Fatal Attraction (7 page)

Brenda smiled wickedly. “Is that right? I wonder who it could have been.” She stepped closer to Nancy and dropped her voice. Her smile was gone. “Listen, Nancy,” she said grittily, “where Mike McKeever is concerned, I mean business.” Her fingers clenched into a fist. “If I so much as catch you looking in his direction, you'll regret it!”

Nancy could feel the anger rising inside her, but she managed to keep it down. “Don't worry, Brenda,” she said, “I wouldn't
dream
of dealing myself into your little game.”

She hesitated. Should she warn Brenda that her boyfriend meant business, too—but that he had a different kind of business in mind? No, a warning at this point would only make Brenda even more angrily determined to hold on to
Mike. She might even let him know that somebody was on to him.

Pushing past Brenda, Nancy walked out the door. She had better things to do than argue with Brenda. Ned would soon be along to pick her up for the drive to Silver Hills.

• • •

“Something happened this morning?” Ned asked with a look at her tense face when Nancy got into his car.

“Yes—something I
didn't
need,” Nancy said, and told him about her encounter with Brenda. But as they drove through the countryside, she gradually relaxed, watching the green trees speed by.

“Well, here we are,” Ned said as they pulled into the little town. “Where to first?”

“According to Brenda, Mike played at the Sweet Corn Festival here last year.” Nancy pointed to a small brick building. “There's the Chamber of Commerce. Maybe somebody in the office could help us.” She thought for a minute. “How about posing as magazine writers, looking for leads on a story about people who get started in their music careers by doing festivals?” She patted her purse. “I've got a photo of Mike—maybe someone will recognize it.”

The small office was empty except for a tired-looking potted palm beside the counter and a young woman in her late teens.

“Good morning,” she said, coming to the counter. When Nancy gave her their cover story, she accepted it without question. “What an interesting article,” she said, smiling. “How can I help?”

Nancy pulled out Mike's photo. “We're particularly interested in this guitar player,” she said. “He played in the festival last year. His name's Mike McKeever.”

The young woman glanced at the photo. “That's right, but his name's not McKeever. It's Malone—Mike Malone. And it wasn't a music career he was interested in while he was here.”

“Oh?” Nancy asked. “What do you mean?”

“Just that he had other things on his mind while he was here—especially Laura Rogers. But for details, you'd have to talk to Laura's best friend Pam. She works at the Beauty Box.”

Nancy got Pam's last name, and then she and Ned walked down the tree-lined street. The Beauty Box was a small beauty salon attached to a house. It was painted pink, with purple trim. Inside, the salon was empty, and a pretty, dark-haired girl in a pink uniform was reading a magazine. A bell on the door tinkled when Nancy and Ned came in, and she looked up.

“Did you want an appointment?” she asked, coming to the receptionist's desk.

Nancy shook her head. “Actually we came to talk to you—if you're Pam, that is.”

The girl looked at them suspiciously. “I'm Pam. What do you want?”

Nancy held out Mike's picture. “We understand that you may know this person.”

Pam looked at the picture and her mouth tightened. “Yeah, I sure do.” She frowned. “You're not friends of his, are you? If you are, you might as well get out of here right now. I don't want to talk to you.”

“No, we're not friends,” Nancy said. Maybe, to get this girl to talk, she needed to prompt her a little. She cleared her throat. “Actually, we're a little concerned about this friend of ours. She seems to . . . well, she thinks she's in love with him.”

“Then I have some advice for
her,”
Pam snapped. “Tell her to run, don't walk, to the nearest exit. Don't even wait to say goodbye.”

“Sounds like this guy's made some real trouble here,” Ned said sympathetically.

“You bet he's made trouble,” Pam said, sitting in the receptionist's chair. Her voice was bitter. “He breezes into town for the festival and makes a big play for Laura, who was engaged to my brother. She's my best friend.” She paused and then gave Nancy a meaningful look. “Correction, she
was
my best friend.”

Nancy looked at Pam sharply. “You mean something happened to her?”

“Yeah. She got involved with this Mike and
broke off her engagement with my brother, that's what happened to her. Then her father—he owned the big manufacturing plant just outside of town—heard that she and this guy were planning to elope. So her parents got into the act too.”

“What do you mean?” Ned asked.

Pam shrugged and picked up a pencil, turning it over in her fingers. “Nobody knows for sure. People say there was a payoff of some kind, but you know how small towns are. Everybody knows about it, but nobody knows the truth. Anyway, Mike and his buddy left town. Laura got mad at her parents for interfering, and she went to Chicago. And now my brother's eating his heart out for a girl who jilted him for a jerk.”

“You said that Mike had a buddy,” Nancy said intently, putting the photo into her purse. “Was he an older man? Gray beard, scar on his left cheek?”

“That's the one,” Pam replied. “His name's Felix. He was living in a travel trailer.”

The bell on the door jangled, breaking the tension. A woman came in. “Good afternoon, Pam,” she said. “Are you ready for me?”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Lipman,” Pam said. She forced a cheerful smile but her eyes were still darkly bitter. She turned back to Nancy. “I've got to get to work now.”

“Of course,” Nancy said. “You've been a big
help to us. But one thing more. We'd like to talk to Laura's family. How do we reach them?”

“You don't,” Pam said, pulling a pink shampoo cape from a rack. “Her mother's moved away. Her father took it real hard about Laura. They split up, and I don't know where he is now.”

• • •

“So what's on your mind?” Ned said, reaching for Nancy's hand. “Serious stuff? Angry stuff? We've been back for ten minutes, and you haven't said a word.” It was almost five, and Nancy and Ned were sitting in the Drews' den, drinking the tall glasses of iced tea Hannah had poured for them.

“Sad stuff, I guess,” Nancy admitted, “and angry too. I was thinking of all the lives these two guys—Mike and Felix—have messed up. There's Laura and her fiancé, who broke up because of Mike, and Laura's folks. And Darla
—she's
mixed up in this too.”

“I wonder how many
other
lives have been wrecked by this pair,” Ned said somberly.

Nancy shook her head. “Yeah, I wonder. It makes me sick when I think of the way Laura was used. And Brenda, too. I mean, I don't like Brenda, but I
hate
what's happening to her.”

Ned squeezed her hand. “You're doing your best to stop it, Nan.”

“I just hope my best is good enough,” Nancy
said fervently. She sighed and looked out the window. “But with Brenda throwing wild cards into the game, I can't be sure.”

The phone rang beside the sofa, breaking into Nancy's thoughts.

“Hi, detective,” the friendly voice said on the other end of the wire. “Glad I caught you.”

Nancy's fingers tightened on the receiver. “Did you get my transmission this morning, Dirk?” she asked tightly.

“You bet I did.” There was a suppressed excitement in Dirk's voice. “We don't have anything on the print yet, but I've got a positive on the photo for you.”

“Already?” Nancy exclaimed. “That's super!”

“Your boy was involved here in Fort Lauderdale with a girl named Darla DeCamp,” Dirk said. “She was on a missing persons list up your way until a couple of weeks ago.” He paused.

“Darla?” Nancy asked. It was the name on the love note in Mike's pocket! They were getting closer. “You said she
was
on a missing persons list. What happened? Has she been found?”

“Yeah, she was found,” Dirk said. His voice was grim. “She turned up in a lake outside of Batesville—dead.”

N
ANCY GASPED, HER
fingers frozen on the telephone. Darla—dead? This was something she hadn't expected. Had Darla drowned accidentally—or by some other means? Nancy thought immediately of the scented note in Mike's pocket. “I pray that we'll never be separated,” the girl had written lovingly.

Nancy bit her lip, her thoughts racing. “Have the police established a cause of death?” she asked, her voice strained.

“Not yet,” Dirk said. “The case must still be open—they haven't put out a warrant. Where are you in
your
investigation?”

“I've uncovered a couple of things that connect Mike McKeever to Batesville.” Quickly, Nancy told Dirk about the ticket stub and the love note from Darla. “And Ned and I discovered a lead today to a girl in Silver Hills,” she said. “It's beginning to look as though Mike's romancing these girls for their money. It's romantic extortion. The question is, what next? Does he murder them to keep them quiet, once he's got their money? What's more,” Nancy continued, “I'm pretty sure Mike isn't in this alone. It looks like he's got a partner. His name may be Felix.”

“You seem to know more about this case than anybody else,” Dirk mused. “You'd better watch yourself. These guys sound dangerous. If they figure you're on to them, they might try to stop you.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “But it's not me I'm worried about. It's the girl I'm supposed to protect—Brenda Carlton. She's about as flaky as they come, and headstrong, and there's no predicting what she'll do. She's so crazy about Mike, she might even try to help him get away.”

Dirk grunted. “Sounds like a tough one, but you're up to it. I'll let you know the minute we turn up anything on that print.”

Nancy said goodbye and hung up. Just then the doorbell rang. It was George and Bess, in matching red jogging shorts and red sweatbands.

“Hi,” Bess said breathlessly as Nancy opened the door. “We were out running—or I should say George was out running, and I was trying to keep up—and we thought we'd stop to hear what you learned in Silver Hills.”

“Did you uncover anything new?” George asked.

“Yes,” Nancy said. “But what we found out is pretty grim, I'm afraid. Do you have time to discuss the latest?”

“Listen,” Ned said, coming up behind Nancy, “It's getting to be dinnertime. How about something to eat while we talk?”

“That's a good idea,” Nancy said, suddenly remembering that she and Ned had only had a quick sandwich for lunch.

“I'll go for that,” Bess said happily.

“But we've
had
dinner,” George reminded her. “What about your diet?”

“What about it?” Bess asked, with an innocent look. “Don't you remember what we always used to say back in high school? There
aren't
any calories in Hannah's kitchen.”

Hannah surveyed the group as they came trooping into the kitchen. “Dinnertime, is it?” she asked, laughing, hands on her hips.

Ned enveloped Hannah in a huge bear hug. “You know, Hannah, I'd sure love one of your terrific grilled-cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup. And your chocolate cake has always
held the key to my heart.” He grinned at Nancy. “
One
of the keys to my heart, anyway.”

“So what happened in Silver Hills?” George prompted as the group sat around the table.

Nancy sketched out what she and Ned had learned from Pam at the beauty salon, and then went on to the conversation with Dirk. Everyone grew quiet when she told them about Darla DeCamp's death.

“But there's no proof that it was more than an accident?” Bess asked.

“Dirk didn't have any information on that,” Nancy said.

Bess shook her head. “I keep thinking about that poor girl writing that love note,” she said gravely. “What a rotten thing—to love somebody and then find out that he's a crook.” Her eyes widened. “If Mike and his friend killed that girl, what are they planning to do with Brenda?”

Nancy frowned. “But we don't know that Mike killed anybody,” she said cautiously. “We're only guessing. I think we ought to make a trip to Batesville and talk to the police. Maybe by this time they've got some leads.”

The phone rang, and Hannah picked it up. “Yes, sir,” she said, “she's right here.”

She carried the phone to the table. “It's Mr. Carlton,” she whispered to Nancy. “The editor of the
Times
.”