Just then Beverly Bishop stepped out from behind her desk and marched purposefully to the open doorway. “It’s only a book, for heaven’s sake!” Her haughty scowl changed to a satisfied smile when she saw Nancy. “Well, well—Teresa! How nice to see you! And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? You know I’d love to do a piece on you. Why don’t you come in, and we can talk.”
Nancy followed the columnist into her office and sat down, crossing her legs just as she had seen Teresa do the night before. She had to remember every last detail of her impersonation, because if anyone would notice, it was Beverly Bishop, whose job was to study people. And the blond columnist would be furious if she ever discovered she’d been fooled! “If you have information about me, I beg you to keep it confidential, Ms. Bishop,” Nancy began. “My life has been threatened—”
“My dear, as you know, I’ve been threatened lately, too. Why, if I had a hundred dollars for everyone who wanted to get rid of me, I’d be a millionaire!” Beverly Bishop interrupted with a facile smile. “You see, it’s the American way, Teresa. Free speech, you know. But then, you should appreciate that more than most people. You wouldn’t want the old U.S. of A. to become another San Carlos, would you?”
“Well, no, of course not, but—”
“Besides, if I do a favor for you, I’ll have to do one for everybody, now, won’t I?” Beverly Bishop was obviously enjoying herself as she turned the screws tighter.
“Don’t worry! After all, you had no idea what was going on behind the scenes, and I know that. You’re going to love my new book. Of course, a certain American senator may suffer a bit, but that’s life, my dear.”
“M-maybe if you tell me exactly what you’ll be wr-writing—” Nancy stammered.
“Huh-uh,” scolded Beverly Bishop, shaking a finger at Nancy. “You’ll have to buy the book just like everybody else.”
Nancy nodded, but inside she was furious with the columnist. Della Hawks was right: Beverly Bishop did play with people’s lives. She had no concern for the lives she was about to ruin—or end.
“It won’t be long, though. The book should be out soon! I’ve saved the best for last. The remaining chapters are devoted entirely to what I call the big four—people in high places, like your friend the senator. I’ve completed my work on three so far—two already typed out, the other right over there in that Dictaphone, almost done. Number four is in here.” Beverly tapped a dark red fingernail against the side of her head. “It’s too significant to let out until the last possible minute.”
“I see,” said Nancy, trying to sound impressed. She was beginning to understand why Beverly Bishop had so many enemies. The woman was a viper!
Maybe if she found out a little about the process of publishing Beverly’s book she’d have a better shot at halting it. “I’m curious. How long does it take to print a book?” Nancy asked.
The columnist took a mirror out of her top drawer and quickly checked her appearance as if it were more important than her book. “Usually they take months to produce, but, Teresa darling, this is a Beverly Bishop book. My publishers are planning on getting it into every bookstore in the nation within three weeks. In fact, I’m sending three chapters in today so that they can start the typesetting. No one dares to edit my books; they are published exactly as I write them. It’ll be all set to go—except for that all-important final chapter,” said the columnist, smiling like the cat with the canary still warm in its stomach.
She stared at Nancy as if she were trying out a few lines about how to describe Teresa if she ever did a story on her. “Now, I understand it may be a little too soon for you to tell me about your escape from San Carlos and so on, but if you have anything you’d like to tell me . . .”
Nancy touched her fingers to her mouth and tilted her head to one side, just the way Teresa had done when she was thinking the night before. “I value my privacy very much. I do not wish to advertise myself or anything like that. I have nothing to tell you.”
“Well, suit yourself,” Beverly said in an irritated tone. “If you change your mind, come back. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must get back to work.”
With a grand wave of her hand, the columnist dismissed Nancy.
A surge of distaste ran through Nancy, and she felt relieved as soon as she stepped out into the balmy Washington weather. Her appointment with Jillian Riley wasn’t until late that afternoon, and Nancy decided to walk and think for a while. The task of keeping Beverly Bishop’s book out of print weighed heavily on her mind.
• • •
“My apologies—I am a bit early for my appointment, but I hope that Ms. Riley will see me as soon as possible. Please tell her Teresa Montenegro is here, and that what I have to say is very important.”
Behind the receptionist’s desk, partitioned by glass, the Washington Herald offices hummed and beeped like an electronic beehive. Seated at word processors, writers keyed in data from around the globe, while layout artists cut and pasted in a score of cubicles around the huge offices.
“I’ll let her know right away. Oh, and may I please have your autograph, Ms. Montenegro? It’s for my little niece. She just loves to watch you play.” Nancy bent down to sign the paper the secretary was offering her. So far, so good, she thought. She had practiced scrawling Teresa’s signature that morning, copying it from the big signed photograph of Teresa that hung in Marilyn Kilpatrick’s home.
Beyond the glass partition, Nancy saw a stylish blond woman about forty years old hang up the phone and look up. Instantly, the woman spotted her through the glass and flashed a smile. But Nancy’s experience with one particular columnist had taught her not to trust that professional friendliness.
“You may go in, Ms. Montenegro,” Jillian Riley’s secretary told Nancy.
“Thank you,” said Nancy. She walked into the spacious, well-designed office. “Good morning.”
“Good morning to you, Ms. Montenegro. My goodness, you’ve been busy this morning.”
Nancy tilted her head quizzically. “Oh?”
“You’ve already spoken with Beverly Bishop. You must have something terribly juicy to say if you came to both of us!”
“But how did you know—” Nancy hadn’t anticipated this problem. She had heard about how quickly things got around on the Washington grapevine, but this was ridiculous! Actually, though, this would just make Teresa’s story of a disagreement with Beverly more believable.
“Oh, I may not be a genius, but I do know everything that goes on in this town,” Jillian Riley said arrogantly. “I have to, it’s my business!” The columnist laughed. It was an infectious laugh, wicked like Beverly’s but somehow nicer. And Nancy, though she was a little shocked by what the columnist had told her so offhandedly, found herself smiling.
“So what can I do for you?” asked Jillian. “I hear you have information for me. What’s it about? And is it the same stuff you gave ‘dear’ Beverly?”
Nancy found herself caught off-balance by the clever shift in conversation. Jillian Riley knew how to make people talk, no doubt about it.
“I went to Ms. Bishop to ask for a favor,” Nancy explained. “I asked her please not to say anything about me and my past in the book that she is writing. But she said she would put it in the book, anyway,” she whispered, then burst into convincing tears.
“I understand.” The columnist nodded. Nancy could almost see her drawing conclusions at supersonic speed. “And you’ve come to me because . . . ?”
“Because I want the truth to come out!” Nancy said hotly. “Because Teresa Montenegro is not what the book will say she is!”
“And you want me to print the truth. Well.” Jillian Riley smiled, picking up a pencil and a pad. “Fire away. I’m all ears.”
Nancy had expected that Ms. Riley would want the exclusive interview right away, since Teresa had never given one. “No, I cannot say yet. You must wait until after the book comes out.”
“But, Ms. Montenegro—Teresa, if I may—the
truth will be ever so much more effective if it comes out before the lies!”
She was clever, Jillian Riley. Nancy had to admire the way she worked. “I’m so sorry.” She shrugged. “There are reasons—other reasons I cannot tell you yet. But you will be there when I am ready, yes?”
“Of course!” said Jillian, putting down the pad and pencil. “So tell me,” she urged, “did Beverly happen to mention anything else about her book? Just between us.”
Of course. Jillian wasn’t all that different from Beverly—they were rivals. Nancy could feel the alligator’s mouth opening slowly, ready to devour the least little tidbit of information.
But in this case, Nancy was also looking for information. Finding the truth was her job, too! And she had one big advantage over the other woman—Jillian Riley didn’t know who Nancy really was.
“She told me she was almost finished with the book, that she was writing about the big four, she called them.”
“Aha, the big four, eh?” asked Jillian Riley, leaning forward in her chair to get a better look at Nancy. “And who might they be?”
“But I thought you already knew everything,” Nancy shot back with a sly smile.
“Touché, Teresa. I see you’ve got wit as well as athletic talent. Yes, I have a fair idea about who the big four might be. Or two of them, anyway,” admitted the columnist.
“Oh? Who are they, if you do not mind my asking?”
“No, I don’t mind, as long as you give me your story in exchange. I’d say Della Hawks would be one of them.”
Della Hawks, the young woman who’d threatened to kill Beverly earlier that morning.
“And, of course, Marilyn Kilpatrick’s got to be another. Beverly has been trying for years to get something on her. You know it’d be great copy—people would love to read that the first female senator from Illinois got where she is immorally, or illegally.”
Nancy suddenly had a flash of insight. “What about you, Ms. Riley? Could you be one of the four she’s trying to get? You are Beverly Bishop’s biggest rival, correct?”
Jillian let out another infectious laugh. “ ‘Rival’ is putting it mildly. Beverly and I can’t stand each other, although we are very polite to each other whenever we meet. I’d like to cut her throat, and I’m sure she’d love to return the favor. So I might very well be one of the big four. Tell you what, though. If I am, Beverly had better watch out. I’ve got one or two little weapons of my own.”
Nancy was silent for a moment. “And number four?”
“I don’t know.” Jillian leaned back in her chair and sighed. “But enough about Beverly. I’d rather talk about you. What was it like, really? Your escape to America? Your father being killed? It must have been very hard on you—”
“I am so sorry. These are things I don’t care to make public,” Nancy said decisively.
The columnist shrugged. “Well, I hate to break this up,” she said with a glance at her watch, “but I’ve got to be off. I’ve got an interview with the most gorgeous congressman in town—Matt Layton. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
Matt Layton was the congressman from Nancy’s home district. He was known as much for his handsome, rugged looks and charisma as for his heroism in the Vietnam War. Nancy could understand why Ms. Riley was excited about talking to him.
“Here’s a little piece of dirt for you.” Jillian Riley winked as she ushered Nancy out of the office. “Layton’s got his eye on Marilyn Kilpatrick’s Senate seat! Boy, that sure would split the female vote, huh?” And with another throaty laugh, Jillian waved goodbye as she pointed Nancy in the direction of the elevators. “See you soon, Teresa.”
“Yes,” Nancy answered, stepping into the hallway. “Goodbye.”
Filled with excitement over the new leads she’d turned up, Nancy nearly flew back to the Senate building, and up to Marilyn’s office after a quick stop for a security check. Wait till Marilyn heard about everything!
The receptionist was out, so Nancy went right in to the inner office, not thinking to knock. The senator was staring out the window, her back to the door.
“Marilyn!” she called out.
The senator gasped when she heard Nancy’s voice. Wheeling around, her eyes wide in surprise, she held her arms out, and Nancy froze in utter shock.
Marilyn Kilpatrick was holding a revolver—and it was pointed straight at Nancy’s heart!
Chapter
Five
TERESA?” MARILYN LOWERED the gun and fell into the leather armchair beside her desk. “I’m so sorry. This whole nasty business is making me a nervous wreck.”
“I guess I should have knocked,” said Nancy, as lightheartedly as she could manage.
“Nancy, it’s you! My goodness, you almost had me convinced you were Teresa.” The senator laughed, releasing some of the tension that had obviously been building up inside her. “You come all the way from River Heights to help me out, and I stick a gun in your face!”
“It’s okay, Marilyn,” said Nancy. “What are you doing with the gun, anyway?”
Marilyn fingered it, embarrassed. “I just got this for Teresa,” she explained. “I hate to say it, Nancy, but I think she does need the extra protection. And when I heard the door open—what can I say?—I panicked. But don’t worry. It isn’t loaded.”
“You have been under a little pressure lately,” Nancy offered with a sympathetic smile, trying to dismiss the image of Senator Kilpatrick pointing a gun at her.
“Well, how did it go? Tell me everything. Is Beverly going to remove the section about me from her book, for Teresa’s sake?”
Nancy pursed her lips and shook her silky hair. “I’m afraid not. In fact, she told me the book’s going to be out in less than a month—with a whole section devoted to you.”
“Did you tell her that your life was in danger?” The senator’s large brown eyes revealed the intensity of her alarm.
Nancy nodded, sighing. “I told her I’d been threatened, Marilyn, but she wouldn’t budge.”
Marilyn leaned back in her chair. A look of defeat creased her forehead. “How can people be so ruthless, Nancy?”
Nancy shrugged her shoulders. “I guess some people think that tearing other people down will build them up. Look, Marilyn—we’re going to keep trying, no matter what. We can still turn this situation around—we have to.”
Those words seemed to hit the senator hard. “You’re right,” she agreed, straightening up in her chair.
“Now, there’s got to be a way for us to intercept the material before it gets to the publisher. That’ll buy us a little time, anyway. We need every hour we can get!” exclaimed Nancy.
“But we can’t do anything illegal, Nancy. I’m a U.S. senator, remember, sworn to uphold the law.”
“I know,” Nancy replied. “Believe me, Marilyn, I don’t want to get on the wrong side of the law, either.”
The senator frowned. “I guess I’ll make one last personal appeal to Beverly. If that fails, the only thing we can do is try to ensure Teresa’s safety. I’m seriously considering putting her in protective custody, if she wants it. I could call the FBI and get her a whole new identity—change her name and her history. She wouldn’t be Teresa Montenegro anymore. She couldn’t play tennis, at least not professionally, but at least she’d be alive.”
“It would be horrible for her to have to give up tennis!” gasped Nancy. “Teresa’s worked so hard to be a champion.”
“I know. However, a new identity may be her only hope of being safe.” With a sigh, the senator got up and put the gun in her desk drawer.
Nancy felt less nervous, knowing that the revolver wouldn’t be going anywhere, at least for the moment.
“Well, I’d better get some of this paperwork off my desk before I go over to Beverly’s to make my appeal,” said Marilyn. “Why don’t you head back to my place and keep an eye on Teresa until I arrive? I’ll bring home dinner for us all, okay? Do you like Vietnamese food?”
“Never tried it, but
I’m sure I’ll like it.” Nancy stepped toward the elevator. “And, Marilyn—good luck.”
The senator threw Nancy a tired smile. “Thanks. I’m going to need it.”
• • •
“Teresa, you’ve hardly touched your food.”
Nancy, Marilyn Kilpatrick, and Teresa had eaten a late supper in silence. The last-ditch appeal by the senator to Beverly Bishop had failed, so there had been nothing to do but break the news to Teresa. The tennis player was very down on the suggestion that she take a new identity, and Nancy could understand why.
She had never seen her friend so low. Just when she had gotten her life together, just when she thought she had finally put all the fear and pain behind her, everything was crashing down on her all over again.
“Listen, what are we doing moping? We’ll think of a way to stop that horrible Beverly!” Nancy said, forcing herself to be positive. “We’ve still got time.”
Teresa nodded weakly, and Marilyn tried to smile, but the atmosphere in the room remained distinctly heavy.
“In the meantime,” said Senator Kilpatrick to Teresa, “until we get out of this mess, I’ve asked one of my staffers to act as your bodyguard. You know him—in fact, both of you do. Remember Dan Prosky?”
Nancy remembered him, all right. Dan had almost gotten himself killed trying to protect Teresa the last time Nancy was in Washington. Good old Dan—superjock, ex-police officer, loyal, discreet. And Nancy would never forget the death-defying car chase they’d been in together.
“Of course I remember him,” Nancy replied happily.
“What an amazing driver.” Teresa laughed.
“Does he know about all the trouble Beverly Bishop is causing?” Nancy wanted to know.
Marilyn shook her head. “No, and he doesn’t need to—as far as I can see. I’ve told him Teresa’s in danger and it’s his job to keep her safe. That’s all.”