George chuckled. "Hear that, Bess? You should love it here."
"Will you please knock it off? How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not here to hunt guys," Bess declared. "Anyway, who cares? It's strictly buddy-buddy in coed dorms, right, Ned?"
"So I hear," he confirmed.
Their room was on the third floor. It was part of a suite that had its own bathroom and kitchenette. Nancy loved it.
"Who usually lives here?" she asked.
"It's a spare suite," Ned informed her. "The school keeps it for special visitors." He handed them each a key to the room and another to the dorm's side entrance.
Nancy tossed her duffel bag at the foot of one of the beds, then walked with Ned to the door. "Thanks," she said softly. "Uh, Ned . . . any chance we can get together while I'm here?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing. Won't you be pretty busy tackling this case?"
"Not that busy, I hope."
"Good." He smiled. "Omega Chi Epsilon is having a party tonight after the game. Care to go with me?"
Happiness flooded through her. "You bet!" She grinned. "Can Bess and George go, too?"
"Of course. Just wait for me outside the gym after the game, okay?"
"Okay!"
He kissed her then. It was nothing heavy--just a "see you later" sort of kiss--but it was enough for Nancy. Her heart soared.
"Will you look at the size of that crowd!" Bess whistled in amazement.
The three girls were walking toward the sports complex for that evening's game against St. George's College. A noisy line several hundred people long stretched from the main entrance to the middle of the parking lot. Homemade banners and purple-and-orange Emerson pennants were everywhere.
"Gee, I hope we'll be able to get hi!" George said.
"We will, don't worry. The gym holds at least four thousand," Nancy told her.
"Good," Bess put in, "but where are the other team's supporters going to sit?"
"Outside, if the Emerson fans have anything to say about it."
As they joined the line, however, Nancy noticed that not everyone was there to cheer on the rival teams. Up near the doors, which were not yet open, a group of sign-carrying students was staging a protest. She could hear jeering voices from the crowd, urging them to get lost.
"I wonder what's going on?" she said curiously.
"Why don't you and George check it out? I'll hold our places," Bess offered.
"Thanks. Let's go."
As she and George drew close, Nancy saw that the signs the protesters carried read "Say 'No' to Burnett's Budget!" and "Scholarship Before Sports!" The protesters seemed discouraged by the crowd's hostility, but their leader--a brown-haired, confident-looking boy--was determined to continue the demonstration.
"C'mon . . . we can't give up yet!" he roared. "Hey . . . how about you two girls? Will you sign our petition?" He thrust a clipboard at Nancy and George.
Nancy glanced at the letter it held. There were only half a dozen signatures on it. "Uh . . . I don't know. What does it say?"
"It demands that the trustees assign less money to the Physical Education department in next year's budget."
George bristled. "Why should they do that? Physical education is important!"
"Sure, but not more important than academics. Yet each year the P.E. department gets more money than any other. It's not fair."
"Yes it is," George countered. "Sports programs are expensive."
The boy's face darkened. "Oh, I get it--you're a jock. You care more about the locker room than about the classroom."
"And you'd rather grind than unwind!" George shot back. "Tell me something--what makes you think you know what's best for this school?"
"Well, for one thing I'm president of the student council. Tom Stafford's the name, in case you didn't know."
"I didn't. But I still say sports are important."
"Typical," Tom said, turning away in disgust. "You jocks are all alike--all brawn, no brains."
Now Nancy was angry, too. She believed strongly in free speech, but the student leader's last remark was too much.
"That's not fair. I know plenty of athletes who are also excellent students," she said.
Tom pivoted. "Sure. Name one!"
"My boyfriend, Ned Nickerson."
The change that came over Tom at the mention of Ned's name was striking. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. His voice grew cold. "You go out with the Big Nick, huh? Well, congratulations. I hope you're enjoying your share of the school's money."
"My what?" Nancy asked, astonished.
"You know what I'm talking about," Tom hinted darkly. "Tell me, do you and Ned toast the trustees when you're out on the town?"
"Just what are you implying?" she demanded. "What do our dates have to do with trustees or school money or anything?"
George tugged on her arm. "Come on, Nancy, this guy's a jerk. Let's go."
"Not until he explains himself! He's insulting Ned! And I'm not going to let him get away with it!"
"Nancy, come on! The line's beginning to move."
Reluctantly, Nancy abandoned her argument with Tom Stafford and rejoined the line. In no time they were inside, climbing the bleachers to their seats. She explained what had happened to Bess, who agreed that Tom was out of his mind.
"How someone like that could be elected president of the student council is beyond me," she remarked.
"Me, too."
Nancy seethed quietly. Once the game began, however, she gradually forgot the encounter. The action was fast and exciting, and it was impossible not to be swept up by it.
St. George's had a good team, but they were no match for Emerson's razzle-dazzle offense and their tough, relentless defense. Several times Ned took possession on the rebound and led his team in fast break drives down the court. The score climbed, and by the end of the first half Emerson was ahead by an eighteen-point margin.
"Looks like the game's in the bag," Nancy said to George during half time.
"Sure looks that way." George grinned back.
But a few minutes later Nancy realized she had spoken too soon. Shortly after the jump ball that began the second half, the action came to a halt as a blood-curdling scream rang out!
Chapter Three
AN EERIE SILENCE descended in the gym. It didn't last, however. A second later a murmur rose from the bleachers. On the court, a referee blew his whistle for a time-out. Nancy noticed security guards hurrying toward the Emerson bench, and without a moment's hesitation she joined them.
The scream had come from the pretty, freckle-faced student who masqueraded as the team mascot, the Emerson Wildcat, Nancy discovered. The girl was standing behind the bench in tears. She wore the Wildcat costume, minus the head, but it hung from her limbs in tatters.
It had been slashed to ribbons!
"I don't understand. . . . I only had it off for a few minutes!" the girl sobbed. "I was taking a break, and . . . and when I put it back on . . ." Her sobs grew louder.
"Don't worry, it isn't your fault," the head cheerleader consoled her. "It could have happened to anyone."
Nancy pushed through the crowd around the unhappy girl. "Excuse me . . . where did you put the costume while you were on your break?"
"In the cheerleaders' locker room, as always," the girl said, wiping her eyes with her fingers.
"Was the room locked?"
"No, it never is, as far as I know."
"Did you notice anyone hanging around in the corridor outside it?"
"No! The hall was empty and so was the locker room."
"Too bad," Nancy muttered. Obviously, the practical joker had struck again. She had hoped to gain some clues to his or her identity, but it appeared that none had been left.
Disappointed, she turned away. As she did, she saw that the team members were staring at the damage to their mascot. Their expressions ranged from shock to fear. Probably they were wondering if the next practical joke would involve one of them being slashed, she guessed.
Someone else was looking at the damage, too, she discovered a moment later--Tom Stafford. He was hovering inconspicuously at the edge of the crowd, but thanks to her earlier encounter with him she picked him out right away. Could he have slashed the costume? There was no way to be sure, of course, but the satisfied expression on his face made her very suspicious.
Nancy decided to question him. By the time she reached the spot where he had been standing, however, he was gone.
When the game began again it quickly became clear that Emerson had lost its edge. St. George's scored three times in less than one minute, and a series of fouls by Emerson players only made the situation worse. With ten minutes left, Emerson's lead had dropped to a slim four points.
Nancy cheered herself hoarse. If Emerson didn't pull together soon, she knew, they'd lose the game--and with it their chances of making the NCAA playoffs.
The score seesawed, but finally, with just five minutes left to play, Emerson began to rally. Coach Burnett called for a full court press--an aggressive defense pattern. It was a risky move, but it worked. Frustrated, St. George's lost its momentum. The rhythm of the game shifted. Once again Emerson regained the upper hand. When the final buzzer sounded, the score was Emerson 79, St. George's 73.
Afterward, Nancy and her friends went with Ned to his fraternity, Omega Chi Epsilon, for the victory celebration.
"All right, let's party!" George said as they entered the darkened, jam-packed common room.
"You said it. That game was tense. I need to relax," Bess agreed.
The two snaked their way through the noisy crowd to the refreshment table. Nancy stayed where she was, staring blankly at the partyers. She felt Ned's hand on her shoulder.
"Everything okay? You aren't in much of a party mood," he observed.
Nancy smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I guess my mind's still on the game."
"Why? We won, didn't we?"
"Sure, but you almost lost because of that so-called practical joke. I should have known something like that was going to happen."
"Nancy, you couldn't have prevented it."
"Maybe not, but if I had been prepared I might have picked up some clues! As it stands, I've got exactly one suspect and zero evidence."
Ned lowered his eyebrows. "Lighten up on yourself, will you? You've only been on the case for a few hours! You'll crack it."
"I know. I just hope I crack it before another disaster occurs."
"Well, there won't be any disasters at this party, that much I know. In fact, I have a feeling that something nice is about to happen to you."
"Oh, yes?" Nancy felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "Like what?"
"Come here and I'll show you."
She expected him to kiss her, but that wasn't what he had in mind. Instead he took her hand and led her to a quiet corner. They sat together on an overstuffed sofa.
"Here, this is for you." Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Ned pulled out a small package. It was wrapped in white paper and tied with a pink ribbon.
"Ned, you shouldn't have!"
"It's something to help you remember this visit. Go on. Open it!"
Nancy's fingers shook as she unwrapped the gift. It was a delicate silver bracelet, the loveliest she had ever seen. She slid it on.
"It's beautiful! But, Ned, it must have cost a fortune!"
Her boyfriend's face darkened for a split second. Was he angry? Troubled? Before she could decide, the look faded.
"The price doesn't matter. I want you to have it. I've missed you, Nancy."
A lump formed in her throat. "I've missed you, too. And how!"
She threw her arms around him and kissed him--sweetly at first, but then with growing urgency. It felt terrific to be with him again! Silently she vowed not to wait so long between visits the next time.
Suddenly a chorus of voices interrupted them.
"Hey, Nickers, save it for later!"
"Yeah, it's party time!"
"Ned . . . can you hear us, Ned? Uh-oh, looks like we've lost him. Send for an ambulance!"
They fell apart. Around them stood a group of Ned's teammates, all grinning mischievously. Nancy stood and tried--unsuccessfully--not to blush as Ned introduced them.
"Nancy, this is Andy Hall . . ."
She shook the hand of a black youth with a narrow, baby-smooth face. He was the off-guard, she knew, Ned's opposite number on the Wildcats' starting lineup.
". . . and Craig Watson . . ."
Tall, blond, and amazingly cute, Craig was the power forward, or "enforcer," who did the work that made the others look good.
". . . and our center, Howie Little."
Nancy's eyes traveled up . . . and up . . . and up . . . to the face of the tallest boy she had ever met. Howie Little was a towering seven-feet-one. He had deep black skin and sparkling eyes, which were full of humor.
"Hello down there," he said, laughing. His voice was a deep bass, like the lowest notes on a church organ. "It's kind of hard to tell from this distance, Ned, but it looks to me like you've got yourself one pretty girlfriend there."
Everyone laughed, Nancy hardest of all. She liked Howie's sense of humor.
"Where's Mike?" Ned asked, looking around for his friend.
Craig pointed. "Over there. He's still upset about what happened during the game, I guess."
All eyes turned to a couple across the room. Nancy saw Mike O'Shea talking with a short, snub-nosed brunette. His girlfriend, probably. She looked as if she was trying to calm him down. It wasn't working, however. As they watched, Mike pulled away from her and stalked out of the room.
"Mike takes those practical jokes kind of hard," Ned explained to Nancy in a low voice. "Tonight, for instance, after the mascot's costume was slashed he could barely dribble the ball."
"Maybe he's high-strung," Nancy said.
"Strung out is more like it," Andy drawled sourly.
"What do you mean?"
Ned shot Andy a warning look. "All he means is that Mike's been feeling run-down, lately. We've all been feeling run-down! It's been a long, tough season."
Murmurs of agreement followed his remark, but Nancy caught an undercurrent of tension in the air. Were they upset over Mike's poor performance in that night's game, or was there more to it than that? And why was Ned covering up for him? That was very unusual!
Nancy's thoughts were interrupted by a new voice--one that was high, thin, and tinged with an unpleasant edge of sarcasm.
"Aren't you going to introduce me, too?"
"Ray, what are you doing here?" Ned asked.
The newcomer was tall and skinny. He had pale blue eyes, a prominent hooked nose, and red hair that needed to be trimmed. He stared at Nancy.
"I thought you wanted nothing more to do with the Wildcats," Ned added.
"I don't. You can all rot, for all I care. I like a good party, though. So . . . are you going to introduce me, or not?"
"Nancy, this is Ray Ungar. Ray, my girlfriend, Nancy Drew."
Ray's eyes bored into hers. Nancy was used to being checked out, but his reckless expression made her very uneasy.
"So, you're the famous snoop Ned's always bragging about."
"I've solved a few crimes," Nancy said noncommittally.
"A few? Ned makes you sound like a regular Sherlock Holmes. Well, take a tip from me, Ms. Sherlock . . . watch where you poke your nose here at Emerson. It might get cut off."
"Can it, Ray!" Ned said angrily, taking a step toward him. "I know you're carrying a grudge, but take it out on someone else!"
Ray held up his palms. "Hey! I was just giving the lady some advice!"
"Well, save it. In fact, why don't you move along and enjoy the party?"
"Sure, I know when I'm not wanted." Throwing a hostile glance at Andy, Craig, and Howie, he sauntered away.
Nancy was relieved. "Whew! Talk about intense! What's his problem, anyway? And what's all this about a grudge?"
"Ray used to be on the team," Ned explained
. "He wasn't a starter, but he wasn't bad as a forward, either."
"Used to be?"
"Coach cut him this season because he's got a low grade-point average. Now he's bitter. He swears Coach cut him for personal reasons."
"Sounds like he really hates the team."
"That's the understatement of the semester!" Ned agreed grimly. "He won't even come to our games to cheer us on!"
The group gradually drifted apart. As it did, Nancy remembered what she had said to Ned earlier about having only one suspect. Well, scratch that, she thought. Now I have two!
The party wore on, growing louder and wilder by the minute. Nancy met many more of Ned's friends, including Mike's girlfriend, Jan Teller. Finally, around midnight, she went to the refreshment table to pour herself a soda. Bess was there, too, taking a break.
"Having fun?" Nancy asked.
"Believe it!" Bess smiled. "They really know how to party here."
"Did I see you dancing with Craig Watson a little while ago?"
Bess's eyes grew misty. "Yes. He's a great guy. Soooo cute! And such a sharp dresser, too . . . did you notice?"
Nancy hadn't. Glancing across the room, she saw Craig talking to Ned. In his loose-fitting gray wool shirt, pleated flannel trousers, and Gucci loafers, he indeed looked sharp. He could have posed for a layout in a fashion magazine.
"Matter of fact, a lot of these basketball guys have style," Bess went on.
"Really? Who else?"
"Mike and Andy, see?"
The two players were talking together at the other end of the table. Both were dressed very well, Nancy realized. Andy wore an Italian-cut silk suit, and a gold watch flashed on Mike's wrist.
She frowned. "That's odd . . . didn't I read in the game program that Craig, Andy, and Mike are scholarship students?"
"Did you? I don't know."
"Hmmm . . . I'll have to check it out when we get back to our room."
A second later, though, Nancy forgot all about that idea. The disk jockey put on a favorite song of Ned's, and suddenly she wanted to dance. Setting down her drink, she crossed the room and pulled her boyfriend onto the dance floor.
They danced for what seemed like hours. Finally, flushed and happy, Nancy realized that she was worn out. She also needed the bathroom. Excusing herself, she went down the hall, only to find a short line in front of it.