High Risk (10 page)

Ned's brown eyes were full of love as he leaned in for a kiss. Their lips met, and Nancy savored the sweet, giddy feeling that always swept over her when they touched.

Finally they drew apart. Nancy sat back on the couch. “Wow!” she murmured. Then she caught sight of the VCR's clock. “Hey, I'd better get
going. Dad'll worry if I'm not home by midnight.”

“I'll walk you out to the car,” Ned offered. Grinning, he added, “It's dark out there. Wouldn't want the bogeyman to get you.”

At the car Ned took Nancy into his arms again. “I love you, Nancy,” he said tenderly.

“I love you, too,” she whispered. Nancy reached down and unlocked the car door, then turned back for another kiss.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a tiny flame flare in the darkness about ten yards away. Before she could see what it was, there was a soft
whoosh.

Then, in an instant, the Mustang was engulfed in white-hot flames!

A
FLAME LICKED OUT
and caught the sleeve of Nancy's blouse before she could react. Her scream was cut off as a strong arm grabbed her around the waist.

“Roll away from it!” Ned shouted, pulling Nancy out into the street.

Ned and Nancy hit the ground together, then rolled over and over, away from the blazing car. Through the roaring flames, Nancy thought she heard an engine start up in the distance.

“Hey, I don't think the gas tank is going to blow,” Ned said in her ear after a moment. “Look, the fire's dying down some already.”

Nancy sat up and stared at the fireball, breathing hard. The flames were orange now, shot with
blue. As she watched, they began to shrink until they were just licking at the bottom of the car.

“Ned, are you okay?” she asked anxiously.

“I'm fine,” came his reply. “What about you? Did you get burned at all?”

Nancy looked down at her arm. “My shirt is scorched, that's all. The flame must have gone out when I rolled over on the ground. Ned, if it hadn't been for you, I might not have gotten away so easily.” Suddenly her teeth began to chatter as she realized what a close call they'd just had.

“Shhh. It's okay. We're both fine,” Ned said, stroking her hair.

“Ned! Nancy!” Ned's mother's frantic voice came from the Nickersons' porch. “What happened? Are you two all right?”

Ned jumped to his feet. “Over here, Mom. We're fine,” he called. “But you'd better call the fire department.”

“Your father's already done that.” Mrs. Nickerson rushed over to Nancy and Ned. “What happened?” she asked in a quavering voice.

Ned and Nancy exchanged a glance. “I guess there was a gas leak somewhere, and I made a spark when I scraped my keys against the car,” Nancy said quickly. She didn't want to alarm Ned's mother.

“Oh, goodness. Look at you, Nancy—your blouse is singed. Oh, I'm so glad you weren't hurt! Come inside, you two.”

As they walked toward the house, Ned took
Nancy's arm and said in a low voice, “There wasn't any accident with the keys. You saw something, didn't you? What was it?”

In a whisper, Nancy told him about the glowing flame she had seen just before the fire broke out. “I have a feeling someone laid a trail of gasoline right to my car, and then lit it from down the street,” she said. Nancy sniffed. Now that she thought about it, she had noticed the faint odor of gasoline in the warm night air. “We're just lucky the car didn't blow up. Hey, where are you going?”

Ned was jogging toward the Mustang, where now only a few small flames flickered on the ground. “I want to check something out,” he said over his shoulder. “Mom, we'll be right in.”

When they got near the car, Nancy saw with relief that it was barely damaged. The fire had died so quickly that there were only a few blisters and scorch marks on the blue paint.

“Wow, I can't believe this!” she said.

“I can,” Ned replied. He was gazing at the path the fire had made. Flames sputtered along a line that stretched into the shadows down the block. Nancy watched as Ned wrapped the tail of his shirt around his hand and opened the flap that covered the gas tank cap.

“What are you looking for?” she asked him, leaning over his shoulder.

“Let me show you something. See those marks?” Ned pointed at some faint, bright scratch marks around the keyhole of the gas cap.

“Someone tried to get to the tank!” Nancy exclaimed, horrified.

He nodded. “You're lucky you have one of these locking caps instead of the screw-in kind,” he said. “Otherwise this scene would have been a whole lot worse. If the fire had actually made it to the gas tank, your car would have been destroyed—and we might not be standing here right now.”

Nancy shivered. “Someone wants me off this case pretty badly,” she murmured.

“I'll tell you something,” Ned went on. “It's my guess that whoever did this doesn't know too much about cars and probably got the idea from watching the bad guys' limos explode on TV. But in real life it takes more than just a flash fire under the body to ignite the gas in the tank. You need intense, sustained heat. And even then, the gas doesn't always explode. It just burns.”

“Ned,” Nancy said slowly, “I'll bet Michelle Ferraro doesn't know a whole lot about cars.”

“Maybe,” he said worriedly. “Nancy, this case is getting dangerous. I don't want you to get killed for my sake. Maybe it
is
time to back off.”

“No way,” Nancy told him firmly. “I'm not giving up. No one is going to kill me, and no one is going to talk me out of solving this mystery, Ned. It's just too important.”

Just then Nancy heard the wail of an approaching fire engine. Seconds later a hook-and-ladder truck careened around the corner, its roof lights twirling, and came to a halt in front of the Nickersons' house. A police car pulled up behind
it. Up and down the block, Nancy saw rectangles of light as the Nickersons' neighbors began opening their doors and peering out.

“Hey, kids, where's the fire?” a burly firefighter in a canvas coat called to Nancy and Ned.

“It
was
under this car,” Ned called back. “But it's died down already.”

The man clumped over in his hip boots and gazed at the Mustang. “Hey, Lewis—get the hose over here!” he called. Two more firefighters trotted over with a hose, and the burly man directed a stream of water at the flames that were still flickering here and there under the body of the car. Then he asked Nancy and Ned, “Any idea how it happened?”

Nancy told him about seeing the light down the street. “I'd say it was thirty or forty feet in back of the car,” she finished. “There was this noise, and then
poof!
the car went up.”

“Uh-huh,” the fireman said. He squinted down the street where Nancy had pointed. “Not much light out here,” he remarked. “Did you see anyone?”

“Hey, Wilson!” called another one of the firefighters. “I've got the chief on the line. Do we need any backup?”

“Nah,” the guy with Nancy and Ned replied. “Tell him it's under control.” He turned back to Nancy and repeated his question.

Nancy frowned, trying to remember. “No, I didn't see anyone,” she replied. “But I did
hear
something. Right after the explosion, I heard a car start. And then someone drove away.”

“Uh-huh,” said Wilson. Pulling a flashlight out of a loop on his long coat, he began to walk slowly down the street, peering at the ground. Nancy and Ned followed.

After he had gone about thirty feet, Wilson knelt down on one knee and played his light on the asphalt. Then he bent over. A moment later he stood, holding something between his thumb and forefinger.

“What is it?” Nancy asked, her excitement mounting.

Wilson held out his hand. In his palm lay a charred strip of cardboard. “It's the remains of a match,” he told her.

“I think I found something,” Ned said suddenly from farther down the street. He was pointing at a blackened mound, barely visible against the asphalt.

Wilson strode over and poked at the mound. Then he picked it up and sniffed at it. “The remains of a gasoline-soaked rag,” he said quietly. “Sure looks like this was arson.”

After that, Wilson called over one of the police officers from the cruiser and told him about the rag. The officer glanced at Nancy and Ned, and suddenly his expression darkened.

“Hey, aren't you the guy we pulled in on that warehouse homicide?” he asked Ned sharply.

Nancy made a quick decision. “That's right, Officer,” she jumped in before Ned could reply. “And we'd like to talk to Detective Matsuo right away. We have reason to believe this fire was set for reasons relating to the Foyle case.”

“Nan, we don't have any hard evidence yet,” Ned protested in an undertone as the officer led them to the patrol car.

“I know, but the circumstantial evidence pointing to Michelle is pretty strong,” Nancy told him. “I don't think anyone is going to dispute that someone set this fire or that it was directed at me. If we can just get Matsuo to listen to us, maybe he'll do something.”

Ned ran in to tell his parents where they were going, and then the two teenagers climbed into the squad car. Five minutes later they were walking up the steps of Mapleton Police Headquarters.

“I'm beginning to dislike this building,” Ned said to Nancy. She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

This time they were led to Matsuo's office. The police detective was hunched behind a cluttered desk, looking tired and grumpy. “More trouble, Nickerson?” he drawled.

Ned scowled but said nothing.

Stepping forward, Nancy said, “Detective Matsuo, my name is Nancy Drew—” She got no further, though, for Matsuo interrupted her.

“I've heard of you,” he said, sounding even less friendly than he had a moment ago. “You're that hotshot detective from River Heights, aren't you? An amateur.” He said the word with distaste. “Didn't you tell us you were a legal secretary or something, last time you were here? It's a bad idea to lie to the police like that.”

Nancy did her best to look contrite. “I'm
sorry,” she said. “I had to do it. But, sir, we have something urgent to tell you. It concerns the murder of Toby Foyle.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Matsuo. He leaned back and put his feet on the desk. “Well, sit down and tell me. I'm all ears.”

Nancy and Ned pulled up chairs. Then, leaning forward, Nancy told him her theory about Michelle Ferraro having killed Toby Foyle in a jealous rage. She also told him about her slashed car seat and about Ned's idea that the person who had tried to torch her Mustang didn't know much about cars.

Detective Matsuo listened in silence, but Nancy noticed with a twinge of unease that he was smiling, as if he thought their story was a joke. The smile broadened as she talked on.

When Nancy had finished, Matsuo swung his feet to the floor. “It's a nice theory, Ms. Drew,” he told her. His voice was almost pleasant. “It's got only one flaw.”

“What's that?” Nancy asked warily.

Matsuo grinned. “I happen to be acquainted with Ms. Ferraro myself. And I know that she couldn't have slashed your car or set your suspicious fire. Want to know why?” He stood up. “Because Michelle Ferraro has been right here in our jail all day!”

W
HAT?”
Nancy and Ned said at the same time.

“Do you mean you arrested Michelle for Toby Foyle's murder?” Ned went on excitedly.

Nancy didn't think that was it, though. If Michelle hadn't staged those attacks on Nancy, then someone else had—and
that
person had to be the one they were after. She'd been on the wrong track entirely with Michelle! She put a hand on Ned's arm, shaking her head.