. “What about the police helicopter? That way you could see where we go after we meet Thompson at the intersection.”
“Too loud and noticeable,” the chief said. “Thompson would be sure to see it. I wish there were time to get you a transmitter. That way we could track you electronically.”
Nancy glanced at her watch again. “There’s no time for anything,” she said urgently. “We’ve got twelve minutes left.”
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do,” said Chief McGinnis. “I’ll station unmarked cars north, south, east, and west of the intersection. That way we can intercept you no matter which way you go. I only wish I knew what kind of vehicle to look for.”
“It could be anything,” Nancy said. “An orange van or maybe Thompson’s car.”
“We’ll find you,” Chief McGinnis reassured her. “Now, get going.”
Nancy hung up and threw George’s car keys to Bess. “Start the car,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
Nancy raced to her father’s study. Her fingers shook as she turned the combination lock. Seconds later, the safe door glided open, and Nancy grabbed the brooch. Then she slammed the door shut and ran into the front hall.
“What’s wrong?” Officer Daniel asked, coming from the living room.
“No time to explain,” Nancy said breathlessly. “Call Chief McGinnis! He’ll tell you everything.” Then, as fast as she could, Nancy ran outside to the car.
Bess slid over to let her friend climb in behind the wheel. In a flash, Nancy jerked the gearshift into drive and rammed her foot on the accelerator.
“At least you know the police won’t stop you for speeding,” Bess said in a shaky voice as they barreled down Nancy’s street. She tried to smile, then began to chew her fingernails. “Oh, I hope George is all right. Do you think he’s done anything to her?”
“Not yet,” Nancy said grimly as she made a sharp left turn. “He’s got to give us George or he won’t get the brooch.”
Nancy made another left onto Route 9 and dodged around slower cars as she drove by fast-food restaurants, shopping malls, and car dealerships.
Traffic thinned as they began to pass more and more empty lots, then farmland. By the time Route 9 ended at the intersection of Route 22, it was completely deserted. Route 22 was a narrow country road with scraggly trees growing on either side. Nancy slowed the car to a stop.
“Where are they?” Bess asked nervously, craning her neck to look out the window.
Nancy got out of the car. Placing her hand above her eyes to shield them from the bright sun, she looked up and down both Route 22 and Route 9. “No sign of them yet,” she said.
Then Nancy heard a familiar tinkling tune. Looking down Route 22, she saw the square, white Frosty Freeze ice cream truck bumping and shaking over the uneven dirt road.
“I can’t believe I ever liked that song,” Bess muttered to herself. She, too, got out of the car.
As the ice cream truck drew closer, Nancy made out a slim, dark-haired figure at the wheel who had to be George. A big, burly form in an orange shirt was beside her in the passenger seat. Nancy blinked as the realization hit her. She’d seen the man at the antiques expo. He had been at Russell Brown’s display, wearing the same orange shirt he had on now. An orange shirt just like the ones she’d seen on the RapidSend movers helping Lydia.
When the truck stopped, Nancy saw that the burly man was holding a gun to George’s side.
“Oh, George!” Bess cried, running toward the truck.
“Don’t come any closer,” warned the man in a gruff voice that Nancy recognized from the phone call. Though he was seated, Nancy could tell he was very tall. His big potbelly stretched the front of his orange T-shirt and hung over his belt. Three faded green stripes ran across the man’s flabby chest with the RapidSend logo beneath them.
Nancy was relieved that Bess had obeyed the man and stopped short. Both girls stood very still while the man pushed George out of the truck, his gun still pointing at her ribs. Nancy could see the scared look in George’s brown eyes, even though she was acting calm.
“Let me have the brooch,” he said, holding out one hand.
Nancy had no choice. She removed the brooch from her purse and placed it in the man’s palm. He shoved it in his pocket. As Nancy was closing her purse, she noticed the pearl-handled knife, but realized there was no way she could use it to protect herself and her friends.
“You two,” the man said, gesturing at Nancy and Bess with his gun. “Get in the back of the truck.”
Nancy and Bess scrambled behind the front seats and waited.
“You drive,” the man instructed George. He got into the back with Nancy and Bess. “If you pull any fast moves, your friends will pay for it.”
George nodded and got behind the wheel.
“Now go where I told you,” the man said to George.
Nancy tried not to look at the gun that pointed first at her, then at Bess, as the man kept shifting his aim. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see soon enough,” he said. He gave them an eerie smile, then wiped his brow with his free hand. “Sure is hot out,” he said. “Bet you’d love to get out of this heat.”
“I’d love to get out of here, that’s for sure,” Nancy told him. She spoke boldly, figuring the man already had a plan and nothing she could say would make it worse. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said with mock politeness. “The name’s Thompson.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nancy could see Bess shoot her a knowing look. Nancy didn’t acknowledge it, though. She still didn’t want to give Thompson any indication that they already knew who he was.
“How do you do,” said Nancy. “I don’t suppose you’d like to tell us why you’re so interested in that brooch.”
“I’m interested in it because it’s mine,” the man told her. “Or it would have been if that little weasel hadn’t cheated me out of what I already owned.”
“Who are you talking about?” Nancy asked.
“That skinny little fella with the big glasses,” Thompson said bitterly. “Russell Brown.”
Nancy was pretty sure she knew what had happened, but she needed to buy time. Maybe getting Thompson to talk more would make him drop his guard. “Mr. Brown cheated you?” she asked. “How?”
?
??The brooch belonged to my aunt Agnes,” Thompson said bitterly. “She was a widow with no children, so when she died, she left me everything. Not that there was much. But she had lots of jewelry, worthless stuff mostly, or at least that’s what I thought.” Thompson half rose to see how far the truck had gone. “Almost there,” he said with satisfaction.
Nancy didn’t bother to ask where they were. She knew she’d find out sooner than she wanted to. She didn’t have long to distract him, but she decided to try to get the rest of Thompson’s story from him.
“So you took the jewelry to Russell Brown?” she prompted.
“That’s what I did,” he said, nodding. “He told me the whole lot wasn’t worth more than a hundred dollars. I didn’t know any better—it was all dusty and old. I figured a hundred dollars was better than nothing. Then my sister and her husband dragged me to that expo thing over at the high school, and what do I see? That worm cheated me out of fifty thousand dollars! My sister said I ought to sue him, but I figure I’ll just keep things nice and simple and take back what is rightfully mine.”
“But you never got a chance to take the piece out of the expo,” Nancy said, “because Russell Brown noticed the brooch was gone and called for the police.”
“That’s right,” Thompson said, frowning. “Good thing your clock was sitting right there with that secret compartment. Are you really a detective?” he asked, his bitter expression fading for a moment.
Nancy shrugged. “At the moment I’m just a hostage.”
Thompson’s bitterness returned. “You got that right. You stupid teenagers didn’t even know I was following you,” he sneered. “But you still managed to make things difficult for me, didn’t you?” He let out a weary sigh. “When the clock wasn’t at your friend Gordon’s store, I knew you had it.”
Nancy shot Bess a quick glance. So Thompson was the one who broke into Past Perfect.
“You should have taken the hint when I trashed your car engine,” Thompson went on, speaking as if he were scolding a young child. “But no, you had to play tough—even after I almost pushed you off that bridge.”