After the gas tank was filled, Nancy paid him, and he slowly counted the bills she handed him. “Well, now about that silver car,” the man said. “I’ve seen three or four of ’em tonight.”
“Have you known all the drivers?” Nancy asked.
“Yeah, I know ‘em all. Which one you looking for?”
“Sorry,” Nancy said, putting her change in her pocket. “I’m looking for the one you didn’t know.”
As the manager walked away, the squeal of tires cut through the night air like a siren. Nancy looked up and saw a car speeding off past the gas station. It was definitely a silver car!
7
Brendan Thorndike’s
Missing Heirs
“Don’t tell Bess.”
It was George’s voice whispering in Nancy’s ear, as they watched the mysterious silver car disappear into the night. “She’s fallen asleep in the backseat.”
Nancy nodded.
The whole way back to Boston, Nancy and George watched silently for the silver car that was out there, somewhere, still following them.
A couple of times there was a silver car nearby, in one lane or another. But it wasn’t the model they were looking for.
“It’s worse when we can’t see him,” Nancy commented.
Just before they reached the hotel, Nancy motioned to George to make a quick right turn.
“I thought I just saw a car of the same make behind us,” she explained. They circled the hotel three times, just to make sure they were really alone.
“The last thing we need is that guy coming after us in our hotel room!” Nancy whispered to George.
Finally, their car was parked in the hotel garage, and the girls headed up to their room. All three sprawled out on their beds.
“We need answers,” George said, sipping a ginger ale from their own little room refrigerator.
“Yes,” Nancy said. “But you can’t get all the answers until you know all the questions.”
“Okay — here’s a question: Who’s the guy in the silver car, and why did he follow us from the airport?” George said.
“No. The more important question is: Why didn’t he catch us? He could have — but he always hung back,” Nancy said.
Bess and George waited expectantly for Nancy to answer her own question. Nancy thought carefully for a minute to be sure she was right.
“Well, I think he didn’t want to catch us. He just wanted to scare us,” Nancy finally said. “He did a great job,” Bess replied. She got up from the bed and headed for the bathroom. “Tell you what. After I have a bath in that enormous tub with the gold faucets, I’ll come back and help you guys solve this case. But first, I need a bubble bath!”
When Bess was gone, Nancy turned back to George. “Next question?”
“Okay — who is Markella Smith?” George asked.
“Don’t know,” Nancy said.
“And why did she come such a long way to steal Meredith’s veil?”
“Don’t know,” Nancy said. “Did she steal Meredith’s veil?”
“Don’t know,” George said.
Nancy rolled over and began doodling on a pad that said Ritz-Carlton on the top of every page. Although George’s questions were good ones, Nancy had a bunch of even better ones herself.
Such as: Why was Meredith’s ex-boyfriend, Tony, hanging around outside Cecelia’s place? And why didn’t Rose Strauss seem to care whether or not Nancy found the veil? And why was Meredith’s veil so important to someone in the first place?
Nancy wrote down each question as it popped into her head.
Twenty minutes later, Bess came out of the bathroom with clean hair and a fresh attitude.
“Okay — let’s get to work and figure this mystery out,” she said. “Where do we start, Nancy?”
But Bess was a little too late.
“My head’s spinning,” Nancy said. “I think I need to cool out for a little while and forget the case. Is there anything on TV?”
Bess marched over to the television and flipped it on. Then she plopped down on her bed, wrapping up in the silk-covered comforter. Her plan of action was to sit with the remote control in one hand and a bag of sour-cream-and-chive potato chips in the other.
She flipped around the channels.
“Mrs. Clayton Bugle,” a smiling, blue-eyed game-show host was saying to the contestant. “Your category is numbers. For one thousand dollars, tell me how many bristles there are in the average toothbrush.”
Click! went the remote control. The screen flipped to a family sitcom. A handsome blue-eyed father was talking to his handsome blue-eyed teenage son.
“Alan, why do you always fight and argue with your sister?” the father asked.
“Gee, Dad,” said the son. “Isn’t it against the law to shoot her?”
The laugh track thought it was hilarious, but Bess didn’t. So she changed the channel again. This time she came up with the local Boston news. The newscaster had blue eyes.
“… no developments on the mystery all of Boston is watching — the mystery of Brendan Thorndike’s missing heirs,” the TV anchorman said.
“Why does everyone on television have blue eyes?” George wondered out loud.
“Shhh … I want to hear this,” Bess said, munching a chip.
“Everyone is waiting to see if any true heirs of Brendan Thorndike will be found,” the newscaster continued. A picture of a stern, elderly man appeared on the screen, captioned Brendan Thorndike. “For several weeks, the search for a son, daughter, or grandchild has been conducted by Jason Moss, the new head of the Thorndike Companies. So far, although nearly two hundred people have presented themselves claiming to be relatives of Thorndike, Jason Moss says that no legitimate heirs have turned up.
“Recently, however, Channel 8 learned that Jason Moss himself stands to inherit the entire sixty-million-dollar fortune if no other heirs are found. We talked to Mr. Moss this afternoon in his office about his role in the Thorndike empire.”
Suddenly a thin and handsome man of forty came on the screen. His suit jacket was off and his shirt sleeves were rolled up. The name superimposed at the bottom of the screen said: Jason Moss, President, Thorndike Companies.
“Mr. Moss,” asked the Channel 8 reporter, “as executor of Mr. Thorndike’s will, it’s your job to find the Thorndike children and grandchildren, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Jason said with a smile. “If there are any.” He seemed completely at ease in front of the cameras.
“Well, some people believe that you’re deliberately trying not to find an heir,” said the reporter. “After all, if you don’t find any heirs, you personally will inherit the money. Isn’t that true?”
“It’s true that Brendan was kind enough to name me in his will,” Moss said, remaining calm. “But I think you should point out to the public that I worked for Mr. Thorndike for twenty years. I know how much finding his children and grandchildren meant to him. Now that he is dead, it means that much to me.”
Then the TV anchorman came back on the screen. Bess turned down the volume and looked around. Nancy and George were both completely transfixed by the story.
“Turn it back up,” Nancy said quickly.
Bess pressed the remote control.
“… following this story as it develops further. Jennifer?” the anchorman said
He turned to the co-anchorwoman sitting next to him.
“Chuck, I think we should remind our viewers why Brendan Thorndike’s heirs are being sought this way,” she said.
“Sure, Jennifer. As you’ll recall, Brendan Thorndike’s wife, Rebecca, divorced him forty years ago, taking their children with her out of the country. She swore he would never see his children again.”
“And Thorndike never did find her,” Jennifer added.
“That’s right,” Chuck said. “At the time, they had a two-year-old daughter and a three-year-old son. They’d be about forty-two and forty-three years old now, if they’re still alive.”
“And what abo
ut Rebecca Thorndike?” Jennifer asked Chuck.
“She wasn’t named in the will,” Chuck replied. “And now for the weather we’ll turn to Diane Luckey.
Nancy got up and clicked off the TV set.
“Pretty interesting,” Nancy murmured to herself. Then to her friends she said, “Can you imagine that? I mean, turning your back on millions of dollars? Rebecca Thorndike must have really hated his guts.”
“Yeah, well, he did look pretty repulsive, George said. “But I’ll tell you who I don’t like — Jason Moss. I don’t trust him.”
“Why not?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t like people who smile when you call them a liar,” George said. Then she turned to Bess. “What do you think, cousin? Am I right?”
“Don’t call me cousin. Maybe we’re not related,” Bess said to George. “Maybe I was kidnapped as a baby! Maybe I was adopted and I’m really the long-lost granddaughter of Brendan Thorndike!”
Bess dissolved in laughter and fell back on the bed, hugging her pillow. “You guys had better be nice to me,” she added. “I’m going to inherit sixty million dollars!”
Just before the sun came up the next morning, Nancy’s internal alarm clock woke her up. Quietly she slipped out of bed and carried the phone, with its long cord, into the bathroom. She dialed a number.
“Hello,” a young man mumbled into the phone. His voice was sleepy and angry about the early morning call.
“Tony Fiske?” Nancy asked.
“Yeah. Who is this?” he said.
“You don’t know me,” Nancy said. “But I promised Meredith Brody that I’d get her wedding veil back.”
“Well, well,” Tony said. He didn’t sound surprised and he didn’t sound scared. “You think I’ve got it?” He laughed a little.
“You’re the first person I’d call,” Nancy said. Two can play at this tough-guy game, she thought.
“Okay, let’s talk about it,” Tony said. “But you can’t come over. We’ll have to meet somewhere, and it has to be soon. How about the Boston Tea Party ship? Be there at nine o’clock. I’ll be wearing — “
But Nancy didn’t let him finish. “I know what you look like. I’ll find you,” she said.
“Hey, miss,” Tony said. “I don’t like people pushing me too hard. Just ask Meredith Brody.”
The line went dead.
It was only 7 A.M., so Nancy got dressed quickly for a run. After her conversation with Tony Fiske, the early morning air felt clean and fresh. The Boston Common, across from the hotel, was perfect for running, and it looked beautiful. For a moment, though, Nancy hesitated, Maybe this wasn’t the best time to go out running alone. But then she noticed that there were other early morning runners already out, so she went on.
When she got back after her run, George and Bess were still sleeping. She showered, changed, and left them a note saying she had gone to the Boston Tea Party ship to meet with Tony.
She decided to take a cab the short distance, and soon found herself boarding the popular tourist attraction. Even at nine in the morning, it was fairly crowded, mostly with kids and their parents. Nancy scanned the faces for Tony, as teenagers took snapshots of each other and a few kids tried to climb the masts.
People lined up to toss wooden tea chests overboard, just as the American rebels had done two centuries before. Nancy smiled when she realized that the chests were tied to ropes so that they could be pulled back on board for the next person in line.
By nine-thirty Tony still wasn’t there, and Nancy was beginning to think he wouldn’t come.
Then she heard a woman saying, “Don’t push — you’ll get your turn.” Nancy turned around and saw Tony crowding an old man and woman. He was carrying a green tote bag and holding onto it tightly. Was the veil inside?
Nancy picked up a wooden tea chest and gave it a toss. She waited for the splash and then walked over to Tony.
“Good morning,” she said. “As I mentioned on the phone earlier, I’m looking for Meredith’s stolen veil.”
“Right, my heart bleeds for Meredith,” Tony said. His dark looks matched his attitude. “You a friend of hers?”
“I’m the person you’re going to give the veil to. Is that it?” Nancy said, pointing at the green tote bag.
“Could we talk softly? I don’t want to be overheard.”
“Are you afraid of something?” Nancy said.
Tony didn’t answer right away. It was as though he wanted to say something but then changed his mind. “Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“Never mind,” Nancy said. “I just want to ask you some questions. Like why were you waiting outside Cecelia Bancroft’s house yesterday morning?”
“It’s a free country, remember? Anyway, I didn’t come here to be quizzed. You mentioned you wanted the veil. Are you willing to pay? ‘Cause it’s going to cost you. It’s going to cost you a lot.”
“What are you talking about?” Nancy asked.
“I figure this veil is worth ten bills to me.” He enjoyed it so much he said it again. “Ten thousand dollars.”
Nancy’s mouth fell open.
“The veil isn’t worth ten thousand dollars, Tony,” Nancy said evenly. “It just has sentimental value to Meredith. If you have it, I wish you’d please just give it to me now.”
“I don’t have it,” Tony interrupted. “But I could get. it for you — for the right price. Ten bills. Yes or no?”
“Has someone else offered you money for the veil?” Nancy had to be sure she was hearing right. “Who?” She grabbed the green bag.
“I’m not crazy enough to tell you that, “ he said, pulling the bag away from Nancy. “Now what do you say — yes or no?”
“No. I don’t have that kind of money,” Nancy said. “And anyway, I wouldn’t pay you for something that rightfully belongs to Meredith.”
“Then just stay out of my way, and don’t ruin this for me!” Tony said. “’Cause if you’re not careful, you’ll get hurt.”
“You’re threatening the wrong person,” Nancy said angrily.
“I mean it,” Tony said. Then he quickly left the boat, pushing people as he went.
Nancy started to chase him but she couldn’t. Two strong hands had clamped down on her shoulders from behind! She craned her neck, desperately struggling to see who was trying to stop her. But it was no use. The attacker had the grip of a giant.
In an instant, the hands lifted Nancy slightly and pushed her forward over the edge of the ship — headfirst into the icy water below!
8
The Boston Tea Party
Nancy hit the water hard, and sank quickly. The water was freezing. For one terrifying second she was disoriented: She lost track of which way was up. Worse yet, her clothes were becoming heavy with water, dragging, her farther down.
And she was running out of air.
She tried to swim, but her leg hurt when she kicked and she went in the wrong direction. I’ve got to take a breath soon, Nancy thought. I’ve got to figure out which way is up!
Deliberately, Nancy steadied herself and looked around. Sunlight was pouring down through the water. That’s the surface, she thought as she pointed herself in that direction and kicked again. In seconds she broke through the water and took a deep breath of air.
A lot of voices were shouting down to her from above. Bobbing in the water, Nancy could see that the ship’s deck was lined with people who were watching her or taking pictures.
“Are you all right?” shouted someone who worked on the ship. He was dressed in an Indian costume, just as the American rebels had been for the Boston Tea Party.
Nancy treaded water, took another deep breath of air, and then waved. It was a small gesture, but the people above broke into a round of applause and cheers. With tired arms, she swam to the side of the dock where a crowd had formed to greet her. A Tea Party Museum employee pulled her out of the water.
Gratefully she took a beach towel from a young couple who happened to be carrying one, and dried her h
air.
“Did you slip?” asked the employee from the Boston Tea Party Ship Museum.
“She didn’t slip, that’s for sure,” said a voice in the crowd.
Nancy looked up, surprised and pleased that someone had witnessed her fall. The man who spoke up was a tall, muscular man wearing a tan, rumpled suit and a brown, wide-brimmed hat. He moved toward her through the crowd.
“What did you see?” Nancy asked, wiping strands of hair out of her face. “Did you see who pushed me?”
Pushed? The crowd chattered with surprise — except the man in the suit.
“Yeah, I saw plenty,” he said. His voice was firm but flat and unemotional as he pulled a small spiral notebook out of his inside jacket pocket. He flipped a few pages, and started reading. “Six-feet-four male, early thirties, a hundred-eighty pounds. He had platinum blond hair, wore an earring in his left ear, and smoked thin brown cigarettes.”
“Wow,” said Nancy with wide eyes.
“He’s not a pro, either,” the man said, putting his notebook away. “He didn’t beat it out of here. He stayed to watch you hit the water.”
“Wait a minute,” Nancy said slowly. The description had rung a bell. “Wait … did the guy have a cap on?”
The man got out his notebook again. “Oh, yeah, I forgot. A Patriots cap. You know him?”
Nancy shuddered. “I saw him late last night at a gas station in Salem,” she said. Then she eyed the man in the brown suit. “Why were you watching him so carefully?” she asked.
“That’s what I do, when I’m not enjoying the sights,” the man said. He handed Nancy a business card.
It read: Harry Knox, Private Investigator.
“I could find this louse for you,” Harry Knox said. “It wouldn’t be any trouble. I don’t like guys who push young women off national monuments.”
“Thanks, Mr. Knox, but no thanks,” Nancy said, returning his business card. “I don’t have to find him. He’s been following me. Next time, I’ll be ready.”
Harry Knox extended a large, meaty hand, which Nancy took and pulled herself up. “You have a lot of spirit, but not a lot of muscle,” he said. He put his business card in Nancy’s hand again and closed her hand into a fist. “If you need any help — I’m at the other end of the telephone.”