“But you said you couldn’t tell if any of the caddies were interested?” Nancy asked.
“Not really,” Bess said. “See, the people were talking to each other, not to the caddies.”
Nancy nodded. “What about you, George? What happened on the courts?”
“A lot of great tennis,” George answered with a grin. “The teacher—Jim Matthews—is a former professional, you know.”
Nancy nodded. “He’s good.”
“He’s fantastic!” George’s brown eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “There was this guy named Max Fletcher who bet Jim a hundred dollars that he could beat him, but Jim wiped up the court with him.”
“I met Max yesterday,” Nancy said. “According to Joanna, he wouldn’t have any trouble paying up.”
“That’s for sure,” George told her. “He took out a roll of money thicker than his fist and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill. Of course, Jim couldn’t take the money. Anyway,” she continued, “once Jim saw that I didn’t really need lessons, we just played. He won, but I gave him a good game.”
“Speaking of money,” Bess remarked, “was he interested in anyone’s? Max Fletcher’s, maybe?”
“No way,” George said. “After all, he didn’t let Fletcher pay up on the bet. So I’d really be surprised if he were in on the robberies.”
“Did anybody tell him about their newest fabulous possession while you were there?” Nancy asked.
“Sure, a couple did,” George told her. “But Jim’s the quiet type, and when anyone started talking about anything but tennis, he got even quieter, like he was bored.”
“That could just be an act,” Bess pointed out.
“It could be,” George agreed. “But I don’t think it is. I think Jim loves tennis, not money.”
“What does Jim look like?” Bess asked.
“Well, he’s a little taller than I am,” George said. “And he’s got brown hair and the most beautiful brown eyes—” Suddenly she blushed. “Okay, I admit it. He’s gorgeous.”
“And you have a crush on him!” Bess announced. “No wonder you don’t think he’s up to anything. He could have picked your pocket and you wouldn’t have noticed. You were too busy looking at his beautiful brown eyes!”
“Maybe,” George admitted, still red in the face. “I still don’t think he’s in on it, Nancy, but I guess I’m a little prejudiced.”
Nancy laughed. “It sounds like we all came up with zero today,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza. “Wait till you hear what happened to me. I spent three hours at the pool and the clubhouse, and the only things I’ve got to show for it are a bunch of suspicions and a lot of sore skin.”
“Too much sun?” Bess asked.
Nancy laughed again. “Too much water,” she said.
Between bites of pizza, Nancy told them all about her hot shower and her encounters with Mike, Zach, Rita, and the redheaded girl.
“Really curly hair?” George asked. “And really red?”
“More orange. Like carrots,” Nancy said with a nod.
“I saw her out by the courts,” George told her. “And I heard somebody call her Cindy. She kept moving around, hanging out with different people, as though she couldn’t make up her mind what to do.”
“If you see her again, let me know,” Nancy said. “Right now, she’s my strongest suspect.”
The three of them were still discussing the situation when Ned arrived.
“It’s about time,” Bess told him. “If you’d been much later, this pizza pan would have been completely empty.”
Sliding into the booth beside Nancy, Ned laughed and reached for the next-to-the-last slice. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “But I gave the staff in the weight room a hand setting up a big new machine. Anyway,” he said, “I’ve got news.”
“What?” Bess asked hopefully. “Somebody confessed to the whole operation and we can all go home?”
“Not quite,” Ned said. “But I think I’ve got a lead. I was in the locker room—which is a great place, by the way; they even bring drinks down if you phone for them—when a lifeguard came in.”
“Mike?” Nancy asked.
“Right. That was his name. He took a shower, and then he was just hanging out, taking it easy, when this other guy came in and started talking to him about some vase he had just bought.”
“A vase?”
Ned nodded, swallowing some pizza. “But not just any vase,” he said. “It’s from some ancient South American civilization or something, and it’s worth thousands.”
“And Mike was interested?” Nancy asked.
“A lot,” Ned said. “I mean, I don’t know if he’s part of the robberies, but he asked all kinds of questions about it, including where the man kept it. And the man told him—right on the mantel over his fireplace. But that’s not the best part.” Ned paused to chew his pizza crust.
“Well, don’t stop there!” Bess said, complaining. “Drop that crust and tell us what happened!”
“Sorry,” Ned said with a laugh. “I’m starving. Anyway, the best part is that the man—Mr. Winslow—told this Mike that he’s leaving on a business trip today and that his wife’s going with him. He was leaving right then. They’re probably driving to the airport now. They’ll be gone for a week, he said, and while they’re away the house will be empty. How’s that for a robber’s paradise?”
“It’s perfect,” Nancy said. “In fact, it’s so perfect, I can’t resist it.”
“What do you mean?” Bess asked.
With a grin, Nancy turned to Ned. “Nickerson, how’d you like to be part of a stakeout?”
“With you?” Ned said. “Anytime, Nancy. Anytime.”
• • •
At ten o’clock that night, Ned cut the engine on his car and let it coast slowly down the street, stopping it in front of the Winslow house. “The house isn’t dark,” he whispered, looking up the driveway at the three-story Tudor set back from the street and surrounded by tall trees.
“They probably have the lights on an automatic timer. Are you sure he said the house would be empty? No housekeeper or anyone?” Nancy asked.
“I’m positive,” Ned told her. “Mr. Winslow said the housekeeper decided to take her vacation when she learned they were going away. And she’s the only other person who lives there.”
Nancy and Ned sat and watched the house for a few more minutes while Nancy decided on a plan of action. “Okay,” she said softly to Ned. “We’re going to have to split up. There’s nothing or no one to prevent a burglar from entering at any of the other entrances. I’ll find a nice little secluded place on the grounds where I can watch the back door. You stay here. If you see anyone approaching the house—anyone at all—hoot three times like an owl. Then follow them—but not too close.”
“Is the hooting absolutely necessary?” Ned asked.
“Do you know how to make any other night sound to warn me? You can’t yell, ‘Hey, Nancy, intruder approaching on the starboard side.’ ”
“Okay. Guess you’re right,” Ned conceded, smiling. “You be careful, though, Detective Drew,” he said, leaning over and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Feeling a little like a thief herself, Nancy slipped out of the car and through a gap in the tall hedges that fronted the Winslow property. Once she was on the grounds, it was very dark. The stands of tall trees surrounding the house and grounds shut out some of the moonlight. Everything was in shadow.
As she drew closer to the house, Nancy became increasingly nervous, hoping she wouldn’t trip a hidden electronic sensor that would set off an alarm. After each step, she waited, holding her breath and expecting to hear sirens start wailing. But when nothing happened after thirty or forty steps, she relaxed a little and walked more quickly.
Trying not to step on any twigs, Nancy moved cautiously around the house and walked as quietly as possible toward the back. About thirty feet from a back corner was a willow tree, its drooping branches swaying gently in the night
air. It was a perfect place to wait, Nancy thought. The branches would hide her, but she could peer out and have a full view of the back and side of the house.
Once hidden by the low-hanging branches, Nancy relaxed a little and checked her watch. Ten-thirty. She just hoped the robbers would decide to show up that night. If they didn’t, she and Ned would be up all night every night for the next week. Which would mean they’d have to rely on George and Bess to investigate the club during the day while they slept.
An hour later, Nancy realized that her left foot had fallen asleep. As quietly as possible, she stood up and shook her ankle, trying to get the circulation moving. The stinging, prickly sensation had just started to creep through her foot when she had to freeze, standing on one leg like a stork in sneakers.
A shadow was thrown up against the rear wall of the house. She could see the dark shape of a person slipping swiftly and silently toward the back door.
Chapter
Seven
THIS IS IT! Nancy thought. The stakeout is paying off. The shadow was still there, sliding along the back wall. Her heart thudding, Nancy peered through the branches, hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder.
As she watched, straining to see, the shadow suddenly began moving very erratically. It was looking for something—the entrance, maybe?
Wanting to see the thief, Nancy pushed a branch aside and poked her head out.
At the sound of the branches being disturbed, the shadow froze. For a few seconds, it remained motionless as though it were a piece of black paper pinned against the stucco and beams. Then, suddenly, it became smaller until it disappeared, and at the same time Nancy heard the sound of feet pounding across what must have been a stone patio. In a moment, the sound changed to a dull thudding as the person hit grass and kept on running.
Without hesitating, Nancy shoved the tangled willow branches apart and took off after her shadowy visitor.
Her foot still had very little feeling. Unable to control it, Nancy stumbled, scraping her knees and the palms of her hands on the rough stones of the patio. But she was up in a second, plunging into the darkness at the rear of the property. A feathery cloud had slid over the moon, making the night pitch-dark.
It was easy going at first, just a gentle sloping hill covered with thick mown grass. But after a couple of minutes, the grass ended, and Nancy found herself in a forest. Low-hanging branches caught at her hair and scratched her face, while dead wood and wet and slippery masses of leaves slowed her until she was almost taking baby steps.
When Nancy stopped to untangle her hair from a vine, she could hear the “shadow” ahead of her, crashing through the woods, not bothering now to be quiet. It wasn’t moving quickly either, and Nancy thought she might have a chance to catch up with it. She was just about to plunge ahead, when she suddenly realized she couldn’t hear the intruder anymore. Had he finally made his way through the forest? Or was he hiding somewhere ahead, lying in wait for her?
Deciding what to do in an instant, Nancy moved off again as quickly as possible, her arms stretched out in front of her. She expected someone to reach out and grab her at any second. But no one did, and after two or three minutes, she was abruptly stopped by a six-foot-high stone wall. So that’s why the mysterious intruder had suddenly stopped making noise—the suspect had climbed the wall and slipped away, probably for good.
Nancy knew it was probably a lost cause by then, but she decided to continue. Maybe the person had fallen and she’d get lucky and find him lying on the ground. Besides, she had gone too far to quit then.
The trees hadn’t thinned out, so Nancy easily climbed a maple tree and then stepped from it out onto the wall. The cloud drifted off the moon, and Nancy found herself looking out at a smooth lawn that stretched as far as she could see. Every once in a while, it dipped into a low valley or climbed a small hill, and there were a few clumps of trees here and there. It must be part of somebody’s estate, she thought. But it’s the biggest backyard I’ve ever seen.
Forget it, she told herself. The intruder could be anywhere out there. Your chances of finding him are about one in a million. She was just about ready to turn back when something caught her eye. Off to her right, something was moving. She was much too far away to tell what it was, but it didn’t matter. If there was movement, Nancy wanted to find out who or what was making it.
Leaping lightly to the grass, she started running again, toward the spot where she had seen the stirring. After the dead leaves and branches of the forest floor, the grass felt like velvet underfoot. In only a couple of minutes, she found herself looking down a grassy slope at a small pond, and beyond that, far off, she could see lights.
Circling the pond, Nancy kept up her pace, all the time wondering whose property she was on. She focused her attention on the distant lights—which looked too bright to be from an individual house—so she didn’t see the rock that suddenly tripped her. Falling, she threw out her arms, only to have her hands sink up to the wrists in sand.
A sandbox, Nancy thought, brushing herself off. But as she stood up, she realized that it wasn’t a box. It was just a kidney-shaped bed of sand at the bottom of another small, grass-covered hill. And suddenly it hit her—she had fallen into a sandtrap. She wasn’t standing in anyone’s yard—she was on the golf course of the River Heights Country Club.
Like a shot, Nancy was off again, moving toward the lights, which she knew were the floodlights around the clubhouse. The shadow maker must have headed this way, too, she thought. And she wondered if he’d come from there in the first place. If he had, then that night’s gamble had really paid off.
As Nancy drew closer to the clubhouse, she slowed down and strained her ears. Except for the gentle ripple of water in the pools, the complex seemed quiet. She edged her way to a set of sliding glass doors that led into the lounge and tested them.
They were locked. It was late—after midnight—there must not have been any dinner parties or meetings scheduled, and nobody was inside. But someone is here, Nancy thought.
Feeling certain that the mysterious shadow maker was close by, Nancy walked cautiously around the clubhouse, testing all the doors. Locked! But that didn’t mean the intruder had gone. He might have a key. He could be in the clubhouse right then, watching and waiting to see what she’d do.
But what should she do? She hated to go back. But if she didn’t show up at Ned’s car soon, he’d come looking for her. And then he’d have the police out looking for her. And with her luck, it would be Detective Ryan.
Frustrated, Nancy turned from the clubhouse and started back, crossing the red tiles that surrounded the swimming area. That was when she saw them—several sets of footprints.
Her frustration disappearing, Nancy moved closer and bent down to examine them. A few pieces of grass and leaves were stuck to the tiles in the shape of footprints. They were facing the club, which meant the owner of them had probably came from the same direction she had.
Straightening up, Nancy followed the prints, which led her beside the swimming pool and over to the side of the square, twenty-foot-deep diving pool. It was dark there, the deep water was inky black, and the two-tiered diving platform looked like a visitor from a distant world.
Wishing she had a flashlight so she could see more clearly, Nancy took a couple of steps. Then she listened and stopped. Silly me, she thought. Just some leaves rustling.
Abruptly, there was a slapping sound on the tiles, and before Nancy could turn, she felt herself being shoved, hard, from behind. Her arms flailing wildly, Nancy fell, the cold, dark water of the diving pool meeting her with a slap.
Before she could orient herself, she felt herself being forced down into the watery darkness. One arm was viciously wrapped around her neck, and the other held her head just below the surface!
Chapter
Eight
DESPERATELY, NANCY PULLED at the arm around her neck, finally sinking all ten fingernails into it. She would have given anything to know the identity of h
er partner in this lethal underwater ballet. But knowing wouldn’t help her breathe. What she needed was air!
Squirming and thrashing, Nancy fought to free herself from the viselike arm around her neck, but nothing seemed to do any good. Suddenly, inspiration struck, and Nancy kicked, thrusting her legs deeper into the water. If she was going to drown, then her assailant would go down with her. Madly, she fluttered her legs, dragging them both toward the bottom.
The lack of oxygen was making her dizzy—her lungs were on fire, ready to burst. At what point her attacker had loosened his grip on her throat, she didn’t know, but when the realization struck, she fought to pull herself through the water until her head broke the surface.
For a few seconds, Nancy bobbed in the middle of the pool, gulping in huge lungfuls of air. Then she forced herself to look around—her attacker had fled. She paddled over to the side, where she hung on and rested until her head started to clear and she got her breath back.
Then Nancy scanned the pool area more closely. It was definitely empty. Except for a second trail of footprints—bare, wet ones this time—everything looked exactly the same. Whoever had shoved her into the water was gone.
Nancy slowly dragged herself out of the pool. Sitting on the tiles, she pulled off her sneakers. She was too exhausted to pursue her attacker. Even if, by some miracle, she did catch up to him, she would only collapse at his feet.
Her head was pounding, and the last thing she felt like doing was thinking. But she couldn’t help wondering why her attacker had left the diving pool so suddenly.
Maybe, Nancy thought, he hadn’t really wanted to drown her. Maybe he’d just wanted to scare her.
“Hey!”
Nancy jumped as a light blinded her eyes and an angry, harsh voice boomed out of the darkness.
“What are you doing here?” the voice demanded. “This is private property. Boy, I’ve had it up to here with you kids sneaking into the club, using the pool, trampling the golf course!”