Chapter
One
NANCY DREW, PLEASE meet your party at the registration desk in the main lobby—”
The words filtered into eighteen-year-old Nancy Drew’s mind from what seemed like miles away. At last, she really was at the Plaza Hotel, away from River Heights, away from her detective work, and all ready to meet her dad for a long weekend in New York City.
Nancy made her way to the registration desk, her bright blue eyes taking in everything. Bellhops in immaculate dark blue uniforms walked purposefully over the thick forest-green-and-rose-patterned carpeting, while the hotel’s fashionably dressed clientele ambled through the lobby, past glittering shops and newspaper stands that offered periodicals from all over the world.
Good old Dad, thought Nancy with an appreciative smile. He certainly knows how to pick a hotel.
It was going to be great spending the weekend in New York. Of course, the real reason for the trip was that Carson Drew was attending the annual Interpol convention. His work at his law firm often involved him in matters that fell under the jurisdiction of the international police organization. But between meetings he was sure there’d be time for the two of them to go to the theater, museums, and fine restaurants. Nancy planned to do some shopping while her father was busy at the convention.
“Hi, Dad!” she called. Carson Drew was standing at the desk, waiting for her. With his handsome profile and his dark hair, slightly graying at the temples, he looked the part of a successful attorney.
“Hello, Nancy!” he called back, waving. “Ready to check in?”
“Yes,” she said. “I was just wandering around, mesmerized by this place. It’s so elegant.”
“And this is only the lobby.” Carson laughed. “Wait till you see where we’re staying. It’s one of the penthouse suites.”
Nancy threw her father an amused look. “You mean the ones they reserve for royalty?”
“Well, the last person to stay in it was Prince Ururu of Rarotonga, I’m told. Apparently, he came to the States for his annual fishing expedition, but he had to leave early—some kind of trouble in paradise. He left his gear in one of the closets, but I told the manager we could work around it.”
“Fantastic! How did you rate such a place?”
“I guess Interpol is showing their appreciation for my services,” Carson answered modestly, handing Nancy the registration book.
“I’m impressed, Dad,” Nancy said, signing in. “But not surprised. You’re one of the hardest-working people I know.”
A good-looking hotel clerk handed Nancy a key. “Thank you, Miss Drew,” he said. “Have a pleasant stay.”
“Thanks,” Nancy replied as she slipped her arm into her father’s.
“Of course, I never did tell you about Great-uncle Drew, the Archduke of Hapsburg,” Carson joked, leading her to the elevator. “Maybe that’s how we got the penthouse. . . .”
With a laugh, Nancy stepped onto the mahogany-paneled elevator and pressed P. This weekend was going to be everything she’d imagined it would be—she could just tell. She allowed herself a smile of pure happiness as the elevator whisked them upward.
At their floor, Carson stepped through the elevator doors. “Well, here we are. The building doesn’t go any higher than this.”
Nancy followed him out into the thick-carpeted hallway and down the long corridor. Soon he stopped at a set of intricately carved double oak doors and drew out his key.
“The suite you ordered, Miss Drew.” Carson opened the door and switched on the light. They were inside a room the size of a small house, filled with antique furnishings. A leather divan was placed opposite an intricately carved marble fireplace, and two leather club chairs flanked it.
“This is my room—” Carson opened a door and showed Nancy a spacious room decorated in understated masculine tones. “And just across this little hall—” Now he flung open the door to Nancy’s room. The first thing that caught her attention was the large window with the panoramic view of Fifth Avenue. Then her eyes took in the silk damask wall covering, decorated with work by artists Nancy had only seen in museums.
“I had the bellhop bring up your bags,” said Carson with a satisfied smile. “You can unpack if you like. I’ve got to make a few phone calls before dinner.”
“Oh. Well, Dad, knowing you, a few phone calls may take quite a while. If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to wander around for a bit.” With a wink and a smile, Nancy was out the door.
• • •
An hour later Nancy stepped off the elevator at the top floor and headed back to her suite. The hotel really was as magnificent as she’d always heard.
She was about to fish her key out of her bag when the door to the neighboring suite burst open, and a knot of four people poured out into the hallway, creating a commotion that made Nancy stop and listen.
The group was obviously dominated by an old lady—well, not old exactly; she was probably only in her fifties, but the obvious signs of ill health made her seem older. She was thin— emaciated really—and her pale face was made up with ruby-red lipstick and blusher, which matched the ruby earrings she was wearing. But the rich color couldn’t hide her pallor.
Walking slowly on the arm of a handsome middle-aged man, she was complaining to her companions in a voice more powerful than Nancy would have thought possible.
“Why can’t one of you keep track of these things?” she demanded. “My medicine is the only thing that’s keeping me alive. Why is it that you allow it to run low so often? Sometimes I think you’re all stealing it to sell on the black market!”
The three other people in the party looked at one another, as if to say, “You know how she is when she’s in one of her moods.” As they passed, Nancy pretended to have trouble with her key, taking the moment to get a better look at her weekend neighbors.
There was a tall middle-aged woman with stringy hair, dressed in clothes at least ten years out of date. She cringed at the old woman’s every word, as if she were being tortured rather than reprimanded. Nancy thought she detected a resemblance between the two women—at least, in their faces. Their attitudes, however, could not have been more different.
The man who was guiding the old woman was dressed in a conservative dark blue suit. He had a look of studied patience, as if he were merely waiting for the woman to blow off her steam. He was a distinguished-looking man and appeared to be totally at ease in the very expensive suit he was wearing.
The fourth member of the party was the most interesting to Nancy. For one thing, he was one of the handsomest guys she had ever laid eyes on. He looked about twenty-two, with jet black hair and light blue eyes—a killer combination. He was hanging back from the rest of the party, toying with the key in the lock.
“There,” he said at last, jogging to catch up with the others as they rounded the corner of the hall on their way to the bank of elevators. Nancy could hear him speaking. “Here’s your key back, Aunt Sarah. Though why we even bother to lock the place is beyond me.”
“Goodness knows, you’d leave the door wide open if it was up to you, Jack,” his aunt Sarah huffed.
“After all, that’s what hotel security’s for, isn’t it?”
“Yes, you’d leave everything to others, wouldn’t you?” the old lady shot back. “If it were up to you, I’d run out of medicine completely!”
“Now, now, Aunt Sarah, you know it’s your own fault. Lately you’ve been wolfing down that stuff. Remember, we have to send to Mexico for it.”
They were gone now, in the elevator, out of earshot. Nancy shook her head in amusement. Rich people could be as strange as everyone else, she knew. Once again she put her key in the keyhole, this time for real.
That’s when s
he noticed something strange. The door that the handsome young man had appeared to be locking was, in fact, not locked at all. Instead, it was about half an inch open.
That’s odd, Nancy thought. He took so much time at the door; he must have left it open on purpose. But why?
She walked to the door, intending to close it. But as she moved forward, she stumbled and grabbed at the doorknob. The door swung wide open, pulling Nancy into one of the most opulent rooms she had ever seen. Crystal chandeliers, edged in gold, threw soft, shimmering light on the plush furniture. This single main room was the size of the entire Drew suite.
Somehow, as impressed as she had been by everything she’d seen at the Plaza, this was the most incredible part of all. Huge windows looked out on Central Park. The entire city lay beneath her, as if curled up at her feet. Nancy took the view in with a sigh, then reminded herself that she wasn’t even supposed to be in there.
A huge oak table in the center of the room caught her eye. On it, several cards were laid out in a distinct pattern. Nancy recognized them as fortune-telling tarot cards.
She went over to take a closer look at them. Too bad she knew nothing about the tarot, she thought. The cards were extremely interesting looking. There was one of a hanged man, one of a sad boatman paddling across a river, several with swords on them, and even one that said Death, with a picture of the Grim Reaper on it.
Nancy shuddered involuntarily. It was all vaguely creepy.
Just as she was about to leave, Nancy caught a soft, rhythmic scratching noise coming from behind the closed door of one of the bedrooms. Her senses immediately alert, she stood still and strained to hear. Could there be a prowler in the suite?
There was the noise again! Making up her mind, Nancy strode over and flung open the door to the bedroom. If there was anyone there, she’d have the advantage of surprise.
She almost laughed out loud when she saw the pigeon on the ledge outside the window. It was scraping its claws along the granite. So that was her prowler! Boy, Drew, you really do need a vacation, she reproved herself.
Just then she heard the soft creak of the suite’s front door, and instinctively she ducked inside the open bedroom and pulled the door closed.
Her heart pounding, Nancy watched through the keyhole as someone stepped into the suite’s main room. It was the gorgeous guy. He looked around quickly to make sure he wasn’t being observed. Then he smiled tensely and walked over to a desk in the corner, opened a drawer, and took out a wad of bills. As he fanned them, Nancy was almost positive she could see Benjamin Franklin’s face on every one. They were hundred-dollar bills!
Looking over his shoulder again, the young man pocketed the money and went out quickly, this time locking the door for real.
Nancy let out a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall. No way could that have been his own money, she thought. He’d acted too sneaky. He had to be stealing from his own family, and with a smile, too!
For the first time since she’d ducked inside, Nancy looked around at the room she was in. It was an absolute shambles. Clothes were strewn all over the bed—women’s clothes. By the looks of them, Nancy could tell they belonged to the woman with the stringy hair. This must be her bedroom.
On the desk by the window were several pieces of crumpled paper. Nancy didn’t touch them. Her sense of propriety told her she had already ventured much too far into these people’s private world.
She turned to go, but stopped short to avoid stepping on a piece of paper on the floor. When she looked more closely at it, her blood turned to ice water, and she felt a cold chill travel up her spine. Scrawled all over the paper, in a spindly, maniacal hand, were the words “KILL . . . KILL . . . KILL!”
Chapter
Two
DISTURBED BY THE violent words she’d just read, Nancy hurried back to the suite she shared with her father. Something obviously wasn’t right in the suite next door. That note was really weird, and so was the theft she’d just witnessed. What was going on?
As she came through the door she saw her father lying on a chaise, his hand curled around the telephone. He was saying, “I see. So you’re going to need an injunction from the authorities here to break into their computer system. . . .”
His eyes brightened when he saw her. “Hi, honey, I’m going to be a while,” he whispered, covering the mouthpiece of the telephone for a moment. “The chief of police from the Netherlands is kind of thorough.”
“It’s okay,” Nancy replied softly. “I want to do some more exploring, anyway.”
It didn’t matter what plans she’d had for this trip—she was just about to change them. Someone might be in danger; she had to help.
“KILL, KILL, KILL.” What an awful message! Nancy couldn’t shake the image of the scrawled note, and all the way to the elevator, the faces of the old lady and her three companions played across her mind. Why would anyone who looked as rich as the young man have to steal? And why had the timid woman written such a horrible, hostile message?
Nancy stepped into the elevator and pressed L. She could just imagine her best friends, Bess Marvin and George Fayne, shaking their heads in disapproval. They had made her absolutely promise not to get involved with any mysteries on this trip. Now here she was, tiptoeing around in strangers’ suites and reading their notes.
The elevator opened and Nancy headed for the Palm Court, the elegant café set in the center of the lobby. It was like an island surrounded by hundreds of stately palms. The air was filled with the sounds of a string quartet. Maybe Bess and George were right. Maybe she had forgotten how to relax.
“One?” The blond maître d’ approached Nancy with a smile.
“Yes, please,” Nancy replied.
Taking her seat at a small marble table toward the back, then looking over the menu, Nancy let herself forget the people in the suite next door. The quartet’s music washed over her, and suddenly she felt terrific. There were so many wonderful things to look forward to this weekend! The hotel was right on Fifth Avenue, across from Central Park. And in every direction there were terrific shops, where the finest designers in the world sold their wares. Of course, there was Tiffany’s right on Fifth—always a fun place to do some heavy window-shopping.
Nancy made a mental note to call her boyfriend, Ned Nickerson, at Emerson College later that night. Ned loved the city as much as she did, and she wanted to tell him about her stay.
“A good for nothing, that’s all you are!” The woman’s dramatic voice boomed out, catching Nancy’s attention. It came from behind her, on the other side of a thick row of potted palms. And there was no mistaking that voice, either. It belonged to the old woman she’d seen earlier— the one the gorgeous guy had called Aunt Sarah. Fate seemed to be throwing Nancy and her penthouse neighbors together.
Turning around, Nancy could see through the palm leaves that the elderly woman was addressing her remarks to her handsome young nephew.
“Yes, I think I have a perfect right to know where you go at night. I’m paying for it, am I not? Your uncle Joshua worked for every penny of the money you are tossing away! I’d like to make you work for that money and then see how careless you’d be with it!”
Nancy didn’t hear the young man’s reply, because just then the waiter came up and asked for her order.
“Good day, miss, my name is Maximilian— what may I get for you?”
Nancy looked up. Her waiter was a dark man, extremely short and bald, with a large walrus mustache. His accent was vaguely Eastern European.
The strange thing about him was that he didn’t look at Nancy when he spoke. His eyes were riveted on the table on the other side of the palms. Obviously, he had heard every word of their argument.
“Oh! I haven’t really decided,” said Nancy, her eyes falling down to the glossy beige menu. “Just bring—let’s see—any of the pastries. Something with chocolate—and some decaffeinated coffee, please.”
“The éclair is exceptional today,” he said, his eyes stil
l on the other party.
“Fine. An éclair then.”
“Don’t think you can get to my soft spot this time!” The woman’s voice filtered through the potted palm.
“Always the same, always the same . . .” the waiter muttered, transfixed.
“Excuse me?” Nancy asked.
Now the waiter caught Nancy’s eye, and he shook his head slowly.
“Those people over there, they think their money makes up for their bad manners. Every day it’s the same thing.”
“Oh? They come here a lot?”
“They come here three or four times a year, miss, on vacation. They always stay in the same suite. I have waited on them for years.” He looked Nancy up and down. “I see you are curious, miss. Yes?”
Had she been so obvious about her interest? “Well, perhaps a little,” she replied casually. “I believe they’re my neighbors.”
“Well, I shall tell you, then,” said Maximilian, with a little mock bow. “The woman is Sarah Amberly—perhaps you have heard of her? The wealthy widow from Boston. Since her husband passed away, she’s worth more than many small countries. She’s yelling at her nephew, Jack Kale. She scolds him, but she lets him steal from right under her nose.”
So he had been stealing!
“She raised him, you know,” the waiter continued. “And she spoiled him rotten. Now, she complains.” With a derogatory snort, Maximilian made his contempt known.
“What about the others?” Nancy couldn’t help her curiosity, and the waiter seemed eager to supply her with any details she might want. “Who’s the other woman?”
“Oh, yes, the poor thing—” With this, the waiter circled a finger by his temple. “It’s Mrs. Amberly’s younger sister, Alison Kale. Crazy, you know? She is very timid, but inside, so angry.”
“Oh?”
“And the other man, with the graying hair, is Mr. Pieter van Druten—another delightful person. He’s got millions from his diamond mines, but that’s not enough for him. He’s trying to get the old woman’s money, too!”