As her eyes flicked from one version to the other, it occurred to her that Friedbinder’s real biography was pretty amazing in itself. He had received both a master’s degree and a doctorate in his first five years after college and taught at the same time.
“Wow!” Nancy said softly. “That’s pretty impressive.”
After getting his doctorate, Friedbinder had become dean of students at a small private school. While there he had increased both the percentage of graduates going on to four-year colleges and the number of acceptances at highly prestigious colleges.
No wonder Lane and the other trustees decided to offer Friedbinder the job of headmaster at Brewster. Many people thought the best indication of a school’s success was the list of colleges its graduates attended. A private school that wasn’t seen as successful would stop attracting students and eventually go broke. So Friedbinder’s obvious skill in that area must have been an important plus, at least in the eyes of the board.
Nancy noticed the title of Friedbinder’s Ph.D. dissertation: “The Development of Creative Problem-Solving Skills.” The press release said he’d gotten it published. The dissertation sounded as if it might help Nancy in her work, so she decided to ask him about borrowing a copy.
• • •
Nancy saw Friedbinder at eight-thirty on Monday morning in the school hallway. His manner was brusque and businesslike. “I need to speak to you privately, Ms. Stevens. Right away,” he said.
As she followed him into his office, Nancy wondered why she had become Ms. Stevens, instead of Nancy. She soon found out.
“When I came in this morning,” said the headmaster, rustling through the papers on his desk, “I found this note in my mailbox.” He held it up.
“What does it say?” asked Nancy.
“I’ll read it to you, word for word,” Friedbinder replied. He took a pair of glasses from his coat pocket, adjusted them on his nose, and read:
“Good grades are big business at Brewster. And the people raking in the dough let a computer do their dirty work. Want your grade changed? Talk to Victor Paredes and Nancy Stevens.”
Chapter
Nine
THE FIRST THING Nancy noted was the use of her alias: Nancy Stevens. Whoever wrote the note probably wasn’t the same person who had sent her the threatening message on Friday.
The next thing that struck her was that the note concerned grade changing. Its author knew about the scam.
“That’s very interesting,” Nancy said, taking a seat. “Do you mind if I have a look at it?”
Walter Friedbinder passed it to her. The accusing message was printed in blue felt-tip ink on ordinary lined loose-leaf paper. The large block letters indicated to Nancy that the writer had apparently tried to disguise his or her handwriting. Nancy noticed one peculiarity, though. The small letter k had a closed loop for the upper arm, so that it looked like a small capital R with a line sticking up from it. Nancy was sure she would recognize it if she came across it again.
“Well?” Friedbinder said. “I thought you were going to solve this case! Now you’re being accused of the crime. What’s going on?”
Nancy looked up. “Hmm? Oh—I have a pretty good idea who wrote this and why. The interesting part is that Victor and I are accused of grade changing, and not of, say, writing graffiti in the halls or selling test answers.”
“What do you mean?” asked the headmaster.
“This person knows about the grade-changing scam,” she explained. “Maybe he or she has been approached by the culprit.”
“What about Victor Paredes?”
“I’m watching him,” said Nancy. “But I don’t have enough evidence to accuse him. I don’t think the person who wrote this does, either. This is the work of a jealous girlfriend.”
Friedbinder seemed to accept this, and his manner relaxed somewhat.
The nine o’clock bell sounded in the corridor outside. Nancy stood up. “I have a student in a few minutes,” she said. “Will you excuse me?”
“Of course,” Friedbinder replied. “And please forgive me. This whole business has made me tense.”
She was in the doorway when she remembered to ask him for a copy of his published dissertation.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I have only one copy of it, and it must be in one of the cartons of books I haven’t unpacked yet. In any case, it’s pretty dry stuff.”
As she walked upstairs to the learning lab, Nancy had a lot to think about. Why had he been so worried about the letter? The idea of her being involved was ridiculous—he had to know that. He was probably so worried about the effects of a scandal that he wasn’t thinking clearly.
As for the note’s author, Nancy knew of only one person who would want to make trouble for her and Victor, and that was Kim. But why had Kim—assuming she was the one—accused them of grade changing? She must know that someone at Brewster really was changing people’s grades for money.
Kim didn’t seem to have the computer knowhow to be in on the scheme, but had she received an E-mail message from the grade-changer? Or heard rumors from students who had? And what about the fact that the note accused Victor? Was that pure spite or a shrewd guess? Victor was, after all, one of Nancy’s suspects. Did Kim know that he was involved? And if so, how?
Nancy shook her head. Too many questions and no answers. She unlocked the learning lab and checked her watch. There were still a few minutes before her student was to arrive. After dumping her things on a chair, she went to her desk to make a phone call. “Mr. Lane?” she said, when she was put through.
“Nancy! I was just going to call you,” the banker said. “A deposit of five hundred dollars was made to the account after four on Friday afternoon. My immediate staff had gone home, so I wasn’t told about it until this morning.”
Nancy whistled. “So if I. Wynn hasn’t already withdrawn his money, he should start withdrawing the cash today. Can you arrange for me to be notified here at school as soon as there’s any activity in the account?”
“I imagine I can,” Lane replied. “You’ll have to move quickly, though. I’ll buy you as much time as possible by placing a special hold and recheck command on the account number, as well as the slowdown we’ve already put in place.”
“Thanks,” said Nancy. “If I’m lucky he or she will go to the Ivy Avenue branch, which is the one closest to the school.”
There was a tap on the door. Nancy finished her call and went to answer it. Victor was standing there, looking glum.
“Hi, partner,” he said. “How do you like a life of crime?”
“What are you talking about?” Nancy asked. “And what are you doing here?”
“I switched appointments with Margie Adams,” he said. “And if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you will as soon as Dr. F. gets hold of you. I just came from a grilling in his office.”
“I thought I explained everything to him. That letter really shook him up. I can’t believe he called you to his office! You’d better come in,” she said to Victor, pulling him into the learning lab.
Victor sprawled in the chair next to the computer terminal as Nancy sat at the desk. He gave her a shrewd look. “So you do know about it,” he said. “I thought so.”
“You’re talking about the anonymous letter, right?” Nancy asked.
“Anonymous!” he said with a loud snort. “Kim did everything but staple her photo to the top and put her thumbprint in the lower corner!”
“I figured it had to be her,” Nancy said, nodding.
“Listen, I’ve known Kim since eighth grade, and I’ve never met anyone else who makes those funny k’s. Isn’t that proof?”
“That depends,” Nancy replied. “Not if lots of people know she writes that way.”
Victor stared at her, then laughed. “Hey,” he said, “you’d make a great detective!”
Nancy studied his face. Had that been an innocent remark? Or had Victor somehow penetrated her cover? Did he know her name was really Nancy D
rew?
She decided not to respond directly to his comment. “Why should Kim—or anyone else, for that matter—accuse us of changing people’s grades for money?” she asked.
“Well,” he answered in an embarrassed voice, “I guess it’s my fault. One time, when Kim and I were going out together, we were talking about how broke we both were. I said I knew how to make a lot of money by offering to change people’s school transcripts.”
“Victor, you didn’t!” Nancy exclaimed.
His cheeks turned pink. “I was just goofing around,” he protested. “I could have said, ‘Let’s hold up a bank or something,’ instead. I didn’t mean it, but I guess Kim didn’t know that.”
“No, I guess not.” Nancy fell silent. Could she believe Victor? He was acting uncomfortable. Was it simply because he knew his comment might be misunderstood? Or was this a sort of double-whammy, in which he gave away something embarrassing but harmless in order to convince her that he was being completely open?
“I just told this to Mr. Friedbinder,” Victor added. “But I couldn’t tell if he believed me. I hope he did. I hear colleges pay a lot of attention to your headmaster’s letter of recommendation, and if he shoots me down, I’m dead.”
Nancy realized the conversation was starting to get a little too personal. She was supposed to be tutoring Victor, after all. “Why don’t we see about bringing up your marks in English,” she said brusquely, reaching for her stack of books, “and let Mr. Friedbinder worry about what he says in his letter? Okay, Stu?”
Victor grinned. “Sure thing, Teach!”
• • •
After twenty minutes of solid work, Nancy said, “Nice going. Keep this up and I don’t think you’ll have any more problems.”
Victor stretched his arms and yawned. “Thanks,” he replied. “But I can’t help thinking that a lot of what you’re doing could be done by a computer. Not the really creative part, of course, but all those drills.”
“You should talk to Mr. Friedbinder about that,” Nancy told him. “He wrote a doctoral dissertation on creative problem solving. It was even published. I wanted to read it, but his only copy is packed away.”
“Really?” asked Victor. “I bet I could find you another copy somewhere. Let’s see.”
He leaned over and switched on the terminal, then entered a series of commands, separated by pauses. “I’m logging onto an interactive database,” he explained. “One of the things it has is a directory of published dissertations in different university libraries. Do you remember the title and the name of the school?”
Nancy told him, and he typed in the information. After a short while he entered some more commands, then still others. Finally he sat back. “Nope,” he said. “No good. There is one dissertation that sounds kind of similar, but it’s by someone else at a different school. I guess you’ll have to wait until Friedbinder unpacks his copy of it.”
Suddenly the phone rang. Harrison Lane was on the other end. “Right now, at the Ivy Avenue branch. You’d better—”
“Thanks, so long,” said Nancy, not waiting for him to finish.
Grabbing her coat, she ran for the door.
“What’s the matter, Nancy?” Victor called after her.
“Uh—nothing, Victor. Tell anyone after you that I had an emergency. Had to go.” Without another word, Nancy tore down the hallway and out to her car in the parking lot.
• • •
Nancy reached the bank in a record-breaking five minutes. She parked right in front and jumped out of the car. Her heart thumped hard in her chest. There, coming out of the bank, was a petite teenage girl with long, almost black hair. She fit the description of I. Wynn exactly.
The girl raised her head, and her face went white when she made eye contact with Nancy. That gave Nancy a good look at her face.
It was Kim! She was wearing a wig, but Nancy recognized her anyway.
“Stop!” Nancy cried as Kim bolted for a red car parked down the street.
Chapter
Ten
SPRINTING TO HER CAR, Kim jumped in and turned the key to rev the engine. With a squeal of rubber, the red car roared away from the curb and tore down the street.
Nancy didn’t hesitate. She jumped into her Mustang and broke her own personal record for getting under way. Soon she spotted the car several blocks ahead. It was turning left onto a side street. Nancy followed as fast as the law allowed.
At the side street, she made a racing turn and sped down the winding, tree-lined avenue, the red car still far ahead of her.
Nancy pressed down on the accelerator. Her blue Mustang responded instantly, and the gap began to narrow. They were heading into Sally Lane’s posh neighborhood. The street went down a little hill and curved to the left before straightening out. As Nancy came out of the curve, she muttered, “Oh, rats!”
The street was empty as far as she could see. Somehow Kim had given her the slip.
Nancy braked to a screeching halt. The car couldn’t have gotten that far ahead in the few seconds it was out of sight. It must have turned into one of the driveways.
She began to move again, at little more than walking pace, pausing to peer up each driveway. At the fifth one she got lucky. She could just see the back fender of a red car, sticking out from behind a trellis of vines. She pulled over and parked just beyond the driveway.
The redbrick house was very large, with white shutters, and was set well back from the street. Matching oak trees flanked the brick walk that led to the front door. Nancy walked up to the door. The name engraved on the brass door knocker was Archibald. Hadn’t Sally told her Kim’s last name was Foster, or—Forster, yes, that was it.
Nancy pressed the mother-of-pearl bell to the right of the door. After a few moments a middle-aged woman with gray hair, wearing a navy blue dress and two strings of pearls, opened the door.
“If it’s the Junior League raffle,” she began, “I’m afraid I’ve already—”
Nancy smiled politely and said, “No, ma’am. I’m looking for Kim.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “Kim? Oh, yes, of course. You must be one of her school friends. It’s around the back, dear. Over the garage.”
Nancy thanked her and went in the direction the woman had indicated. At the back of the house, separated from it by a high hedge, was a two-story brick garage with spaces for four cars. A wooden staircase led up to a second-story door on one side. Nancy climbed the stairs and knocked.
No one answered, but Nancy was sure she heard someone stirring inside. She knocked again, louder, then called out, “Kim? I have to talk to you.”
There were more rustling sounds, then the door swung open. Kim stood there obviously defeated, the black wig in her hands. “Come on in,” she said, “before Mrs. Archibald hears you.”
Nancy followed her into a small but comfortable living room. On a table between two windows was a large photo in a silver frame. The picture showed a younger and happier Kim seated between a man in a dark suit and a woman in a black dress. Apparently her parents were the housekeepers for the Archibalds.
Seeing where Nancy’s attention was focused, Kim rushed over and turned the photo facedown on the table. “Why don’t you stay out of my life?” she cried.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Nancy told her. “Kim, what were you doing at the bank?”
“Just what you said,” Kim shot back hotly. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
“What I said?” Nancy echoed, very confused.
“I haven’t kept a single penny of it for myself, and you both know it,” Kim continued.
Nancy simply stared at the girl. What was she talking about?
“Kim, listen to me,” Nancy said. “I’m a detective. Whoever you think I am, you’re wrong. My real name is Nancy Drew. The reason I’m at Brewster is that someone on the board of trustees asked me to find out who is responsible for the grade-changing racket. And I’m pretty sure you can help me.”
“Oh, su-u-re,” Kim replied,
rolling her eyes. “This is a test, right? To see if I can be trusted? Don’t worry. I’ll live up to my end of the bargain.” With that, she collapsed into a chair and began crying bitterly.
Nancy waited until Kim calmed down and straightened in the chair, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. “I guess that’s it, huh?” Kim told her. “Now you’ll lower my grade-point average, just the way you said you would if anything went wrong. I can kiss college goodbye.”
Nancy went over and held Kim by the shoulders. “Listen to me! I am not the person responsible for this. I swear! You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, Kim. It’s the only way I can help you.”
Kim stared up into Nancy’s eyes. “Are you for real?” she finally asked.
Nancy nodded.
“I was so sure you had to be involved. I just couldn’t see Victor running this on his own,” Kim continued. “He loves fooling around with the school computer and getting it to do weird tricks, but once he’s figured something out, he gets bored and goes on to something else. He couldn’t be bothered to do the same thing over and over, not even for money. So I figured he had to have a partner. Then you showed up, and I was sure.”
“If Victor did have a partner, it would be someone at the school,” Nancy pointed out, perching on the edge of the sofa. “But I’ve only just started there, and this grade-changer has been operating for almost two weeks. Besides, what makes you so sure Victor’s involved?”
Kim stared down at her lap and said so softly that Nancy had to lean in closer to hear, “He told me so. He said that he’d changed someone’s grades. He pretended to feel really bad about it, but now I can see that was just a put-on. If he’d meant it, he wouldn’t have kept doing it, and he wouldn’t have forced me to get involved.”
Nancy’s breath caught in her throat. “Why did you write that note to the headmaster?” she asked after a pause. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“Sure. I was furious at you and Victor for what you were doing to me,” Kim replied, her pale blue eyes flashing. “I wanted to get you in as much trouble as I could without getting myself in hot water. It didn’t work, did it?”