Secrets Can Kill (6 page)

“So what are you going to do?”

“Talk to him about it,” Nancy said. “First thing tomorrow morning.”

“Hey, Nancy, I wouldn't do that,” Daryl said quickly. “Jake Webb's not the kind of guy you go around accusing of something, believe me.”

“I believe you,” Nancy told him. “I also think he has some explaining to do.”

Daryl took her hand, sounding really worried. “You shouldn't mess with that guy, Nancy!”

“I'm not going to mess with him, I'm just going to talk to him.” In a way, Nancy was almost glad that Jake had given her something to think about. It took her mind off how she felt about Daryl, which was a mystery she didn't want to solve just then. “Please don't worry. I'll
be careful,” she said, flagging down a car that was passing slowly. “But Jake Webb is up to something, and I'm going to find out what it is.”

• • •

“I think Daryl's right,” George said as she drove toward Bedford High the next morning. Until Nancy got another car, George and Bess had to play chauffeur. “I think you should steer clear of this Jake Webb and go right to the police. Show them your car. Then let them deal with Jake.”

“That's what I think, too.” Bess leaned over the back seat and grinned at Nancy. “Now, tell us more about Daryl Gray.”

“You'll probably meet him one of these days,” Nancy said. She stared out at the beautiful Bedford houses, trying to decide the best way to approach Jake. Daryl was the least of her worries at the moment, even though she couldn't help remembering the kiss he'd given her after driving her home the previous night.

Before he'd kissed her, he'd tried once again to talk her out of confronting Jake. Nancy was touched that he was so worried about her, but she was sure she could handle Jake Webb. After all, she wasn't going to meet him in some dark alley; she was going to walk right up to him in the halls of Bedford High. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw that his gruesome plan hadn't worked—that she was alive and ready to take him on, the creep!

“What's happening?” George interrupted Nancy's thoughts, pointing to the wide front steps of the high school.

Nancy looked and saw at least half the student body milling around outside. The kids were talking in little clusters, waving their arms, pointing dramatically. Then she saw the police cars, one with its red lights still flashing.

“Well, at least you'll have police protection when you talk to Jake,” Bess joked. “I wonder what they're here for?”

“Good question,” Nancy said. Could Daryl have called them? She didn't think so. He'd tried to talk her out of dealing with Jake at least ten times, but he'd never once suggested that she go to the police, which was a little strange, when she thought about it.

She didn't think about it for long, though. As soon as she got out of the car, she joined the nearest group of kids.

“What happened?” she asked. “What's going on?”

One of the girls turned to her, fear and excitement in her eyes. “It's Jake Webb,” she said breathlessly. “He's been killed!”

N
ANCY WONDERED FOR
a moment if she'd heard right. “Did you say killed—dead?”

“As a doornail!”

“But . . . how?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” the girl went on, “but somebody found him about twenty minutes ago, and they say his neck's broken.” She shivered. “It's awful, isn't it? I heard the guy who found him is still throwing up. Personally, I'm sure I would have passed out. I mean, can you imagine?”

Nancy could hardly imagine any of it. All night she'd been gearing up, getting ready to face Jake Webb, to accuse him, among other
things, of trying to kill her. And in spite of what she'd told Daryl and Bess and George, she
had
been scared. Well, she wouldn't have to be scared anymore, not of Jake Webb.

Still finding the whole thing unbelievable, Nancy reported the news to Bess and George. Then she climbed the front steps and went into school. As she moved through the main hall, she heard bits and pieces of conversation that told her a little more about Jake Webb's demise:

“Right next to the video lab, at the bottom of the stairs—hard, cement stairs. Geez, no wonder the fall broke his neck.”

“They say he's been dead for two hours—I wonder what he was doing here at six in the morning?”

“Probably planting a bomb.”

“Too bad he fell first.”

“Fell? The guy didn't fall, no way! Didn't you hear about his face?”

Jake's face. That's what Nancy heard most about on her walk through the hall. His face was bruised and cut. The bruises could have come from a fall down a flight of cement stairs. But not the cuts around his eyes, not his split lip.

Jake had been in a fight before he hit the hard floor in front of the lab. And if that was true, Nancy thought, then he didn't fall. He was pushed. And if he was pushed, then her investigation
had just taken a giant leap—from vandalism to murder.

No one she heard even pretended to feel sorry that Jake was dead, and as she thought about Hunk, Hal, Connie, and who knew how many others, she realized that a lot of people around Bedford High would have wanted Jake to vanish. But who would have wanted it badly enough to give him that push?

When Nancy reached the scene of Jake's “accident,” the police and the man from the coroner's office were still gathered there. The body, thank goodness, was gone, but the chalk outline remained.

She knew that if she talked to the police then and there, they'd listen to her. They'd probably even ask her to join their investigation.

But if she did that, she'd blow her cover. And if she did
that,
she might as well kiss the secrets of Bedford High good-bye.

Since the police were busy at the stairwell, Nancy decided that then might be a good time to check Jake Webb's locker. She wanted to look at the contents of that shoebox before anybody else got to it. What besides Connie's bracelet had Jake stashed away?

She was so busy wondering if Jake's locker would have any clues hidden in it, that she didn't see Daryl until she bumped into him.

“Daryl, hi!” Even with everything else on her mind, Nancy felt a warm rush of feeling at
the sight of him. “I guess I don't need to ask if you've heard the news?”

“Hardly.” Daryl took her hand, but he did it in an absentminded way. “I just talked to Mr. Parton,” he said, his voice low enough that only Nancy could hear him. “He told me to tell you it's murder, definitely.”

Nancy's eyes widened, but she wasn't really surprised. “Did Mr. Parton say anything about me, about what I should do?”

“Just that he wants you to stay on the case,” Daryl whispered, “and to handle it your way.”

“Great! I was hoping he'd say that.” Nancy breathed a sigh of relief and squeezed Daryl's hand. “Now I can really follow some leads.” She started to walk away but Daryl held her back.

“Wait a second,” he said. “If Jake was the vandal, then your case is solved. You're into murder now, Nancy. I think you should back off.”

“You've got to be kidding!” Nancy couldn't help feeling insulted. “Why should I back off? Do you think it's too complicated for me or something?”

“Hey, no, I didn't mean that.” Daryl's violet eyes were full of worry. “It's just that it's probably going to get dangerous, Nancy. You don't have any idea what you're up against.”

“No, I don't, but I'm going to find out.” Nancy smiled at him. “Thanks for worrying
about me, but please try not to,” she said. “Really. I can take care of myself.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Carla Dalton heading toward them, and she couldn't resist planting a kiss on Daryl's cheek. She wanted to anyway, but having Carla as a witness made it even more fun. “Gotta go now,” she told Daryl with a twinkle in her eye. “I'll talk to you later, let you know what I've found out.”

• • •

The halls were still jammed with kids discussing the morning's main event, but luckily the final bell rang as Nancy reached Jake's locker. She was surprised that everyone was still marching to the sound of bells, on that day of all days, but it was a good thing old habits died hard. The hall cleared in a matter of minutes. Nancy pulled on a pair of rubber gloves—no sense leaving fingerprints for the police—and quickly broke into locker 515.

The shoebox was still there, but something else caught her eye first. With a grim smile, she pulled a pair of wire cutters off the shelf. Turning them over in her hands, Nancy thought how easily they must have snapped her brake cable.

Underneath the wire cutters was a small black box. Nancy recognized it immediately as a battery pack for a video camera. She would have bet her fifty-dollar designer jeans that Jake stole it from the video lab and used it to tape
her and Bess and George on their shopping spree.

Finally Nancy took out the shoebox and lifted the lid, her heart beating with anticipation. Connie's bracelet was still there, along with a recent article from the school newspaper that carried a picture of Walt Hogan being brutally tackled during a game. The headline read, “The Hunk Gets Hit—He's Down But Not Out.” The story went on to explain that if Walt missed the upcoming All-State Championship game because of injury, his badly needed football scholarship—and his ticket to the pros—might be in jeopardy. But Walt pooh-poohed the injury, claiming that nothing would stop him from playing in the All-State game.

At the bottom of the box, folded in half, was a wad of official-looking papers. As Nancy opened them she recognized them at once, without even reading the heading. They were SAT exams. There was just one difference between them and the ones she'd once toiled over—the set of exams in Jake's locker already had the answers marked in.

Nancy studied the curious contents of the box, trying to make sense out of them. She was positive now that Jake was the Bedford High vandal. The battery pack and the SATs pretty much proved that. But, looking at the bracelet, she wondered if he was also into stealing. It didn't really matter if he was, except for one thing—someone
had killed him. And Nancy was determined to find out why.

The police were going to be asking the same questions, she knew, so she put the shoebox, the wire cutters, and the battery pack back where she'd found them. She closed the locker door and was trying to come up with an excuse for being late to her first class, when a voice behind her said, “Well, if it isn't Nancy Drew, girl detective. You always manage to be right in the swing of the nastiest things.”

Eight

N
ANCY WHIRLED AROUND
and came face to face with a tall, black-haired young woman whose vivid red lips were curled in a scornful smile.

Oh, great,
Nancy thought.
This is exactly what I need—a snake in the grass like Brenda Carlton!

As she looked at Brenda, standing there in her trendy trenchcoat, a notebook and pen in one hand, Nancy felt like laughing. Brenda had delusions of being an investigative reporter for
Today's Times,
her daddy's award-winning newspaper. But as far as Nancy was concerned,
the only things Brenda did well were wear clothes—and mess up Nancy's investigations. She'd done that too many times for Nancy ever to trust her, and there she was again, smirking and lurking.

“Well, Brenda,” Nancy said, “what are you doing here? Trying to play reporter?”

“I saw you first, girl wonder.” Brenda gave Nancy a saccharine smile and flipped open her notebook. “Let's see,” she said, pretending to scribble with her pen, “ ‘When this reporter arrived at Bedford High, the first person she ran into was none other than Nancy Drew,
alleged
private detective.' How does that sound?”