Sinister Paradise (3 page)

Nancy scowled. “Why didn't your mechanics check out the car before you leased it to Sunrise?”

“I—I—I didn't have time for that,” Al said lamely. “I had to have that car on the Sunrise lot first thing this morning. That was the deal. Hey, I couldn't pass that up. Half price? No way!” He stared uncomfortably at the trio. “Look, it was legitimate business. If you've got a beef about those brakes, you should talk to Sunrise.”

“But it wasn't legitimate,” Ned said. “You bought a clunker sight unseen and then dumped it on a rental agency. Pretty sloppy for a sharp businessman like yourself.”

Nancy stepped forward. “Tell me more about the Malihini Corporation. Who are they? Have you ever done business with them before?”

“With them? Nahhhh! But I pick up old cars from companies all the time . . .” Meekly he sank into his chair. “Uh, maybe I could make it up to you, eh?”

“Yes, you could,” George fumed. “Why don't you test-drive that car?”

“Now, there's no need to get nasty.” Al's smile resurrected itself. “I understand your situation. You're in Hawaii, and you don't have a car for sight-seeing. But, listen, I'm always willing to help. Why, I'd be delighted to rent you lovely ladies—and you, sir—a brand-new car right out of the showroom for as long as you're in the Islands.”

“No charge!” added Nancy grimly.

Al scratched the back of his head. He showed Nancy a sidelong frown. “Ah—couldn't we negotiate something about mileage?”

• • •

An hour later in a new car provided by Smiling Al, Nancy drove her friends back to Honolulu. She steered the car down the Kamehameha Highway, keeping an eye on the rush-hour traffic.

Nancy's thoughts were racing. The Malihini Corporation had originally owned that damaged car. They had sold it to Smiling Al at a price he couldn't resist—but only on the condition that he lease it immediately to Sunrise Rentals. Next, the Malihini Corporation had called Sunrise and arranged to have that particular car waiting for Nancy Drew.

Ned gave her a long look. “You're awfully quiet.”

“I'm thinking about that nice little booby trap the Malihini Corporation left for us,” Nancy
replied as she steered the car down the exit. “Whoever they are, they went to a lot of trouble to cover their tracks. They knew we were going to visit Alice Faulkner. They knew we would be coming down Tantalus Drive on the way home. You can guess the rest.”

“You bet,” Ned replied. “Our crash would have looked like a simple accident. No one would have traced it all the way back to the Malihini Corporation.”

“Nancy, what do you make of all this?” George asked.

“I don't know, George.” Sighing, Nancy turned the car into the Ala Wai parking lot. “None of it makes sense. What is this Malihini Corporation? Why did they try to kill us the moment we arrived in Honolulu?” She eased the car into a parking space. “Ned, George—we'd better be very, very careful from now on, okay?”

Ned nodded in agreement. “I'll go along with that.”

After grabbing their gear, the trio headed down the floating walkway that connected the individual berths. Sunset painted the sea a vivid bronze. Fat gulls rested on barnacle-encrusted piles and watched the boat owners close up for the night.

The
Kahala
lolled at her berth. Her fiberglass hull made thudding noises as it jostled the pier. George sighed. “Am I glad to be home. Know something? I haven't had a bite to eat all day.”

“Why don't you and Bess make sandwiches?” Nancy suggested. “That'll give me a chance to phone Mrs. Faulkner's daughter.”

Just then, Bess appeared at the
Kahala's
fantail, smiling and waving a greeting. All at once a look of horror flashed across her face.

“Nancy! Behind you!
Look out!”

Nancy turned just in time to see a sailboat's boom swinging toward them. The thick wooden beam was hurtling straight at her face!

N
ANCY GRABBED HER
friends and threw herself forward. The sail struck her high on the shoulder, but the boom sailed harmlessly past.

Nancy, Ned, and George hit the walkway together. The impact drove water through the slats, soaking the trio to the skin.

“Oh!” a woman cried out. “Are you kids all right?”

“Nobody was hurt.” Getting up, Nancy saw a plump woman standing on the deck of a moored Catalina whose boom was suspended over the walkway.

“Talk about ‘low bridge'!” George exclaimed, standing up.

“I'm awfully sorry,” the woman said. “I thought that winch was locked. It started unwinding the minute I turned my back. I never meant to—”

“That's okay. No harm done.” Nancy smiled reassuringly.

Nancy and her friends pushed the boom back aboard the woman's boat. Then they joined Bess at the
Kahala
. After assuring Bess that they were all right, they boarded the cruiser.

While Ned and George were changing clothes, Nancy used the boat's cordless phone to call Lisa's mother. The phone at the other end rang three times. Then a woman's voice answered. “Hello?”

“Mrs. Rafferty, this is Nancy Drew—”

“Nancy Drew!” the woman interrupted. “Where have you people been? Mother said you were coming hours ago.”

“Our rental car broke down. We were delayed reporting the accident. I am sorry,” Nancy said apologetically. “Listen, I can be there in half an hour.”

“All right. Come right over.”

“See you then.” Nancy hung up. “Bess, you and George stay here and cover the phone in case Mrs. Faulkner tries to reach us. We'll be back soon.”

“Okay.” Bess put a couple of sandwiches and two cans of soda in a plastic bag, then handed the bundle to Nancy. “Good luck.”

Grinning, Ned opened the hatch. “We may need it.”

• • •

Diana Rafferty's apartment was two miles east of the marina, in an ultramodern building. Nancy parked in the beach lot opposite it. Then dodging the traffic, she and Ned dashed across the street.

Nancy pressed the doorbell at an upper-floor apartment. The door swung open to reveal a slender, tight-lipped woman with a soft blond ponytail and Alice Faulkner's blue eyes.

Diana blinked in surprise. “Nancy Drew?”

“That's me.” Nancy offered a pleasant smile. “And this is my friend Ned Nickerson.”

“Excuse me, it's just—” Flustered, Diana opened the door all the way. “Well—you're a
kid
.”

“Eighteen, Mrs. Rafferty,” Nancy replied, holding her smile in place. Alice Faulkner's polished manners hadn't rubbed off on her daughter.

“I hope my mother knows what she's doing.” Diana led the way into her living room. “Please. Make yourselves comfortable. Oh, I really should mention that I don't like to be called that name. I prefer ‘Diana Faulkner' ”

Nancy nodded politely and sat down. Her gaze wandered around the room, taking in the large windows, modern furniture, and tropical plants. Diana's paintings hung in prominent places
along the walls, each one emblazoned with her signature. The paintings were all nature studies—flaming volcanoes, ferocious blue seas, stormy landscapes.

“The last time you saw Lisa was Friday morning, wasn't it?” Nancy asked.

“Yes.” Diana gave a dramatic sigh. “When she left for school.” Her voice quavered. “I—I just don't understand why she did it—why she ran away. I mean, if she had a problem, she could have come to me. Right? I'm her
mother
.”

Toying with an earring, Diana added, “I suppose I ought to be grateful for your help. Do you think you can find her?”

“The more you tell me, the better our chances.” Nancy settled back in her chair. “Why did you send Lisa to the bank that day?”

“I needed my travelers' checks. I was planning to be gone a few days. An exhibit of my work.” Her lips tightened. “You see, despite the opposition of my mother and my ex-husbands—all four of them!—I've made quite a name for myself as an artist. That's why this business irritates me no end!”

Puzzled, Nancy asked, “What do you mean?”

“I had to miss my opening because of this mess. I'm supposed to be on Maui, not sitting around here trying to figure out what got into Lisa!”

Diana's self-centeredness took Nancy's breath
away. With Lisa missing, how could Diana even think about an art exhibit?

“Why didn't you go to the bank yourself?” Nancy prodded.

“There was a strike at the hotel I was booked into. I had to make other arrangements.”

“Did Lisa do this sort of thing for you often?”

“Now and then. I tried to get her to be more helpful around here. She was so sullen at times. As if she held me personally responsible for all the trouble in her life. Trouble! That girl doesn't know the meaning of the word!”

“She does now,” Ned observed quietly.

Ignoring his comment, Diana scowled and snapped, “How could Lisa do it? How? If word of this ever gets out, I'll be the laughingstock of Honolulu!”

No wonder poor Lisa ran away! Nancy thought.

“Can you tell me something about Lisa's friends?” she asked, resting her chin on her fist.

“Not much. There was a girl who was always hanging around here—Dawn something. I forget her last name. I met her only once or twice.” Diana pushed her dainty glasses up on her nose. “I happen to be a very busy woman. Most people think artists work when they feel the urge. Not so! When I prepare for an exhibit, I have to do ten or twelve canvases.” Closing her eyes, she stroked her forehead gingerly. “I—I can't understand it. I just can't! Lisa knew how important
that exhibit is. How could she
do
this to me now?”

Stifling a surge of irritation, Nancy stood up and exhaled slowly. “Ms. Faulkner, could I look at Lisa's bedroom?”

“Go ahead. It's upstairs. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks. I'll be right back. Ned, maybe you could get directions to Lisa's school from Ms. Faulkner. We'll definitely want to visit there.”

Nancy climbed the carpeted stairs and slipped into the darkened room. She flicked on the light, noting the cedarwood bureau and sound system and home computer. On the bed, a teddy bear forlornly awaited his owner's return.

There was a personalized notepad on the ink-stained blotter on Lisa's desk. Picking it up, Nancy tilted the top sheet toward the light. Faint impressions were visible. If she could enhance them, there might be a clue here.

Nancy took a lead pencil and lightly colored across the paper. Only a few impressions came through in the sheen of gray. The upper left corner showed the clearest markings:

Miss Mi

1276 Pr

San Fra

An address, Nancy realized. Miss Mi? Who could that be? Perhaps a friend of Lisa's.

Peeling the paper from the pad, Nancy folded it and tucked it into her shoulder bag. Just then, a hanging object drew her gaze. It was a model helicopter, an army Huey, suspended from a nylon thread.

All in all, the rest of Lisa's room seemed pretty normal for a sixteen-year-old girl. But that model helicopter didn't fit. Nancy studied it for a long moment, then shrugged.

Next she picked up a photo cube on the bureau. All six photos were of a lovely girl with brownish blond hair and striking blue eyes. Three of the pictures showed Lisa alone. One pictured her with a cute dark-haired girl—another with a grinning strawberry blonde. The final snapshot showed all three girls at an airport, hamming it up in front of a Huey helicopter.

Looks as though Lisa is interested in flying, Nancy thought, glancing back at the model. I wonder if her mother knows how much?

Nancy felt a twinge of sadness. Since her mother's death, Carson Drew had tried to be both a mother and a father to her. What would my life have been like if Dad had been like Diana Faulkner? she wondered. If he had been too wrapped up in himself to care about me?

Dismissing that depressing thought, Nancy stood at the corner of the window and peered through the Venetian blinds. Across the street,
black feather palms waved languidly in the night breeze.

And then Nancy saw him.

He was a dark-skinned, broad-shouldered man in a Hawaiian shirt. Moon face and slicked-back hair. Nervously tapping his toe on the sidewalk, he was leaning against a streetlight, arms folded—his gaze never leaving Lisa Trumbull's window.

Who was he? And why was he spying on Lisa's bedroom?

“Ned! Get up here—quick!” she called.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Ned burst through the doorway with Diana right behind.

“Somebody on the sidewalk is watching this window,” Nancy whispered.

Ned circled the window and came up on Nancy's side. Easing a slat upward, he glanced at the street. Then he looked at Nancy. “You're right.”