010 Buried Secrets (8 page)

Slowly the man lowered the shotgun until it was pointing at the floor. He took a few steps back and then gestured toward the door. “Downstairs,” he said. “You’re supposed to be downstairs.”

“Where
downstairs?” Nancy asked. She had a funny feeling that this man wasn’t the caretaker. “Third floor? Second floor? First?”

“Find it yourselves,” the man said. “And don’t come snooping up here again, or it’ll be
you
Mr. Harrington’ll be unhappy with.”

Raising the gun again, the man backed out the door, slamming it behind him.

“Quick!” Nancy cried as soon as he was gone. “Let’s follow him!”

“I thought you were interested in that tape recorder,” Bess said.

“I am, but it’ll have to wait.” Nancy yanked
open the door. “Right now I’m more interested in finding out who that guy really is!”

His voice was different from the one in my garage, Nancy thought as they clattered down the winding stairs, but he’s tall. And I’ll bet he was the guy in my garage and the guy who followed me in that black car.

As they dashed down the big entry hall toward the front door, they almost collided with Barry. “What’s the rush?” he said, looking startled.

“The caretaker!” Nancy shouted, without stopping. “Which way’d the caretaker go?”

“You mean old Al? It’s Al’s day off,” Barry said. “Hey!” he called after them. “What about the envelopes?”

“Later!” Nancy called back. “Sorry!”

Outside, there was no sign of the “caretaker.” Nancy stopped for a second and listened. There it was—the sound of a car, its engine roaring as it sped down the long drive toward the front gates.

“Come on!” Nancy cried. “If we hurry, we might just make it!”

Together, the three girls rushed across the grounds and through the trees, heading for the crumbled part of the wall they’d climbed earlier. If we can get to my car in time, Nancy thought, we can follow him all the way back to River Heights if we have to.

Just as they were scrambling over the wall, Nancy heard a car again. This time it was moving fast down the cliff road, but suddenly it stopped. The girls continued to run through the woods, following the wall out to the road. As they were just about to break through the last of the underbrush, they heard the car start up again and roar away.

They sprinted the couple hundred feet to the Mustang and piled in. Before the doors were even shut, Nancy was turning the key in the ignition.

But the engine didn’t start. Instead, it groaned and clunked. Her hand shaking, Nancy tried again. Another groan and clunk, but still no life.

“Sounds as if the battery’s dead,” George said.

“It can’t be.” Fumbling with the door handle, Nancy got out of the car and raised the hood. “The battery’s fine,” she called out. “But that jerk just took my distributor cap!”

Slamming down the hood, Nancy shook her head in frustration. The shotgun-toting “caretaker” was probably halfway back to town by then.

Slowly this time, the girls trudged back to Harrington House. While Bess apologized to Barry for their running out on him, Nancy called for a tow truck. The truck took an hour to arrive, and when they finally got back to town, Nancy
realized she wouldn’t have time to go home and clean up for her meeting with Mayor Abbott.

“Actually, it’s been kind of fun,” Bess said as the three of them left the repair station in the fixed Mustang. “I even got some exercise, and it was a lot more exciting than jogging.”

“I get the feeling your jogging days are over,” George commented.

“Right,” Bess agreed. “I just found a new interest—working for the Harrington campaign.”

Laughing, Nancy let them out by a bus stop downtown, then parked and went into the mayor’s outer office. She was tired, her clothes were dirty from climbing the wall, and her hair needed a good brushing, but at least she was on time.

Unfortunately, the mayor wasn’t. “He’s in an important meeting,” his secretary explained to Nancy. “He’ll be with you as soon as he can.”

Forty-five minutes went by. Nancy jumped every time the secretary’s intercom buzzed, and then slumped back in her chair, waiting. Finally, after an hour, the mayor emerged from his office.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Drew,” Sam Abbott said, shaking her hand. His dark hair was graying, and he looked tired, but his blue eyes
were clear and sharp. Nancy knew that he didn’t miss a thing. “Come on in and let’s talk.”

Feeling very rumpled, Nancy went into the mayor’s office and sat down in a soft leather chair. “I guess you know that I’m investigating John Harrington’s death,” she said.

“Yes, my secretary mentioned that,” the mayor said, easing into the chair behind his shiny wooden desk. He studied her for a minute before continuing, “Do you really think you’ll be able to uncover anything new—or that there is anything to uncover?”

Nancy started to say that since she’d been threatened three times already, she was pretty sure that somebody was trying to keep something covered up. But then she changed her mind. After all, she reasoned, she couldn’t trust anybody—not even the mayor of River Heights.

“I don’t really know,” she answered. “But I’m going to try.”

“Well, I wish you luck.” The mayor smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Now, how can I help you?”

Even though she knew what he was going to say, Nancy asked him to tell her what had happened the night John Harrington died. And she was right—Mayor Abbott didn’t tell her anything
she hadn’t already heard. Yes, Charles Ogden had asked for a raise. In fact, he—Abbott—had been there at the time. And, yes, Ogden had been upset when he left, but when he had come back he seemed calm.

“And later he drove you home?” Nancy asked.

“That’s right. It was about eleven-thirty.”

And John Harrington was killed sometime around midnight, Nancy thought. Ogden couldn’t have gotten back in time to do it.

“What about Neil Gray?” she asked.

Neil Gray had been upset, too, the mayor told her. “In fact,” he said,
“upset
isn’t quite the word for it—
outraged
is better. The man ranted and raved in the entry hall, accusing John Harrington of sabotaging his campaign and ruining his life. I practically had to throw him out the door.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where Neil Gray is, would you?” Nancy asked. “Or Charles Ogden?”

The mayor shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Miss Drew. But I wouldn’t waste my time with Ogden, if I were you. For what it’s worth, I’d put my money on Neil Gray. I suspected him then, and I suspect him now.”

“Because of the way he acted?”

“Of course,” the mayor agreed. “But it’s more
than that.” He leaned across the desk, his eyes serious and concerned. “Neil Gray had no chance running against John Harrington. Mr. Harrington was an outstanding man, and he was going to be the best governor this state ever had. Neil Gray knew it—and he couldn’t stand it.”

• • •

An outstanding man? Nancy wondered as she drove home ten minutes later. If John Harrington had been so outstanding, it must have been the best-kept secret in the state. Nancy’s own father didn’t think he’d been so outstanding. Ned’s parents didn’t think he should have been put up on a pedestal. Charles Ogden and Neil Gray presumably disliked him. So why did Mayor Abbott think he had been so terrific?

Of course, Sam Abbott had been John Harrington’s personal secretary, Nancy reminded herself. He probably knew more about him than most people. Still, it was funny that the mayor was the only one who thought Harrington was one of the good guys.

When Nancy got home, every outside light was blazing even though it was barely dusk yet. Nancy had told Hannah what had happened the night before, and it was obvious that Hannah was making sure no one else sneaked into their garage.

Nancy parked her car in the driveway—just in case—then got out and headed for the front door. Max, the neighbors’ black cat, was standing on the porch. Nancy stooped to pet him—and just then she heard a scream.

The scream was coming from inside her house, and the voice was Hannah’s.

T
HIEF
!” H
ANNAH SCREAMED
, her terrified voice ringing through the night.

Before Nancy could move, the front door flew open and Hannah rushed outside, colliding with Nancy, who fell backward, stepping on Max’s paw. Yowling and hissing, the cat took off like a streak.

“Hannah, what happened?” Nancy cried as she scrambled up.

“Inside!” Hannah gasped. “He’s still inside!”

Without waiting to hear any more, Nancy ran into the house, skidding on the hall rug and almost falling into the living room. The room was a wreck, but no one was there.

Next she went into the den. It was a mess, too—the desk drawers had been pulled out and emptied, the couch pillows were tossed on the floor, books and records were scattered everywhere.

A soft thump from the kitchen made Nancy freeze. Then, cautiously, she tiptoed out of the den and down the hall. Her heart pounding, she peered into the kitchen.

Cereal boxes, cans, and cookbooks littered the floor. A bag of flour had been ripped open, vegetables and fruit were dumped in the sink, and the garbage can was turned upside down. The back door stood wide open, and in the doorway stood Max the cat.

Nancy let her breath out. It must have been the cat she had heard, and not the thief. Whoever had wrecked the house had escaped.

“Nancy?” A pale-faced Hannah appeared in the doorway. “Are you all right? Is he gone?”

Nancy nodded, heading for the phone to call the police. “What happened, Hannah?”

“I don’t really know,” Hannah said. “I was visiting next door. When I came back, I took one look at the kitchen and I knew we’d been robbed, but I didn’t even think that the thief might still be here. I was walking toward the living room when I heard a noise coming from the den.” She
shuddered. “I got there just in time to see a man leaving by the front door.”

On the phone, Nancy told the police what had happened, gave her name and address, and then turned back to Hannah. “What did he look like?” she asked.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t see him,” Hannah admitted. “I was terrified. And he was wearing dark clothes and dark leather gloves. And he had a ski mask over his entire head, like one of those international terrorists.”

“A terrorist wouldn’t waste his time with us. This guy was just a run-of-the-mill housebreaker.” Nancy glanced around the kitchen. “I can’t believe what a mess this place is. Maybe we should just move!”

A loud rapping at the front door sent the cat scurrying outside and made Hannah and Nancy jump. “It can’t be our friendly visitor,” Nancy said with a nervous laugh. “He wouldn’t knock.”

Two policemen stood on the porch, and Nancy let them in. “Get ready for a wreck,” she told them as they followed her into the living room. She took them through the entire house and for the first time got a look at what the thief had done to her bedroom.

“It’s going to take forever to put it back together,” she moaned, staring at the papers, clothes,
and cassette tapes that covered every inch of the floor.

“Yep,” one of the officers agreed cheerfully. “The guy didn’t miss much, I’ve got to hand him that.”

I’d
like to hand him something, Nancy thought, looking around her room. A broom, for one. And a prison uniform.

While the police were questioning Hannah in the kitchen, Nancy halfheartedly picked up a pile of cassettes and stacked them on top of her recorder. She gathered an armful of sweaters from the floor and started toward the dresser. Suddenly she let the bright-colored tops slip back out of her hands.

What had the policeman said—that the guy didn’t miss much? But her tape recorder was still there, in plain sight on the white Formica shelf. Next to it was her television, and on the desk sat a personal computer. If Nancy had been out doing a dishonest day’s work, she wouldn’t have passed those up.

And what about the TV and the stereo and the VCR downstairs?

Frowning, Nancy went back through those rooms and saw what she’d missed before—nothing valuable was gone. In fact, it didn’t look as though
anything was gone. She walked into the kitchen, found the extra sugar bowl they used for change, and opened it. Coins and a few dollar bills were still inside.

“He wouldn’t be after the small change,” one of the policemen pointed out.

Nancy nodded. “But he wasn’t after the big change, either. I just noticed, he didn’t take anything he could sell, like the TV or my tape recorder.”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” the officer agreed. “Weird thief, huh?”

“I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a thief at all,” Nancy told him. “I think this whole thing was just a way of trying to scare me.” Quickly she explained about her investigation into John Harrington’s death and the other warnings she’d gotten.

“And you think that’s what this was?” the policeman asked. “Another warning?”

“I’m positive.”

He gave a low whistle. “Well, you may be right. And if you are, maybe you ought to back off. This guy sounds serious.”

“He is,” Nancy said, walking with them to the door. “But so am I. And I’m not about to back off.”