“That’s it!” Nancy blurted out. “I knew there was something weird about that!”
“About what?” asked the other two. But before Nancy could reply, the doorbell rang.
“That’ll be Dan,” Teresa said, going to answer it.
Nancy jumped up from the floor. She grabbed her purse off the sofa and headed straight for the front door.
“Hi, what’s up?” asked Dan Prosky, stepping over the threshold into the foyer. “Nancy,” he said, smiling broadly. “Good to see you again.”
“Never mind!” Nancy said, grabbing his arm and yanking him back out the door as a stunned Marilyn and Teresa watched.
“Come on, Dan—we’re going on a little trip,” Nancy told him.
“Huh? Where to, Nancy?” asked Dan, startled. “It’s two-thirty in the morning.”
“To the morgue, Dan—and pronto!”
Chapter
Nine
THE MORGUE!” DAN looked back over his shoulder at the senator for confirmation.
“Do as she says, Dan. Nancy will explain in the car.”
“All right—whatever you say, Senator.” Dan followed Nancy to the curb and opened the door of his blue government-issue sedan for Nancy.
Once they had fastened their seat belts, Dan pulled the car out onto the street to head downtown. Nancy turned to Dan. “Have you heard about Beverly Bishop?” she asked.
Dan nodded and let out a low whistle. News spread fast in Washington, even in the middle of the night.
“Well, someone is trying to pin the murder on Senator Kilpatrick,” explained Nancy. She quickly filled Dan in on the details of the frame. “And that’s why I’ve got to have a look at Beverly’s body,” she concluded. “Got it so far?”
“I think so.” Dan’s wide gray eyes were troubled. “That’s some pretty heavy stuff.”
He was silent for a moment, his face clouding over as he turned off the Beltway and headed toward the morgue. “Nancy, I’ve got to know something—and please give me a straight answer. How did the senator get mixed up in all this? Did she do something wrong?” he asked softly.
“No, she didn’t, Dan,” answered Nancy firmly, speaking from her heart. “But maybe she did something extralegal, if you know what I mean. Something that saved an innocent life, but wouldn’t look too good in print.”
“Oh, come on. You’re not afraid to tell me just because I’m an ex-cop, are you?” he asked, smiling.
“Dan, if you want to know anything more, you’ll have to ask the senator. I’m sure she’ll fill you in,” said Nancy with a tone of finality. “Could you drive a little faster? I’m afraid somebody’s going to get there before we do.”
“Hey, Nancy,” said Dan with a big grin. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are the only people crazy enough to be headed for the morgue right now.”
“Maybe. But you never know,” said Nancy. “Not when the body belongs to a columnist like Beverly Bishop.”
• • •
The morgue attendant seemed grateful for the company when Dan and Nancy arrived. “Dan Prosky! How are you? I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“That’s because I quit the force,” answered Dan. “But I wondered if you could let me see something, anyway. It’s kind of important.”
“Sure, sure. Come in.” The attendant walked them to an area with comfortable chairs.
“Nancy Drew, this is Walt Kinsky. Walt and I went to college together,” Dan explained.
“Yeah, but I graduated,” Walt said teasingly.
“Hi, Walt.” Nancy smiled.
“Nice to meet you. So, how can I help you, old buddy? Who did you come to visit this time?”
“Beverly Bishop,” Dan said seriously.
Walt let out a low whistle. “Isn’t that something? The doctor just left her body here. I guess she knew one secret too many. Well, come in. Nancy, would you like to wait out here?”
“Thank you, but I’d rather take a look at her, I think.” Nancy tried to restrain her impatience. Walt didn’t know how urgent this was.
“Nancy’s not exactly fainthearted,” Dan replied as they followed Walt down a dimly lit hallway.
“Well, suit yourselves.” Walt pushed open a thick hydraulic door and led Dan and Nancy into the vaults.
Banks of rectangular doors stood against three of the walls, and the room was extremely cold. Nancy couldn’t help shuddering for a second. Morgues weren’t her favorite places, but if she could get information that would help save her friends, she could put up with the chemical smell and the frigid atmosphere for a few minutes.
“Here we go,” Walt announced. “Number four thirty-four—Bishop.”
Inserting a key into a small brass lock, he pulled out the rolling bier. There was the form of Beverly Bishop, covered by a sheet stamped with the city’s seal.
“Actually, it’s her clothing that we’d really like to look at,” Nancy suggested.
“That’s in the drawer right under here,” said Walt, shoving the bier closed and locking it. “We have to impound all the accessories,” he explained, opening the second drawer. “It’s mostly just clothes.”
Nancy looked down and saw a flash of electric blue. It was the dress Beverly Bishop had been wearing that night on TV. Next to the folded dress was a pair of black patent leather high-heeled shoes. They were the same shoes Nancy had seen Beverly wearing on “Late Night.”
“Here we are. Dress, stockings, shoes—et cetera. Look, would you guys like some coffee? I put some on just before you got here,” Walt offered.
“Great, I’d love some. You, Nancy?” asked Dan, walking away with his friend. He seemed to sense Nancy’s need to be alone for a minute, and she was grateful.
“No, thanks,” said Nancy. As soon as the two men left the room, she began concentrating on Beverly Bishop’s things. Carefully pulling the sleeves of her sweater down around her hands to avoid leaving fingerprints, Nancy picked up Beverly Bishop’s left shoe and examined it. She gripped the heel and twisted it slightly, as the columnist had done during her interview with Jim Long. To Nancy’s surprise, it turned in her hand, almost like a door handle. The heel swung open, revealing a tiny compartment just under the sole of the shoe. Her pulse quickening, she held the shoe in one hand and poked the index finger of her other hand up into the tiny box. She felt something small and metal, which fell out into her palm when she shook the shoe.
Nancy looked down, her blue eyes widening. It was a key!
• • •
As Dan pulled his car out of the parking lot and onto the deserted avenue, Nancy clutched the tiny key in one hand. It was small and blunt, obviously the key to a locker or a piece of luggage. Now she had to find what it fit. That wouldn’t be easy, but it was a start.
What key would be so crucial to Beverly Bishop that she carried it around with her, hidden in her shoe? It was probably related to work, Nancy thought, since that seemed to be her life. The police captain had said that he’d searched her office for files, but that she apparently hadn’t kept any.
Maybe that was what she wanted everyone to think—it fit in with the image of the know-it-all columnist. Beverly Bishop couldn’t keep all that information in her head, but it was so secret that she stored it far from her office so that no one would ever come across it.
Well, she had succeeded. Now she was dead, and the only person who knew about the key was Nancy. There had to be hundreds of lockers in Washington, D.C. Somewhere, maybe, one of them contained the files on the big four.
Nancy would find that missing file if she put her mind to it. Then she’d know for sure who else—besides Marilyn Kilpatrick—Beverly Bishop had been ready to expose.
That thought made her feel better. She leaned back in her seat and smiled, watching the lights of Washington go by. “This sure is a lot different from the last time we took a drive together,” she commented, thinking back to the time when the death squads from San Carlos had pursued them through the streets.
Dan let out
a laugh. “Yeah, that was a little too exciting, even for me. Car chases are strictly for TV. My life is interesting enough without defying death, know what I mean?”
“I sure do.” As she stared out the window, Nancy glanced at the passenger sideview mirror.
There was a car right behind them, but of course, that in itself meant nothing. And even though the Washington grapevine seemed to buzz with lightning speed, there was no way that someone would have already heard about their trip to the morgue.
Still, at four in the morning, with so few cars on the deserted Washington streets, it did seem strange that someone would tailgate them.
Nancy looked out at the mirror a few seconds later. The same car was there. Just to make sure, she said, “Dan, could you turn off here?”
“Sure.” As he turned the corner and accelerated, the lights of the other car followed.
“I can’t believe this,” Nancy murmured, her eyes glued to the sideview mirror.
“What’s the matter?” asked Dan. “Uh-oh. Someone’s behind us.”
“Yes, it looks as if we’re being followed.” Nancy sighed. “This has been the longest day of my life.”
Dan glanced up at the rearview mirror as he took another right turn, then shook his head. “That car is tagging us,” he said. “Hold on to your seat, Nancy.” He floored the accelerator.
Dan’s car peeled out, leaving their pursuers behind. But in the next instant, with a screech of burning rubber, the second car took off in hot pursuit.
Nancy stuck her head out the window, trying to get a glimpse, an outline of a face, a head, a license plate—anything. With the car’s bright headlights in her face, it was impossible. Then a metallic flash coming out of the side window caught her eye. A gun! She ducked her head back into the car just as a bullet whizzed by. A second bullet shattered the passenger sideview mirror.
Both Dan and Nancy slid down as low as they could in their seats to stay out of range of the next shots. Dan took a sharp right, then a sharp left, then another right down an alley and a left onto the next street. Behind them they heard the other car’s tires screeching as it negotiated the quick turns. Instead of dropping back, the car drew closer.
As they raced up the hill into Georgetown, Nancy began to worry. The streets were so deserted that there was no way to lose their pursuer—nor would there be any witnesses if something happened. She and Dan had to win this battle on their own.
Pulling around a sharp corner, Dan gritted his teeth and braked to a sudden stop.
“Now!” he cried. “Get out, quick!”
Nancy flung open the door, jumped out onto the street, and quickly dashed between two parked cars. Immediately Dan pressed the accelerator and the car took off down the street, the passenger door slamming shut on its own.
Nancy’s heart pounded wildly, and she gasped for breath. Would their enemies, whoever they were, fall for Dan’s ploy? There was nothing she could do but try to stay hidden between the parked cars. And hope she’d be safe.
About two seconds later the other car stopped right in front of her hiding place. “I’m telling you, she got out here!” said a gruff voice, as the door of the car opened and a large, dark form emerged. Whoever he was, he looked too big for Nancy to fight on her own. She heard the door slam shut again, and the car sped off after Dan.
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Nancy heard footsteps on the cobblestone street. If only she could have peeked out for one second, long enough to catch the license number! But she couldn’t risk being found.
Nancy heard footsteps move in different directions as the man searched for her. Please don’t find me, she prayed. But the footsteps were circling in on her, closer and closer. Crouching even farther down, she could see the man’s shoes on the other side of the car—shiny two-toned brown loafers with tassels. Any second now, he’d discover her hiding place!
Just then there came the hair-raising sound of screeching brakes from a few blocks away. The footsteps stopped, and so did Nancy’s breathing as both she and her pursuer listened to the sickening crash and the explosion that followed.
Nancy’s heart leapt into her throat as she saw a huge fireball rising in the sky.
There were only two cars going that fast at four in the morning, and Dan had been driving one of them. Had he gotten out in time? Flames surged skyward in the darkness. There was no way anyone could have survived that accident.
Dan had to be dead.
Chapter
Ten
NANCY WATCHED HER pursuer’s legs from between the wheels of the parked car. He hesitated a moment before sprinting off in the direction of the explosion.
When Nancy thought it was safe, she stood up.
Smoke rose in a huge pillar straight up in the windless dawn sky. Windows were being thrown open up and down the block, and people were shouting to one another, asking what had happened.
Nancy wanted desperately to run down the street, to see what had happened, to find Dan—if Dan was still there to find.
One person had already died—maybe two. That was enough. If she went there now, the thug would probably still be hanging around, looking for her. Besides, there was nothing she could do for Dan now. She heard sirens getting closer, so someone had already called the fire department, the police, and the hospital.
Nancy thought about Dan. He had dropped her off not even ten minutes ago, and now . . . He had only been trying to help her. If she hadn’t insisted that they go to the morgue in the middle of the night, he’d still be—Stop it! Nancy ordered herself. She couldn’t afford to mourn, not now. She had to get on with the case. She started walking casually away from the area, breathing deeply and massaging her tired eyes and temples. She went down street after street, searching for a familiar landmark as the sun rose. Her bag with the all-important key in it was slung over her shoulder.
After a while she came to a small coffee shop just opening for breakfast. Nancy went in and ordered a cup of coffee. She wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but she’d been up all night, and she needed to stay awake awhile longer yet. It was all she could do to keep from putting her head on the table and collapsing into a deep sleep, but she had to put the pieces of the puzzle together, she just had to.
The waitress set the coffee cup on the counter in front of Nancy. Just staring at the steaming liquid and smelling the aroma seemed to wake her up. She took a sip and began to go over everything in her mind.
The big four. Marilyn Kilpatrick, Della Hawks, Jillian Riley, and—who? Which one had murdered Beverly Bishop?
She remembered the wildly beautiful face and the hot temper of Della Hawks, young wife of old Justice Hawks. She had threatened the columnist’s life, right in front of Nancy. What could Beverly Bishop have had on her? There could be any number of skeletons in her closet. Nancy made a mental note to find out all she could about Mrs. Hawks. She could skim old gossip columns on microfilm at the library, or possibly arrange a meeting with Della Hawks herself.
What about Marilyn Kilpatrick? She’d known Nancy was going to the morgue in the middle of the night, and she had taken desperate measures to get Teresa into the United States. Was she desperate about other things, too?
Nancy dismissed the wild thought that had crept into her head. The senator had invited her to come to Washington. Why, Nancy’s father had known her for years!
Someone was clearly trying to frame her, but why?
Nancy fished in her bag for the key, brought it out, and looked at it closely. The number on it was 663. Somewhere in Washington, Beverly Bishop had kept a locker full of secrets—but where? A health club? The bus station?
Nancy put the key back into her purse; that search would have to wait. First she had to go to Beverly Bishop’s publisher and try to intercept the three chapters that were on the way. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she had to at least try—for Teresa and Marilyn.
Tossing a dollar bill onto the counter, Nancy stood up and walked out of the coffee shop. As she hit t
he sidewalk, she noticed the faint smell of smoke in the early morning air. Oh, Dan, she thought. I hope there’s been a miracle. I hope you’re still alive!
Nancy caught a taxi back to the apartment. Not wanting to disturb the others at that hour of the morning, she took a quick, quiet sponge bath and changed into fresh clothes. Since she was planning to impersonate Teresa for the second day in a row, she needed to look as neat and together as the tennis star always did.
Before leaving the apartment, Nancy scrawled a quick note, saying that she was okay and explaining that she’d be back later that morning. At this point, Nancy didn’t want to tell the senator any more than she had to.
On the way over to Pringle Press, Nancy stopped at another coffee shop for breakfast, and lots of coffee this time.
Desperate to find out if Dan was okay, Nancy went to the coffee shop’s pay phone and called several of the city’s hospitals, but none of them had admitted a patient by that name. It either meant Dan had escaped injury—or he was dead.
Half an hour later Nancy was riding the gleaming chrome elevator to the fourteenth floor of the Pringle Press Building. Then, quickly and silently reviewing her Teresa Montenegro imitation, she opened the glass door of Pringle Press and strode confidently up to the receptionist.
“Pardon me.” She adopted a hint of a Spanish accent and addressed the middle-aged woman with horn-rimmed glasses who sat behind the desk. “I would like to speak with the president of the company as soon as she arrives, please.”
The woman looked her up and down. “Ms. Pringle will be in shortly. Do you have an appointment?”
“Uh, no, I do not have one, but this is an emergency. I think she will see me.”
“Mm-hm.” The woman did not look at all convinced. “May I have your name, please?” She picked up a ballpoint pen to write it down.
“My name is Teresa Montenegro. M-O-N-T—”
The woman dropped her pen and quickly adjusted her glasses. “You’re the famous tennis player!” She coughed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Ms. Montenegro. I should have recognized you. Why, I’ve seen you play dozens of times! I’m certain Ms. Pringle will be delighted to see you. She’s a great fan of yours, too.”