004 Smile and Say Murder (2 page)

N
ANCY REREAD THE
chilling note. “Pretty gruesome stuff,” she said. No wonder Yvonne was so upset.

She turned her attention to the second letter. Immediately, she recognized the words from a top-ten pop song the deejays had been playing practically every two minutes for the past few months.

So you think the evening’s pretty

Hey, but you don’t know this city

There’s always someone hiding in the night

Looking for a victim or a fight

Hiding round the corner out of sight

And that guy will getcha

He’ll getcha, he’ll getcha

Don’t you know he’ll getcha . . . soon?

A letter was attached to the lyrics.

Yvonne,

You’ve made a bad choice, one you’re going to regret. Tell the people you’ve been doing business with that you won’t sell—or else pay the consequences!

Your mystery friend, The Grim Reaper

Nancy took another careful look at the two letters. From the perforations on the sides of the paper, she could tell they’d been written on a computer. She made a mental note to check some of the printers in the office and see if the type matched. Still, if all the printers at
Flash
were identical and the letters had been written on one of them, it would be impossible to trace them to one particular machine or another. The notes could also have been written on anybody’s home computer. There was a good chance that checking the type would lead nowhere.

“Now do you see why I think Mick’s serious about these threats?” Yvonne said earnestly, her dark eyes catching Nancy’s blue ones urgently. “I mean, you have to be pretty crazy just to think up stuff that sick. I need help, Nancy, and I hope you’re the person to give it to me!” Suddenly Yvonne looked very tired.

Nancy smiled supportively. Obviously, Yvonne was in a terrible situation. Nancy
handed the letters back. “I’d like to get these copied,” she said.

As she dropped the envelopes onto the desk, she knocked a thin paperback novel to the floor. Leaning down to pick it up, she recognized the title. It was a recent detective novel Nancy herself had enjoyed reading. “Hey,” she said, “this is a great book. Are you a mystery fan, too?”

“Oh,
that,”
Yvonne said with disdain. “Someone gave it to me the other day, but I can’t stand detective stories. They’re so predictable.”

It was an innocent enough comment, but Nancy picked up a valuable clue from it. She realized that Yvonne liked to make herself seem more mature, more sophisticated, and more intelligent than the people she was around. She was a woman who liked to have the upper hand in her relationships.

Yvonne returned the letters to her desk drawer. “Well, how about it, Nancy?” she asked. “Will you take the case?”

Nancy paused for a moment, thinking. “If I do,” she said at last, “I’ll need a cov—”

“Of course, you’ll need a cover,” the publisher broke in. “And I’ve thought of the perfect one. I’ll set you up as an intern. We always need an extra hand around here.”

“That might work,” Nancy said.

“Sure it will. Do you know anything about photography and camera equipment?”

“Yes,” Nancy replied, “I took a summer course last—”

“Great! Then you’ll do it?” Yvonne interrupted.

Nancy gave Yvonne a long, appraising look. Throughout their conversation, the publisher had been perfectly polite, but she was always interrupting, as if what she had to say were more important than anything Nancy had to say. And she masked her feelings. Somehow, Nancy didn’t trust her.

Still, Nancy told herself, if she really is in danger, she needs me! She flashed the publisher a brilliant smile. “Yes, I’ll do it,” she said.

“Great!” Yvonne replied.

Nancy leaned back against the black leather couch. “There are still some things I need to know,” she told Yvonne. “Background information about you, the magazine, Mick, anyone else who might be involved, too.”

“Ask anything you want,” Yvonne said.

“Well, can you give me some idea of your past? What have you been doing for the last few years? Who have you been spending your time with?”

Yvonne told Nancy that she’d graduated five years earlier from a small private college. She’d majored in creative writing and, as she’d mentioned before, she’d spent a few years as a novelist before coming up with the idea for
Flash.
She’d given up everything to get the
magazine started, and it was finally paying off in record sales figures.

“What about Mick?” Nancy asked. “How did he get involved with
Flash?”

“I’d met Mick when he was still in art school,” Yvonne explained. “I was friends with his roommate at the time. Anyway, he was studying painting—you know, symbolic impressionism and all that. He hadn’t gotten into commercial art yet. He was just an idealistic kid. I had to teach him everything,” Yvonne went on condescendingly.

“I see,” Nancy said drily.

“After Mick got out of college, he went through a hard time. He was emotionally unstable, didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life other than paint. Since he was enormously talented, I asked him to join me when I started
Flash.
I thought the work would straighten him out a little,” she told Nancy. “I guess I was wrong.”

Yvonne gave Nancy a brief history of
Flash
magazine and a rundown on a few of the people who worked there. She said she’d met the current editor in chief, David Bowers, at a party. She’d stolen him away from the prestigious publication he’d been working for at the time. And she’d been dating him since he’d come to work at
Flash
four months ago.

Yvonne said many of the others who worked on the magazine were talented young people on their way up or college students hired as interns.
“We like to give new talent a chance,” she explained, adding that many of the key positions at the magazine were held by people who had little practical experience but a great commitment to trying out daring creative ideas. Yvonne claimed this was what made
Flash
so successful.

Nancy didn’t learn anything more that seemed important, but she’d already found out a lot. She had the feeling that whatever happened, the case was not going to be boring!

“Well,” Yvonne said, “how about if I introduce you to your number-one suspect? Mick needs to meet you, too, if I’m going to hire you as an intern.”

“I’m ready,” Nancy replied, smiling and stretching her legs for a moment.

Yvonne picked up the telephone and pushed a button on the intercom that buzzed Mick’s office. “Could you come in here,” she said brusquely. There was a pause. “No, it can’t wait.” She hung up the phone abruptly.

In a few moments, there was a knock on the door, and Mick walked into Yvonne’s office. He was tall, blond, good-looking, about twenty-six years old, and very wild! He was wearing a leopard-print jacket, tight black jeans, and black cowboy boots. And I wondered if this sweater dress would be too casual, Nancy thought, hiding a smile.

Mick had finely chiseled features and high cheekbones. In fact, his face would have been perfect if not for his sullen, angry expression.

“All right, Verdi. What’s so urgent?” Mick demanded, glaring at Yvonne. “You interrupted me in the middle of something important.”

Yvonne glared right back. “Well, this is important, too, Mick,” she said.

“I hope so,” Mick retorted, “because I don’t like being ordered away from my work for nothing.”

Yvonne gave a little laugh, as if she could brush off the seriousness of Mick’s comments with it. “I asked you in here because I’d like you to meet Nancy Drew,
Flash’s
newest intern— and your new assistant.”

Nancy stared at Yvonne in surprise. Yvonne hadn’t said anything about being Mick’s assistant. Why had she chosen that moment to spring the development on Nancy? Or, for that matter, on Mick? Nancy had never heard of one partner hiring an assistant for another. But the important thing was how Mick was going to react to it. Nancy turned her attention to the art director.

Mick swiveled his cold blue gaze toward Nancy. Suddenly she felt like a lobster in a restaurant fish tank. The art director looked as if he were about to eat her and spit out the shell. There was a moment of deadly silence. Then Mick exploded.
“You hired an assistant for me?
Yvonne, what kind of game are you playing? If I
need
an assistant, I’ll hire one myself!”

“Mick,” Yvonne cut in smoothly, “you work
awfully hard. I was just trying to do something nice for you.”

Nancy sucked in her breath. It looked as if Yvonne and Mick were really into fighting dirty. She could tell that a lot of insults were about to get thrown around.

“Your concern is less than touching,” Mick said coldly.

“So is your appreciation, dear. Why don’t you just say thank you instead of acting like a spoiled adolescent on an ego trip?”

Nancy glanced at Mick. His handsome face was undergoing an odd transformation, as if he’d lost some kind of inner control. “Yvonne,” he said tightly, “you’re begging for a fight. And how could I let my dear old partner down? You asked for it. Well,
you’re going to get it!”

Looking Yvonne straight in the eyes, he reached over and picked up a vase on her desk. In one convulsive movement, he crashed the heavy crystal down in front of her, shattering it.

“If you’re gonna play games with me,” he growled, “get ready to lose—to lose
everything.”

N
ANCY STARED DOWN
at the broken glass which littered Yvonne’s carpet, then rested her gaze on the red-faced, trembling Mick. Wow, she thought, he really
is
dangerous! His anger was truly frightening. Without another word, Mick turned on his heel and strode out of Yvonne’s office.

For a moment, the publisher stared blankly at the smashed crystal. Nancy almost thought she was going to break down and cry. But then a look of gloating satisfaction stole across Yvonne’s face. “You see?” she said. “He doesn’t have a hold on himself. Half the time I have the feeling he’s about to throw
me
across the room like that.”

“That was quite a display of anger,” Nancy
agreed cautiously. She picked up a piece of glass and studied it, thinking. It certainly looked as though Yvonne were in danger. But what about Nancy herself? It seemed to her that Mick could easily turn his fury on anybody who was near him. And since Yvonne had so thoughtfully made Nancy his assistant, she was going to be near him quite a bit.

But there was something else. Mick’s anger hadn’t been unprovoked. Yvonne had goaded him into it. And the nasty comments had come as much from Yvonne as from Mick. The case was complicated, more complicated than Yvonne was making it seem.

“I’d like to make a phone call,” Nancy finally said.

“Oh, please, use my telephone,” Yvonne offered.

“Uh, no,” Nancy replied, trying to think up an excuse quickly. It was never a good idea to talk about a case in front of anyone who was involved—even the person who’d hired you. “You need to clean up here,” she said. “I’ll use another phone.” Nancy got to her feet and scooped her bag off the couch.

“Okay,” Yvonne answered. “Mick’s going to be starting a photo session pretty soon. We’re doing an article on Danielle Artman—you know, the lead singer from that new all-girl rock band, Spiders of Power?”

“Hey, great!” Nancy said enthusiastically, suddenly remembering that
Flash
had a lot
more to offer than just the promise of an interesting mystery. “Their single’s terrific.”

“Well, as Mick’s assistant, and as a detective gathering information about a man set on murder, you should be there. So why don’t you wait for Mick in the photo studio when you’re done with your call?”

“Okay,” Nancy agreed.

“And make sure you check in with me often so we can talk about the case.” Yvonne began picking up the larger pieces of broken glass.

Nancy hurried out of the office. She rushed past the receptionist and caught the elevator to the ground floor. She found a pay phone and dialed Ned Nickerson’s number.

Ned’s going to be really upset, she told herself. Still, she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of her handsome, longtime boyfriend. Ned was too much in love with her to stay mad for more than a few minutes. No doubt about it, she was lucky to have such an understanding guy.

The phone rang twice before Nancy heard Ned say, “Hello.”

“Ned, it’s me. And you’ll never guess what’s up,” Nancy said excitedly into the receiver.

“Wait, don’t tell me. You’re on to another mystery.”

“Yes! How did you guess? This time, it looks really serious—maybe even dangerous. I might need your help!” Quickly she recapped the scene in Yvonne’s office.

“Nancy,” Ned said testily once she had finished, “what about our trip with my parents up to the cabin at the lake? Did you forget all about that?”

“No, of course not,” Nancy answered quickly, toying nervously with the cord of the telephone, “but we’ve got to call that off. We’ll go some other time, Ned, I promise.”