Secrets Can Kill (8 page)

But Jake wasn't through with Connie. His
next shot caught her going up the front steps of the high school, the early morning sun glinting on her new gold bracelet.

“So far we've seen somebody covering up an injury and somebody shoplifting,” George said. “I wonder what's next?”

“I'm not sure I want to know,” Bess shuddered. “This whole thing gives me the creeps.”

“Oh, no!” Nancy pointed to the television screen and shook her head in amazement. “It's Hal Morgan. I should have guessed.”

The next installment of Jake's horror show followed Hal, nervous nail-chewer and future Harvard scholar, straight to the door of the office of Bedford High's principal. Like Walt Hogan, Hal probably thought he was alone, because he glanced furtively around before entering the office.

The camera didn't follow him inside. It held steady on the closed door. Five seconds passed and then the door opened. Out came Hal, who stood still, obviously trying to work something out in his mind.

“You can almost hear the wheels turning,” George remarked. “He's empty-handed. I wonder what he's after.”

“Answers,” Nancy said.

Bess looked confused. “Huh?”

“Just keep watching,” Nancy told her. “You'll see what I mean.”

Having worked out the problem, Hal walked
quickly to another door. Without bothering to look behind him, he opened it and went inside. The camera stayed on the sign on the door, which read, “Counselors' Offices.”

When Hal came out this time, he wasn't empty-handed. He didn't look worried or confused anymore, either. The camera gave Nancy and her two friends a brief glimpse of Hal's triumphant smile, but it lingered longest on what he held in his hands—answer books for the Scholastic Aptitude Tests.

“How could Jake tape that without Hal seeing him?” George asked.

“He really knew his video stuff,” Nancy said. “He probably set that one up by remote control. That would explain why the offices had been broken into earlier. He must have been rigging up the camera.” She thought a minute. “I wouldn't even be surprised if he gave Hal the idea for stealing those answers, just so he could tape the whole thing. After all, Jake did work in the principal's office.”

Wavering black bars and dancing snowflakes had appeared on the screen, and Nancy turned off the VCR and the television. “I'm glad that's over,” she commented.

“So am I.” Bess stood up and stretched. “I don't know why, but movies always make me hungry, even this one. Let's go see what's in the refrigerator.”

In the refrigerator they found leftover take-out
Chinese food. Sitting at the round oak kitchen table, the three friends discussed Jake's tape between bites of lo mein and shrimp fried rice.

“Obviously, Connie didn't buy that bracelet,” Nancy said. “She stole it. And after Hal lost so much ground trying to become class president, he knew the only way he'd get into Harvard was to cheat on the SAT so that he could get unusually high scores.”

Bess poured herself some more diet soda. “And poor Hunk. It must be awful to feel so desperate!”

“Why do you think Jake did it?” George asked. “Money?”

“Maybe.” Nancy crunched thoughtfully on an ice cube. “But I think it was more of a power trip. He would find someone's weak spot and dig in. Jake liked knowing everybody's secrets. That's probably how he found out about me in time to tape us at the mall that day. He must have had his ear to Mr. Parton's door when Mr. Parton talked to my father. He knew my ‘secret,' too. He liked being king of the mountain.”

“Yeah, well somebody finally pushed him off,” Bess said. “And no wonder. He must have had things on half the kids in school.”

“But he only has three people on tape,” George pointed out. “Nancy, do you really think one of them killed him?”

Nancy shrugged her shoulders in frustration.

Later, after George and Bess had left, she took a long hot shower, trying to come up with an answer to George's question.

Walt Hogan was strong enough to give Jake that final push, she thought, especially if he'd been angry. And Hal wasn't exactly a lightweight. If he'd been desperate enough, he might just have decided to challenge Jake.

She couldn't rule out Connie either. Sweet, gossipy Connie Watson was as strong a candidate for murderer as the two guys. Anyone could have pushed him.

Nancy turned around and let the warm, misty spray roll off her back. Jake Webb wasn't just a thief and a vandal, she thought, he was the Bedford High Blackmailer. Getting power from kids who'd made mistakes must have given him a kick, a sick, sadistic kick.

But somebody had finally kicked him back. The question was, who? Was it really one of the kids on the tape—Walt or Connie or Hal? Could one of those three Bedford High students have been so determined to get out from under Jake's thumb that he or she murdered him to keep a secret safe?

N
ANCY PUSHED HER
sloppy joe aside and reached for Daryl's hand across the cafeteria table. “I need a favor.”

“Just ask,” Daryl said with a smile. “What? You need a ride home after school?”

“Not exactly,” Nancy answered, looking mysterious. “I lucked out. This morning my dad surprised me with a new Mustang GT Convertible.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “You've got to be kidding.”

“The deal is I'll pay him back when the insurance money comes through.” Nancy
grinned sheepishly. “Plus twenty years allowance, I've been told.”

“Poor baby,” Daryl teased her, leaning close enough to brush his lips against her ear. “So what's the favor? You want me to test-drive your new toy?”

Nancy didn't tease back. “No,” she said, forcing herself to pull back from Daryl's handsome face. “I want to tell you something, but you have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone.”

“I can keep a secret, Detective. Promise.”

They were alone at a table in the farthest corner of the cafeteria. Any of the kids who happened to glance their way probably thought they were having a private lovers' talk. But love was the farthest thing from Nancy's mind at that moment as she quietly told Daryl about Jake Webb's blackmail videotape.

When she finished, she sat back and sipped her iced tea, waiting for Daryl's reaction.

But Daryl must have been so stunned he couldn't think of anything to say. He just stared at her with wide, dark-blue eyes, his face almost blank.

“It's okay to be shocked,” Nancy said. “I was, and I'm the detective.”

“Yeah, I . . .” Daryl shook his head and whistled softly. “Wow. I
am
shocked. I mean, it's unbelievable.”

“It is—unless you've seen the tape.”

“So what are you going to do with it?” Daryl asked. “Turn it over to the police?”

Nancy shook her head. “I guess I'll have to give it to them pretty soon. But since Mr. Parton is letting me handle this my way, I'd like to work on my own just a little longer. For now, that tape's going to stay safe at home, where I can keep an eye on it.”

Daryl nodded. “I guess you think one of those kids killed Jake, huh?”

“I don't know what I think yet,” Nancy admitted. “I don't want to believe it at all.”

“But they're the only ones on the tape, isn't that what you said?” Daryl asked quickly.

“Yes, but somehow I just . . .” Nancy sighed.

“Jake really blew it for everybody, didn't he?” Daryl looked sympathetic and concerned, just the way Ned would have reacted, Nancy thought. Then Daryl leaned across the table and gave her one of his sexiest looks. “Don't take this wrong, Detective, but be careful, okay?”

• • •

Warmed by Daryl's concern and support, not to mention his touch, Nancy spent the rest of the afternoon—in between classes—tracking down the three “stars” of Jake's videotape.

She found Hal in the library, just beginning a
paper that she happened to know was due in two days. “Hi,” she whispered as she joined him at the study table. “I thought you'd be finished with that by now. Everybody says you're a real whiz.”

Hal gave her a nervous smile and shrugged. “Even whizzes get behind sometimes.”

“Well, I guess you don't have to worry, though,” Nancy went on. “I mean, if you're smart enough to get into Harvard and write papers for Jake Webb on the side, then—”

That got Hal's attention. “What do you mean?” he interrupted in a whisper. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Really?” Nancy was all innocence. “Gee, I was sure I heard you and Jake talking about it in the hall, right after that pop quiz, remember?”

“No. You didn't. I mean, you must have heard wrong.” Hal stood up, gathering his stuff together with shaky hands. “Look, I've got to get going.”

“Oh, too bad,” Nancy said. “I was going to ask your advice. See, I'll be taking the SATs soon and I thought maybe you could give me some hints on how to handle them. Everybody says your scores were sky-high. How did you do it? Or is that a secret?”

Hal looked so nervous, Nancy thought he might break down right there in the library. But
he managed to hold himself together long enough to mumble something about “luck.” Then he rushed out of the room, but not before shooting Nancy a look of pure terror.

Nancy wasn't sure what to make of it. Was Hal scared because of the SATs he'd stolen, or had he done something much worse than stealing and cheating? She decided to try again with him, but first she wanted to talk to the other two.

Walt Hogan wasn't hard to find. He stood out like a redwood in a grove of saplings, and she spotted him right before fifth period, heading out one of the side doors.
Good,
she said to herself.
You were looking for an excuse to cut calculus anyway.

Nancy followed Walt across the campus toward the track, where she watched him run two laps before he stopped, throwing himself down on the grass. He was gasping as if he'd just run a three-minute mile, and she figured he must still be in pain.

“Tired?” Nancy asked pleasantly as she dropped into the grass beside him.

“Yeah.” Walt grunted a couple of times and then opened his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“Well, we met,” Nancy said. “Monday, remember? We sort of bumped into each other in the hall and Daryl Gray introduced us. I'm Nancy Drew.”

“Yeah, sure.” Walt didn't look sure at all. “How's it going?”

“Fine.” Nancy plucked some grass and twisted it around her finger. “I watched you at practice the other day,” she said. “You really amaze me. I mean, I fell off the trampoline and I could barely walk, so I know what you're going through.”

“What do you mean, what I'm going through?” Walt asked.

“The pain,” Nancy said. “Jake Webb told me all about—”

“Webb?” Walt broke in. “What kind of business did you have with that scum?”

“No business,” Nancy said quickly. “He just explained about your injury and I wanted you to know that I understand.”

“Look!” Walt jumped to his feet and stood towering over her. “I don't know what that slime told you, but whatever it was, he was lying!”

Nancy got to her feet and faced him. “Hey, okay,” she said. “Don't get excited. I just thought—”

“Don't think!” Walt shouted. He took a step toward Nancy, and for a second she thought he was going to hit her. “Just get out of my sight! There's no pain because there's no injury, you understand?”

With an angry glare, Walt turned and slowly
walked toward the school. Nancy let her breath out. She'd taken a few judo classes, but not nearly enough to prepare her to face a raging, 200-pound football player.

Walt was touchy, to put it mildly, but Nancy still didn't have anything more than suspicions to go on.
No more hinting,
she told herself.
With Connie, just come right out and say what's on your mind. As horrible as the truth is, you have to confront her with it. At least you won't have to worry about being attacked. You hope.