“Call me!” Eloise cried out as the three girls raced to the front door.
“I will!” Nancy shouted back. “Try not to worry!”
Nancy tried not to worry herself, but her hands gripped the steering wheel nervously as she drove. What could have happened between last night and this morning? What had Sasha done? If his disappearance was connected to the Jetstream case, then why hadn’t Marina and Dmitri left, too? Or was Sasha on his own?
Nancy pulled the car up in front of the institute, braking sharply, and the three girls ran into the building.
The lobby and the auditorium were buzzing with people. Many of the dancers were wandering around in confusion, trying to find out what was happening. Others were standing in little knots, talking worriedly. A few members of the institute’s board were there, including Eileen Martin. She was holding a stack of programs and talking to Dana Harding.
Dana was wringing her hands and acting completely beside herself, as Eloise had said. When Dana saw Nancy, she left Eileen and came running over, her eyes frantic with worry.
“Eloise told you?” Dana asked.
Nancy nodded. “When did you find out Sasha was missing?”
“Just a little after nine,” Dana said, “when Dmitri and Marina came looking for him here. The last time they had seen him was last night, around eleven-thirty, they said. They were all going to bed then, or so they thought. They have no idea what time he left the house after that. Dmitri was up at seven this morning, he says, so it could have been any time between midnight and then.”
Around eleven-thirty, Nancy thought. Not long after she had seen them in the rehearsal room. What could have happened after that?
“I just don’t know what to do!” Dana cried, running a hand through her hair. “I know Sasha likes to have fun, but I don’t think he’d play this kind of joke. What if something awful’s happened? Maybe I should cancel the performance tonight! Good heavens, how can I worry about the performance when Sasha could be in danger? Oh, I don’t know what to do!” she said again.
Nancy put a hand on her shoulder. “Try to calm down,” she said. “And don’t do anything about the performance yet. Have you called the police?”
“Yes. I waited as long as I could, hoping he’d turn up.” Dana took a shaky breath. “They should be here any minute.”
“Where are Dmitri and Marina?”
Dana looked around distractedly. “They were here just a minute ago,” she said. “Maybe they went into the auditorium. I hope that’s where they went. If Marina’s disappeared, too, I’ll lose my mind!”
Nancy patted her shoulder and went into the auditorium. Bess and George were there, talking to some of the dancers. Nancy spotted the two Soviet dancers standing by the piano on the stage and started toward them.
She was halfway down the aisle when Dmitri saw her. Even in the dim light, Nancy could see that he was furious.
“You!” he said, as she came up to them. “I hold you fully responsible for this!”
His reaction was the last one Nancy had expected. Completely surprised, she just stared at him.
Dmitri started to go on, but Marina interrupted. “It was your mystery,” she said to Nancy. “The case you are trying to solve. Sasha could talk about nothing else.”
“Yes!” Dmitri agreed, his voice harsh with worry. “And to think I actually indulged him by driving him to that airplane factory that night, just so he could see what you were doing!”
Nancy finally found her voice. “Sasha was with you that night?”
Dmitri looked embarrassed. “So, you did see me. I was afraid of that,” he said. “Yes, Sasha was with me. But he was hiding in the back seat, out of sight.”
Nancy just shook her head, not quite understanding.
Dmitri sighed. “Sasha had this crazy idea of solving the mystery with you,” he explained.
“If only you hadn’t encouraged him!” Marina cried.
“Encourage him?” Nancy said, climbing onto the stage. “I didn’t encourage him, Marina. I told him just what Dmitri did—that he was here to dance, not to solve mysteries.”
Marina’s dark eyes widened. “But your case—it was all he talked about to us!”
“To me, too,” Nancy told her. “But I didn’t ask him to help me with it. I told him to forget it.”
Dmitri collapsed onto a folding chair. “Then we owe you an apology, Miss Drew.”
“I owe you one, too.” Nancy took a deep breath. “You see, I decided you were involved in this Jetstream case.”
“What?” Dmitri cried incredulously.
Nancy told them about how she had begun to suspect Dmitri after he followed her that night, and about how she had trailed him to the post office the day he mailed something to France.
“France?” Dmitri blinked in bewilderment. “I merely sent our hosts there a copy of our itinerary. We go to Paris from here, you know.”
“I know,” Nancy told him. “But Aviane is a French company, and you’d already been acting so suspiciously—Well, anyway, I suspected you of sending industrial secrets,” she concluded with a wry smile. “And last night just about convinced me.”
“Last night?” The chaperon frowned. “What do you mean?”
Might as well tell him everything, Nancy thought. Maybe it’ll help find Sasha. “I saw the three of you here last night,” she explained. “I couldn’t understand what you were saying, but I did hear the word Jetstream. And I thought you were . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Plotting something?” Exchanging glances with Marina, Dmitri almost smiled. “No,” he said. “I heard Sasha going out the door. It was late, and I couldn’t understand where he might be going at that hour. Marina heard me, and together we followed Sasha over here. He was looking for evidence, he said.”
“He said he had learned something,” Marina told Nancy. “He was very excited, because he was sure it would help you break the case.”
“Did he tell you what the evidence was?” Nancy asked.
“We didn’t even ask,” Marina said. “We just tried to convince him to stop.”
Nancy sat down on the piano bench, thinking hard. Could Sasha really have stumbled across something?.
As if he’d read her mind, Dmitri said, “Miss Drew, if Sasha did learn something, then it’s possible his disappearance is connected to this case.”
“You could be right,” Nancy agreed grimly. “What happened after you talked to him here?”
“We all went back to our house,” Marina said. “Sasha said he was going to bed, but he must have sneaked out again.” She stopped, looking frightened. “If you and Dmitri are right, then he could be in danger!”
Nancy had already thought of that, but she didn’t want to worry them any more by agreeing. “Listen,” she said, “I think you should go back to your house and check his room. He might have left some kind of message or clue about where he went.”
Dmitri appeared to be glad to have something to do besides stand around and worry. He walked up the aisle, and Marina followed him, but first she turned to Nancy.
“Please, Nancy, forgive me for being so cool to you before,” she said. “Sasha was very attracted to you from the first, and I was afraid he would get so distracted he would neglect his dancing.”
“It’s all right,” Nancy said with a smile. “But I don’t think you have to worry about his dancing. He’s great.”
“Yes,” Marina agreed. “But he and I are very different. He gets interested in so many other things. And I truly thought you were encouraging him with this detective business.” She bit her lip nervously. “Do you think you will be able to find him?”
“I’ll do everything I can,” Nancy promised. With a shaky smile, Marina thanked her, then continued up the aisle.
After she’d gone, Nancy put her chin in her hands and leaned her elbows on the piano keys. The noisy crash of notes made Yves Goulard stick his head in the door, but Nancy decided to ignore him. She wasn’t hurting anything, and this was
a good place to think. After a second the accompanist threw her a black look and withdrew. Staring blindly at the sheet music, Nancy tried to figure things out.
Talk about jumping to conclusions, she thought, furious with herself. She’d been so sure about Dmitri. It turned out he’d just been going along with Sasha, trying to keep him from getting into trouble.
That trip to the post office had meant nothing at all. The “secret meeting” between Dmitri and Bill Fairgate at the sandwich shop was completely innocent. The car accident really was an accident. And now Nancy was back where she’d started—in the dark.
Or was she? There was still that note she’d found on her car. She was sure the writer’s first language wasn’t English. Then, Sasha claimed he was on to something. He’d come here last night, to the institute, to try to find out more.
There had to be a connection between Jetstream and someone at the institute. But who? Could it be Jacques? It might not be fair to suspect him just because he was from France, but she had to start someplace.
Looking around, Nancy realized that she was alone in the auditorium. Bess and George and the other dancers had left. The police were probably there by now, she thought. She’d talk to them, and then try to find Jacques.
As Nancy got up, she bumped the piano, sending the sheet music sliding to the floor. Down on her knees, she started to gather it up, hoping Yves wouldn’t notice and throw another fit. One of the sheets had drifted under the bench. She reached for it and picked it up. Then she froze.
Nancy hadn’t seen this particular piece of paper before, but she’d spent most of the night looking at ones like it.
She was holding a copy of a blueprint from Jetstream.
Chapter
Fifteen
YVES GOULARD. Of course, Nancy thought, her hand gripping the blueprint tightly. The temperamental accompanist who freaks out when anyone goes near his music. The twenty-nine-year-old who’s already making plans to retire. The Frenchman who speaks English beautifully but probably doesn’t write it as well, especially in a threatening note. Yves Goulard had to be the current link between Jetstream and Aviane.
Hearing voices from the lobby, Nancy suddenly realized how exposed she was. Yves could come back in here any second. In fact, he was probably waiting until the piano was clear. With all the turmoil, he must not have been able to get to the blueprint yet. The last thing Nancy wanted was for him to find out she knew.
Her hands shaking, Nancy quickly but carefully slid the blueprint in with the rest of the sheet music and set it all back on the piano. Then she jumped off the stage, hurried up the aisle, and went into the lobby.
The first person she saw was Yves, standing with Dana Harding. The minute he saw Nancy, he frowned, checked his watch, and started toward the auditorium door.
Nancy actually held the door for him, giving him an innocent, helpful smile as he passed. Then she let out her breath and went over to George and Bess, who were standing with some dancers.
“Come on!” she said urgently, motioning them to follow her outside. She didn’t say another word until they’d reached her car. Then she told them everything.
“I can’t believe it!” Bess cried, her cheeks flaming in anger. “I mean, I believe it, but it’s still incredible. No wonder he’s ready to retire—he must be making a mint!”
“Any clue about who his contact is at Jetstream?” George asked. “Can we connect him to Bill Fairgate in any way?”
Nancy shook her head. “Not yet. I’m more worried about Sasha right now,” she said. “Yves has to know where he is. Dmitri told me that Sasha was looking for something over here last night. The argument I overheard in Russian was Dmitri and Marina trying to talk Sasha out of trying to solve this case.”
“You mean he was working on his own?” Bess asked.
“Right. And he must have stumbled on something,” Nancy said. “Anyway, Sasha left with Dmitri and Marina. But then he went out again. Somehow, Yves must have figured out that Sasha was on to him. I don’t know if Sasha called and told him or asked to meet him or what, but I’m sure Yves knows where he is.”
“What are we going to do?” George asked. “Stick with Yves and hope he leads us to Sasha?”
“No, I want to search Yves’s house.” Nancy turned to Bess. “Do you know where he’s staying?”
Bess nodded. “He told me. He’s got a little cottage by himself, the last place on Dune Road. No wonder he never invited me there,” she added, still angry. “The place is probably crammed full of blueprints.”
Nancy couldn’t help smiling. “Don’t worry, Bess, we’ll get him. In the meantime, you stay here and keep an eye on Yves while George and I go out to his house. If he looks like he’s getting ready to leave, call. Let the phone ring twice, then hang up. Do you have his number?”
Bess nodded again. “I sure do. The creep!”
This time Nancy laughed. Then she and George got into her car and drove toward Yves’s cottage on Dune Road. Nancy wasn’t sure what they’d find. All she could do was hope that Sasha was all right.
Dune Road didn’t have too many houses on it. In spite of its name, it wasn’t on the dunes—it was a few streets in from the ocean. The houses on it were smaller and less luxurious looking than many others Nancy had seen in the Hamptons.
“It looks empty,” George said, as she and Nancy walked the last few feet toward Yves’s cottage. They’d left the car partway down the road and come the rest of the way on foot. If anyone else was there, they didn’t want the sound of the engine to give them away.
“There aren’t any cars around,” Nancy agreed. “But I guess there’s only one way to be sure.” Taking a deep breath, she reached out and knocked on the front door. She waited, slowly counted to ten, then knocked again, harder.
“Well?” George asked.
Nancy tried the door. Locked. “Too bad I threw away Bess’s hair clip,” she commented. “Come on, let’s see what’s around back,”
At the back was a small flagstone patio, and sliding glass doors leading into the house. The glass doors were covered on the inside with a big bamboo shade.
“We’re in luck,” Nancy said, testing the doors. “This one’s almost off its track. I guess Yves’s not much of a handyman.”
The door was enough out of line so that by pushing and sliding at the same time, Nancy was able to move it about half an inch along the track. That was enough for her to work her fingers into the opening and lift up the lock.
It didn’t take long, but it made a lot of noise. When she slid the door open, the whole thing shrieked and rattled so loudly, they were afraid the glass would break.
“I guess if anybody else is here, they’ve heard us by now,” George remarked.
“Right,” Nancy agreed. “So what have we got to lose? Let’s go in.”
Pushing the bamboo shade away, they stepped into a small, neat kitchen. A door opened into the living room, and they could see part of a baby grand piano in there.
Nancy and George stood still for a moment, listening for sounds. The house was quiet and felt empty. Cautiously, they moved into the living room.
“What exactly are we looking for?” George whispered.
“Anything to do with Jetstream,” Nancy whispered back. “But mostly anything that might lead us to Sasha.”
Nerves on edge, they walked around the living room. Nancy stopped at the piano, but she didn’t really expect to find anything. Yves wouldn’t bother to hide blueprints in the sheet music in his own house.
George spotted a canvas carryall near the front door and looked questioningly at Nancy.
“Might as well,” Nancy said.
Unzipping the carryall, George began to rummage through it.
The phone and a notepad were on a low table next to the couch, and Nancy walked over to it. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a phone number scribbled on the pad.
“Just swimming stuff,” George muttered, zipping the carryall back up. “And lots of sand.”
&
nbsp; The notepad was empty. Nancy pulled open the little drawer in the table, and a couple of pencils rolled around noisily. Still nervous, Nancy reached in and stopped them.
The house was silent again. Then Nancy thought she heard something. Her hand still on the pencils, she raised her head and listened. “I heard it, too,” George whispered, her dark eyes wide. “It came from upstairs.”
Both girls held their breath and listened. There it was again. A thump, coming from directly over their heads.
Nancy put her finger to her lips, tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up. The landing was empty.
Leaving George downstairs as the lookout, Nancy slowly climbed the stairs. There were two doors on either side of the small landing. One was half open, and Nancy could see a chest of drawers and part of a bed. She stuck her head all the way in. The room was empty.
The other door was closed. Just as Nancy put her hand on the knob, she heard the thump again. She turned the knob quietly and inched the door open. Then she flung it wide.
In the middle of the room, gagged and tied to a straight-backed chair, was Sasha Petrov.
In seconds Nancy was at his side, undoing the cotton kitchen towel tied around his mouth.
“Nancy!” Sasha gasped when the towel slipped off. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t,” Nancy said, working on the knots at his wrists. She was so relieved at finding him safe, her hands were shaking. “I found out about Yves, though,” she explained, “and I was hoping something in this house would lead me to you.”
His hands free, Sasha quickly untied his ankles and stood up, shaking his arms and legs to get the circulation going. Then he turned to Nancy and hugged her, quickly and hard. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome.” Nancy hugged him back. Then she stepped away and took his hand. “Come on. George is probably going crazy downstairs. You have a lot of explaining to do, Sasha Petrov,” she added with a grin, “but it can wait until we’re out of here.”