Chapter
One
DAD, ARE YOU saying you don’t want me to take this case?” Nancy Drew asked, her blue eyes locked on her father.
Carson Drew kept pacing back and forth in front of the sofa, where his daughter was sitting. “It’s not that I don’t want you to take it,” he said.
“What is it, then?” Nancy asked, pressing her point.
“It’s just that kidnappings are so dangerous. I’ve known of so many ugly incidents. . . .” Mr. Drew rubbed his forehead and stared past Nancy as though he were looking for the right words to express his feelings. “I wish I’d never told Lawrence Colson I’d talk to you about investigating this. He wondered if I should allow you to take the case. He said he wondered if it was too much for a girl your age to handle. Now I think he’s right—especially when I’m going to be out of town for the next three weeks.”
“I know the danger,” Nancy answered emphatically, leaning forward. “I also know that a sixteen-year-old boy was kidnapped yesterday. If I don’t make the right moves fast enough, that boy could die!”
“You could die, too,” said her father. He stopped pacing and stood in front of her, looking down into her eyes. “I don’t usually interfere with your cases, Nancy—”
“I won’t make any wrong moves, Dad!” Nancy insisted. “You know I’m careful.”
“All right,” her father said after a second. “But I want you to promise me that you’ll use your judgment—and if things get dangerous, you’ll contact me.”
Nancy smiled. “That much I can promise.” Just then the doorbell rang and Nancy jumped off the sofa and went to answer it.
“We came right over,” Bess Marvin said the instant Nancy opened the door.
“What’s up?” George Fayne asked. “Sounds important.”
“Come in and I’ll tell you all about it,” Nancy said, showing them into the living room.
“Hi, Mr. Drew,” Bess said as she sat down. “Oh, Nancy, I forgot to tell you, we ordered a pizza for supper just before we came over. Double everything except anchovies. It should be delivered anytime now.”
“That’s my cue to get out of here,” said Carson Drew. “You girls won’t need any help from me! Nancy,” he continued, “if you’re going ahead with the case, you should have this. I was going to return it to Lawrence Colson, but if you’re sure . . .”
It was a piece of folded paper. When Nancy opened it, two pictures carefully labeled Number One and Number Two fell out. She set them aside while she examined the letter. It was made up of words and letters cut from magazines and pasted onto high-quality bond paper.
“Today Hal looks like picture number one,” the note said. Nancy glanced at the photo of a teenage boy who had been bound and gagged. His eyes were terror stricken. “We want $475,000 by noon on Thursday, or Little Hal will be returned to you looking like photo number two.”
Number two was an exact duplicate of the first picture—except for one thing. In the second photo, the boy’s head had been removed.
“Do not contact the police,” the note continued, “or you will never see him again. And remember, we’re watching you.” The last sentence simply said, “We’ll be in touch.”
No wonder her dad was apprehensive about the case! Nancy thought. “Thursday,” she muttered. “This is Monday—less than three days. Sounds as though the kidnappers mean business. We have no time to lose.”
She handed the note and pictures to her friends. George whistled. “These guys are intense!” she said.
“I don’t want to think about it,” said Bess. “Where’s our pizza?”
“You’re amazing, Bess,” George said. “We’re talking about a kidnapping and possible murder, and all you can do is wonder where the pizza is. Don’t you ever think about anything besides food?”
“Yes,” Nancy broke in. “Most of the time she thinks about boys.”
“That’s not fair,” Bess argued.
George leaned against the arm of the sofa and glanced at Nancy. “It’s weird that Bess and I can be cousins and be so different, isn’t it?”
“What’s really weird,” Bess said, “is that we called for that pizza forty-five minutes ago and it’s not here yet! I haven’t eaten all day—nothing to speak of, I mean. I simply can’t think about this case on an empty stomach.”
Nancy was about to point out that that particular case might be even harder to think about on a full stomach, but she changed her mind. “I thought you were going to try to lose some weight, Bess,” she said instead.
“I am. Tomorrow. I need to take off about five pounds—oh, there’s the doorbell! Thank heaven!”
Nancy smiled to herself as she collected all their money and went to pay the delivery man. She wondered how many times Bess had lost those same five pounds.
No sooner was the pizza on the coffee table than Hannah Gruen appeared carrying a tray crowded with sodas, paper plates, and a mountain of napkins.
“I think she’s on to us,” George said as Hannah carefully put the tray down.
“Yes. I am.” Hannah divided the napkins into three equal stacks and placed one in front of each girl. “You can’t take care of a family for as many years as I have and not know that three girls eating pizza are going to make a mess.”
Hannah Gruen had been with the Drews since Nancy’s mother died, when Nancy was three. And I never really appreciate her until I’m about to start a dangerous case, Nancy thought to herself as she watched Hannah bustle around.
“Thanks, Hannah,” she said. “For everything.”
“Have fun, you three” was Hannah’s answer as she left the room.
Bess pushed her long blond hair back behind her ears, scooped a piece of pizza from the box, and took two huge bites, one after the other. She sighed ecstatically and leaned back in her seat. “There. Now I can think about other things. So tell us the plan, Nan!”
“Yeah, Nancy,” said George. “Fill us in.”
Nancy settled into the corner of the sofa with a can of soda in her hand. “Well, the first move is for me to go over to Lawrence Colson’s tonight and find out everything he knows so far. My dad said he’s expecting me at eight.”
“Lawrence Colson?” asked George. “Is he related to the Colson Enterprises people?”
“He is Colson Enterprises,” Nancy replied. “He’s one of my dad’s clients. Colson called and told him about the kidnapping this morning. Dad said Mr. Colson was a nervous wreck.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” George said. “Think about what he’s going through, worrying about his son.”
“No, Hal is his nephew—not his son,” Nancy said.
“And think about all that money! Even for a man like Colson, parting with four hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars would be a problem,” Bess added, reaching for another slice of pizza.
“Do the police know about this yet?” asked George.
“Colson didn’t think it would be wise to get in touch with them yet—at least that’s what my dad says,” said Nancy. “He wants to find out more about the people he’s dealing with. He’s concerned that the threat in the letter is serious. He said he’d never forgive himself if he called the police and something terrible happened to Hal.”
She stood up decisively. “I think I’ll go change and get ready to see Mr. Colson.”
“Okay, we’ll clean up down here and walk out with you,” said George.
• • •
The night air was warm and filled with the spring scent of honeysuckle. Nancy breathed in the fragrance and suddenly remembered sitting on the front porch with Ned Nickerson one evening a few weeks before, talking and gazing at the stars. She missed Ned. She wished he were there right then.
Nancy shook off the thought and climbed into her blue Mustang
. She’d decided she shouldn’t tell Ned about this case. He was busy writing a paper at school—Emerson College—and she didn’t want him to be worrying about her. There would be plenty of time to fill him in later.
“Call us when you get home,” George said as she and Bess walked to George’s car.
Nancy waved an okay, pulled out of the driveway, and headed toward Allegheny Drive, the quickest route to Lawrence Colson’s house.
She made her way along the winding road that led to the very posh residential area on the outskirts of River Heights. As darkness settled around her, Nancy brushed all thoughts of Ned out of her mind and started working on possible plans for rescuing Hal Colson.
Suddenly a car drove up behind her, its headlights shining straight into her rearview mirror. Nancy reached up and turned a switch on the mirror to eliminate the glare. But the car was following so closely that the entire rear window became filled with blinding white light. She increased her speed slightly—and the car behind her began going faster too. As she drove along, continuing to go a bit faster, the lights changed from a minor annoyance to a major problem.
“Why doesn’t he just pass me?” Nancy muttered out loud as the two cars came to a long, straight stretch of road.
A few moments later the road started curving again. Now it was too late for the other car to pass her. And it was moving up even closer.
Nancy felt a shiver of fear. The car had to be chasing her, and there was only one thing to do: outrun it. Nancy gunned the Mustang and took off like a shot—the phantom car staying with her.
Suddenly Nancy felt a jolt as the car tapped her back bumper. “He’s trying to run me off the road!” she said out loud.
Nancy pushed the accelerator to the floor as she began to ascend a hill. She had to get away, but on the incline the Mustang didn’t have enough power.
Then the phantom car made its move. The first jolt snapped Nancy’s head backward against the seat. She gripped the steering wheel and fought to keep the Mustang on the road as the second jolt rocked the car.
The third blow came swiftly. Suddenly Nancy’s car flew over the crest of the hill, careening out of control and straight into the path of an oncoming car.
Chapter
Two
NANCY GRIPPED THE steering wheel and held on for the full ride. Something her father had said a couple of years before flashed into her mind: “Never stop driving until the car comes to a complete stop.” Good advice for a girl learning to drive. Better for a girl in a runaway Mustang.
Jerking the wheel to the left, Nancy sped by just in front of the oncoming car and landed in a clump of bushes on the left side of the road. The phantom car that had pushed her into that flight was nowhere to be seen, and the car she had almost hit didn’t even bother to stop.
“Friendly folks,” Nancy said, opening the car door and stepping out to check the damage.
The Mustang’s back bumper was bent, but not too badly—certainly not badly enough to worry about right then. Nancy got back into the driver’s seat and started the ignition.
It was only a few minutes after eight when she arrived at Lawrence Colson’s house. I was expecting a mansion, she thought to herself, but this is a palace! A long, curving drive led up to a three-story brick house surrounded by formal gardens and magnificent oak trees. It looked like something belonging to a British aristocrat.
Nancy parked her Mustang in the drive beside a beautiful red Maserati. She wondered if it was Hal’s. Lots of families out there could afford cars like that—but for a teenager? If it is Hal’s, his uncle must be very generous, Nancy thought as she rang the doorbell.
A man who appeared to be in his midtwenties opened the door. For a second Nancy wished they had a person as good-looking as that to help Hannah. He was the handsomest butler she had ever seen—wavy brown hair, eyes so dark they almost looked black, and a tall, muscular build.
“I-I’m Nancy Drew,” Nancy said. “Mr. Lawrence Colson is expecting me.”
A smile spread across the man’s somber face, and a look of relief flooded his dark eyes. “I sure am! Come right in, Miss Drew.”
“You’re Lawrence Colson?” Nancy asked, following him inside. She’d been expecting someone much older.
“The one and only,” he said. “But please call me Lance.”
“Lance. Yes,” Nancy managed to say, hiding her astonishment.
Lawrence Colson wasn’t Nancy’s only surprise. From her Mustang, she had tried to picture what the inside of his mansion would look like. She’d been totally off base on her guess about that, too.
Instead of the colonial pieces and huge fireplaces she had been expecting, contemporary furniture in white and beige filled the rooms. Thick, pale Oriental rugs covered the burnished wooden floors, and a couple of crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings added to the sophisticated look.
But the focal point of the house was the staircase that thrust its way up from the foyer into the second floor. It was breathtaking. For a minute Nancy imagined herself sweeping down those stairs in a flowing ballgown. . . .
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?” Lance asked, interrupting her daydreams.
“Unbelievable,” Nancy answered.
“This house belonged to my brother, Michael,” said Lance. “He was the one who bought it and decorated it and loved it. I’m really just a live-in guest—and Hal’s guardian, of course.”
He shook his head. “Some guardian! It was bad enough that I couldn’t keep him in school or away from those punk friends of his—but letting him get kidnapped? I’ll never forgive myself. I’m not fit to be anyone’s guardian.” His eyes were anguished.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Mr. Colson,” Nancy said gently and immediately corrected herself, “Lance.” She ran her fingers through her reddish gold hair as she often did when she was trying to come up with the right words.
“I’m going to find your nephew.” Nancy didn’t add “dead or alive” because she didn’t want to worry Lance even more. “I’ve got to work fast, though, and I need all the help you can give me.”
“I’ll do anything,” Lance said simply. “Just tell me what to do. You are taking the case for sure?”
“Yes, I am taking the case. But we’ve got a lot to do. First, tell me everything you know about this kidnapping. Even the smallest detail may be helpful.”
Lance escorted Nancy into the den, where she was seated on a white loveseat.
“I don’t know much about it at all,” he confessed. “When I came home from work last night I found a ransom note—the one I gave to your father. There was no sign of a break-in—but the door to my study had had the glass cut out, and the door had been unlocked and opened. The note was on my desk.” Lance’s eyes had a haunted, distant look, as if he were reliving the scene.
“Who would do something this horrible?” he asked her helplessly.
“That’s what I’m going to find out. Now, when was the last time you saw Hal?”
Lance leaned back in his chair. “Yesterday. He said he was going to the Woodland Mall. That’s the only place he’s been spending his time lately.” He frowned. “You know, I just haven’t known how to handle Hal these days. I guess it’s a good thing Michael isn’t around to see how he’s turned out. Michael wouldn’t be able to take it if he knew that Hal’s main goal in life is to be a roadie for a punk rock band. And that crowd he runs with—trash, all of them.”
“Michael was—”
“Hal’s father,” Lance explained. “He’s the one who started Colson Enterprises. When Michael and Karen, Hal’s mother, were killed in a plane crash, their will stipulated that I would be Hal’s guardian and that the running of the company was up to me until Hal turns twenty-five.”
“When did they die?” Nancy asked.
“Two years ago in March.”
Nancy knew that kids sometimes went off the deep end when their parents died. Maybe that was what had happened to Hal. But that wasn’t the time to talk about
it.
“Does anyone know Hal is missing?” she asked instead.
“No. Except you and your father.”
Nancy couldn’t help remembering the incident earlier out on Allegheny Drive. “I know this sounds crazy,” she said, “but I was run off the road tonight on the way over here. I wonder if someone already knows I’m in on this case and would like to see me taken off it.”
“Oh, no,” Lance said immediately. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“No. Just suspicious.”
“I wouldn’t be,” Lance told her. “We’ve had trouble with teenagers running people off the road out here lately. The police are trying to catch the kids, but so far they haven’t been successful. As a matter of fact, I was their target the other night.” He grinned. “But my Maserati and I outran them.”
So the Maserati is his, Nancy thought.
“Did you get a description of the car?” Lance asked.
“No. It was too dark. All I saw were the headlights.”
“Too bad,” Lance said. “But, as I said, I wouldn’t worry about it. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Hal’s disappearance.”
He shook his head irritably. “The teens in this town are really getting out of hand. I read in the paper just this morning that the blood bank had reported several pouches of blood missing—blood, for God’s sake!—and that they’d fired the teenager who’d been driving the delivery truck because they thought he’d taken it.”
“Pretty strange. But not all River Heights teenagers are bad. I know that for a fact—I’m eighteen myself. But to get back to the kidnapping,” Nancy reminded him, “do you have a photo of Hal?”
Lance was just about to answer when a tall, slender, dark-haired woman came into the room. She was wearing tailored pale gray pants and a matching sweater. Her beautiful face was bored and petulant looking.
“Hello, Monica,” Lance said, getting to his feet. “Nancy, this is Monica Sloane. Monica, Nancy Drew. She’s here to help us find Hal.”
Us? Nancy thought. Monica wasn’t married to Lance. Nancy just smiled politely and nodded at the other woman.