062 Easy Marks (3 page)

Nancy’s mouth fell open. “You mean, he’s—dead?”
That
was news!

“Has anyone—I mean, anyone
else
—in his family been by?” she inquired after a moment.

“I didn’t know he had any family,” the woman told her. “I saw a woman come by one day. And a man the next. But I don’t know who they were.”

“Was the woman small?” Nancy asked. “That would be my cousin, Marie,” she added quickly.

“This was someone else, then. She was kind of fat. The man was on the tall side. I didn’t get a good look at them. I mind my own business.”

Nancy smiled to herself at this last remark. “Do you know what’s going to happen to the house?” she asked.

The old woman snorted with laughter. “Sure I do. The government is taking over ownership. Iggy owed so much on back taxes that the state owns that house for sure. They were trying to blast him out of there for years, but he wouldn’t go. Bless that stubborn old wino. He wasn’t budging.”

Nancy nodded.

“How long ago did—uh, Uncle Iggy die?” she asked.

After thinking a moment, the woman replied, “Two weeks ago. It was in the paper and all—just a single line crammed in with all the other unimportant dead folks’ lines. Wasn’t like they put his picture in or anything.”

“That would explain it,” murmured Nancy, thinking out loud.

“Explain what?” asked the woman, raising an eyebrow.

“Huh? Oh—nothing. Thank you very much for talking to me,” Nancy said hastily. “I’ve got to be going.”

The woman nodded and shut the door.

Nancy’s mind was racing as she headed back to her car and slipped behind the wheel. The real I. Wynn didn’t have anything to do with this scam, she realized. The culprit must have picked the name from the obituary column. It was perfect. Ignatz Wynn had no relatives, according to the woman across the street, and his house was empty. How had the culprit learned Wynn’s Social Security number, though? That was a mystery for now.

Nancy drummed her fingers against the steering wheel as she pondered another question. Who were the man and woman? They could be in on the grade-changing scheme. Or they could be real estate people or officials from the state. The only thing she knew for sure was that neither of them was the petite girl who had opened the account as I. Wynn.

Starting up the engine, Nancy headed for home. The muscles in her arms were throbbing. She was sure she had some cuts and bruises that should be taken care of, too. She let out a sigh. This case wasn’t going to be as easy to solve as she had hoped. Her culprit was very clever.

Time to go undercover, she decided. It looked as if she wasn’t going to visit Ned at Emerson this weekend.

By four o’clock that afternoon, Nancy had taken a long, hot bath and rubbed ointment on the scratches on her arms. Still wrapped in her bathrobe, she picked up the phone on her bedside table and called Sally Lane at home. After saying hello, she asked, “Can you think of a believable reason for me to be hanging around the school, asking questions?”

After a brief pause, Sally’s high-pitched voice came back over the line. “What about the new tutoring program? That could work. One of the tutors just dropped out, and they’re looking for a replacement.”

“That’d be perfect,” said Nancy. “The kids who need tutoring are likely to be the same ones who’d want their grades changed. Do you think your father can get me into the program?”

“No problem. I’ll talk to him tonight.”

“Okay, call me back when you’ve spoken to him. Thanks for your help, Sally,” Nancy told her. “And remember, don’t talk about this with anyone.”

“My lips are sealed,” Sally assured her.

The next morning Nancy parked her Mustang in a visitor’s slot in the Brewster Academy parking lot and got out. She smoothed her red, black, and white plaid skirt and straightened the collar of her white blouse, then retrieved her attaché case from the back seat. She wasn’t sure what a tutor might wear, but she hoped she looked the part.

Brewster Academy was a two-story gray stone building, with slate-colored shingles and two massive chimneys on either side of the roof. It looked as if it had escaped from a print of a New England town. The school was beautiful, but that didn’t change the fact that something very ugly was going on there.

One of the front doors opened, and Harrison Lane stepped out on the top step. He’d called her the night before to tell her that everything was set, and she’d brought him up to date on what she’d learned about I. Wynn. Now, spotting Nancy, he waved.

“There you are,” he said as she walked up to him. “I’ve been waiting for you. I just had a word with Walter Friedbinder, our new headmaster. He’s arranged everything.”

Lane led her inside and down an echoing hallway to a door with Administration painted in gold on the frosted glass pane in its upper half. Inside was a small anteroom with a desk, a waiting area, and a couple of file cabinets. Through a doorway to one side, Nancy caught a glimpse of an elaborate-looking computer setup.

The woman at the desk raised her head and said, “Please go right in, Mr. Lane. The headmaster is expecting you.” Nancy noted her nameplate: Ms. Arletti.

Nancy had been expecting the headmaster to be a gray-haired man, perhaps with a trim mustache, but Walter Friedbinder was young and athletic looking, with short-cropped, reddish hair and intense blue eyes. He sprang up from his desk as they entered his office.

“Welcome to Brewster Academy, Ms. Drew,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s nice to have you with us.”

“Thank you. And please call me Nancy,” she said. “But maybe I’d better use the name Nancy Stevens around here. My name has been in the papers, and it might be best if no one knows I’m a detective.”

“Of course,” said Friedbinder, the smile fading from his face. “I hope you can help us. As I’m sure Harrison told you, this is my first year at Brewster. I accepted the position as headmaster because I admire Brewster’s progressive educational system. The thought that the school might be ruined by a scandal makes me sick.”

“I’ll do what I can, Mr. Friedbinder,” Nancy told him.

His smile returned. “Please call me Walter. We try to keep things informal around here.”

He returned to his desk and picked up a file folder. “I think you’ll find whatever you need to know about the tutoring program in here,” he said, handing it to Nancy. “Now, why don’t we go next door and I’ll introduce you to my assistant head, Phyllis Hathaway. She can take you down to the learning lab and get you settled in.”

“I’ve got to be off,” Lane told them, checking his watch.

Just as they left the headmaster’s office, the door across the anteroom swung open. An attractive woman with dark hair pulled back in a French braid came out. She was about thirty years old and stylishly dressed in a black linen dress.

“Why, hello,” Lane said. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”

The woman gave him a surprised look, then smiled politely and said only, “Fine.”

There was an awkward pause, then the banker said, “Well, goodbye, everyone,” and left.

Walter urged Nancy across the room.

“Phyllis,” he said, “this is Nancy Stevens, who is joining the tutorial program. I said you’d help get her squared away.”

Nancy was glad that he’d remembered to use her alias. The fewer people who knew her true identity, the better.

“Hi, Nancy,” the woman said. “I’m Phyllis Hathaway. Come into my office. I’ll tell you a little about the program, then we can go down to check out the classroom where you’ll be working. Have you done much of this sort of work before?”

Walter rushed to answer before Nancy could reply. “Nancy has excellent qualifications,” he said, his voice harsh and impatient.

Phyllis’s expression hardened. “I’m sure she does,” she said in a clipped tone that clearly said, Mind your own business.

The headmaster’s face reddened, but he didn’t say anything more. Instead, after another awkward pause, he said, “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Nancy, if you need anything, just let me know.”

He disappeared into his office, and Nancy followed Phyllis into hers.

“I hope that didn’t make you uncomfortable,” the woman said apologetically after they were seated. “I’ve been at Brewster for a number of years, ever since I finished college out in California. But Mr. Friedbinder is new to the place. We’re still learning to work with each other. I guess we’re experiencing what’s called a personality conflict.”

“That happens, I suppose,” Nancy murmured. She glanced around the office. Half of Phyllis’s desk was taken up by the high-powered computer work station Nancy had glimpsed before. The bookcase behind Phyllis’s chair seemed to be filled mostly with software manuals and books on computer programming.

“I’ve heard that the school has a very advanced computer system,” Nancy remarked.

Phyllis beamed. “It certainly does—the most powerful of any high school in the state. We’re very proud of it, and I’m especially proud because I was able to help design it. I’m sure you’ll enjoy using the system, too, once you get the hang of it. Now, here’s what we hope to accomplish with the new tutoring program. . . .”

As Phyllis spoke, Nancy realized that this case was going to be a challenge in more ways than one. In addition to unmasking the grade-changer, she was going to have to help students with their English, history, and social sciences. It sounded as if she was going to have to do a lot of homework herself!

“That’s the plan in a nutshell,” Phyllis concluded. “Now, why don’t I give you a quick tour of the place?”

They were getting to their feet when the telephone rang. “Excuse me a moment,” Phyllis said, reaching for the receiver.

Nancy stepped just outside Phyllis’s office and waited. She was reading her notes and thinking over her approach to the investigation, when suddenly a phrase caught her attention.

“—too dangerous,” Phyllis was telling the caller. “Listen, Dana, I don’t like him any more than you do. I’d love to see the conceited nitwit squirm, but I’m not sure I want to go any further with this. Yes . . . okay . . . maybe I
am
getting cold feet. But this could really hurt Brewster. I know . . . I know . . . the financial rewards are compelling. And I really do need the money. Let’s just take it more slowly. This plan has the potential to end in disaster.”

Chapter Four

N
ANCY EDGED AWAY
from the office door. She didn’t want Phyllis to guess that she’d overheard any of her conversation.

It looked as if Nancy had another suspect. Phyllis had a motive—apparently she needed money, though Nancy didn’t know why. And who was it she wanted to see squirm? Maybe Friedbinder, considering their strained relationship. A grade-changing scam would accomplish both things. Phyllis had the opportunity, too. Who would have better access to the school’s computer than she?

There was only one catch. Phyllis was tall and elegant. Even in a disguise she wouldn’t fit the description of the petite I. Wynn—or of the woman who’d been seen at I. Wynn’s Sycamore Avenue address. But maybe that was where this Dana person came in.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Phyllis said, coming out into the anteroom. “Now let me show you the learning lab.”

Nancy and Phyllis took the stairs up to the second floor. Using a key, Phyllis unlocked the door and ushered Nancy into a small room with a teacher’s desk, four student desks, and a folding table that held a telephone, computer terminal, and a small printer.

“Once in a while you may have to share this room with Mickey Randolph—he’s the other tutor,” Phyllis told Nancy. “His specialty is science and math. Unfortunately he’s out of town for the next few days, though. A relative passed away.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nancy said. In more ways than one, she added to herself. Randolph might have information that would help her.

“Yes, well, here is some background on each of your students,” Phyllis continued, handing Nancy a manila folder she took from the teacher’s desk. A schedule was taped to the top of the folder. “Let me give you a password so that you can use the computer, too.”

Phyllis found a scrap of paper on a desk and wrote out a code.

“NS four forty-four,” Nancy read when Phyllis handed her the paper. “What does that stand for?”

“Nancy Stevens, four hundred and forty-fourth password,” replied Phyllis. “I’ll load it into the system when I get back to my office. You’ll be able to use it right away.”

“Thanks,” said Nancy as Phyllis left. She sat back down in a student’s seat and thought. Sally Lane’s message had been sent by IW443. Four forty-three was the last password entered into the system before Nancy’s. That could mean that the grade-changer was someone who hadn’t been at the school a long time. Or it might mean that the person had two passwords and had assigned himself or herself the I. Wynn password without the school’s knowledge.

Yet Phyllis was aware of the number of the last assigned password. It must be in her records. Did she know who was using it? Was Phyllis, herself, using it?

Nancy’s thoughts were interrupted when her first student arrived. He was a tall, awkward boy named Dan. “I don’t see why we have to learn this stuff,” Dan mumbled as Nancy opened the history book. “These geeks are dead, man.”

Nancy could see that she had her work cut out for her.

Her next two students weren’t much easier. One was a girl with short red hair who needed help in English. Apparently, she had never bothered learning much spelling or grammar because she had Spellcheck and Grammarcheck on her home computer.

The other one was a girl who was failing history. She admitted to Nancy that she’d been caught writing her reports from miniseries on TV.

To each of the three students, Nancy asked the same leading question: “Wouldn’t it be great if you could somehow change your old grades now that you’re going to start doing better?” She asked it casually, with a smile, but her blue eyes scrutinized their faces for any trace of reaction. All three students agreed it would be wonderful, but Nancy didn’t note any signs of guilt or nervousness.

Nancy glanced at the name of her fourth and final student before lunch. Victor Paredes. He was the guy Sally had named as the computer whiz, she recalled. Apparently he needed tutoring in English.