Hotline to Danger (2 page)

But the caller only began to sob again. Then in a shrill voice, she cried, “Fourteenth. Tracks. I can't tell you any more!”

“Wait! At least tell me if you're all right!” Nancy exclaimed.

But the caller didn't answer.

The line went dead.

A
S SHE LOWERED THE RECEIVER
, Nancy stared silently at the mouthpiece. She couldn't believe the caller had hung up. From the sound of the girl's voice, she was in big trouble. And Nancy had lost her!

“Nan? Are you all right?”

George's voice made Nancy look up. Both George and Tony were watching her.

“She hung up,” Nancy said, looking distressed.

Tony reached out and squeezed Nancy's shoulder. “That happens sometimes, my friend. Maybe she'll call back when she's ready to talk.”

Pushing back the desk chair, Nancy said, “I don't think so. It sounded like she was in trouble.”

She stood up and walked to the room's front windows. They looked out on Main Street in the
old part of River Heights. The teen center occupied a three-story building that had once been a small department store. The hotline was in a room on the second floor.

Below, a few streetlamps illuminated the sidewalks and storefronts. The old end of Main Street was gradually being renovated. Many trendy shops and restaurants had already moved in, and the historic buildings were getting facelifts.

“What do you mean she was in trouble?” Tony asked.

“I think Nancy smells a mystery,” George said.

“No,” Tony said. “It's no mystery. I warned you about the callers who talk for a second, then panic and hang up.”

“Only this caller was trying to tell me something,” Nancy said, whipping around to face the others. “She gave me two clues—‘fourteenth' and ‘tracks.' ” She strode over to the desk. “Fourteenth. That either means a date—”

“Or a street,” Bess added excitedly, having heard the end of the conversation after her own caller had hung up. “But what does ‘tracks' mean?”

“It could mean footprints or—” Nancy paused. “Railroad tracks? Maybe something happened to our caller at the railroad tracks near Fourteenth Street?”

“Wait a minute.” Tony raised one hand. “This
is a hotline, not a detective agency. We don't get involved with the callers.”

“Unless someone's in trouble,” Nancy said, glancing sharply at Tony. “Look, you know I'm a detective. I won't do anything while I'm working at the hotline, but my instincts tell me that I need to check out the caller's message. Remember, if someone's in real danger it
is
our responsibility to make sure they get help.”

Tony nodded. “You're right. Only I'm coming with you.”

Just then the hotline phone rang, and George reached for it. Nancy checked her watch. It was ten-fifteen. As soon as they closed up for the night, she was going to check out the caller's clues. She had a hunch they were a cry for help.

• • •

“Fourteenth Street isn't far from here,” Nancy said as she, Bess, George, and Tony got ready to leave the hotline office forty-five minutes later. They had turned on the answering machine, which gave late-night callers a number they could dial for emergency help.

“It's in a rough part of town, though,” George noted as she slipped on her jacket.

“That's one reason I'm going with you,” Tony said as the teens headed for the door.

The four of them clattered down the wooden steps of the teen center. On the first floor were a meeting room, a recreation hall, and a small office for the director, Arnold Rosensteel. Mr. A,
the nickname the teens had given Mr. Rosensteel, had started the center about five years earlier. He'd taken the rundown store and slowly turned it into a safe haven for runaways, dropouts, and kids who had no place else to hang out.

The hotline had been started only recently. When Nancy, Bess, and George had heard about it from friends, they decided to take the training course.

All during the evening shift, the first floor of the center had been filled with the sounds of teens talking, laughing, and playing video games. Now it was quiet, since the center itself closed at ten-thirty.

Nancy had never been up to the third floor, but Tony had told her that Mr. A was turning it into a dorm where runaways could stay until they found permanent accommodations.

“Let me tell Mr. A we're leaving,” Tony said when they reached the front foyer. He strode down the hall toward the director's office.

Nancy caught a glimpse of the director's bald head as Tony opened the office door. She knew that Mr. A often stayed late. The center was a success because of all his hard work.

A minute later Tony came out of the office, his jacket draped over one shoulder. “All set,” he said, putting on his jacket. He held open the front door, and they all filed outside. It was a chilly March night, and Nancy zipped up her down jacket against the brisk air.

“So you really think that ‘fourteenth' means a street?” George asked as she got into the backseat of Nancy's Mustang with Bess. Tony settled his long frame in the front seat, then shut the car door.

“It makes sense.” Nancy started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Fourteenth Street leads to the industrial section of town. There are a lot of warehouses, and behind the ones on the south side of the street are some old railroad tracks.”

“Hey, Nan,” Bess said from the backseat. “Isn't that where we found my Camaro when it was stolen?”

Nancy nodded. “Yes. The chop shop was on Tenth Street.”

She turned down Fourteenth Street. Several streetlights shone down on rusty chain-link fences and trash-filled curbs. Some of the warehouses that flanked the street were boarded up. Others had broken windows.

“Boy, this place doesn't look too prosperous,” George said.

“It used to be,” Tony commented. “But when the new highway went in, business moved out to the suburbs.”

Nancy slowed the car. “The tracks run behind this block of warehouses.”

“Oh, boy,” Bess muttered. “That's a lot of territory to cover, considering we don't know what we're looking for.”

“Hey. Isn't that a phone booth up ahead?” Nancy asked, squinting as she looked through the windshield.

“Yeah. I think it is,” George replied.

Nancy drove toward the glass booth. “Maybe that's where the caller phoned from,” Nancy said. After parking in front of the booth, Nancy jumped out. When she opened the glass door, she noticed that the receiver was dangling off the hook. Nancy picked it up, then jiggled the hook. The phone still worked.

“Look!” Bess exclaimed, coming up to Nancy. George and Tony were right behind her. Bending down, Bess pointed at an embroidered bracelet lying on the ground just outside the booth. “Do you think our mystery girl dropped this?”

Nancy picked it up and studied it closely. The bracelet had braided loops of yarn that tied around the wrist. One of the loops had torn. When she flipped the bracelet over, she noticed the initials RJT embroidered in red yarn.

“Maybe the caller dropped it on purpose,” Nancy said as she pocketed the bracelet.

“Or maybe she caught it on something, and it tore,” Bess suggested.

“Right,” Nancy said. “But whatever happened, this seems to be the area we need to search.”

She slowly walked toward the building nearest the booth. It was a two-story warehouse with boarded-up doors and broken windows. Above
the main entry was a crooked sign that read Northern Freight. A gravel drive wound past the side of the building and around to the back.

“If the railroad tracks are behind the building, I bet that drive leads to them,” Nancy said, pulling a flashlight from her shoulder bag. “George, why don't you get the flashlight from my glove compartment? You and Tony can search the front of the warehouse, then head around to the right. Bess and I will start down the drive. We'll meet around back.”

“Roger, boss.” George saluted, then went over to the car.

Bess waved goodbye to Tony, then reluctantly followed Nancy down the drive.

“Gee, you could've let
me
go with Tony,” she muttered.

Nancy chuckled. “Not if I wanted anything accomplished,” she teased her friend. “Besides, what would Kyle think if he heard you were strolling in the dark with a handsome guy?”

Bess sighed. “Probably nothing. He's too busy thinking about law school.”

“Hmm,” Nancy replied, not really focusing on Bess. She was concentrating on finding evidence.

Glass and gravel crunched under Nancy and Bess's feet as they slowly walked down the drive. Nancy swung her flashlight to the right, illuminating the side of the brick building. Then she swung it to the left. Weeds rustled in the wind along the edge of the drive.

“This is spooky,” Bess whispered. She was behind Nancy, clutching at the back of her friend's jacket. At the rear of the building was a parking lot. Nancy counted five loading bays on the back of the warehouse, all of which were shut tight. There was a beat-up old car at the very end of the lot.

She shone her light beyond it toward a grassy field behind the parking lot. When she swept her beam in an arc, the light picked up the glint of steel tracks.

“There they are!” she whispered.

Bess followed Nancy across the lot and into the grass. When they reached the tracks, Nancy's heart began to pound, and the hair prickled on the back of her neck.

She swung her beam to the right. Several railroad cars loomed nearby, empty and dark. Had something happened in one of them?

Then she swung her light to the left. Behind her, Bess let out a muffled scream as the beam of the flashlight shone on a dark mound sprawled on the tracks.

Nancy gasped.

It was a body.

O
H, NO
!” B
ESS CRIED OUT
, covering her mouth with both hands.

For a second Nancy stood frozen on the railroad tracks. She'd been expecting something terrible, but not this! Then she took a deep breath and said quietly, “We'd better check it out.” Quickly she walked down the tracks, followed by Bess. The body was facedown, but when she stooped next to it, she could tell it was a guy.

“Is he—” Bess stammered.

One of the guy's arms was flung out to the side. Nancy pressed her fingers against the wrist, searching for a pulse. Finding nothing, she felt for the pulse at the neck.

She shivered. “He's dead. You'd better get Tony and George.”

Bess raced back through the weeds, calling
loudly, while Nancy studied the body. She didn't want to disturb anything, but her eyes hunted for clues.

“Bess said you found a body. . . .” Tony's voice trailed off, and George inhaled sharply as the three came up beside Nancy.

“Yeah. He's slightly warm, so he hasn't been dead that long.” Nancy stood up. “We'd better call the police.”

“I'll go!” Bess and Tony chorused. Turning, they both took off for the pay phone.

“I don't think they wanted to hang around,” George said, nervously shifting from foot to foot. “Not that I blame them. Any idea who it is?”

Nancy shook her head. “I can't see his face, and I don't want to disturb him.”

“This place is so deserted,” George said. “I wonder what he was doing here?”

“I don't know, but maybe the mystery caller does.”

“That's right,” George said. “I forgot all about her. If she saw this guy get murdered, no wonder she freaked out.”

“We don't know yet if he was murdered,” Nancy said as she started walking down the tracks. “Look, George.” She motioned to her friend. When George jogged up beside her, Nancy pointed to the right. The grass had been flattened in two parallel lines. “It looks like a car drove up to the railroad tracks and stopped.”