But the Mustang was still racing backward. Fifty yards later she hit the brakes, yanked the ignition key out of its slot, and leaped out.
There were two patches of flame on the hood of her car. Nancy whipped off her jacket and beat the flames until they went out.
She heard the loud crackling of the burning drum and watched as the one next to it ignited. Then a third caught. Nancy crouched. Off in the distance sirens began to wail. A patrol car screeched around a corner several blocks away and came flying toward her, its roof lights strobing. She started to tremble as the enormity of what had almost happened to her began to sink in.
The patrol doors of the patrol car flew open as it skidded to a stop on the wet pavement. “Are you okay?” an officer yelled as she ran toward the detective.
“Yes—no! Well, I’m not sure. I guess I am,” Nancy said in a shaky voice.
“You look okay,” the woman said, shining a flashlight in her face. The flashlight’s beam swung to the Mustang. “Your car will need a new paint job, though.”
Nancy smiled weakly. “It deserves it. That car saved my life.”
“What happened?”
“A bomb was strapped to one of those oil drums,” Nancy explained. “Whoever planted it must have been waiting nearby with a remote-control detonator, because a few seconds after I started my car, it went off.”
“Then the guy might still be in the area!” The officer quickly lifted her radio from her belt.
“Forget it,” Nancy said, suddenly feeling angry at herself. “He’s gone by now.”
A few seconds later a fire engine arrived. The fire fighters quickly contained the blaze by spraying the area with chemicals. Nancy repeated her story for the fire chief, several detectives, and finally, Chief McGinnis. “That gang of thieves is definitely on to me,” she concluded.
“Perhaps they saw you patrolling the area,” the chief suggested.
Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so. If they did, why didn’t I see them? No, I’m pretty sure they were told where to find me.”
The chief’s eyebrows drew together. “Who told them, do you think?”
Nancy gazed upward. The rain was letting up. Between the clouds she could see patches of clear, starry sky.
“I’m not sure,” Nancy admitted, “but I’m going to find out.”
• • •
The offices of Loomis & Petersen seemed to have survived unchanged for decades. The front door led into a retail store with large wall displays of locks, alarms, and intercom systems. A salesman took Nancy’s name and disappeared up a flight of stairs at the back of the store.
A minute later he returned. “Stan says go right on up.”
“Thanks.”
Nancy climbed to the second floor, which was as out of date as the store below. The floor was bare wood, the paint on the walls was faded, and the hall was illuminated by long strips of fluorescent lighting.
Stanley Loomis occupied a corner office. Its large windows let in plenty of the morning light and offered a beautiful view of the river. He rose, presented a beefy hand to Nancy, and settled back into an old-fashioned wooden desk chair that squeaked every time he moved.
“I’ve read about you,” Loomis said. He reached for a package of cigars on his desk, but then changed his mind. “You seem like a smart kid. Why are you working for Hayward?”
“What makes you think I’m working for Hayward?” Nancy asked.
“C’mon! Why else would you be here? Anyway, I saw you with Chief McGinnis and that Hayward punk on Saturday.”
“I see.” Loomis was shrewd, Nancy decided.
“You’re wasting your time here. You know that, don’t you?” Loomis barked.
“What makes you say that?” Nancy asked.
“Those robberies had to be an inside job,” Loomis said. “That means you should be investigating Hayward’s clients, or maybe Hayward’s own employees. But not me.”
“I have to cover all the angles,” Nancy said evenly.
Loomis laughed nastily. “And what do you think you’re going to get from me? A confession? The only thing I can tell you is that those computerized systems that Hayward has been selling are about as secure as a bureau drawer. If you’re covering angles, start there.”
Nancy was surprised. “You’re saying Tom sells crummy alarm systems?”
“Not crummy, exactly,” Loomis admitted. “But they’re no better than mine.”
Nancy was tired of playing games. She went on the offensive. “Mr. Loomis, on Saturday you baited Tom over a warehouse loudspeaker system. How did you happen to be at that particular location that day?”
“Coincidence,” Loomis said, studying his nails.
Nancy didn’t believe in coincidence. “Oh, really?”
“Prove that it wasn’t,” he challenged.
Nancy was silent. She couldn’t prove it, and he knew it.
“Oh, don’t look so gloomy,” Loomis said, smiling. “Look, I’ll tell you why I was there—I was checking out a customer’s facility for a possible upgrade of his system. I’m planning some moves that will take the wind out of Tom Hayward’s sails.”
Nancy speculated upon hearing this. Did his “plans” include robbing Tom’s customers in order to ruin Tom’s business?
“You seem to resent Tom’s success,” Nancy stated plainly.
“Of course I do,” Loomis said. He leaned forward all of a sudden and pointed a finger at her. “Hayward tried to buy me—us—out. Us! After thirty years in business!”
Nancy kept her face impassive. Now she was getting somewhere! “But you wouldn’t sell?”
“I won’t. But my part—” Suddenly Loomis cut off. “Well, that’s none of your business. Drop it.”
Nancy knew that she was getting warm. Loomis was clumsily trying to hide something. Before she could dig deeper, however, there was a knock at Loomis’s door. The door swung open, and a thin, gray-haired man wearing a baggy suit stormed in. He had a piece of stationery clutched tightly in his fist.
“Stanley, I won’t let you send this letter to young Hayward! It’s insulting. If he reads this, he’ll forget all about—” Suddenly the man noticed Nancy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”
“This is my partner, Roy Petersen,” Loomis explained. “Roy, this is Nancy Drew.”
Petersen’s face lit up. “You’re the young detective, aren’t you? I’m very glad to meet you, young lady.” He offered Nancy his hand. “You know, it’s nice—”
“Clam up, Roy,” Loomis said rudely, cutting his partner off.
“Stanley!”
“Nancy is helping Hayward investigate those robberies,” Loomis said.
“Oh—yes, a terrible business,” Petersen said. “I hope you can get to the bottom of it, Nancy.”
Nancy listened to the exchange in fascination. The partners were as different as night and day. She also suspected that they were in the middle of a major disagreement—a disagreement that had everything to do with Tom Hayward. But what was it?
“Anyway, Stanley,” Petersen went on, “about this letter. We shouldn’t be so quick to brush off young Hayward. His offer—”
Again, Loomis cut off his partner in midsentence. “Roy, I told you that subject is closed!” He quickly turned to Nancy. “Miss Drew, would you please excuse us? We have some business here—that is, unless you have more questions?”
“None for now.”
After leaving Loomis & Petersen, Nancy turned her Mustang out of town and into the farmland that lay beyond the city limits. She needed time to drive and think.
Questions were swimming around in her mind. Had the thieves known in advance that she would be patrolling the warehouse district? Who had told them? Why did they steal only moderate amounts of loot? And what about the codes? How had they gotten hold of them?
More than anything else, however, she was nagged by the feeling that she had missed something during her talk with Stanley Loomis. Something he had said was more i
mportant than it seemed—but what? She couldn’t figure it out.
Nancy checked her rearview mirror. A hundred yards behind her a beige-colored car was keeping pace with her. Nancy slowed down, so the car could overtake and pass her, but it didn’t. She shrugged and returned to her thoughts.
A few minutes later she checked her rearview mirror again. The car was still there. It looked familiar. Hadn’t a car just like it stopped behind her at a red light back in River Heights?
She sped up. The car behind her sped up, too. Without signaling, Nancy quickly braked and swung onto another road. The car behind her turned, too.
Nancy clenched her jaw and pressed down on the gas pedal. There was no doubt about it. She was being followed.
Chapter
Eight
NANCY CONTINUED to drive normally. She didn’t want to lose this tail. She wanted to identify the person.
The road rose and dipped over a series of low hills. Nancy was pleased to spot a barn roof over the next hill. A farm was just what she needed.
As Nancy topped the rise, she jammed the gas pedal to the floor, and in a few seconds she reached the farm. Swiftly she braked and swung into the muddy yard on the far side of the barn. When she was out of sight, she turned so that the Mustang was again facing the road.
A few seconds later the other car raced past her position. It was going much faster than before. The driver was obviously panic-stricken because Nancy was no longer in sight.
Smiling in satisfaction, Nancy gunned her engine, swung onto the road, and zoomed off the way she had come. As she topped the rise, she glanced in her rearview mirror. The other car was about a hundred yards beyond the farm, doing a hasty three-point turn in the middle of the road.
All right, she thought. The chase is on!
Nancy quickly formulated her plan. A mile later she found the spot to execute it—another farm. The dirt yard surrounding the barn was even wetter than the one at the last farm. A tractor had gouged deep tracks in the mud, she could see. Thank goodness for the previous night’s rain!
Quickly Nancy drove to the far side of the barnyard and turned right. Next, she pushed open her door and slumped down in her seat. From a distance, she hoped, it would look as if she had abandoned her car and run into the barn.
Twenty seconds later the engine of the other car grew louder. As she had hoped, it immediately swung into the far side of the barnyard—the side that was the muddiest. With luck, the other car was now hubcap-deep in the mud. She heard its door close softly.
Nancy waited a few seconds longer, to give the driver time to get halfway to the barn. Then she sat up.
She wanted to check out the driver of the other car. One good look at his face was all she needed—
It wasn’t a he. With a start, Nancy saw who it was.
Brenda!
The girl was trying to tiptoe gingerly through the mud. It wasn’t going well. Her leather jacket, calf-length wool skirt, and expensive-looking boots just weren’t right for the job. A grimace of disgust twisted her mouth as her right boot slid ankle-deep into the muck.
As she heard Nancy’s door slam, she looked panicked and started back for her car. But her feet kept sinking.
Soon Brenda gave up. She stood still—and visibly sank deeper into the mud. “Nancy, you tricked me! I thought you were inside!” she yelled.
Nancy snapped open her door and climbed out, trying hard not to smile. “Brenda, if you want leads for your stories, why not just phone?”
Brenda folded her arms. “Oh, sure, like you’d really help me!”
Nancy finally gave in to a grin. “Maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn’t.”
Brenda became indignant. “You can’t stop me from reporting the news!”
Nancy shook her head. “I’m not ‘news’ and you know it. You’re just hoping I’ll do your thinking for you. Well, from now on you can do your own thinking, Brenda.”
Brenda’s jaw tightened. “I have. You’re not the only girl in River Heights with a brain, you know. In fact, I even know who the insider at Hayward Security is.”
Nancy was interested. Reaching inside her car, she switched off the ignition key. “Who is it?”
Brenda walked toward her, her boots making little sucking sounds in the mud. “I think it’s Hayward’s vice-president, Neil Masterson,” she said. “If anyone can fiddle with the alarm systems, it’s him. Plus he’s got a motive,” she hinted.
Now Nancy was really interested. “What motive?”
“His baby daughter.”
Nancy recalled the photo on Neil’s desk. What was the little girl’s name? Tasha. She frowned. “What do you mean?”
Brenda finally drew near. “She has a congenital heart defect. She’s had several operations. Expensive operations.”
“So what? Neil’s medical insurance pays for that,” Nancy reasoned.
Brenda shook her head. “Only to a point. Most medical plans have a limit. I checked, and Neil has exceeded the Hayward plan’s limit.”
“Are you sure?” Nancy asked.
“Oh, yes. His little girl had three operations last year. We’re talking about open-heart surgery, you understand. That adds up very fast. The total cost must have been hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
There was no way that Neil Masterson could be making that kind of money. So how was he paying the hospital bills? Nancy would have to find out.
The corners of Brenda’s mouth curled smugly. “So, what do you think? Is that excellent detective work, or what?”
Nancy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Your father is a smart man. I know that, too.”
Brenda recoiled as if stung. Bull’s-eye, Nancy thought. It was her father who had found out about Masterson.
“Well, thanks for the tip,” Nancy said, climbing back into her Mustang. “And good luck getting out of that mud.”
“Aren’t you going to help me?” Brenda wailed.
“You need a tractor. Or maybe a team of oxen,” Nancy joked.
“Why, you—! Okay, I’ll go find a farmer,” Brenda said tightly. “But before you go, get this straight: I’m going to crack this case, Nancy Drew. And I don’t need any help from you!”
As Nancy roared away, she shook her head in wonder. If Brenda truly wanted to catch the insider at Hayward Security, she wasn’t going to do it by tailing a detective.
• • •
Nancy drove directly to Hayward’s headquarters. Neil Masterson was in a good mood when she was shown into his office.
They talked amiably for a few minutes. Then, having broken the ice, Nancy leaned back in her chair.
“By the way, I saw on your job application that you were in the army.”
“Six years,” he said proudly.
“Did you have any demolitions training while you were enlisted?” Nancy asked.
“Some—why?” His tone grew cautious.
“Just wondering. Tell me, do you watch the eleven o’clock news on TV?” she went on conversationally.
“No, my wife and I usually go to bed around ten.”
Nancy said, “So you were at home with your wife last night?”
“All night. Why are you asking?” Neil was definitely suspicious now.
“Just—”
“Wondering, yes, I know,” he finished. “Nancy, you’re checking on my whereabouts, aren’t you? Does this mean you suspect that I might be involved in the robberies?”
“I have to cover all possibilities,” Nancy said hastily.
“Where I spend my free time is my business! I don’t owe an explanation to you or anyone else!” His face was red with anger. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to see some people.” Rising, he walked quickly out of his office.
Nancy was stunned. Why was Neil acting so guilty? If anything, she was more suspicious of him now than before.
Later that afternoon Cindy Larson arrived at Nancy’s house. She was carrying a file folder. Her face was flushed with excitement.
“Hi,” Nancy said, pu
lling a second chair over to her desk. “We’re going to write a profile of Stanley Loomis today,” Nancy announced.
“Good. I’ve already begun his,” Cindy said.
“You have?”
Cindy grinned. “He acted so suspicious on Saturday yelling at Tom over that loudspeaker and all, so today on the way over I stopped at the library and looked him up in Who’s Who in River Heights. The Chamber of Commerce publishes it. Then I searched the indexes for the city newspapers and found some real old articles about him.”
“Anything interesting?” Nancy asked.
“He used to be a burglar,” Cindy announced.
“What!”
Cindy nodded. “That was a long time ago. He went to prison and reformed—or so he said. After his parole he went into the security business. He told his customers that he could protect them better than anyone else because he knew better than anyone else how to rob them!”
“Quite a sales pitch,” Nancy said dryly. “Good work, Cindy.”
Cindy beamed. “Anything else?”
“We need to write a profile on Tom’s vice-president, Neil Masterson,” Nancy said.
“You’re kidding! He lives across the street from me.” Cindy sat down. “Nancy, I can’t believe he’s a suspect. He’s so nice! I’ve even baby-sat his daughter, Tasha.”
“Even so, we’re starting a profile,” Nancy said grimly. “Hold on! You say he lives right across the street?”
“Uh-huh.” Cindy looked troubled.
“Can you see his garage and driveway clearly from your room?” Nancy asked.
“Yes.”
Nancy tapped her pencil on her desktop. “Fantastic. Cindy, how would you like to do some surveillance?”
“I—I guess so,” Cindy answered uncertainly.
“Good. Watch his house tonight. If he leaves, jot down the time. Also write down the time when he returns. Don’t try to follow him anywhere, though. Just watch.”
“Will this prove him innocent?” Cindy asked hopefully.
“I’m pretty sure the thieves’ll be working tonight. If Neil is one of them, he’ll go out. If he doesn’t—well, it may not prove that he’s innocent, necessarily, but it will help.”