Fatal Attraction (4 page)

“You through with this?” the waitress asked, coming up with a tray.

Mike nodded. The waitress scooped up the glass and Mike stood up.

“See you later, huh?” he said, and walked to a motorcycle parked in the lot. Nancy was left staring at the waitress. Should she try to rescue the glass? No, she couldn't be sure now which one it was, of the half dozen on the tray. Great, she thought disgustedly. Now she'd have to look for another way to get the fingerprints. But she had the pictures, and that was what really mattered.

Nancy got into her Mustang and put the camera into her glove compartment. It wasn't noon yet—if she dropped the film off at the photo lab downtown, she could get the photos back in a couple of hours and put them on the wire to Dirk this afternoon.

As Nancy drove by McBride's Drugs, she screeched to a stop. There were a few things she needed to pick up, and she wouldn't be passing any drugstores on her way home from the lab. It'll just take a minute, she told herself as she got out of the car and stuck her keys in her pocket.

When she returned, she was surprised at how warm the car had gotten in such a short time. It was probably a good idea to take the camera
from the glove compartment and put it someplace cooler.

Nancy felt around inside the cluttered glove compartment. Where
was
that camera, anyway? She pulled out a few maps, some old napkins, an empty pack of gum.

A sick feeling twisted inside her stomach. The camera—with the precious pictures of Mike—was gone. The glove compartment was empty!

For a moment, Nancy just stared at the empty glove compartment, stunned—and then angry—at her carelessness in leaving the car unlocked. But how could she have known someone would act so quickly?

Nancy sat back in the seat, biting her lip, remembering that the publicity photos had been stolen from Charlie's. There was a distinct possibility that the thief had been watching her earlier. And there was also the possibility—maybe even a
probability
—that the thief was someone who wanted the film, and not the camera. Could it have been Mike himself? Doubtful. He'd obviously been intrigued with the idea of
Flash
magazine doing a feature on him. What was it he'd said? Something about finally being able to get away? Get away from what?

Nancy didn't have time to pursue this line of thinking any further. A tomato-red car breezed past. The driver was looking straight ahead, but Nancy didn't need to be a detective to recognize
the vehicle and the driver's long black hair. So Brenda Carlton was in the neighborhood! Had
she
been at Charlie's, too, and spotted Nancy and Mike? Had she decided to steal the camera as a signal to Nancy to stay away from Mike?

Nancy shook her head. It was possible—but not very likely. She knew that if Brenda wanted the pictures, she wouldn't steal the camera. She'd make a noisy scene, demanding that Nancy return the film. No, much as she hated to admit she was sure that Brenda wasn't the thief.

Now that her plan to get a picture had been blown, Nancy knew she had to come up with an alternative quickly. But she couldn't count on being able to con Mike into posing again. She slumped down in the car seat, frowning. How
was
she going to get that photo?

• • •

“So you want
us
to make like groupies and take Mike's picture,” George said from the back seat of Ned's car. The four of them—Nancy, Ned, Bess, and George—were on their way to the club later that night, after Nancy had filled them in on the details of the case.

Beside George, Bess smiled dreamily, adjusting the collar of her brand-new blue blouse. “Maybe we can make it a close-up,” she suggested, “with
me
.”

“A close-up would be great,” Nancy said with a grin. She leaned over the front seat. “In fact, if
you sat beside the stage and pretended to be a couple of ardent fans, you could whip out your camera and—”

“You're sure that Mike McKeever isn't going to object?” George asked cautiously. “I don't want anything to happen to
my
camera.”

“That's what
we're
here for,” Ned reminded George, pulling into the lot and parking. “We won't go in, because it might blow your cover. But we'll be out here if you need us.”

Wish us luck,” Bess said as they got out of the car. To George, she added, “Do you suppose he'll sign an autograph for me?”

“How long do you think this is going to take?” Ned asked after the two had disappeared into the club. They were parked under a single bright security light that lit the entire parking lot. It had been drizzling, and the rain made a halo around the light.

Nancy shrugged. “Not too long,” she said. She stretched. “Unless Bess gets starry-eyed over Mike and forgets why they came.”

“Well, then, we could have a lot of time, couldn't we?” Ned laughed. “Maybe it's
our
turn to do close-ups.” He put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her close, gently, his lips touching hers. “Perfect,” he sighed. “Now, if only somebody would cut that light—”

Almost by magic, the light went off, and the parking lot was shrouded in drizzly darkness.

“How'd you do that, Ned?” Nancy asked.

“Wishful thinking.” Ned kissed her again.

With a happy sigh, Nancy gave herself up to Ned's kiss and the comforting circle of his strong arms. All she could feel was the warmth of his lips on hers; all she could hear was her own heart thudding in her ears.

Then, suddenly, it wasn't just her heart she was hearing. Out in the dark parking lot, there was a long, shrill scream that sent shivers up Nancy's spine. She and Ned looked up and saw a tangle of shadowy figures, struggling. Quickly, Ned flipped on the headlights. The bright beams bathed the struggling figures in light. Nancy could make out a bright blue blouse.

“It's George and Bess!” she exclaimed frantically. “They're being attacked!”

L
ET'S GO
!” N
ED
shouted, shoving open the car door and jumping out. Nancy was right behind him as the two of them raced across the wet asphalt toward the tangle of struggling bodies. In the eerie illumination of the headlights, Nancy saw with a gasp that the short, stocky attacker had the wizened, hideously distorted face of a mummy. Then she realized it was only a Halloween mask, and she let out her breath. She saw the attacker yank the camera as George tried to wrestle it away from him.

Ned lunged into the assailant as hard as he could, knocking the man onto the wet pavement.
Nancy darted forward to snatch off the mummy mask. She saw that the man had gray hair and a short-clipped gray beard.

“Grab him, Nancy!” Bess screamed.

But Nancy was off-balance, and the attacker rolled away from her and scrambled to his feet. He ran a few yards, to an old green car parked in the shadows. The engine roared to life and the car sped away, tires screeching.

“Sorry,” Ned said. “That push should have stopped a horse.”

“At least we got this,” Nancy said, picking George's camera up off the pavement.

“And
I
got this,” Bess moaned, putting a hand to her face. A long scratch ran across her cheek. “Am I bleeding?”

“It's not too bad,” Nancy said, examining it tenderly. “We'll get you home and put some iodine on it.” She turned to George. “How about you?”

“Some bodyguards you two turned out to be.” George held her hand to her eye with a rueful grin. “I think I'm going to have a black eye.”

Nancy thought guiltily of the fun she and Ned had been having when they should have been watching for George and Bess. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I just didn't expect—”

“I know,” George broke in. “I didn't either. He jumped out of the shadows.” She looked
around. “That's funny—wasn't there a security light?”

Ned nodded. “It went out a few minutes ago. Whoever jumped you must've cut the power to the light so he could do his dirty work in the dark.”

“That means he must know his way around Charlie's,” Nancy said. “The switch box is probably inside somewhere.”

“An employee, maybe?” George asked.

“Wouldn't it be a good idea if we discussed this in the car?” Bess asked plaintively. “We're getting
wetter
.”

“You know,” Nancy said as all four of them started back toward Ned's car, “I've got the feeling that I've seen that guy before. Short, stocky, with a gray beard—” Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I've got it!” she exclaimed. “It's the guy who dumped our table and spilled coffee all over Brenda!”

Ned stared at her. “Hey, you're right,” he said. “Maybe he's making a career out of crashing people's parties.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Nancy said grimly. “But he's connected with this mystery somehow. Since he was so anxious to keep us from getting a picture of Mike, I'll bet he's the same guy who broke into my car and stole the camera. And took the publicity photo out of the file cabinet, too!” She shook her head in puzzlement. But what was his
motive? And how was he tied to Mike McKeever?

• • •

“So you're up to your eyebrows in bad guys again, eh?” Carson Drew asked, putting down his morning paper. “What's the crime?”

Nancy, dressed in khaki pants and a safari shirt, sat down at the breakfast table and helped herself to Hannah's pancakes. “I wish I knew,” she said. “And right now, I don't know what all these things are leading up to.” She told her father briefly about the case.

“So what's your next step?”

“Getting some film developed. Then Bess and George and I are going on a reconnaissance mission to pick up a set of fingerprints.”

Carson Drew folded the paper and pushed back his chair. “Well, I'm sure you'll be able to pull it off,” he said with cheerful confidence. He bent over and kissed his daughter. “Be careful while I'm away in New York, Nancy. I want to find you in one piece when I get back.”

Nancy grinned. Her father, who was used to dealing with criminals in his law practice, knew exactly what kind of dangerous scrapes she sometimes got herself into.

“I will,” she promised. She finished her pancakes hurriedly, then went to the phone. It was after nine. Mr. Carlton ought to be in his office by now.

“I'm not surprised,” Mr. Carlton growled when Nancy had told him about Mike's false identity. “But I'm afraid that the fact that this guy is using a phony name isn't going to be enough to convince Brenda to drop him.”

Nancy nodded. If Brenda sensed
any
pressure from her father to drop Mike, she would become even more stubborn about him.

“Right,” she agreed. “But there's something else, too—or maybe I should say
someone
else. This gray-haired man—he's connected to the case somehow. When we've figured out what that connection is, we'll know a whole lot more.”

After she said goodbye and hung up, she took the film out of the safe in the den and tucked it into her purse. She'd been relieved last night to discover that the film hadn't gotten wet.
That
would have been a real disappointment, after all the trouble they'd had getting the pictures.

An hour later, Nancy had already dropped the film off at the photo lab and was heading toward the Ridgeview Motel with George and Bess.

“Ooh,” George groaned, leaning over to look at herself in Nancy's rearview mirror. “Not only does this black eye
look
awful, but it hurts every time I blink!” She dabbed at the green and purple bruise that her makeup barely covered.

“So what's the game plan?” Bess asked. Her scratch was already beginning to heal.

“We're going to the Ridgeview Motel,” Nancy told them. “To search Mike's room.”

“What are we looking for?” Bess asked.

“Fingerprints—and anything else we can find,” Nancy said. “We're really short of clues in this case. Not only that, but we're short of the real
crime,
when you get right down to it. We know that Mike McKeever definitely isn't who he says he is. But we've got no reason to think he's a criminal.”

She pulled up in front of Mason's Office Supply, around the corner from the motel. There was a pay phone directly in front of them.

“Wait here a minute,” Nancy instructed her friends. “I'm going to call Mike. If there's no answer, we'll assume the coast is clear.”

In a moment she was back. “Okay, come on,” she said. “He's gone.”

Mike's room was on the second floor of the cheap, run-down motel. The locked door, with a window next to it, opened onto a long balcony that ran in front of all the rooms. Near the stairs, they found a maid's pushcart, loaded with cleaning supplies and dirty linen.