The two old ladies laughed again. “They wouldn’t tell if they did,” Thelma said.
When I pressed for more details, they didn’t have any to offer. Could there really be money still hidden in the old house somewhere? If Mr. Rappapport had a secret tunnel, could he have had a secret hiding place, too?
While the two sisters shuffled their cards and talked about Prohibition days, I began to wonder about loose bricks around the fireplace and other possible places where one could hide a wad of cash. I was gazing absently out the window when I noticed Doug Spradling outside underneath the portico. He was pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair. I quickly excused myself and dashed outside to speak to him.
But he definitely didn’t want to speak with me. I walked up to him and said, “Mr. Spradling, my name is Nancy Drew.” He turned as white as his uniform and took a step backward. “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” I said.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” he replied gruffly. “I’ll get into trouble.”
“Who told you not to talk to me?” I asked.
“Can’t tell,” he said.
“I think you’ve been calling my house and making threats,” I said on a whim.
Spradling’s eyes bulged from their sockets. He looked afraid. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell my boss that you’re harassing me,” he said nervously.
He hurried away, pushing the wheelchair briskly. Once, he glanced over his shoulder at me. I didn’t follow him. If he went to the director and told her I was bothering him, things could get very unpleasant.
However, the morning had not been a complete loss, I told myself as I drove to George’s house. Maude and Thelma had been pretty informative, in a chatty sort of way. Listening to them had given me an idea. I had a hunch that the intruder would try again if he was convinced that there was still money inside the house. And he would try again before Saturday because by then the empty bedrooms at Cardinal Corners would be filled with paying guests, and hunting for the bootlegger’s hidden stash would definitely become more difficult.
I called Mrs. Olsen on my cell and told her about my idea. “If my hunch is correct, the intruder will be desperate to search your house before all the guests start arriving on Saturday,” I said. “He didn’t come last night—so that gives him tonight and tomorrow night. I want to catch him in the act.”
Mrs. Olsen readily agreed to let George, Bess, and me sleep at the house that night and the next in an effort to catch the intruder. “I’ve got fresh sheets on all the beds,” she said. “Bring your pajamas.”
While I was on my way to George’s house, Ned called. “Hey, Nancy, when can I get my car back? And did it work—my leaving it out there on the road by the river?”
I grinned. “Yes, it worked. There were no ghostly pranks pulled at Cardinal Corners last night. You can pick up your car anytime—the sooner the better.” I briefly explained my plan for the evening and thanked him for his help.
“Be careful,” he warned. I could hear the concern in his voice.
I promised I’d be extra careful. Before saying good-bye, I asked, “Aren’t you going to give me one tiny hint about Saturday’s surprise?”
I heard Ned’s throaty chuckle and could easily envision his adorable dimples. They’re very noticeable when he laughs. “No clues, Nancy. You’ll have to wait until Saturday,” he said.
When I arrived at George’s house, I found her taking inventory of the dozens of teacups, saucers, and matching dessert plates her mother intended to use for Saturday’s tea. One of Mrs. Fayne’s employees was filling plastic bins with home-baked scones.
“You remember Susan, don’t you, Nancy?” George asked.
I nodded and said hello to the young woman with the long dark ponytail. “The scones smell delicious,” I said. When Susan asked if I’d like to sample one, I eagerly accepted.
“This is the best scone I’ve ever tasted,” I declared. “It’s so moist. What’s your secret?”
“We use yogurt in the dough,” Susan said with a smile. Then she turned away to check on another batch in the oven.
I waited until she was out of earshot before speaking quietly to George. “We’re going back out to Cardinal Corners tonight—I’ve arranged it all with Mrs. Olsen,” I told her. “We’ll remove the padlock and have Bess fix the dumbwaiter. Then we’ll catch Davy Reeve in the act of breaking in. The police will have to arrest him then.”
“Nancy, I can’t,” George said with a slight wail. “There’s too much left to do, and I promised my mom I’d help. There’s still silverware to polish and sugar cubes to decorate and lots of other things. Call Bess.”
I did. Bess was available and more than willing for another adventure. “I’ll pack an overnight bag, and you can pick me up after dinner,” she said.
On my way home I stopped by my dad’s office and told him what I planned to do that evening. He was on his way to meet a client for lunch, so I didn’t keep him long. “Catching him in the act is the only way I’m going to convince the police that Davy Reeve is the Cardinal Corners vandal,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure Doug Spradling is in on it too. He wasn’t at all happy to see me at Fern Terrace this morning.”
“Davy Reeve has a criminal record. He could be dangerous, Nancy,” he said with a frown. “You’ll have to be on your guard.”
“I’ll stay alert,” I promised.
I didn’t think to call Luther Eldridge again until I was packing my overnight bag. When I told him what Maude and Thelma had said, he agreed that Leon Rappapport had probably stashed money all over the house.
“Any suggestions where I should look?” I asked.
“Hmmm, that’s hard to say,” Luther said. “Check for wobbly bricks around the fireplaces and loose floorboards, I guess.”
I thanked him and hung up. Mrs. Olsen called as I was rummaging around in the refrigerator for a snack. “Why don’t you girls come for dinner tonight,” she said. “I make a mean meatloaf.”
I started to tell her that it would only be Bess and me when I had a sudden brainstorm. “George isn’t able to come, but would you mind if I invite Luther Eldridge?” I asked.
“Good idea, Nancy,” Mrs. Olsen said. “The more the merrier.”
When I called him back, Luther was thrilled. “Nancy, I feel like an amateur sleuth,” he joked. He assured me that he’d meet me at Cardinal Corners promptly at six.
“Bring a flashlight and extra batteries,” I reminded him before saying good-bye.
I retrieved my own flashlight—one nearly as long as my arm—and an extra set of batteries. But I had no intention of packing pajamas, as Mrs. Olsen had suggested. To be honest, I didn’t expect to get much sleep that night. Instead I changed into sweats with a matching cami and my favorite sneakers. Tonight was the night! I just knew it. The “ghost” of Cardinal Corners was going to be vanquished once and for all!
14
Tense Moments
Dinner at the Olsens’ that evening was rather festive. Luther and Mr. Olsen had removed the padlock from the storm cellar, and Ned had come for his car. Bess had reconnected the dumbwaiter’s pulleys too. But she’d also slipped a wedge between the small elevator and the shaft. When the intruder got in, he wouldn’t be going up.
Everyone was in such a good mood that we seemed to forget the possible dangers ahead of us. Things could get ugly. I’d already been conked on the head once. I didn’t want it to happen again. Mr. Olsen must have seen the worry on my face, because while we were having peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert, he said, “Nancy, you seem uneasy. What’s the matter?”
“We shouldn’t be overconfident,” I replied. “We haven’t caught the prowler yet. Reeve may come armed with a knife or gun. We need to be careful.”
With this sobering thought, we discussed our plans for the long night ahead. Afterward Mrs. Olsen showed us to our rooms on the second floor. Bess and I shared one with two twin beds. Luther had the room next to ours.
“This is a b
eautiful armoire,” Bess said, hanging her clothes inside the huge oak wardrobe. It had panels of art deco stained glass on the front. “It must be a real antique!”
Remembering what Luther had said about the bootlegger’s money still being hidden in the house somewhere, I asked Mrs. Olsen about the armoire. “Did it come with the place?”
“Yes, it did. Apparently it was too heavy to move,” she said. “Despite the nicks and scratches, it’s a lovely old piece. One of these days Karl is going to refinish it.”
I inspected the wardrobe carefully, knocking on all the panels and opening the drawers.
“Hmmm, this drawer looks a bit shallow, doesn’t it?” I asked.
“Shallow?” Mrs. Olsen said. “What do you mean?”
“Bess, hand me your nail file,” I said.
“Just don’t break it,” Bess said, giving me the file. I tried sliding it along the bottom edge of the drawer to see if I could pry the drawer up. It wouldn’t budge.
“Nancy! Don’t bend my nail file,” Bess squealed. I sighed. There was no time to fool around with the drawer anyway. I had plans to finalize and an intruder to catch. At around ten o’clock, we all retired to our own rooms and turned off the lights. If anyone was watching the house from the woods, he would think we’d all gone to bed.
I retrieved my long, heavy-duty flashlight from my overnight bag. “Sure hope this works,” Bess whispered as she grabbed the sleeping bags and followed me down the stairs in the dark.
“Me too,” I said.
“What if Davy Reeve doesn’t show up?” she asked quietly.
“Then we’ll have to try again tomorrow night,” I whispered back.
Downstairs, we checked on Mrs. Olsen, who was curled up on one end of the sofa in the dark parlor, armed with her flashlight and cell phone. “Ready for action,” she said.
As planned, Mr. Olsen and Luther were bunking down in the living room. “I’ve turned off the security alarm,” Mr. Olsen said. “But I don’t think he’ll come in through the back door. He’s going to come in through the tunnel, and you girls will be all alone down there in the basement. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither,” said Luther. “Karl and I should hide in the basement and you girls stand guard in the parlor.”
“Do either of you know karate or judo?” Bess asked.
Even in the dark, we could see both men shake their heads. “Do you?” Mr. Olsen asked.
“Bess and I have taken classes,” I replied. “So we can handle ourselves. But we’re leaving the basement door open, just in case. When you hear us call out, come running.”
Bess and I didn’t turn on our flashlights until we opened the basement door and started down the steps. We didn’t want Davy Reeve—if he was watching—to see the beams of light through the windows and get suspicious. We positioned our sleeping bags in a strategic location against the far wall. We didn’t crawl into them, but merely used them as a cushion against the cold hard basement floor. We’d be able to see the intruder as he opened the door to the crawl space, but he wouldn’t be able to see us. At least that was the plan.
“Whatever we do, we can’t let Davy Reeve escape through the tunnel,” I told Bess. “Make sure he’s already in the dumbwaiter before we rush him. And one of us should be sure to close the door to the crawl space.
“I’ll do that,” Bess offered, squirming around for a more comfortable position. “I sure hope he comes. I don’t want to spend two nights down here on this hard old floor.”
I chuckled. Then, leaning back against the wall, I placed the long flashlight across my lap and said, “He’ll come tonight. You’ll see.”
I had no idea how long I’d been sleeping when the sound of something moving in the crawl space woke me. I went from groggy to alert instantly. With my heart pounding and my pulse racing, I nudged Bess with my elbow. She sat up immediately and clutched my arm. Then she squeezed it. That was her signal that she was ready and waiting. So was I.
Slowly the small door to the crawl space creaked open. A short man wearing all black—including a black ski mask—slipped through the door. He held a flashlight in one hand and a tire iron in the other. I could hear Bess’s irregular breathing. She was nervous. So was I. If Davy Reeve decided to look around the basement with his flashlight, he’d see us for sure. I hoped that he would make his way immediately to the dumbwaiter, and he did. When I felt Bess move beside me, I placed a warning hand on her knee. We were not supposed to spring our trap until Reeve opened the door of the dumbwaiter and climbed inside.
Clenching his flashlight now in his teeth, the intruder started to climb into the dumbwaiter. As he was lifting his leg in, I whispered, “Now,” and together Bess and I sprung from our hiding place. We flicked on our flashlights and bolted toward him. Bess slammed the door to the crawl space shut as we dashed past.
“Stop where you are!” I cried out. The man stumbled backward and spun around. I turned my flashlight straight in his face. He gave a startled cry and threw up his hands to shield his eyes from the glaring beam. Bess snatched his ski mask off.
“Davy Reeve, I presume?” she quipped. The small man with the heavy red beard glared at us wordlessly.
“Come on out of there,” I said. “Bess disabled it. You’re not going anywhere.”
With a snarl, Davy Reeve lashed out with his own flashlight and nearly hit Bess in the face. She stepped back just in time. Then things began to happen all at once. Bess hollered out for Mr. Olsen just as Reeve lunged at me, his fists flying. I ducked and spun around before grabbing the tire iron out of his hand. Reeve was shorter than me, but quick and wiry. He pushed me so hard that he knocked me off my feet.
“Don’t let him get away, Bess!” I shouted as I fell.
Bess tackled him as I scrambled to my feet. Grabbing the nearest thing I could find to tie him up with—which turned out to be a string of Christmas tree lights—I flung myself on top of Reeve as he wriggled savagely. Bess sat down on him as hard as she could and held down his legs. I’d just finished binding Reeve’s wrists when Mr. Olsen and Luther came clomping down the basement stairs. They flicked the switch, and in an instant the basement was flooded with light.
“Good work, girls!” Luther and Mr. Olsen declared with admiration.
Davy Reeve turned his head, trying to cover his eyes. The arrival of the two men seemed to take the fight out of him. His shoulders slumped and he quit moving.
“I don’t trust him,” I said, brushing my hands off. “Wish we had a pair of handcuffs.”
“Will duct tape do?” Bess asked. She pulled a roll off one of the shelves, and after a brief scuffle with Reeve, we finally succeeded in binding his ankles.
“Your wife should call the police now,” I said, turning to Mr. Olsen.
“The police are already here, Nancy,” Mrs. Olsen called out from the top of the stairs. She smiled down at me and stepped aside. To my surprise, Officer Madison was right behind her, along with Juan Tabo and a sulky Doug Spradling. I noticed the handcuffs around Spradling’s wrists.
“Wow, that was fast!” I declared, hurrying up the stairs. “Where’d you find him?” I asked, pointing to Spradling.
“He was waiting in a car down by the river,” Officer Madison told me.
“A bright yellow car,” Juan added with a grin. “I’ve been hiding down near the river all night. When I saw the same yellow car I told you about earlier, I went out to the road and flagged this officer down as he drove by.”
“Mr. Drew called Chief McGinnis this afternoon and suggested the police patrol this area tonight,” Officer Madison explained. “I volunteered.”
“We sure appreciate your help,” I said. Turning to Juan, I added, “And yours, too, Juan. Why did you come to my house yesterday and then drive away before I could speak to you? How’d you know where I live?”
“Your dad’s name is in the phone book, and I wanted to volunteer to help you catch that guy,” he said, pointing to Davy Reeve, who was sitting on the bottom step. “I d
o yard work for a family that lives a few streets over from yours, so I decided to stop in and see you while I was in the neighborhood. It dawned on me when I got there that you probably had my name on your list of suspects. That’s when I saw you coming down the street. I was embarrassed and so I left,” Juan explained.
Leaving me and Juan to keep an eye on Doug Spradling, Officer Madison went downstairs and officially arrested Davy Reeve. Relieved, Bess hurried up the stairs and gave me a hug. Luther and Mr. Olsen came up after her. Then the policeman, with his suspect in custody, came up last of all.
“You weren’t a very convincing ghost,” Bess said to Reeve as Officer Madison escorted him into the kitchen.
“Emily was convinced,” Davy retorted. “She’s so scared she’s afraid to come back to work. That’s what she told her husband.”
“No challenge there,” I said. “Why all the pranks anyway, and what were you looking for?”
“Money,” Reeve replied. He went on to tell us what he’d learned of the bootlegger’s stash. He knew nothing we didn’t already know. “I wanted to scare the Olsens out of the house. There’s still a room upstairs I haven’t searched yet.”
“All the money was confiscated years ago when the authorities raided the place,” Luther told him. “You wasted your time.”
“Can’t fault a guy for trying,” Davy said with a shrug.
“Oh, yeah?” I said. “You have no respect for private property. You broke a lot of teapots that didn’t belong to you, and that booby trap on the back staircase could have caused a serious injury.”
Davy Reeve said nothing, but he and Doug Spradling exchanged guilty looks.
“Are you the one who conked Nancy on the head?” Bess asked with a frown.
Reeve nodded.
“And the anonymous phone calls to me and the Olsens?” I asked.
Davy Reeve nodded again.
“I still don’t understand why you shattered the teapots,” Bess said. “In ghost stories, the spooks usually break mirrors.”
“I told him not to break any mirrors,” Doug Spradling spoke up. “Seven years’ bad luck.”