A Date with Deception (6 page)

“No, but she called just a little bit ago,”
Eloise said. “She told me to tell you that she and Gary uncovered something.”

“Does that mean they're trying to investigate this themselves?” Eileen asked.

“Well, Gary's reputation is on the line,” Nancy said, wondering what he and George had found out about Bill Fairgate. “And he's out of a job. He must feel he has to do something.”

Eileen nodded, frowning. “I can understand that,” she said. “But I'm not so sure it's a wise idea. He might get himself into more trouble.”

“How could he get into more trouble than he's already in?” Bess asked, taking two glasses from the cupboard and pouring Nancy and herself some tea.

“Because if he's not the leak,” Nancy explained, “then whoever is might do just about anything to stop Gary from finding that out.”

Bess looked worried, but Eileen laughed. “Heavens, I didn't mean it that way!” she said. “I just meant that Gary should probably have a detective do his investigating for him, that's all.”

“He does,” Bess said. “He's got Nancy. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, she can.”

“I'm sure she can. It's just that Jetstream thinks it's already gotten to the bottom of the question.” Eileen smiled at Nancy. “You must think they're wrong.”

“I'm not sure of anything yet,” Nancy said,
taking a sip of tea. “But I'm going to keep on digging until I am sure.”

Eileen left a few minutes later, and soon after that, George and Gary arrived in Gary's car.

“Guess what?” George said excitedly as the two of them burst into the kitchen. “Bill Fairgate's really into the stock market.”

“One of my buddies, another pilot,” Gary said, “told me that Fairgate's always giving him tips, telling him what stocks are up or down and what to invest in.” He slapped the table in satisfaction. “It's got to be him!”

Nancy tried to smile, but she knew Gary's information wasn't really incriminating. So Bill Fairgate liked to play the stock market. It might show that he was eager to make lots of money, but it certainly wasn't illegal. Gary was just eager to place the blame on the first likely person to come along. Not that Nancy could blame him.

“What is it, Nan?” George asked, frowning. “Don't tell me you don't think this is important.”

Nancy sighed. Things would be a lot easier if Gary wasn't George's boyfriend. George was on his side, of course, but Nancy had to try to keep an open mind.

“It could be important,” Nancy said. “But we need a lot more before we can accuse Bill Fairgate of anything. It would be nice if he'd
just invested a huge amount of money,” she added with a smile.

“We can try to find that out,” Gary said.

“Okay,” Nancy agreed. “But I keep thinking we're starting in the middle instead of the beginning. I wish there was some way to see the Jetstar plans. If we could figure out what was leaked, we might be able to figure out who leaked it.”

“Maybe this will help,” Eloise said. She'd been listening quietly, clearing off the table, and now she held up that day's newspaper. “ ‘Jetstream Fends Off Challenge in Race for Skies,' ” she read.

Everyone crowded around Eloise as she read the article aloud. “ ‘Aviane, France's leading designer-manufacturer of jet planes, said in a surprise announcement today that it is nearing completion of a plane it hopes will corner the highly lucrative market of small, privately owned business jets.

“ ‘Aviane didn't reveal the plans for its plane, but it did say that the new jet contains innovations that are sure to have similar businesses scrambling to catch up.

“ ‘It is well-known that Jetstream, a local company and a fierce competitor of Aviane's, has been developing a similar plane for almost three years. Asked about the possibility of industrial espionage, a spokesman for Jetstream refused to comment, saying only that
its plane, the Jetstar, would be ready for the market in the very near future. The spokesman also said that Jetstream had full confidence in its ability to head off Aviane's challenge.' ”

Eloise shook her head. “I guess it doesn't really tell us much.”

“Except that Jetstream's closed the book on me,” Gary commented bitterly.

“This reporter,” Nancy said, looking at the paper. “Susan Wexler. She sounds like she suspects something. I wonder if I could talk to her.”

“Well, she lives right here in the Hamptons,” Eloise told her. “I met her once. She's a very nice young woman. Let me get her number for you.”

“Thanks, Aunt Eloise. Maybe I can meet with her tonight.” Nancy thought a minute. “We're taking Sasha and Marina to the Lobster Tank tonight. Maybe Susan Wexler can meet us there.”

“I don't think Gary and I are in the mood for a place with loud rock music,” George said.

“Oh, you have to come!” Bess said.

“Maybe you should,” Nancy agreed. “It hasn't exactly been a great day for you. Maybe some music will help you forget for a while.”

“Right,” Bess said. “It'll be fun, you'll see. A lot of people from the institute will be there.”

George laughed wryly. “Yves Goulard, too?”

“Well, naturally,” Bess said with a conspiratorial grin. “That's
why
it's going to be so much fun.”

• • •

Nancy drove George, Gary, and Bess to the Lobster Tank in her little rented Honda, stopping off at the house where the Soviet dancers were staying. The plan had been for Bess to borrow Dmitri's car to drive Sasha and Marina to the club, but Dmitri wouldn't allow that.

“I will take Sasha and Marina,” he declared, drawing his beetling brows together. “They should not go out unsupervised.”

“Wow, you'd think Dmitri was a KGB agent or something, the way he watches those two,” Bess commented.

Nancy nodded, glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure Dmitri was still behind her. He had gotten a new rental car, a dark blue sedan. He was still there. Nancy turned her gaze away almost instantly. Dmitri's high beams practically blinded her. “Maybe he is KGB. Maybe he's afraid they'll defect,” she suggested, smiling.

The Lobster Tank wasn't fancy; it was in a plain, weather-beaten building and served only pretzels and soda. It did have live music, though, and plenty of room to dance, and it was one of the most popular clubs in the Hamptons. The band that night was called Blackjack, and by the time Nancy arrived, the place was jumping.

“Oh, look, everybody from the institute's here,” Bess said excitedly. She pointed out a pretty, petite girl with dark blond hair who was dancing with a handsome guy with a sullen face. “There's Emily Terner, and her boyfriend, Keith—cute, but kind of a jerk. And there's Jacques. . . . And there's Yves!” Bess waved to the handsome, dark-eyed accompanist. Smoothing back her blond hair, she started across the dance floor toward him, moving in time to the music.

Gary took George's hand. “Come on,” he said, “let's dance. Maybe Nancy and Bess are right, that it'll take our minds off this rotten day.”

Sasha, looking great in jeans and a black T-shirt, turned to Nancy, smiling. “This is a wonderful place!” he shouted over the music. “I'm going to dance until I drop!”

Even Marina looked excited at the scene. She stood tapping her foot to the pulsing beat of the music, and when Sasha grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the floor, she threw back her head and laughed with pleasure.

Nancy hid her surprise that Sasha hadn't asked
her
to dance. Oh, well, why should she mind? Anyway, she had other things to think about.

Dmitri sat down by himself at an empty table and glowered as his charges enjoyed themselves on the dance floor. Nancy's interest was caught for a second by Jacques as he
approached Dmitri's table, but the French dancer merely smiled and walked on by.

Nancy bought a soda and checked her watch. She'd reached the reporter, Susan Wexler, who'd been eager to talk about Jetstream—especially after Nancy had told her that a Jetstream pilot would be part of the group. She wouldn't be there for another half hour, so Nancy found a table and sat down to watch the action.

The place was packed. After twenty minutes, Nancy lost track of almost everyone except Sasha. He was easy to spot, moving through the crowd, dancing with just about everyone. He danced as well to rock as to ballet music, and Nancy had trouble keeping her eyes off him. At least, she thought, he's been keeping his promise about backing off.

Sasha whirled in time to the music and caught Nancy staring at him. He grinned and waved—and then he winked.

Nancy shook her head, smiling to herself. Sasha might be backing off, but he wasn't giving up. Nancy had the feeling he'd be at her side before long, so she decided to take a quick walk outside. She could use some fresh air.

The Lobster Tank was right at the edge of an inlet, and the breeze felt sticky with salt but cool. Nancy was thinking about Jetstream, when she noticed a piece of paper stuck under the windshield wiper of her car.

Probably from the Lobster Tank, she
thought, advertising a new band or something. She pulled the paper off and looked at it.

Scrawled across the back of a flyer, in black Magic Marker, was her name. Underneath it was a warning: “Stop now your investigation of Jetstream or you will regret it. Curious detectives do not die of old age.”

W
HAT IS THAT
in your hand?”

Nancy jumped, whirled around, and came face-to-face with Sasha. Directly behind him were Marina and Dmitri.

“Sasha, you shouldn't sneak up on people like that!” Nancy said. “What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he told her. “I saw you come out and was afraid you were leaving before I had a chance to say good night. Dmitri was afraid to let me come by myself, I think, so he followed me.”

“Sasha!” Dmitri growled. “You did not tell
me where you were going. It is my job to make sure you do not come to harm.”

Ignoring Dmitri's excuse, Sasha pointed to the flyer in Nancy's hand. “What is that?” he asked again.

Before Nancy could say anything, Sasha had taken the paper from her and was reading it. Then, with an air of triumph, he showed it to Marina and Dmitri.

“You see?” he said to them. “Didn't I tell you this was a true mystery?” He turned back to Nancy, his eyes sparkling. “This is an exciting development, isn't it?”

Nancy snatched the paper back. “I hardly call having my life threatened an ‘exciting development,' Sasha.”

“I must agree with Miss Drew,” Dmitri said.

“I, too, Sasha.” Marina's dark eyes were flashing. Nancy wasn't sure if she was frightened or angry. “This is not a game.”

“Such stays-in-the-mud,” Sasha said, sighing dramatically.

“It's ‘sticks-in-the-mud,' ” Nancy said. “And Marina's right. This isn't a game.”

Dmitri nodded. “Sasha, Miss Drew is the detective. You are the dancer. Come.”

With a rueful smile, Sasha started to follow them inside. Suddenly he bolted and ran back to Nancy's side. Dmitri and Marina stopped to wait for him, but Nancy saw that when Dmitri tried to go after Sasha, Marina put a hand on Dmitri's arm to stop him.

“I can see this in you, Nancy,” Sasha said, touching her shoulder. “You are not one to give up. That note may frighten you, but it won't stop you.”

Nancy nodded. “You're right. It won't stop me.”

“Then you must be careful,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder.

“Don't worry, Sasha.” Nancy smiled. “I'm always careful.”

She thought he'd leave then, but instead he said, “Let me help you, Nancy.”

“What?”

“Please.” Sasha's voice vibrated with excitement. “I know you must have many ideas about this case. So do I. That note—there's something extremely strange about it, don't you agree? I'm not sure what it is yet, but it might turn out to be a clue. Two heads are better than one, Nancy. Let us solve this case together.”

He really means it, Nancy thought. She sighed. There was something so appealing, so vital about Sasha. It went beyond his incredible good looks—it had something to do with his character. If only . . .

No. Nancy sighed again. “Sasha, thanks, but I can't work that way.”

“You always work alone?” he asked, his eyebrows lifting. “You never take help, even when it is offered?”

“No, that's not what I mean,” Nancy protested.
“But you read this note. I don't really think anybody's out to get me, but I'm not going to take any chances. And I'm sure not going to let you take any. Dmitri's right—I'm the detective and you're the dancer. Let's keep it that way, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, Nancy walked directly back to the club. She reached the door at the same time as another young woman. The woman had light brown hair and a determined look in her green eyes. She stared at Nancy's hair and then pointed to her blouse. “White cotton with embroidered flowers, and red hair in a French braid. You must be Nancy Drew.”