“I know,” Mrs. Willoughby said ruefully. “But with so many strange things happening, I guess I wasn’t thinking logically.”
Nancy had one more question to clear up regarding Maud Potter. She decided to mention Jean Holmes’ warning about the woman.
“Did any of you notice Maud going into our cottage the day of the fire?” Nancy asked. “Or our room here?”
No one had. Furthermore, Mrs. Willoughby added, “I believe Jean must have been mistaken. When Maud wasn’t with us, she stayed in her room typing. She probably was writing letters of application.”
Presently Nancy excused herself, saying she wanted to take a walk and do some thinking. Once outside, she took a trail toward the river. Drops of rain still sparkled on the foliage.
Nancy’s thoughts reverted to Jean’s story about Maud. “It sounds as though the waitress might not have been telling the truth. But why would she want to incriminate Maud? And why did Jean appear so uneasy when I mentioned ‘blue pipes’?”
The young sleuth suddenly roused from her concentration on the puzzle and became aware of an interesting, gnarled apple tree along the riverbank. Just then she noticed an envelope stuck in a crotch of the tree.
Nancy picked up the damp envelope, wondering if it had blown there during the storm or been placed in the crotch, perhaps for someone to find. There was no stamp or address on the envelope, only a name—Miss Lillie Merriweather.
Suddenly Nancy’s eye was caught by the fact that in the typed name the letter a was very faint. This, as well as the rest of the typing, reminded Nancy suddenly of the envelope found with her charge plate.
“I wonder if they were done on the same machine!” she thought excitedly.
The flap of the envelope had become unsealed from dampness and the girl slid the letter out easily. A pink lilac spray adorned the top left corner of the stationery. A message below it, all typed, read:
Dear Lillie:
I hope we can get together soon. I’ve been busy lining up an important job. Give my best to your dad. Tell him I have a beautiful blue pipe for him. Hope to see you soon.
Hastily, but with love,
Gay
Nancy’s heart was thumping with excitement. Lilacs—“blue pipes”—two envelopes bearing the same type—was someone named Gay her impersonator?
“The name Lillie Merriweather sounds vaguely familiar,” the girl detective thought.
Hastily she slid the letter back into the envelope and put it in the tree. She would alert the police to watch for anyone returning to look for the letter.
As Nancy hurried back to the inn, she recalled Mrs. Willoughby saying that Maud Potter had been typing. By some chance was the director still a possible suspect in the mystery? Was she the person who had typed the envelope containing Nancy’s charge plate?
“I’ll check,” Nancy determined. She went upstairs and knocked on Maud’s bedroom door. It was flung open by the director.
“Yes?” she snapped.
“May I come in?” Nancy asked.
Grudgingly, Maud allowed Nancy to enter and the detective saw that a suitcase was nearly packed. On a desk stood Maud’s typewriter, with a blank piece of paper in the roller.
“Well, Nancy, what do you want?” Maud asked.
Watching the woman closely, Nancy queried, “Have you heard from Gay or Lillie lately?”
“What?” Maud appeared flabbergasted. “I don’t know any Gay or Lillie. Now stop quizzing me as if I had done something criminal.”
“I suppose,” Nancy said icily, “that practically blackmailing Mrs. Willoughby isn’t?”
To her surprise, Maud burst into tears. Between sobs she told Nancy that she had never intended to carry out her threat. “I don’t know why I did it. Hazel has been very good to me. I guess I’ve just been upset and worried about money ever since my husband’s death.”
Nancy could not help feeling a little sorry for the woman. Nevertheless, she asked, “Do you know anything about the time bomb that was set off in my cottage?”
“No!” Maud looked shocked. Nancy was sure she was telling the truth. “I’ve been jealous of you, Nancy,” she admitted, “but I’d never do anyone physical harm.”
As Maud dried her eyes, Nancy walked toward the desk. Nonchalantly she typed out her name on the typewriter. N-a-n-c-y. All the letters were clearly defined. The suspicious envelopes had definitely not been typed on this machine.
She turned to Maud, wished her good luck in her new position, and left. Then Nancy went downstairs and told Helen, Dick, and the Willoughbys about the letter and her interview with Maud. “I’m convinced that Maud won’t cause any more trouble,” she stated. “And now, if you’ll keep everyone out of earshot of the phone, I’ll call the State Police and suggest they watch for Gay.”
Nancy had just finished her conversation when Maud Potter came downstairs. She looked ashamed, and said she would not accept the check Dick offered her. She asked him to use the money for work on the resort. A few minutes later the ex-director left in a taxi.
Suddenly everyone was startled by Mr. Daly rushing frantically from his office.
“Gracious! What’s the matter?” Mrs. Willoughby asked him.
“My blue pipe’s missing! Has anyone seen it?”
“Do you mean the one you were carving from lilac wood?” Nancy asked.
Mr. Daly nodded, saying he had just completed work on the pipe a few hours ago. He had searched everywhere for it. Although. the pipe was of no great value, he had promised it to a friend. No one present had seen the hand-carved piece.
“Why would anyone take it?” Helen puzzled.
At that moment Nancy recalled the wording of Gay’s letter. “Tell him I have a beautiful blue pipe for him.” Could Gay possibly have referred to Mr. Daly’s pipe, and she, or some accomplice, have stolen it for Lillie’s Dad? If so, Gay was certainly familiar with Lilac Inn and its occupants.
At that moment Nancy glanced into the dining room. Jean Holmes was setting tables for supper. Suddenly Nancy had a vivid recollection of the shy waitress staring at Mr. Daly’s pipe while he had been showing it to Nancy. Could Jean have stolen it for Gay? But for what reason?
Saying nothing of her speculations, Nancy asked her friends if the name Lillie Merriweather meant anything to them.
“There’s an actress named Lillie Merriweather,” Helen spoke up. “She plays bit roles on Broadway. I think now she has parts mostly in stock theaters throughout the country.”
“That’s right,” said Mr. Daly. “In fact, I read that she’s with a stock company in Bridgeton, about seventy-five miles from here.”
“Helen, let’s drive to Bridgeton tomorrow!” Nancy proposed excitedly. “I have a hunch Lillie Merriweather can tell us something about the mystery at Lilac Inn!”
CHAPTER XVII
The Net Tightens
HELEN eagerly agreed to go with Nancy to call on Lillie Merriweather, the actress. “It would be fun even if there weren’t a mystery,” she said.
A little later Lieutenant Brice arrived at the inn with another trooper. In Dick’s office Nancy told him about Gay’s letter and the spot near which she had found it.
“We’ll keep watch,” the officer promised. He took the other trooper aside and whispered instructions. The man nodded and left.
Lieutenant Brice then told Nancy and her friends that no clues had been discovered to the person who had placed the time bomb.
“There was an unusual silencer on it, however,” he said. “That’s why you didn’t hear the ticking, Nancy, until a short time before the bomb was due to explode.”
The officer also said that besides the red panel truck, several other cars in the area had been stolen. “Some of the vehicles have been recovered, but there’s still no sign of the red truck. We’ll keep looking,” the lieutenant promised as he left.
Sunday morning Nancy and Helen were up early for church and their trip to Bridgeton. After breakfast the girls went to the parking lot. To their asto
nishment, Nancy’s convertible was not there!
“Good night!” Nancy exclaimed. Rapidly she searched her handbag for the key. It was not there. “I must have left the key in the ignition!” she chided herself.
Helen groaned. “Your car probably was stolen by one of those thieves!”
Just then, John McBride drove into the Tot in his jeep. “Hi!” he greeted the girls. “Why so glum?”
When Nancy told about her missing car, John suggested that he and the girls go off in his jeep and search the grounds before reporting the loss,
“Your car may only have been hidden by a prankster,” he suggested. “This is the day for car trouble,” he added. “I just fixed a flat tire.”
Twenty minutes later the group spotted Nancy’s convertible near a cornfield across the lane from the orchard. They examined the vehicle, and found it intact. The key was in the lock.
“Whoever took it had a short trip,” John commented.
Nancy wondered whether the unknown driver had only played a prank. If so, why? To discourage her from going to Bridgeton? Or had the person planned to steal the car but been scared off?
The girls stepped into the convertible and told John their destination. “Lots of luck,” he said.
The drive to Bridgeton took about an hour and a half. Nancy and Helen arrived in time to attend services in the quaint, white, eighteenth-century church. Then they had lunch at a tearoom.
“Where do we look for Miss Merriweather?” asked Helen as they paid their check. “The theater’s closed today.”
Nancy asked the tearoom manager where the summer stock people were living.
“At the Montrose Hotel, two blocks down.”
Ten minutes later the girls walked into the small hotel. They learned from the desk clerk that the actress and her father had Suite 303.
As Nancy and Helen rode up in the elevator, they reviewed a plan they had worked out earlier. To avoid rousing suspicion, Nancy would pretend to be an actress named Dru Gruen. She would further pretend that she knew Gay but had lost contact. Helen was to pose as a dancer.
As the young sleuth knocked on the door of Suite 303, she was filled with anticipation. Would the visit yield the answer to the mystery, or would it prove to be only a false lead?
The door was opened by a tall, slim young woman, with silver-blond hair. She wore a becoming dress of jade-green silk.
“Yes?” she asked in a throaty voice.
Nancy smiled. “Miss Merriweather? I’m Dru Gruen, an actress, and this is my friend Helga Marsh, a dancer. I understand you know Gay. We’re trying to locate her.”
The actress looked startled. “Gay Moreau?”
“Yes,” Nancy replied without hesitation.
Miss Merriweather invited her callers into an attractive living room. A fine-looking elderly man arose from a chair as they entered.
“Papa,” said the actress, “these young ladies are theater people—Miss Gruen and Miss Marsh. They’re looking for Gay.”
Mr. Merriweather, too, appeared startled. “We haven’t seen Gay in quite some time,” he said. “May I ask why you’re trying to find her?”
“We thought we’d like to have a little reunion,” Nancy explained. “We haven’t seen Gay recently, and don’t know her present address.”
“We don’t know where she’s living, either,” Lillie put in. “I haven’t heard from Gay since the last time I saw her.”
“When was that?” Nancy asked.
“Shortly after she was released from prison.”
Nancy and Helen were amazed to hear this. But they managed to conceal it.
“I imagine,” Nancy said carefully, “that Gay’s been having a hard time.”
Lillie and her father agreed. “Very sad.” Mr. Merriweather sighed. “Gay had talent. But a five-year sentence for check forgery doesn’t help one’s career.”
“I can’t understand why she did it,” Nancy said.
“Probably because Gay was poor most of her life,” Lillie reminisced. “Once success came her way, she spent all her earnings on luxuries. But Gay couldn’t stop buying expensive things. I guess she figured forgery was the easiest way to get more money.”
Mr. Merriweather frowned. “What bothered me was that Gay swore revenge on the person who was instrumental in having her sent to prison.”
“The one whose signature she forged?” Helen asked.
“She didn’t mention the name,” replied Lillie’s father.
“How old is Gay now?” Nancy inquired.
“About twenty-seven,” Lillie answered.
“I wonder,” Nancy pursued, “if she still likes ‘blue pipes’?”
“Oh! Gay must’ve told you that means lilacs!” Lillie exclaimed. “She certainly was crazy about them—even wore lilac colors.”
“Say!” Mr. Merriweather exclaimed. “I wonder if Gay sent me the pipe made of lilac wood I received yesterday. There was no return address on the package, and the postmark was blurred—must’ve gotten wet.”
When he showed the pipe to Nancy, she could scarcely hide her excitement. The pipe looked exactly like Mr. Daly’s! But she asked Lillie in an offhand way if Gay had ever spoken of Lilac Inn,
“Why, yes,” the actress replied. “If you mean the old place in Benton that Gay said she visited as a child, when the inn was owned by a relative of hers—someone who’d lived in the West Indies.”
“He was a Spaniard, I believe,” Nancy put in, “named Ron Carioca.”
“That sounds right,” Lillie said.
Mr. Merriweather spoke up, “You might find Gay in Benton. Maybe she went back for old times’ sake.”
“A good idea. We’ll look there,” Helen said.
Nancy sighed. “I suppose she’s changed quite a bit since—her imprisonment.”
Lillie shook her head. “Surprisingly, no. I’ll show you.” The actress went to a table and picked up a scrapbook of clippings. She thumbed through the pages and pointed out a recent magazine picture of an attractive model with golden hair, “This is Gay. Looks just like her.”
The young sleuth studied the picture. It struck her there was something familiar about Gay’s eyes.
The two girls thanked the Merriweathers and left. They got into the car and headed for Benton. Elatedly, Nancy and Helen discussed everything they had learned—Gay’s last name, the fact that she had been in prison, and her childhood association with Lilac Inn.
“Do you think she is your double, Nancy?” asked Helen. “There’s a resemblance. Besides, being an actress, Gay knows how to use make-up skillfully.”
“Yes. Also, the color of her hair is similar to mine,” Nancy added.
“But,” said Helen, “I can’t understand why Gay decided to impersonate you in the first place.”
“I’m inclined to think it had nothing to do with the mystery of Lilac Inn in the beginning,” Nancy replied. “She wanted clothes and jewelry, so took my charge plate. But later she decided to use the disguise to keep John and me from our skin-diving trip.”
“You mean Gay was at the inn?”
“Yes. Under an assumed name, of course.”
Helen grinned at the young sleuth. “And next you’re going to tell me who she was. Well, one person she couldn’t have been was Mary Mason. You saw her in Dockville, and said she’s heavier and older than you.”
Nancy pursed her lips. “I never checked the description of that Mary Mason with Emily. She may not have been the Mary who worked at the inn, but was in league with her, and was asked to pose as Mary Mason, waitress.”
Helen was amazed. “Nancy, you’re a whiz. Gay and Mary probably are the same person.”
“That’s what I suspect, Helen. First, we’ll check with Emily.”
When the girls reached the inn, they questioned Emily. “Now that I think of it, Nancy,” Emily said, “Mary Mason was about your height and weight, and her coloring’s like yours.”
“That settles it,” said the young sleuth. “I’m going to talk to Chief McG
innis immediately.” With her friends covering the extension phones, Nancy told him of her suspicions.
“You’ve certainly made great progress, Nancy,” he praised her. “I’ll ask the Dockville police to get a line on the Mary Mason you talked to there.”
“Thank you,” said Nancy, then she called her father. Hannah said that Mr. Drew had gone out to dinner with a client, so Nancy asked the housekeeper to give him a message.
“Of course. Have you solved the mystery?” Hannah inquired hopefully.
Nancy said not yet, but to tell her father that she had an important clue to her impersonator. “Ask him to call me at the inn, please.”
Hannah promised to do so, and said that she hoped to hear the whole story soon. At supper-time John was not present at the table. Helen asked nonchalantly where he was.
“John said he had an errand to do,” Dick replied.
When the meal was over, Nancy encountered Jean Holmes in the center hall. “If anyone should phone me, will you please call me,” she requested. “I’m going outside for a walk.”
“I’ll be glad to, Miss Drew,” said the waitress.
Actually Nancy wanted to find Carl Bard and ask the guard if he had seen anything suspicious or obtained any clue to her double. She met him coming toward the inn to supper.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied to her questions. “It’s been very quiet here.”
Nancy thanked him and walked off. She strolled through the grounds, thinking over the day’s events. Who had used her car? Had John any idea as to the driver’s identity? Was it the person responsible for the flipper tracks John had examined several days ago in the orchard?
Nancy continued toward the water reflectively, but did look back, wondering if by chance anyone might be following her. Suddenly she saw Jean Holmes emerge from the kitchen door of the inn. No one else was in sight.
“She’s probably looking for me,” Nancy thought. “Chief McGinnis or Dad must have phoned.”
Nancy expected Jean to call out her name, but she did not do so. The young sleuth was about to hail the girl when she noticed that Jean was carrying a small suitcase. She glanced furtively from left to right, then headed for the river. Some instinct caused Nancy to duck behind a large oak. Jean reached the water and turned right. Nancy stealthily followed the waitress.