"Yes. He once swore he'd never attend another one as long as he lives."
"Yet there he is among the spectators! Don't you find that odd?"
Understanding flashed in Ned's eyes. "It was a deliberate deception, you mean? We were told we wouldn't see him, therefore we didn't?"
"Right! And it allowed Ray to do what he really wanted to do--sit in the bleachers and enjoy the effects of his practical jokes!"
Beaming, Ned leapt up and crushed her in a joyful hug. "Nancy, you've done it again! Now Mike is in the clear!"
It felt wonderful to have Ned's arms around her again. As she hugged him back, though, something nagged at the back of her mind. After a minute, she pulled away.
"Ned, play it over again, will you?"
"Sure thing. Wait until everyone sees this!"
Nancy shook her head as the scene unfolded once more. The camera focused on Ray for only a second or two, but it was long enough for her to realize that she had been wrong.
"I'm sorry, Ned, but it looks to me like Ray is cheering Mike's basket."
Ned's face fell. "What are you saying?"
"That Ray can't be the practical joker. If he were, then why would he cheer for the Wildcats?"
"But, Nancy, you just said--"
"I know. I spoke too soon."
They reran the tape several more times, but each viewing only reinforced Nancy's belief that her theory was incorrect. Why Ray was supporting Emerson she didn't know, but he was no longer her prime suspect.
Ned reacted angrily. "I don't believe this! One minute you're telling me Mike is okay, and the next you're accusing him again!"
"I can't help it. Facts are facts."
"What facts? That tape doesn't clear Ray."
Not totally, she had to agree. It was possible--just possible--that even though he was cheering for Emerson he was still responsible for the pranks. But Nancy didn't think so.
"Ned, Ray isn't the practical joker. It's just common sense," she stated.
"Oh, sure. He dumps on the team, even holds a pistol to your head, and you call it common sense? Wake up, Nancy! Ray's crazy! Can't you see that?"
"Maybe, but that doesn't make him guilty."
"It doesn't make him look very innocent, either."
"Ned, all we have against Ray are suspicions. With Mike we have hard evidence!"
"That box of packing chips?" Ned snorted. "That's not enough for me. If you're going to change my mind, you'll have to show me more."
Furious, Nancy rose from her chair. All at once she was fed up with Ned's attitude. Why did he have to be so pig-headed? Why did he have to fight her this way? She clenched her fists.
"All right, Nickerson. It's evidence you want? Then evidence you'll get!" She was trembling. "And don't try to stop me!"
"Nancy, what are you planning?"
"Why should I tell you?" she cried.
"I don't want you to get hurt."
She laughed bitterly. "Ha! I don't think you care about me at all!"
With that, she whirled around and stormed from the room.
Nancy was still seething that night as she stood outside the sports complex. Over and over again she pictured Ned's stubborn expression and heard his hostile words. I'll show him, she thought.
Snow was swirling around her, but she didn't go inside. Instead, she stood in the shadows, watching the building's entrance. Once in a while she stamped her feet or rubbed her arms.
She checked her watch. The illuminated dial read 11:35 P.M. There was still time, she knew, but she was mildly worried. The building would close for the night in twenty-five minutes.
Finally, she got her chance. Through the glass entrance doors she saw the security guard leave his desk. Quickly she ran up and slipped inside. She had done it! She had gotten in without signing the guest register!
Walking casually, she made her way to the girls' locker room, entered a toilet stall, locked the door, stood on the seat . . . and waited.
Midnight arrived. As it did, the security guards swept through the building to make sure it was empty. Because they were male, Nancy guessed that they would give the girls' locker room only a superficial glance. She was right. No one bothered to check the stall in which she was hidden, even though its door was shut and locked.
The lights went out. Nancy waited ten minutes, then moved. Her destination lay down a side hall, away from the main thoroughfares, so she didn't have to worry much about running into one of the security guards. Along a row of administrative offices she did have to dart past one lighted doorway, though. Who would still be working at this hour? she wondered briefly. The next moment she forgot her question and continued on.
The basketball team's locker room was open, she found. Slipping inside, she took her car flashlight from her jacket and flipped it on. One by one, she scanned the names taped to the face of each locker until she came to the one she wanted.
Michael O'Shea.
Fortunately, Mike kept an ordinary padlock on his locker. Nancy could crack simple combination locks with no problem, but key types were easier. She drew her lockpick from her pocket and quietly went to work.
She had it open in less than a minute. Mike had the usual assortment of junk in his locker: towels, uniform, sneakers, hand weights, knee brace, ointments, and a sports magazine. He also had an envelope that contained two thousand dollars in twenty-dollar bills, and a list of Emerson's opponents. Beside each one was a negative number: -10, -14, -6, -17. . . .
What did the numbers mean? Nancy hadn't the slightest idea. She was positive about one thing, though: Mike was up to no good!
Suddenly she froze. Footsteps were coming down the hall!
She had to hide. Glancing around quickly, she noticed several old, unused locker sections against one wall. Should she slip into one of those? No, she decided. It would be a tight squeeze and they might not open from the inside. Where then? The showers?
She spotted a better place--the sauna! Darting across the room, she pulled open its wooden door and zipped inside. Through the narrow window in the door, she saw the lights in the locker room come on.
Nancy shrank back against an interior wall, her heart racing. Too late, she realized that she had forgotten to shut Mike's locker! Oh, well. There was nothing she could do about that now. If she was lucky the security guard--or whoever--would think that Mike himself had forgotten to close it. Swallowing hard, she held still and listened.
Outside, there was silence. Then some bumping and scraping began. It sounded as if equipment was being moved around, but she couldn't be sure. Who was it? A janitor mopping floors? Nancy remained motionless as several loud clunks sounded right outside the sauna door.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, there was silence again. The window in the sauna's door went dark, indicating that the locker room lights had been turned off.
Relieved, Nancy waited for a minute, then went to the sauna door to leave. It wouldn't budge. She pushed harder, but still the door wouldn't open. It was blocked from the outside!
Not only that, Nancy realized--the sauna was beginning to get warm! Whoever it was had cranked up the thermostat. She was trapped!
Chapter Eleven
SLOWLY THE TEMPERATURE climbed. How hot could one of these saunas get? Nancy wondered. 110deg? 120deg? Hotter?
It didn't matter, really. Whoever had blocked her in had probably cranked it up as high as it would go. The point was, how long could she continue to function under such high temperatures? Twenty minutes? Half an hour?
Her assailant had undoubtedly jammed the timer, too, she knew.
Nancy removed her jacket. Already she could feel a drop of sweat trickling down her back. At least she still had her flashlight! Flicking it on, she looked around.
The sauna contained nothing more than a heating unit bolted to the wall, a wooden floor, and a bench made of wooden slats. That was it. No tools. No loose objects. Nothing she could use to help pry or batter her way out.
She examined the door. I
ts hinges were on the outside. She pushed against it once more. No good! The door swung outward an inch, but that was all. What was on the other side, anyway? An elephant?
No, she realized--the unused lockers! Two or more sections had been pushed across the floor and fitted sideways against the door. That explained the bumps and scrapes she had heard. Great. Now how was she going to get out?
Calmly at first, then with mounting concern, she examined the possibilities.
Screaming? The sound of her voice had to travel through two doors, down a side hallway, down a main hallway, and then maybe--just maybe--a guard would eventually hear it. Forget it, she told herself. Better to conserve energy.
Bess and George? She had told them where she was going, naturally, but how long would it take them to realize that something had gone wrong? Until one o'clock? Two o'clock? That was no use! She could be dead by then!
No, she would have to get herself out of this. But how?
The air around her was growing very hot. To help herself stay cool, Nancy took off her boots, jeans, and sweater. That helped, but not too much. She was sweating heavily, and the hot air was burning her lungs.
How much longer before she got dizzy? she wondered. Would her vision begin to blur? What then?
Stop it! Get yourself out of here! her mind screamed.
Going to the door again, she pushed it hard. It wouldn't budge! She hammered at it with her hands, but that was even more futile than pushing. The exertion was making her sweat more, too.
She sat down on the bench and tried to think. Impossibly, the air seemed to grow hotter still. She was turning into roast detective--and fast!
Ned. This was all his fault, she told herself bitterly. If he hadn't been so stubborn, then she wouldn't have had to gather evidence by such desperate means. Well, he was going to be sorry! When they found her body here in the morning (cooked medium-well) he was going to--
Get out! Get out! Get out! Once again, she willed herself into action, snatching up her flashlight, only to drop it again. It was burning hot! How was she going to see anything now? If only there was a light--
The overhead light, of course! Why hadn't she thought of that sooner! Using her shirt as insulation, she picked up the flashlight and looked around. Yes, there was the switch by the door! She flipped it on, and light flooded the sauna.
Now she needed something small and made of metal. Reaching into the pocket of her jeans, she brought out her silver pen. It was a gift from her father that she treasured, but right now that didn't matter. Saving her life was more important than saving the pen!
Carefully she wrapped her leather belt around one end of it. Then, standing on the bench, she held the pen in one hand and removed the overhead light bulb with the other, using her shirt to keep from burning her hand. The sauna went dark. Again and again she jabbed the pen upward until, at last, it plunged into the live socket!
Sparks showered around her. Nancy smelled smoke and gave a cry of triumph. There! She had shorted the circuit! Had she tripped the breaker that controlled the heating unit, too?
Stepping off the bench, she peered through the unit's vent. Inside, its heating coils slowly changed from white . . . to orange . . . to red . . . to nothing! Thank goodness! At least the sauna wasn't going to get any hotter.
It was still very hot, though. Not only that, her condition was deteriorating. She was dizzy. More than anything in the world she wanted to lie down and close her eyes. But she couldn't. She had to keep going!
Taking up her sweater and flashlight again, she went to the bench and again began to tug each of its slats. All were pegged securely in place, but one seemed a little loose. She tugged at it, fighting off dizziness, until it came free. Then, wasting no time, she used it to punch out the window in the door.
Cool air rushed in through the opening. Nancy nearly cried with relief. Pushing the slat through the opening, she used it as a lever. The locker outside didn't move at first, but then she caught a metal lip and the side closest to her lifted six inches into the air. She was unable to overturn the monster, but it did slide backward a bit. A few more tries, and she had worked it back an entire foot!
She tried the door. It opened farther, but not enough. Working with the slat, she levered and pushed, slowly moving the lockers backward. Finally, she opened the door wide enough to slip out!
But would she make it? In spite of the cool air now washing over her clammy skin, Nancy was exhausted. Her head ached, and bright spots of color were dancing before her eyes. Reeling, she groped for her clothes and boots. Did she have them in her hands? She wasn't sure. Never mind, she thought . . .
. . . just get out the door!
"Nancy, you shouldn't be up! You should be in bed, resting," Bess wailed.
Nancy didn't answer. Instead, she pulled a gray Emerson sweatshirt over her head and ran her fingers through her hair. She had things to do this morning. Important things--like confronting a certain Emerson forward named Mike O'Shea!
"Come on, Nancy, won't you sleep just a little bit longer?" Bess pleaded.
"Oh, leave her alone," said George, who was lying on her bed. "You know what that look on her face means. She's up, and that's it!"
"Well, all right. But why kill yourself when you don't have to?"
That was exactly the point, Nancy felt. She could have died in that sauna, and it had been totally unnecessary. The evidence in Mike's room should have convinced her. But no, like a fool she had listened to Ned.
Well, no more! Nancy Drew was not going to act like a wimp for one minute longer! She now had more than enough evidence to make a case against Mike, and that was exactly what she was going to do! As soon as she found her boots.
An hour later, a solid breakfast in her stomach, Nancy marched up to the front door of Omega Chi Epsilon. She was about to pull it open when a girl burst out--a short, snub-nosed brunette. It was Mike's girlfriend, she remembered.
"Excuse me," the girl said. She started to walk past Nancy, but then stopped. "Wait, aren't you Ned's girlfriend?"
"That's right. Nancy Drew."
"Hi. We met at the party the other night, remember? My name's Jan . . . Jan Teller."
"Yes, I remember." Nancy held out her hand. Jan didn't look very happy, she noticed. Her eyes had circles under them, and she was glancing around nervously.
"Jan, I know this is a nosy question, but are you okay?" Nancy asked.
"Sure!" Jan said, trying to look cheerful. "I just--oh, who am I kidding? I'm not okay. I feel totally awful!"
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Thanks, but no. It's my boyfriend, Mike . . . you've met him, haven't you?"
Nancy nodded. Had she ever!
"He's been impossible lately," Jan continued. "Moody. Irritable. Sometimes he even disappears and won't tell me where he's been!"
"Maybe he's just tense because of the pressure on the Wildcats," Nancy suggested carefully.
"Oh, no . . . it's not that. Mike loves basketball! He's usually very happy during the season. I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is it's driving me crazy!"
You and me both, Nancy thought. Aloud, she said, "I'm sorry you're having problems. I hope you two can work them out."
"Yeah. Me, too," Jan said miserably. "The way things are going, though, I don't have much hope. Well, 'bye. I've got to run."
With that, she turned and walked away. Nancy felt sorry for her, yet she had a feeling that things were about to get even worse for Jan than they were already.
Mike was in the otherwise empty common room, sitting in an armchair. A chemistry textbook was open on his lap, but he didn't appear to be reading it.
"Mike?"
He looked up. "Nancy! Haven't seen much of you since you got to Emerson. How are you? Are you having a good time?"
Nancy felt herself tense. "I'd be having a much better one if I could get some answers to a few questions I have."
"Questions?"
"Yes. Such as, can you explain what thi
s is all about?"
Reaching into her back pocket, she tossed a scrap of paper onto his textbook. It was the list of names and negative numbers from his locker. She had stuffed it into her pocket while running into the sauna the night before.
Mike's eyes narrowed. "Where did you get that?"
"You know where . . . from your locker. I saw the money there, too."
"There's no law against keeping money in a locker, is there?"
So, he was going to play it cool, was he? Nancy was disappointed. She had hoped to shock him into making a confession. Obviously, it was not going to be that easy.
She glared at him. "Don't try to kid me, Mike. I know what you're up to. The only thing I don't know is why. Are you going to tell me, or shall I let the police drag it out of you?"
He crumpled the paper in his fist. "Police? What are you talking about? I haven't done anything wrong! Not a thing!"
"No? What about the box of packing chips in your room?"
For a split second, panic flashed across his face. "They . . . they're just junk."
"Just like the scraps of material mixed in with them?"
"You don't know what you're talking about!"
"I think I do. You've been playing practical jokes on your team, and some of them have been very dangerous, to say the least."
"That's not true!"
"Oh, no?"
Nancy crossed her arms. They were playing a bluffing game now, a game that she was winning. All she had to do was to keep wearing him down. Sooner or later he would confess.
"Tell me . . . why didn't you ride with the team to the Haviland game?" she demanded.
"That's no secret. I needed to be alone for a while."
"Alone to do what? To shoot out the bus's tire?"
He half rose from his chair. "Wait a minute! Are you suggesting--?"
"You know it."
"Well, you're wrong! Why would I do something like that?"
Nancy shrugged. "Fun? Money? You tell me. All I know is that you own a lot of things that most scholarship students don't . . . a gold watch . . . a black Camaro . . ."
"A what!"