She had just parked the moped in the garage behind the cottage when Hannah burst out the door.
“Nancy! I’m so glad you’re back!” Hannah said.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s Sarah! I just called her and she was crying too hard to talk. Something’s happened.” Hannah buttoned up her raincoat. “I’m going over to her house right away!”
“I’ll come with you!”
Hannah led the way to Sarah’s old farmhouse on Corn Neck Road. Sarah answered their knock after a minute, tears running down her cheeks. She hugged Hannah. “I’m so glad you came! I didn’t know what to do!”
“What happened?” Nancy asked.
“I—I was looking for a suit—you know, to bury Tom in—if we can ever schedule the funeral. And in the back of his closet, I found this!”
Sarah picked up a cardboard shoe box. Inside it was money. Lots of money. Thousands of dollars. In cash.
Chapter
Nine
WHERE DID TOM get all this money?” Sarah wailed, showing the box to Nancy and Hannah. The bills were all used, tens and twenties and fifties, all jumbled together. “He had to be doing something really bad.”
“Why don’t you come sit down, Sarah,” Hannah said, leading her into the living room. Nancy followed, noticing the pretty quilted pillows, hand-knit afghans, and embroidered doilies that brightened up the somewhat worn furniture.
Sarah tossed the box of money on the couch. A few bills flew into the air and fluttered to the floor. She stood staring at them. “He was such a good boy before his mother died. He was only ten, too young to be without his mama.”
“She was your sister, wasn’t she?” Hannah put an arm around her shoulder.
“Yes. We all suffered when she went, but Tom most of all. If only he’d moved in with us then I could have raised him along with my own four and he would have turned out different.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Nancy said. “Why didn’t he come to live with you?”
“His father wouldn’t let him. Jack was a selfish man—never thought of what was best for the boy. Kept him out of school half the time to work his fishing boat. All Jack saw when he looked at Tom was an extra hand to do the work. And he drove the boy hard.”
“But how could he take him out of school?” Nancy asked. “That’s against the law.”
Sarah sighed and sank down into a rocking chair. “You don’t know Islanders. Fishing was our life, until the fish disappeared. All those foreign trawlers and factory ships just destroyed the fishing grounds. Most men turned to other work, but some—Jack included—wouldn’t give up the sea, even when it didn’t pay to go out.”
“D.J. said Tom loved boats,” Nancy commented.
“He did. He was a lonesome boy. Except for D.J., he didn’t bother with friends. Boats were his life. After the sea took Jack, Tom was always looking for a spot on someone’s crew. He’d do the meanest job, just to be on the water.”
“What happened to his father?” Hannah asked.
“Jack was out alone, setting a seining net. Got his leg tangled in a line and was dragged over and down. The boat drifted until it was wrecked on Black Rock Point, so Tom lost both it and his father. I’m not sure which he minded more.”
Nancy was stunned by Sarah’s last statement. Not quite sure what to say, she decided to take action. “I’d better phone the police.”
Hannah nodded at Nancy. She, too, seemed shocked. “Come out to the kitchen with me, Sarah. We’ll make a nice pot of tea.”
Nancy called the station. In about ten minutes Hathaway arrived to collect the money and take Sarah’s statement. He told Nancy they still hadn’t found Hank, the construction worker who had hit her moped, but he was sure he’d be picked up soon.
After he left, Nancy helped Hannah fix a supper of omelets for the three of them. Afterward, Sarah let Hannah help her up to bed.
The rain had started by the time Nancy and Hannah left and it was a wet, miserable ride home.
As soon as they got back to the cottage, Nancy tried to phone Barb. There was no answer. She shrugged. Her curiosity about Angie and Scott’s relationship was overshadowed by Sarah’s discovery and the questions it raised about the murder case.
She took a long hot shower and went to bed. As she closed her eyes she pictured the boxful of money. D.J. must know how Tom got so much cash, she thought, and he’s going to have to tell me.
• • •
Nancy awoke to rain drumming loudly on the roof and wind shrieking around the house. Hannah made blueberry pancakes and the two of them sat in the cozy kitchen, watching the branches of a willow tree beat against the window.
“All that money,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind last night.”
“I know what you mean.” Nancy took a sip of coffee. “I’m sure the money is the key to why Tom was murdered. When I examined D.J.’s books, it was clear he makes a good profit in his business. He’d be able to pay Tom for whatever he was doing, but I don’t see him murdering his best friend, unless it was a fight that got out of hand.”
“Both those boys were hot tempered, from what you’ve told me,” Hannah said. “And if they were in love with the same girl . . .”
“I know, it makes sense,” Nancy agreed. “With D.J.’s hammer found at the murder scene, it seems like the police have a good case. But there’s someone else I’m considering as a suspect.”
“Who?” Hannah asked.
“Scott Winchester.” Nancy told her about the visit to the yacht the day before. “So, there are several reasons why he looks suspicious. He has money to pay Tom. He has a bruise on his face, and we know Tom was in a fight. And apparently he’s the last person to be seen with Tom before he was killed. But most important, I’m sure he was hiding something when I asked him about the murder.”
“Still, why would he kill Tom?” Hannah asked. “You always say look for the motive.”
“I don’t know the answer to that yet,” Nancy replied. “But I’m going to find out.”
“Maybe it’s connected to this strange business with Angie,” Hannah said. “But she’s such a sweet girl, I’d hate to think she’s involved in this.”
“I feel the same way.” Nancy put down her cup and stood up. “The first thing to do is talk with D.J., then I’ll question Scott again.”
“I wish you wouldn’t go out in this storm,” Hannah said. “This weather could drown a duck.”
“I have to talk to D.J. in person. I know he won’t tell me anything over the phone.” Nancy put on her slicker.
“It isn’t safe out there. Just look how that wind is blowing!” Hannah pointed at the window.
“I’ll be careful,” Nancy promised. “And I’ll be back soon—I’m not going far.”
She saw little traffic as she rode toward D.J.’s barn off West Side Road. The streets were slick, and the gusty wind threatened to blow her moped off the road. The storm was rapidly turning into a gale.
When she reached the barn, she was surprised to see that D.J. wasn’t home. The only other place she could think to look for him was at the construction site. He might have gone out to check on the house and the tarps they had tied on. Driving slowly, she made it safely out to the Winchester place. The isolated, half-finished house was ominous on such a bleak day.
At first glance she thought the site was deserted, but then she spotted deep tire tracks in the mud. Taking a closer look, she realized they hadn’t been made long before. She followed the tracks and found a pickup truck parked behind the house.
Nancy got off her moped and found a spot where she could slip under the blue plastic tarp that covered the house. She stepped into a large empty room. The light that filtered through the blue-covered windows was eerie, and the wind whistled in every crack and corner.
“Hello,” she called. “Anyone here?”
Heavy footsteps sounded overhead. “Who is it?” a deep voice said.
“It’s Nancy
Drew. Is that you, D.J.?”
“Stay there. I’m coming.” The footsteps thudded across the ceiling, then down the raw wood staircase at the end of the room. Gradually D.J. Divott came into view. “What do you want?” he asked rudely.
“We need to talk, D.J.” Nancy’s heart beat a little faster as the huge, scowling man approached her. In spite of her resolve, a thought popped into her mind—this is a man who is suspected of murder, and I’m all alone with him. She took a deep breath. “D. J., please listen to me. I know you were a good friend of Tom, and I respect you for wanting to keep his secret—”
“Are you playing Little Miss Detective again?” He sneered. “I told you before—give it up. Tom was my buddy and I’m not ratting on him!”
Nancy thought a moment. D.J. was one stubborn, stiff-necked Yankee, as Barb had said. She had to find a way to break through his misguided loyalty to his dead friend. D.J. was strong and tough. Nancy decided to play by his rules. She would be strong and tough, too. The tactic might backfire, but she’d give it a try.
“Did you murder Tom Haines?” she asked flatly.
“No!” D.J. bellowed, his voice echoing in the empty room.
Nancy refused to be intimidated. “Then why was your hammer found near the grave?”
“I already told the police! Why doesn’t anyone believe me? I lent that hammer to Tom months ago! He must have taken it with him, thinking he was walking into a trap.” D.J.’s voice turned bitter. “And he did.”
Nancy folded her arms across her chest. “I’m almost sure that the person who killed him is the same one who was paying Tom all that money he was flashing around. Don’t you understand? If you don’t talk, you could be protecting the murderer.”
D.J. laughed. “I know who the murderer is!”
“You do?”
“Sure, and I told the police, too. He was the last person to see Tom alive and they know it. Of course they won’t do anything about it, not with a rich, powerful daddy protecting the little wimp.”
“You mean—”
“You’d better believe it!” D.J. shouted. “Scott Winchester killed my best friend!”
Chapter
Ten
WHY ARE YOU SO SURE Scott murdered Tom?” Nancy asked. She shivered in her damp clothes in the empty, cold room.
D.J. scowled. “Lots of reasons. I saw them together Friday night, leaving the Spotted Dog about nine o’clock. They didn’t notice me—I was in the pickup and it was dark. They rode off, Tom following Scott, and that was it. I never saw Tom again.”
Under D.J.’s anger and bitterness, Nancy heard despair. She remembered Barb’s words—“Inside he’s really hurting.” She spoke quietly. “That’s not conclusive evidence.”
“That’s what the police said.” D.J. rubbed his chest as if it ached. “They even suggested I was making it up to throw suspicion off myself.”
“Were you?” The same thought had occurred to Nancy.
“No!” D.J. picked up a chunk of scrap wood and threw it across the room. “Why doesn’t anyone believe me! I know Scott did it!”
“But why would he?” Nancy said.
“Because he was blackmailing Scott!” D.J. groaned as soon as he realized he’d blurted out Tom’s secret.
Blackmail, Nancy thought. So that’s how Tom got so much money.
Suddenly D.J. grabbed Nancy by the shoulders. “Promise you won’t tell anyone! You’ve got to promise!”
His powerful fingers dug into Nancy’s flesh. “Let go of me!” she demanded.
“Promise!”
He towered over her, his eyes begging her. Nancy was moved by his pain at betraying his friend.
“All right,” she said calmly. “I won’t tell anyone without your permission.”
D.J. let her go so suddenly that she staggered backward. He stalked across the room, stopped at an empty window frame and stared out, as if he were looking at a view instead of a blue plastic tarp.
For a moment neither of them said anything.
Finally D.J. turned to her. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“It’s okay. You were upset. When did Tom tell you he was blackmailing Scott?”
“He didn’t, exactly.” D.J. began to pace. “One night about three weeks ago, I got mad and made him tell me where he was getting all his cash. He admitted it was blackmail, but he wouldn’t say who was paying him. I put two and two together and figured out it was Scott.”
“Why Scott?” Nancy leaned against the wall, watching him.
“It’s obvious. First, he’s rich—he could afford it. No sense squeezing someone who hasn’t got it. Second, like I said, they were together the night Tom disappeared.”
“Did they hang out together a lot?” Nancy asked.
“No, it was just the opposite.” D.J. continued pacing, his boots echoing hollowly in the empty room. “I don’t like Mr. Rich Boy, but Tom liked him even less. There had to be a fishy reason for them to be together that night.”
“Scott told me it was coincidence,” Nancy said. “They just happened to go out at the same time.”
D.J. stopped pacing and stared at Nancy. “He’s lying. Listen to me—Scott’s as jumpy as a frog on a hot stone. He’s hiding something; and it’s something big—big enough to make him pay Tom to keep his mouth shut.”
“But you don’t know what he’s hiding?”
“No.” D.J. slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. “And there’s another reason. The police asked me for the name and address of the guy who ran your moped off the road. I gave it to them, and was glad to. Hank was a troublemaker from his first day on the job. And you know who hired him from the mainland when one of my guys got sick?”
“Scott Winchester,” Nancy said.
“You got it.” D.J. nodded.
“Have you explained all this to the police?”
“Everything but the blackmail.” He shook his head and looked up at the ceiling.
“Tom, you crazy fool! Why did you let yourself get into so much trouble? I tried to help you, you know I did! You stupid jerk!” D.J. covered his face with his hands. His shoulders began to shake.
After a moment Nancy went over and touched his back. D.J. pulled away, as if stung. “Go away. Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, D.J., I really am.” Nancy left quietly, wishing she could do more to help him.
It was still pouring, the rain blowing almost sideways. As Nancy slowly rode back to the cottage, she went over D.J.’s reasons for believing Scott was guilty. She had begun to like Scott during their talk on the yacht, but she had to admit the circumstantial evidence was building against him. She had to find out what he was hiding.
Hannah had invited Sarah over for lunch, and after Nancy changed into dry clothes, she helped prepare crab salad and blackberry cobbler. A big pot of clam chowder was simmering on the back of the stove, and the kitchen smelled delicious. While they worked, Nancy filled Hannah in on the latest developments in the case, leaving out the blackmail information, as she’d promised D.J. she would.
“Hmmm,” Hannah said, mulling over what Nancy had told her. “Scott says one thing about Friday night, D.J. says another and claims Scott’s lying. Which one do you believe, Nancy?”
“I’m not sure yet. I want to question Scott again, but I think it might be a good idea to talk to Angie first. She dated Scott for a long time and she must know him pretty well.”
Sarah arrived just then. She looked tired but she cheered up a bit when she passed around the pictures of her latest grandchild. During lunch she and Hannah talked about babies and quilting.
The doorbell rang just as Nancy served the coffee. When she opened the front door, she found Jim Hathaway on the porch, rainwater streaming off his slicker. “Hi,” he said. “I thought I’d stop by and give you the latest news—or lack of it.”
“Come in,” Nancy said. “You’re just in time for dessert.”
“Thanks, anyway, but I’ve had lunch.” Jim took off his hat and s
hrugged out of his rain gear.
“Blackberry cobbler?” Nancy said, prodding.
“Well . . . I didn’t eat all that much.” Jim grinned.
Nancy pulled another chair up to the table and gave Jim a huge portion.
Sarah let him enjoy the first few bites before she asked, “Have you been able to find out where that money came from?”
“I’m afraid not,” Jim said. “The bills are almost untraceable. They were all used, with assorted serial numbers. We’ve sent them off for fingerprinting, but it’s unlikely much will turn up.”
Nancy nodded.
“There’s still more bad news, Nancy.” Jim took a sip of coffee. “Hank Jenkins, your favorite hit-and-run driver, has disappeared. He never went home after taking the ferry. It seems that he’s left town. We’ve put out bulletins, blanketing the airports and bus stations—but so far, no luck.”
“I’m not surprised,” Nancy said. “If he abandoned an almost-new motorcycle, he must have been paid plenty to get lost.”
“That’s what we figure, but don’t worry, we’ll find him sooner or later.” Jim turned to Hannah. “This is the best cobbler I’ve ever tasted, Ms. Gruen. Did you make it yourself?”
Hannah smiled. “It’s an old family recipe.”
Nancy had the feeling that he was deliberately changing the subject. “Jim, would you like more coffee?” she asked. “It’s in the kitchen.”
“I’ll come with you.” He flashed her a look of gratitude and stood up from the table.
Out in the kitchen, Nancy said, “Do you have more bad news that you didn’t want Sarah to hear?”
“Yes.” Jim sighed. “We just got the lab results on the hammer you found in the pond. There’s no trace of blood, hair, or any other sign that it was the murder weapon. Plus, the coroner says the lethal wound on the skull was caused by an irregular, sharp object larger than a hammer.”
“Does that mean D.J. is no longer your main suspect?” Nancy asked.