Secrets Can Kill (7 page)

If she talks any louder,
Nancy thought,
the whole school'll know who I am.
“Okay, Brenda, what do you
think
I'm doing here? What do sleuths usually do at the scene of the crime?”

“Scene of the crime? This looks like a high-school locker to me, not the bottom of a stairwell.” Brenda's green eyes swept over Nancy in a quick, but all-seeing, glance. Pointing a red-nailed finger at Nancy's history book, she smiled. “Oh, I see! You're posing as a student. How clever of you! I'm surprised you thought of it.”

Dropping the sweet voice, Brenda went on, “Now, why don't you give me a few more details about what's going on here? If you don't, all your little high school friends are
going to find out real fast what you're really up to. And I have a feeling you wouldn't like that at all.”

“Is that a threat, Brenda?”

“Of course it is, Nancy. So how about it? Are you going to give me the whole story?”

Nancy sighed. What choice did she have? The case was complicated and dangerous; she couldn't solve it and battle Brenda Carlton at the same time. “All right,” she said, gritting her teeth, “I'll make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” Brenda's silky eyebrows drew together in a frown. “What kind of deal?”

“The kind of deal that'll give you the exclusive story,” Nancy told her. “Face it, Brenda, the police aren't going to give you the time of day. And right now, I know more about what's going on than they do. So when it's over, I'll be able to give you a really sensational story, right down to the last juicy detail.”

Nancy watched Brenda's frown change to a smile. Probably seeing her byline already, she thought. “There's just one catch,” she warned. “I give you the story
after
I've solved the case, not before. If you want to know everything I do, stay out of my way and keep your mouth shut about who I am. Think you can manage that?”

For about thirty seconds Brenda wavered between taking her chances with the police
then, or making a deal with Nancy for later. Finally she reached a decision. “Well, all right,” she said, pouting. “I'll do it your way. But,” she warned, “you'd better keep your part of the bargain or the only role you'll ever play again is ‘unemployed detective.' ”

Nancy bit her lip to keep back any insulting remarks that might blow the deal. But as she watched Brenda stroll away, she promised herself that someday, she was going to close that reporter's notebook for good.

• • •

With the police swarming all over the school, Nancy's investigation didn't get very far. All the kids were talking about Jake, of course, but even so, Nancy wasn't able to learn much. All the kids had opinions, but they were just gossip and speculation. Nancy wanted to talk to the three people whom she knew had some connection with Jake—Walt Hogan, Hal Morgan, and Connie Watson. She didn't see Walt at all, and Hal didn't hear her call to him after American history, or maybe he didn't want to hear her. He looked extremely nervous. So did Connie, who once more acted as if Nancy had developed a sudden case of overwhelmingly bad breath.

If anyone has any answers,
Nancy thought,
they're not admitting it.
Nancy didn't have any answers either, but she thought she might find something in the video lab. Obviously, Jake had
been “borrowing” the school's video equipment; maybe Nancy could find some clue in the lab that would tell her why.

The door was locked again, so Nancy used her credit card. As she worked the lock, she thought she heard a noise coming from inside the lab. She stopped, listening. There it was, a faint thump, as if someone had dropped something on the floor.

Could a policeman be in there? It was four o'clock in the afternoon; the halls were empty of students, and Nancy had watched the two patrol cars drive off half an hour ago. Still, they might have left one officer behind to guard the school. If they had, Nancy decided that it wouldn't help her case any to get caught.

She raised her hand and knocked loudly on the door. Then she listened again. No sound this time. After a few more loud raps, she decided that whatever she'd heard hadn't come from inside. The empty halls picked up sounds from everywhere. The noise could have come from the floor above. She worked the lock again and pushed open the door.

The room was a wreck. Cables and wires were strewn across the floor like uncoiled snakes, and at least half the tapes had been pulled from the shelves and lay in scattered piles on the desk and the floor. Nancy knew the police must have searched the place after finding
that battery pack in Jake's locker. Either that (and they were real slobs), or somebody else had been there. Could that someone have been Jake's murderer, after some kind of evidence?

Suddenly Nancy didn't like all the silence around her. She cleared her throat noisily and told herself that if the murderer had been there, he (or she) was probably long gone. And from the look of things, he hadn't found what he was after. Maybe she could beat him to it, she thought.

Quietly Nancy closed the door behind her and stepped over several lengths of cable to the middle of the room. Her gaze fell on a neat row of about thirty tapes, still on the shelf.

Nancy crossed the room to the shelf and saw that the tapes were just rock videos. Glancing at the familiar names, Nancy thought maybe they weren't worth her attention. But then, one of the labels caught her eye. Right next to “Material Girl” (which made her think immediately of Brenda Carlton) was a tape labeled “I Spy.”

“I Spy”? It wasn't any rock group Nancy had heard of. Maybe I Spy was a Bedford High group. Nancy decided to have a quick look at it. She just hoped the music was good.

After the first few seconds Nancy wished there
were
music. The tape was completely silent, but the images were so unbelievable that music would have made it seem like a joke, or
some kind of fantasy. Instead, Nancy knew she was seeing reality.

The first person on the tape was Hunk Hogan. He was sitting on a bench in what must have been the locker room. No one else was visible, and when Walt glanced cautiously around, Nancy decided that
he
had decided he was alone.

After another careful look, the star tackle reached into the duffel bag at his feet and took out a roll of white tape. Obviously in great pain, he began to wrap it around his rib cage, wincing the whole time. Nancy remembered the article in Jake's locker that told of Walt betting all his hopes for a football scholarship on the upcoming All-State game. From the look of him, he'd be lucky to get dressed for that game, much less play in it. Walt was hurt, but he'd hidden it—from everyone except Jake Webb.

The video lab was stuffy and hot, but Nancy shivered as a chill ran up her spine. She'd been right—this case was much, much bigger than anyone thought. And the “I Spy” tape was an extremely hot piece of evidence. Too hot to be watching smack in the middle of Bedford High.

Quickly Nancy pushed the stop button and ejected the tape. She was reaching for the monitor to shut it off when she heard a noise. Or thought she did. She snapped off the monitor and listened. For a few seconds the only sound she heard was the blood pulsing in her ears.
But then came another noise, a squeak, as if someone had stopped leaning on a table. Or a door!

At the far end of the room was a door marked “Supplies,” and as Nancy listened again, she heard another muffled sound. Someone was in that supply room. And it wasn't a policeman. A policeman would have been out by then, asking her what she was doing there, demanding that she turn over the tape, which was crucial evidence in a murder investigation. And who else would be interested in such crucial evidence but Jake's killer?

For an instant Nancy froze. If the killer was in that supply closet, Nancy's life was in danger. So was the evidence. She knew she had to get out fast. Noiselessly she dropped the videotape into her bag. She wanted to run, but she was afraid of alerting whoever was behind the door. Slowly, quietly, she inched her way across the lab to the hall door. With a sweaty hand, she eased it open and slipped out. Then she tore down the hall as fast as she could.

It was late afternoon and the hall was dark. The stairs leading to the first floor were even darker, but Nancy didn't slow down. She jumped the last four steps, skidded around a corner, and raced toward the main door. As she neared it she thought she heard footsteps on the stairs, but she didn't bother to turn around and
make sure. Still moving fast, she rammed into the panic bar, expecting the door to fly open.

The door didn't budge! Nancy was certain she heard footsteps behind her. She gave the door another desperate push. Nothing.

Okay, she thought. I guess it's showdown time. Taking a deep breath, Nancy turned around, ready to face the intruder.

N
ANCY CLOSED HER
eyes, waited a beat, then forced them open. The dark hall loomed ahead of her. She focused on the bottom of the staircase, held her breath, and waited again. All she saw were shadows, and all she heard was her own heartbeat. No one was there. Not now, anyway.

Letting out her breath in a sigh of relief, Nancy leaned against the door—and found herself falling backward as the door opened easily, depositing her on her rear on the stone steps outside.

Of course, she thought, picking herself up,
it's a double door. You just pushed the wrong side.

Glad to be outdoors, Nancy took several deep gulps of the cool autumn air. Then she saw George's car make a slow turn around the side of the building.

“Hey!” Nancy waved her hand and ran down the front steps. “Here I am!”

The car slowed, and Bess stuck her head out the window. “We were just about to give up and go home,” she said. “George has been driving around this parking lot forever, but I kept telling her you probably got a ride with Daryl.”

“I wish I
had
been with Daryl,” Nancy said as she climbed into the back seat. “He's a lot more fun. And a lot safer, too.”

“Why? What happened?” George wanted to know.

As they drove away from Bedford High, Nancy filled them in on everything that had happened, from the details of Jake's murder to her own scary escape from the video lab. “And wait'll you see the tape,” she said, patting her duffel bag. “It'll never win an Oscar, but it's one of the most fascinating movies I've ever seen.”

When they got back to Nancy's River Heights home and settled down to watch, they soon discovered that the tape was even more fascinating than Nancy had predicted. And Walt
Hogan wasn't the only person Jake had made into a star.

Bess sighed as she watched Hunk tape his ribs. “How can he stand to play when he's in pain?”

“It's his only chance for that scholarship,” George said. “If he doesn't get that, he'll never make the pros.”

“Yeah, and he wasn't about to let anything stand in his way,” Nancy commented. “Not the pain, and not Jake.”

“Poor guy.” Bess sighed again. “At least Jake Webb can't bother him anymore. Do you suppose Hunk is glad, deep down, that Jake's dead?”

“He wouldn't be human if he weren't,” Nancy said. “But I have a question for you. Do you suppose Walt Hogan had anything to do with getting rid of Jake?”

Before either of her friends had a chance to answer that startling question, another face appeared on the television screen—the smooth, round face of Connie Watson.

“Who's that?” Bess asked.

“A girl from Bedford High,” Nancy told her, and scooted to the edge of the couch, wondering what on earth shy Connie could possibly have done to get a part in Jake Webb's “movie.”

She soon found out. The “setting” was a
sidewalk sale in fashionably quaint downtown Bedford. All the shopowners had brought their wares out to the sidewalks on what looked like a sunny autumn day. Crowds of shoppers strolled by, eating ice cream cones and stopping to look at paintings, handmade pottery, and furniture, and, Nancy noticed with a sense of dread, jewelry.

Nancy knew what was coming the minute she saw the jewelry display. Sure enough, the camera panned the crowd and focused on Connie Watson, a large shopping bag in her hand.

Nancy's heart sank as she watched what happened next. Connie picked up a bracelet—the one Nancy had seen her wearing—and admired it for a minute. Then she seemed to ask the shopowner the price and reluctantly put it back on the display table.

“Now just watch,” Nancy told her friends. “She's about to make the biggest mistake of her life.”

Hovering at the edge of the jewelry table, Connie waited until the owner was busy with about six customers at once. Then a close-up, courtesy of Jake the cameraman, showed her hook a finger under the bracelet and slide it into her conveniently waiting shopping bag. The camera pulled back then, and Connie melted into the crowds that filled the sidewalk.