“How?” Bess asked.
Good question. There were three of them and three of us, but I didn’t think we could hold them back physically. Jimmy joined us. “Tony, the convenience store owner, is calling.”
“Do you think you could bring your truck around and block in their cars?” I asked.
He studied the two vehicles, parked about fifteen feet apart. “One of them, anyway. You want me to?”
“Yes. Hurry.”
He took off back around the corner. The men were grunting as they lifted the heavy jacket. “Let’s see if we can keep them from getting that fossil into the SUV,” I said to Bess.
Abby and her sons froze as we stepped around the garbage cans. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said. We stood between them and Abby’s SUV.
“You again!” Abby muttered. “What are you doing here?”
“Just stopped to say hi,” I said.
She turned to her sons. “Do something!”
They stood holding the jacket between them, sweat glistening on their faces. The older one grunted, “Like what? We’re kind of busy here.”
“Well, put that thing in the car and get these girls out of here!”
We did a kind of dance as the brothers tried to move toward the SUV, and Bess and I kept in their way. Finally Abby rushed forward and shoved Bess, who stumbled into me. As we caught our balance, Abby held out her arms to keep us back, while her sons staggered forward a few more steps.
An engine roared, and Jimmy’s truck whipped around the corner. “Block the SUV!” I called, pointing. He stopped directly behind it.
The brothers groaned and started staggering back toward their vehicle. When they got close, Jimmy pulled forward so he was behind it.
I guess the boys decided to cut their losses. They exchanged one look and dropped the jacket without a word. I winced as it hit the ground with a thud, and hoped the thick plaster coating would protect it.
“Mom, let’s get out of here!” one of them yelled. They ran toward the SUV. Abby stopped trying to grapple with us and sprinted around to the driver’s door. The boys tumbled into the back.
Jimmy backed up his car to block the SUV
Abby gunned the engine and backed up anyway. Her SUV smashed into the truck bed. Metal screamed and crumpled. The SUV shoved the truck back several feet. Abby turned the wheel and pulled forward. The front corner of the SUV scraped the wall as she tried to squeeze out.
Brakes screeched as a Land Rover swung around the corner. The SUV shuddered to a stop inches away. Kyle, Steffi, and George gaped at us through the windshield.
The SUV had no more room to maneuver. For a moment no one moved. Then Abby jumped out and tried to run around Jimmy’s truck. Her sons slid out of the SUV a moment later.
They were heading for the red truck, but they didn’t have much chance now. I ran forward and blocked the driver’s door. Jimmy jumped out and grabbed at one of the brothers, while Bess planted herself in front of the other one.
George, Kyle, and Steffi joined us. A man came out of the store and called in a Spanish accent, “The police are coming! You need help?”
We had them surrounded. Abby glared at us. Her older son glanced around wildly, as if looking for an escape. The younger son gave up first. With a sigh, he turned and placed his hands on the car, his feet spread. He acted as though he had been arrested before.
Sirens sounded in the distance, then grew louder. A police car pulled around the corner. An officer jumped out and Jimmy quickly explained the situation. They got Abby and her sons in a line along the side of the truck. Another police car pulled up before the first officer had finished reading their rights.
“Thanks for your help,” Kyle said as we watched. “How did you connect Abby to those men?”
I grinned and explained about our research. I turned to Abby as a police officer led her to his car. “Did you legally change your name to Morningstar?”
She scowled, and then relented. “I guess you’ll find out. Eback was my married name. When I divorced, I changed to Morningstar.”
“And all that stuff about organic food and nature spirits?” George asked. “That was all an act?”
Abby shrugged. “It helps sell crystals and jewelry. Besides, I figured no one on the dig would suspect me if they thought I was that kind of nut. But the real money is in rare fossils. One good Internet deal, and I make more money than the store makes in a year.”
“Did you tell your sons to put the snake in our tent?” I asked.
She sneered. “I did that myself. Who do you think taught them to handle snakes and spiders? They spotted the coyote den when they were out driving yesterday, but I was the one who led you to it.” She sighed. “Obviously, it didn’t do any good.”
Abby joined her sons in the back of the police car, and the officer drove off. The other officer got into his car and spent several minutes on the radio. Kyle crouched over the fossil. He examined it, then let out a sigh of relief. “The jacket looks all right!” He grinned up at us. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you all came on this dig.”
We helped Kyle get the fossil into the back of the Land Rover. Tony brought out an armload of sodas and passed them around, demanding the details of the story.
The second police officer got out of his car. “Looks like the Feds will be involved in this one. Oh, by the way—there’s a ten-thousand-dollar reward for this capture. I guess you girls get it.”
George gasped. I could almost see her counting off the things she could buy with her share. Then I saw Kyle put his arm around Steffi and pull her close. Jimmy was telling Tony about his part in the capture. He looked proud, but when he gestured toward his crumpled truck, he sighed.
I looked at George and Bess. George groaned. “We’re not going to get any of the money, are we?”
“Just think,” Bess said. “Jimmy could fix his truck and get started at college. Kyle and Steffi could put the money toward a down payment on a house. What do we need that compares to that?”
George sighed and nodded.
“I’ve had an adventure,” I said. “You couldn’t buy that with any amount of money. It sounds to me like a happy ending all around.”
Kyle called over to us. “Are you ready to go back to the dig? I don’t think Jimmy’s truck is going anywhere, but he can come back with us. We still have a couple of jackets to haul out this afternoon, after lunch.”
“Lunch,” George said. “Now that sounds like a happy ending.”
Think Nancy’s done solving crimes?
Think again!
Read ahead to get a sneak peek
of the first book in the new Nancy Drew trilogy:
Pageant Perfect Crime
Is it my birthday?” my friend Bess asked, fluffing her hair in the rearview mirror as she slid into the passenger seat of my car. “Do you owe me a favor? Or is it just my lucky day?”
I smiled as I pulled the car back into the street. “Bess, what are you talking about?”
“How many times does Nancy Drew call me up and say she wants to go shopping? I’ll tell you how many times: never.”
“Bess, come on.” But I couldn’t help smiling a little: Bess was right. She’s always decked out in the latest fashions; I’m happy if my pants match my shirt. When Bess talks to me about clothes, she usually has to stop and explain what a “bubble skirt” or an “empire waist” is.
“Let me guess,” Bess went on, pausing to turn to me with a mischievous grin that showed her dimples. “You don’t really want to go shopping. I’m betting you have an ulterior motive. A little snooping to do? Some questions to ask?”
I shook my head and pretended to sigh. “Oh, Bess, you know me too well.”
“I was surprised you even knew what Fleur was.”
I nodded. “Have you shopped there before?”
“Actually I just heard about it.” Bess reached into her purse and pulled out a fashion magazine. “Pose magazine says it has the best espadrilles for summer. But I never
heard a word about it before—you know, before the big scandal.”
My mouth dropped open. “You know about the scandal?”
“With Miss Pretty Face and the shoplifting? Sure. Nancy, where have you been?”
I shrugged. I was beginning to wonder how I’d missed out on the River Heights Scandal of the Year myself. “I guess … snooping?”
Bess laughed. “I guess. Seriously, you should make more time to watch the local news. Or at least Extra.” She pointed to a small, neatly landscaped minimall on the right. “I think it’s in here, way in the back.”
I pulled in and we drove around for awhile before I realized what Bess meant: way in the back, hidden on the other side of the building. Finally, I parked in front of Fleur, a handsome store with two big display windows filled with mannequins in sparkling cocktail dresses.
“So what are you investigating now?” Bess asked, shoving the magazine back into her purse. “A shoplifting ring? A credit card scam? Is Fleur unwittingly selling counterfeit purses or jewelry?”
I shook my head. “Believe it or not, it’s the scandal you mentioned.”
“Miss Pretty Face?” Bess looked surprised. “Portia Leoni?”
I nodded.
“I thought that was over and done with,” Bess said. “She did it. They caught it on tape. End of story, right?”
I shook my head again. “It’s not that simple. She says she had an agreement with the store to borrow the dresses for free publicity. But after she picked them up, the shop owner changed her story. She thinks someone set her up. And if I don’t find out who, she might lose her scholarship and have to leave the university.”
“Hmmmm.” Bess stared at the display window, thoughtful. “Well, if anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s you, Nancy.”
• • •
Inside, Fleur was abuzz with activity. Business women swished skirts off display racks, high school kids tried on accessories, and an angry mob surrounded the espadrilles, all fighting to grab the ones featured in Bess’s magazine. Bess split off to join the mob as I walked around, getting the lay of the land. I had to admit, a lot of the clothes they carried were really cute. But I never would have found this place if Bess hadn’t known where to go.
Near the counter, a middle-aged woman with short auburn hair was helping an older woman match a bracelet to a cocktail dress. “We just got these in last week,” she said, holding a jet bracelet up to a red-and-black beaded dress. “I wasn’t sure when I ordered them, but in person, they’re absolutely gorgeous.”
Aha, I thought. If she’d ordered merchandise for the store, she had to be the shop owner, my target.
I lingered around the counter while the older woman bought the dress and bracelet. Then I sauntered over. “Good morning,” I said warmly.
“Good morning,” the shop owner responded, giving me the once-over. Her voice cooled a bit when she saw my outfit of worn T-shirt and khakis. “I’m Candy. Can I help you with something?”
“I hope so,” I said, smiling. “I actually have some questions.”
She nodded. “Need help with sizes?”
“Not really,” I said, and leaned closer. “I was actually wondering about an incident that happened here. A shoplifting incident. With—”
But Candy’s face had already changed, closing off completely. “If you’re asking about the Miss Pretty Face scandal, I’ve already discussed that matter with the police.”
I decided to try a different tactic. “Actually, I work for the university bookstore,” I lied, “and Ms. Leoni just applied for a position with us. I told her we couldn’t possibly hire a shoplifter, but she had a different version of what happened here. She says she was told to pick up the dresses by someone from the pageant, and that you seemed to know about that when she came by to get them. Perhaps there was some kind of misunderstanding?” I raised my eyebrows hopefully.
But Candy was having none of this. “Portia Leoni is a liar,” she whispered fiercely, looking around the store to see if anyone was watching. “The camera doesn’t lie, Ms.—”
“Drew,” I supplied.
Candy nodded. “Ms. Drew. I’m not going to discuss this any further. What reason could I possibly have to lie about a theft in my own store?” She looked up at me, but I caught something strange in her expression. Nervousness—almost as though, deep down, she was worried I might know a reason she would lie.
“Nobody’s calling you a liar,” I said carefully. “I just—
“Good day,” Candy spat, and abruptly turned away to approach another customer. “May I help you find a size, Miss?”
I stood at the counter for a moment, stunned. Wow. She really doesn’t want to talk about it, I thought. Here’s something funny about people who are telling the truth: They’ll talk about anything. Embarrassing incidents, controversies, whatever. A person who’s telling the truth has nothing to hide. Liars, on the other hand—they’ll avoid the subject at all costs. And half the time, they’ll try to make you feel bad for bringing it up.
I had a pretty strong suspicion which category Candy fell into.
I wandered over to find Bess, who was eyeing a butter-colored leather handbag while she chatted with a sales clerk.
“… one hundred percent leather,” the sales clerk was saying. “And if you feel it, you can tell it’s of the highest quality.”
Bess sighed, running her fingers over the purse’s surface. “It is beautiful,” she agreed. “It’s just a little outside my price range. Do you think it might go on sale soon?”
The sales clerk—her nametag said ‘Dahlia’—shook her head, looking apologetic. “Probably not,” she advised with a little shrug of her shoulders. “Business has been so busy lately. We haven’t had a sale since … well, since before that Miss Pretty Face thing.”
Hmmmm. I leaned in.
“So business picked up after that?” Bess prompted.
Dahlia nodded. “Oh yeah, tons. It went from being dead in here to being packed, all the time. In fact”—she glanced over at Candy, saw that she was still busy helping the woman she’d left me for, and lowered her voice—“it’s kind of weird, but before the shoplifting? We were told the store might close at the end of the month. With this lousy location, we couldn’t get any customers.”
Bess turned to meet my eye. I could tell she knew I was putting something together.
“Hmmm,” she said, stroking the purse one last time. “Well, thanks for your help, Dahlia. I’m going to pass on the purse today. But congrats on the great business—I’ll have to come back and check out your new stock next week.”
Dahlia smiled, took the purse back, and then turned to help another customer. I gave Bess a little nod, and we strolled out of the store and back to my car and climbed in. Still thinking it over, I turned the key in the ignition.
“So,” said Bess with an expectant look, “any helpful info?”
I nodded slowly. “The owner sticks to her story, that it was a shoplifting,” I said. “But there’s something off about her. She seemed tense—like she had something to hide.”
Bess nodded. “And what Dahlia said?” she asked. “About the store almost closing? I could see all the gears turning in your mind.”
I smiled. “It’s odd, isn’t it? The store was losing money until Portia supposedly shoplifted, and then all of a sudden business was booming.”
“What do you think it means?” Bess asked.
I sighed. “Maybe someone paid Fleur’s owner to accuse Portia of shoplifting,” I replied. “If they were losing money and the store was about to close, that makes them ripe for a bribe.”
“Hmmm.” Bess reached out and tapped her fingers on the dash. “So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s possible that someone did set Portia up. But who, and why? And how can I even figure out the answers to any of these questions when I know nothing about the pageant itself?”
I drove a bit, and suddenly became aware of a change in Bess??
?s expression. She was staring at me, grinning. When I turned and looked at her at a stoplight, she looked like she was about to explode—like Christmas, her birthday, and a half-off sale at Macy’s had all arrived on the same day, right then.
“Nancy,” she said. “You know what you have to do?”
I shook my head. “What?”
Bess bounced up and down in her seat, fishing a pamphlet out of her purse. “You have to compete for Miss Pretty Face!”
She handed me the pamphlet. In the few seconds before the light changed, I read:
Are you the next Miss Pretty Face River Heights? All young women aged 16-18 are invited to join our pageant! Compete for scholarships, endorsements, and the opportunity to represent the best in your generation!
“You have got,” I said, pulling away as the light changed, “to be kidding.”
“Nancy, it’s perfect! You qualify, and you’re adorable! Plus it would get you right into the middle of things—meeting all the pageant bigwigs, figuring out who had the most to gain!”
I bit my lip.
“You know it makes sense,” Bess argued. “I could help you, be your fashion coach. I’m sure George would help too. It’s a great opportunity! Maybe you’d even win!”
I shuddered. “Nancy Drew, Pageant Girl?”
Bess rolled her eyes. “Don’t be a snob, Nancy. Come on.”
I sighed, pulling up to Bess’s house. I’m about the least pageanty person in the universe. I hardly ever wear makeup, and I doubt “snooping” counts toward the talent competition. I tried to picture myself up on a stage—huge hair, sparkly dress, blinding smile, crying demurely as a tiara was placed on my head.
Not that I’d ever win.
I looked at Bess, who was looking at me with that excited, expectant look. If this was Christmas morning, I had become Bess’s Santa Claus.
“All right,” I said, covering my ears to block out Bess’s shriek of joy. “I’ll do it.”
Carolyn Keene, The Stolen Bones