“See you later. And congratulations on solving the case so quickly.”
Jim grinned and hurried away.
As Nancy rode her moped to Barb’s apartment she felt a sense of relief that the case had apparently been solved so soon. Jim sounded confident that the lab would find evidence that the hammer was the murder weapon. She was ready to relax and enjoy her vacation, without the complication of a murder.
She was wearing a new bikini under her shorts and T-shirt, and had a towel and her tote bag stuffed in the moped’s basket. She was anticipating a brisk swim followed by a lazy afternoon on the sand.
At the apartment Angie opened the door. “Hi,” she said. “Barb should be here any minute. Come on in.”
Nancy and Angie chatted while waiting for Barb. Nancy found out that the two had met at college in Boston, where Angie was majoring in art. Her father owned a pizza restaurant, a popular hangout for college students, and Angie worked there part-time, as did all her brothers and sisters. With her experience as a waitress, it had been easy to find a summer job on Block.
Without warning the door burst open and Barb charged in, furious. “You’ll never believe what’s just happened!”
“What?” Nancy asked, standing up.
“Do you know what the police have done now?”
“Why don’t you tell us,” Angie said calmly. She seemed to be used to Barb’s outbursts.
“They picked up D. J. Divott. They think he murdered Tom!” Barb shouted.
“D.J.? Tom’s best friend?” Angie said, clearly surprised.
“D.J. didn’t do it, I know he didn’t! They’re arresting an innocent man! And it’s all my fault!”
Chapter
Four
WHY DO YOU THINK it’s your fault?” Nancy asked.
Barb kicked a pillow across the room. “The police questioned me this morning. I had to tell them that I sort of dated Tom in June, and then I started going out with D.J. But they didn’t listen when I said I wasn’t serious about either one of them.”
“Was Tom or D.J. serious about you?” Nancy asked.
“Of course not! We just hung out together.”
“But, Barb,” Angie said softly, “Tom and D.J. did get into a fight over you one night. I saw it.”
“Oh, that was just plain silly,” Barb said. “I don’t think they were fighting over me, anyway. Those two had been squabbling since they were kids. They enjoyed it.”
Nancy wondered if Barb was right. It was clear that she didn’t take the rivalry seriously, but maybe Tom and D.J. had. She suspected that Barb didn’t realize how attractive she was.
“Poor D.J.,” Barb went on, pacing the room. “It’s bad enough to lose Tom, and now the police accuse D.J. of his murder!”
“Barb,” Nancy said. “The police have some strong evidence against D.J. Remember the hammer I found in the pond? Jim Hathaway told me it had D.J.’s initials on the handle.”
“Lots of people must have the same initials,” Barb argued. “The police are just grasping at straws. Half the business owners on the island were down at the station this morning, demanding action. They’re afraid the tourists will be scared away if they think a murderer is on the loose.”
“Well, they do have a point,” Angie said quietly. “Tourists are Block’s most important source of income.”
Barb continued. “Just because they found a hammer with D.J.’s initials doesn’t mean he’s a killer. He’s not! I know him!”
Nancy was impressed with Barb’s conviction. She might be wrong, but if she was right, the police were after an innocent man.
“Nancy!” Barb swung around and placed both hands on Nancy’s shoulders. “You’re a detective. You can find out the truth. Please! Help him!”
“I don’t know if I should get—”
“Sure you should! You can prove he’s innocent. Just talk to him! You’ll see!” Barb pleaded.
“Well, I guess I could talk to him. . . .” Nancy was almost smothered by Barb’s hearty hug. Smiling at her enthusiasm, Nancy pulled away.
Barb frowned, worried again. “But when you see him, don’t let him fool you, Nancy. He may be kind of gruff, but inside, he’ll be really hurting. His best friend is dead and he can’t deal with it yet.”
“I understand,” Nancy said. “Now, let’s sit down and you can tell me more about Tom and D.J.”
• • •
Half an hour later Nancy knocked on the door of D.J.’s office. Barb had given her directions to the barn on Old Town Road where he both lived and worked. The big red building had plenty of room for construction equipment on the ground floor next to the office, and an apartment upstairs.
Most of what Nancy had learned from Barb had to do with personal relationships but, before talking to him, she wanted some background on his business affairs.
As she expected, no one answered the door. Nancy tried the handle and found it unlocked. She let herself into the neat office. Apparently D.J. was organized and efficient, and the paperwork on various construction jobs showed that he was running a successful business as a contractor.
Barb had mentioned that Tom sometimes worked for D.J. and Nancy wanted to check it out. She found the payroll book in a drawer and opened it. Tom’s name appeared fairly often over the past couple of years, but not once since the end of June. That was about the time Barb had stopped dating Tom and begun to go out with D.J.
Did D.J. fire Tom because of Barb? Or did Tom quit for the same reason? Nancy remembered Jim Hathaway saying that Tom had been flashing a lot of money around, so it looked as if he didn’t need the job. And according to Barb, the two remained friendly, except for a few quarrels. But she’d also said both men were the type who tended to sulk, rather than discuss their feelings. Did those feelings finally explode in a fight that ended in murder? Or was there someone else angry enough at Tom to kill him?
It was time to talk to D.J., but first she had a few questions for Jim Hathaway.
Back at the police station, the dispatcher recognized Nancy and waved her through to Jim’s office. He was on the phone, taking down a report of a missing dog. Nancy waited until he hung up.
“Hi. Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.
“You’re a welcome interruption,” he answered. “Can’t wait till summer’s over and the tourists give us back our island.”
“I don’t blame you.” Nancy smiled. “Any new information on the case?”
“Several things. The coroner’s report is in. Tom died on Friday night or early Saturday morning.”
“Can you tell if he was murdered at the nature preserve?” Nancy asked.
“It was definitely at or near the grave site,” Jim said. “I’ll spare you the gruesome details that led to that conclusion.”
“Thanks, I’ll take your word for it.” Nancy perched on the corner of Jim’s desk. “How did he get to the nature preserve?”
“We found his motorcycle not far from the grave,” Jim said.
“So he must have met someone there, they fought, and Tom was killed, either intentionally or accidentally,” Nancy concluded.
“Yes, we know where and how it happened.” Jim drummed his fingers on his desk. “But who did it? D.J.’s our main suspect, and we’ve warned him not to leave the island. But frankly, the things he told us led to more questions than answers.”
“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.
“D.J. claims Tom borrowed the hammer months ago. He also said he wasn’t with Tom the night he died but he saw him leaving the Spotted Dog with someone else.”
“Who?”
“Believe it or not, Scott Winchester.” Jim noticed Nancy’s look of surprise. “It doesn’t make sense to us, either, except that we know D.J. isn’t very fond of Scott. He may just be trying to make trouble for Scott.”
Nancy couldn’t help but wonder what the handsome rich boy and the Islander had in common. “How did the two of them know each other?”
“D.J. is building the Winchesters’ hou
se,” Jim said. “He thinks Scott’s a spoiled brat and can’t stand taking orders from him.”
“Do you know where D.J. is now?” Nancy was eager to question him.
“Gone fishing,” Jim said with a wry grin. “I guess he’s taking the rest of the afternoon off. I would, too, if I’d been picked up for murder.”
“Do you know where?” Nancy asked.
“I heard the bluefish were running off Sandy Point. But, Nancy, I don’t think you should talk to him alone. He’s in a pretty surly mood right now.”
“Don’t worry, Jim, if the blues are running, I doubt we’ll be alone.”
Jim nodded. “That’s true. Just be careful.”
“Thanks. See you later.”
Nancy hopped on her moped and rode across the island to Corn Neck Road, which ran north along the narrow strip of land connecting the upper and lower halves of Block. After she went past the dunes of Crescent Beach, the island grew broader. Houses and ponds dotted the countryside. Then a stone lighthouse came into view, standing where the road ended in a parking lot.
Nancy parked her moped and began to jog up the almost mile-long stretch of rocky beach. She passed a number of people fishing along the shore, casting their lines into the surf. Far ahead she could see the tiny spit of land called Sandy Point jutting out into the water. Where it ended, the currents of Block Island Sound on her left met those of the Atlantic Ocean to her right. Nancy had heard it was a favorite fishing spot, but it was also well known for its dangerous riptides.
Barb had described D.J. to Nancy. He was six-four, with a mop of thick, dark curly hair. She finally spotted him standing alone in the surf at the tip of Sandy Point. A black pickup truck was parked on the beach with no one else nearby. Panting slightly from her long jog, Nancy watched him send his line flying far out into the water, then slowly reel it in. The water came up to the knees of his waders, heavy rubber overalls.
She settled down on the beach to wait until he came back to shore, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the strong cool breeze blowing into her face. She watched the whitecaps form out in the Atlantic and gather strength as they rolled into shore. Some broke on a sandbar farther out.
Suddenly Nancy noticed the tip of D.J.’s rod bend in an arc. He reeled it in quickly, fighting the fish pulling against him. He played the fish expertly and in a short while waded back to shore, a foot-long bluefish in his net.
Nancy approached him as he dropped his catch in a bucket and bent down to remove the hook. “Hi, are you D. J. Divott?”
He raised up, scowling. “What if I am?”
“Barb Sommers asked me to talk to you. I’m Nancy Drew, and I thought if I could ask you a couple of questions—”
“You want to ask me questions?” D.J. savagely jerked the hook out of the fish’s mouth. “Who do you think you are?”
Nancy put her hands on her hips. “I met Barb on the ferry yesterday and she thought I—”
“She’s wrong!” D.J. said. “I’ve already answered more stupid questions than anyone should have to in a lifetime. Get lost, girl.”
Nancy was annoyed. “If you’ll stop being so rude and listen to what I have to say, I might be able to help you.”
“You? Help me? Hah!” He stood up. “What are you going to do, waltz on down to the police station and bat your eyelashes at the cops?”
“Listen to me a minute! I’m a detective—”
“Don’t make me laugh.” He opened a coffee can and removed a chunk of cut-up fish.
“I am trying to help you!” Nancy said.
He jabbed the fishhook into the bait.
“I don’t want your help. Buzz off.” He walked back to the water, wading in until it came up above his knees.
Fuming, Nancy watched him go. He was one of the most obnoxious people she’d met in a long time. Then she remembered Barb’s warning: “Don’t let him fool you—inside he’s really hurting.”
Nancy sighed. Okay, she said to herself, I’ll give him one more chance.
She sat down to wait until D.J. returned to shore, watching the waves roll in. One especially big whitecap formed out beyond the spot where D.J. stood. As she watched it dwarf the other waves, she realized D.J. was standing directly in its path.
Nancy jumped up and shouted a warning, but her voice was blown back on the wind. She began to run, knowing she couldn’t reach him in time. The wave hit D.J., knocking him down in a wash of white foam. He struggled to his feet, then fell. Nancy realized that his waders were filling with water. He was helpless.
Again and again he tried to stand, but the surf kept pulling him under and the current was sweeping him out to sea. She scanned the beach, but everyone else was too far away to notice.
D.J. was drowning and she was the only one who could save him.
Chapter
Five
NANCY QUICKLY STRIPPED down to her bikini and plunged into the surf. She gasped when the cold spray hit her sun warmed skin. Battling against the current, she plunged through the water, bruising her feet on unseen rocks.
D.J. was being washed farther out to sea. He was now about twenty yards away.
As the water rose to her thighs Nancy felt the pull of the riptide grow stronger. Suddenly the bottom dropped away. She leapt forward and began to swim with fast, powerful strokes. Kicking hard, she closed the gap between them. Fifteen yards—ten . . .
D.J. was gasping for air, fighting to keep his head above water. Air pockets had formed inside his waders around his ankles, forcing his feet to the surface. At the same time, the weight of the water in his waders around his waist and chest was dragging the rest of his body under.
At last she reached D.J. As she wrapped him in a lifesaving hold, she felt her feet touch sand. Amazingly, the water only came up to her neck. They must be on a sandbar, she realized.
“You can touch bottom, D.J.!” she shouted. “Try to get your feet under you!”
He tried, but couldn’t. One wave after another broke on them, knocking them around and burying them in white foam.
Knowing she had to do something before they were swept into deeper water, Nancy firmly dug her toes into the sand. Struggling desperately to keep D.J.’s head above water, she grabbed the straps of his waders and pushed them down off his shoulders. Then she began to peel the heavy material down his chest.
D.J. tried to help, but his feet kept bobbing to the surface. Nancy grabbed one boot and D.J. panicked. “I have to get the air out!” she yelled.
D.J. fell backward and his head went under for a moment. Nancy held tight to his thrashing foot. “Don’t kick! Let me help you!”
She held on to it with both hands, squeezing tightly as she worked the air bubble up his leg. D.J. realized what she was doing and tried to keep his other leg still. When she finished with that leg, she started working the other one, pushing the air pockets out. Then she took a deep breath and dove, dragging his feet down to the sandbar. As she forced D.J. into an upright position, more bubbles worked their way free.
She surfaced and heard him shouting, “Over here! Hurry!”
Nancy turned to see a small fishing boat headed for them at top speed. It slowed when it reached them, giving Nancy the chance to take hold of the low gunwale to steady the boat against the breaking waves. Two men reached down and grabbed D.J.’s arms.
“Go around to the other side to help balance us!” one of the men told Nancy. She swam to the far side of the boat and held on to the edge. A third man leaned over on the same side, adding his weight to hers.
The two men reaching for D.J. paused a second, waiting for the next wave to help lift him. Timing it, they shouted, “One, two, three, heave!”
Nancy pulled down on the boat with all her strength. The hull rose up, lifting her almost clear of the water. D.J. was dragged over the side. The men grabbed his legs and flipped him into the bottom of the boat.
The little vessel righted itself. “Now you, young lady.” The third man grasped her under the arms and easily lifted her a
board.
Nancy sank down onto a cushioned seat, her breath coming in fast gasps. One of the men handed her a towel. “That was good work, miss. He owes his life to you.”
“And to you, too,” Nancy said, wiping saltwater off her face. “We sure were glad to see you coming.”
“He wouldn’t have lasted till we got here if you hadn’t helped. I saw a man drown in the same kind of accident. Once those waders are full of water it’s like wearing a concrete suit.”
“Hey, fella”—one of the other men poked D.J.—“aren’t you going to say thank you to this lady?”
D.J. sat in the bottom of the boat, next to a bucket of bait. His head was in his hands, the waders still binding his legs. Now he glanced up at Nancy and muttered, “Thanks.”
“Guess he needs a little time to recover,” one of the men said as he put the boat in gear and started back to the beach.
D.J. was embarrassed. “Sorry.” He began to work his feet free of the waders. “Th-thanks, all of you.”
“No problem, buddy.” The man beside him slapped him on the back.
“How did you know we needed help?” Nancy asked.
“Someone spotted you from the lighthouse and radioed us,” the man said. “We were fishing around the point. Glad we made it in time.”
Nancy smiled gratefully. “So are we.”
When they reached shore, Nancy and D.J. slowly walked back to the spot where D.J. had left his things. Nancy could see D.J. was exhausted, so she silently picked up some of his fishing gear and carried it to his pickup truck. She noticed a sticker on the windshield, authorizing him to drive on the beach.
“You want a ride back?” D.J. asked when everything was loaded.
“Sure, let me pick up my clothes. I left my moped in the lot.” Nancy pulled her T-shirt over her wet bathing suit and climbed into the front seat. She glanced at his haggard face as they drove down the beach. She hoped he’d be willing to talk to her soon, but now wasn’t the time to question him about his best friend’s murder.
“Uh, well . . .” he said as he pulled up next to her moped. “I mean . . . thanks.”