“It’s not Brenda who’s going after Esme,” Nancy told her friend. “Brenda’s source is the person who wants to get at Esme. The question is, who and why?”
While Bess got in line to buy a copy of Esme’s book and have it signed, Nancy sat down and waited for her friend. Something nagged at her about Brenda’s questions and Esme’s responses. Then she remembered what it was: Janine had said that they were aware of the accusations and rumors. So Brenda’s line of questioning wasn’t new to them. If Nancy was right, someone had already been after Esme. Therefore Brenda’s questioning could be part of a larger attempt to ruin Esme’s reputation by branding her a liar.
When Bess came back, a signed copy of Passion in her hand and stars in her eyes, Nancy shared her suspicions with her friend. Bess’s stars immediately dimmed.
“We’ve got to help her, Nan,” Bess urged. “Let’s tell Esme we want to find out who’s been spreading these rumors.”
“My idea exactly,” said Nancy. “But will Esme want our help? My guess is that she or her publisher has already investigated the rumors.”
“Maybe,” Bess said. “Maybe not. We don’t know till we ask!”
In a little while Esme finished signing her books and, along with Giancarlo, Janine, and the young girl in black, left the room. Photographers packed up their equipment and hotel staff busied themselves rearranging the sofas and chairs. Nancy and Bess made their way from the room to the main desk, where they found out Esme’s room number. In the elevator up to the sixth floor, where Esme had a suite, Nancy made a mental list of the questions she’d ask the woman if Esme agreed to let her investigate.
“How long have they been going on?” Nancy asked herself. “And how did they start? Phone calls? Notes? Is your publisher aware of the situation? If so, has he or she done anything to find out who’s behind the rumors?”
“Nancy.” Bess prodded her friend in the side with her finger and glanced around the elevator. Several passengers smiled at the two girls. “You’re talking to yourself.”
“I was thinking,” Nancy whispered back.
“Out loud,” Bess informed her, a wide smile spreading across her face. “It’s because you’re excited to be on a case,” Bess remarked. “That way you don’t have to spend Valentine’s Day alone. You can spend it with a mystery!”
On the sixth floor, Nancy and Bess found Esme’s corner suite at the end of a long corridor. The door was closed, but when Nancy knocked it was quickly opened by Giancarlo. “May I help you girls?” he asked in his softly accented voice.
Up close, Giancarlo was even more handsome, with his flashing blue eyes and long, thick eyelashes. Bess stood tongue-tied, but Nancy managed to introduce them both, and said, “We’d like to speak to Esme if it’s possible.”
“In reference to what, may I ask?” Giancarlo said, clearly used to putting off Esme’s fans.
“It’s about the questions that reporter was asking,” Nancy offered. “We’re hoping, I mean, we were thinking—”
“Nancy’s a detective,” Bess blurted out, suddenly rediscovering her ability to speak.
“Is she?” Giancarlo asked skeptically.
“Giancarlo, where are you?” a woman’s voice asked.
“I’m talking to a detective,” Giancarlo answered, speaking over his shoulder. When he turned back to Nancy, his blue eyes were sparkling, and there was a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“A what?” the woman cried.
“There’s a young woman here who apparently wants to sign on as your personal private investigator,” he said. “What should I tell her?”
“Tell her I’m not interested.” Esme Moore herself appeared at the door. When she saw Nancy and Bess standing there, she appeared to be taken aback and surprised. “Which one of you is the detective?” she asked.
Nancy grinned and quickly found her nerve as she dove into an explanation of how she and Bess knew Brenda Carlton and suspected that someone was using her to make the accusations against Esme.
“Nancy wants to investigate,” Bess put in.
“If you’re willing,” Nancy said. “I’ve had a bit of experience and some luck with this sort of investigation in the past.”
Both Esme and Giancarlo seemed amused, but Nancy could tell Esme was weighing the idea seriously. “Why don’t you come in?” she suggested. “Janine’s downstairs, but when she comes back we can all talk.”
Like the lobby downstairs, Esme’s suite was paneled in rich mahogany with bronze fixtures. The living room was furnished with antiques, and through an open door Nancy saw that the bedroom had a huge four-poster bed. Esme sat down on a flowered sofa, while Giancarlo pulled up armchairs for the girls.
“If there is a problem,” Nancy said gently once they were seated, “I honestly believe I can help.”
Esme paused. She still seemed a bit reticent to tell Nancy her problems, but finally the writer nodded, pushed back her dark hair, and said, “As Janine said downstairs, someone has been spreading rumors and gossip—malicious gossip—about Telling All. The claims are that the book is pure fabrication and that I shy away from telling inside stories about people and events. Further, they go on to accuse me of hiding behind lies. What makes these rumors so offensive is that I only agreed to write the book because everyone urged me to set the record straight about certain events in my life. People want the truth, and that’s what I plan to give them.”
“Don’t let yourself get upset, cara,” Giancarlo urged, sitting on the couch beside her. “Janine says you should simply ignore the threats.”
“Threats?” Nancy asked. “What kind of threats?”
Esme sighed. “Someone has been sending notes to my publisher, warning me against publishing the book and threatening to ruin my career if I go ahead with Telling All.”
“That’s terrible,” Bess said. “Who would do such a thing?”
“I don’t know,” Esme confessed. “Someone who wants to ruin me obviously.”
“Maybe I can help you find out,” said Nancy.
A knock sounded at the door, and Giancarlo went to answer it. Nancy was about to ask Esme more about the threats when a man’s shout broke the silence from the open front door.
“I will so see her!” the man cried. “Let me in, you—”
Nancy turned in her chair to see Giancarlo trying to force the door closed. Whoever was on the other side had stuck his foot beside the door frame and was doing his best to push the door open. Finally Giancarlo wasn’t strong enough to hold off the intruder. As soon as the door flew all the way open, Esme cried out, “Todd! What are you doing here?”
Nancy recognized Todd Gilbert from the book signing downstairs. His light brown hair was disheveled from his struggle, and he had loosened his necktie.
“I need to see you,” Todd said, striding purposefully into the room.
“Too bad,” Giancarlo said.
Esme’s husband blocked his way, and before Todd could react, Giancarlo whipped his arm back and took a gigantic swing at the actor, knocking him to the floor.
Chapter
Three
NANCY COULD TELL THAT Todd Gilbert was going to have a nice black eye the next day. The actor moaned, clutched his head, and rose to a sitting position.
“Thanks a bundle,” he managed to say. “I was going to have new head shots taken this afternoon. There goes that plan.”
“You have no right to be here,” Giancarlo said, standing over Todd. “If you don’t leave immediately, I may be forced to strike you again.”
“Please—” Esme said, holding up her hand for peace. She walked over to Todd and Giancarlo. “There’s no need for this kind of display.”
“I thought you never wanted to see him again,” Giancarlo protested.
Esme sighed. “I didn’t mean for you to defend me with your fists, caro.” She held out a hand to Todd and helped him up from the floor. “Can’t we settle this like adults?”
While Esme spoke to Todd and Giancarlo in l
ow tones, Nancy remembered some of the gossip Bess had told her about the actor. His career took a nosedive after he and Esme had broken up a few years earlier. He’d been trying to make a comeback ever since, but his career floundered after he had become known as being difficult and short-tempered.
Bess whispered to her that Todd had been trying to change his image into that of a sensitive male type. “He even wears glasses sometimes,” Bess said. “Like that’s going to convince anyone.”
Nancy laughed softly. “If this scuffle is any indication, he’s going to need more than glasses to overcome his reputation,” Nancy said.
Esme had sent Todd and Giancarlo out of the room and asked that they not come back until they had settled their differences.
“Men!” Esme said, flopping back down on the sofa. Despite all her cool glamour, when Esme smiled she looked as if she were in her twenties. “Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.”
“I hear you,” Bess said.
“I hope you aren’t disappointed, now that you’ve seen the private Esme Moore,” the romance writer said. “Todd and Giancarlo are jealous of each other. I’m afraid it’s not entirely over me.”
“What do you mean?” Nancy asked.
“They both want a part in the movie version of Telling All. I’ve got a deal in the works with a Hollywood production company. Todd’s read for the role of my editor in the movie version. As far as I’m concerned, if he gets cast he can be in the film, but I prefer not to have anything to do with him. I won’t stand in the way of his career, though. Meanwhile, Giancarlo has been cast to play himself, and he’s vetoed the idea of Todd’s having a part. He says if Todd’s in it, he won’t be.” Esme shrugged. “I’m a writer, not a magician. It’s up to them to settle their differences.”
The door to the suite opened. Nancy expected to see Todd and Giancarlo, but instead Janine Halpern came in, along with a young woman in black who wore funky, thick-soled shoes and rings on all her fingers. Nancy remembered seeing the young woman earlier at the book signing. From where she sat curled up on the couch, Esme introduced Nancy and Bess.
“Janine Halpern, my publicist, and Kim Scott, my assistant,” Esme said. “This is Nancy Drew and Bess Marvin. Janine, these girls want to help us find out who’s spreading those rumors.”
Kim’s dark eyes flashed as she crossed the room and picked up the phone. While she dialed, she expressed her surprise. “Really?”
“Nancy’s a detective,” Esme explained. With a shrug she said to Janine, “What do you think? My publisher hasn’t made any headway on those threatening notes. Why don’t we let Nancy have a crack at them?”
Janine deliberated for a moment, checking out Nancy and Bess with an intense, thin-lipped expression. Before she had a chance to answer, Esme added, “They know that reporter who was asking those questions earlier. What’s her name?”
“Brenda Carlton,” Bess offered.
“From Today’s Times,” Janine finished. “I just spent the last ten minutes fielding her questions, along with those of five other reporters. Frankly, Esme, if it’s the reporters who are bothering you, I’ve told you before that I wouldn’t worry about any publicity that comes from this. In our business, there’s no such thing as bad news.”
Esme returned Janine’s steady gaze. “And I told you that I’m not interested in having some nut case out there trying to ruin the reputation I’ve spent fifteen years building.”
Nancy was about to speak up when Kim, off the phone now, announced, “They’re sending up hot water for your tea and a plate of raw vegetables. Did you want anything else?”
“Nothing right now,” Esme told her. “I’ll give you a call if I need you.”
“No problem.” With a toss of her dark hair, Kim walked toward the door. “I’ll be in my room. Ciao!”
After Kim left, Nancy spoke to Janine. “Whether or not the publicity is good for Esme, harassment is illegal. Since Esme is willing to let us investigate, I’d like to peek at the notes she’s gotten.”
With a sigh, Janine opened the briefcase she had with her and handed over a file to Nancy. “Those are all the notes that have been received, including the envelopes. Please be careful. Although I left copies at my office in New York, these are the originals.”
Nancy took the file from Janine. “Before we leave, I’d like to know if you have any suspicions about who might be spreading these rumors? Who has the most to lose by what you’ve written?”
Esme shook her head sadly. “Whoever is most worried about the truth, I suppose.”
“Was Brenda right?” Bess put in. “Are you writing about Lee Michelle and Barry Hobbes? Is Todd in the book?”
“All of them,” Esme confirmed, her green eyes lighting up in amusement. “And others, too. But seriously, Nancy, there are many friends and enemies who have contacted me since I started writing the book, begging me to protect them and their reputations. I’ve told everyone that I’m not open to suggestion, bribery, or threats.”
“Clearly someone hasn’t gotten the message,” Nancy said, putting the file in her purse. “I’m going to do my best to find out who that is.”
Fifteen minutes later Nancy was heading home to pore through the file Janine had given her. She’d left Bess at Esme’s hotel room, since the romance novelist had kindly agreed to answer some of Bess’s questions about the business and how she might become a writer, too.
Nancy’s father wasn’t home from work, and a note from their housekeeper, Hannah Gruen, told Nancy she’d gone to the store. After checking the answering machine and finding no messages, Nancy climbed the stairs to her room, threw herself down on the bed, and started going through the file. An hour later she realized just how hard the case was going to be. Starting three months earlier, Esme, her publisher, her agent, even prominent reviewers and booksellers, had received dozens of threatening notes. Every single one was typewritten, but the typefaces were all different. Even worse, the notes were all mailed from different addresses across the Midwest. There was no way Nancy could travel to each post office. If she was going to trace the note writer, she would need help.
Starting with the various kinds of paper the notes were typed on, Nancy made a list of possible clues. Once she’d gotten to the end, her list read: “paper—eighteen different kinds; typefaces—twelve different kinds; addresses—fifteen.” Letting out a long sigh, Nancy went back over each note, searching for telltale clues. Aside from some minor differences, the notes simply warned the person to whom they were addressed not to have anything to do with Esme’s book—that it would be a pack of lies—and threatened that if Esme went ahead with the project, the note writer would make sure her career was ruined. They were all about the same except for the last one. The first time she read it, Nancy had gotten a shiver. Now, rereading it, she noticed something different, something she should have seen before.
“Black Widow,” the note read, “I’m insulted. Since you’ve decided to ignore me, I’ll have to make it personal. The threats will stop and the deeds will begin.”
Why was the writer addressing Esme as Black Widow? Was this a clue Esme might recognize? Nancy picked up the phone and dialed the Barrington. Seconds later Esme’s familiar husky voice came through the line.
“This is Esme Moore,” she said.
Nancy quickly asked her about the reference to Black Widow. “Does it have some kind of special meaning?” she asked.
“My goodness,” Esme said, “it certainly does. I’m surprised no one noticed that before. Even Janine knows that used to be my nickname.”
“Your nickname?” Nancy echoed.
Esme gave a short bark of a laugh. “Back in my salad days I never wore anything but black. And I guess I tended to break men’s hearts. So my closest friends all called me Black Widow.”
“How many people in your immediate circle would know this nickname?” Nancy asked.
“Let me think.” Esme paused. “There’s Janine,” she said, “and Kim. Giancarlo, of course
. Todd. Nancy, you don’t think it’s someone I know—personally?”
“This note seems to indicate it is,” Nancy said, but after hanging up with Esme, Nancy stared at the note for a long time, thinking to herself, “Someone who has a serious grudge, too.”
• • •
The next morning Nancy picked Bess up early. Esme was holding a press conference at the Barrington since the event the day before had officially been a book signing.
At the coat check in the hotel, Bess barely had her coat off before she was scolding her friend. “Nancy, you haven’t said a word about my outfit.”
Bess was wearing flowing red pants and a matching shirt that were remarkably similar to the outfit Esme had worn the day before. “I ran out and bought it last night before the mall closed. What do you think?”
“I like it,” Nancy said. “Red is a good color for you.”
“Thanks!” Bess beamed. “Esme says women shouldn’t shy away from red. It shows they have confidence and aren’t afraid of their power.”
“It sounds like Esme is full of good advice,” Nancy said. “What does she say about jeans?” Nancy added, pointing out her own denim shirt and matching pants.
“That they make you look like a cowhand,” Bess said with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go.”
The press conference was being held in a small room between the lobby and the sun-room. Bess led the way. “Hurry,” she urged. “I don’t want to miss a thing.”
“Bess, we’re early,” Nancy insisted, checking her watch. “The press conference isn’t supposed to start until ten, and it’s only nine-fifteen.”
As soon as Nancy and Bess arrived at the room, they both realized that something was dreadfully wrong. Esme stood guard at the half-open door, frantic, while inside Nancy spotted Janine and Kim furiously scrambling around the room, tearing down posters that had decorated the walls.
“What happened?” Nancy asked.