Sweet Revenge (13 page)

Nancy took a tentative step forward—and froze in fear.

Just in front of her the room's floor had been ripped out. The space was like a bottomless black pit. A few more steps, and she would have plunged into it!

Nancy's heart was pounding. I've been led into a trap! Someone lured me here to—

Just then there was a scrabbling sound behind her. Nancy whirled around—and screamed.

From out of the darkness a razor-sharp wood chisel was hurtling straight at her!

N
O
!” N
ANCY SCREAMED.
She jumped out of the chisel's deadly path and felt as if someone had pulled the floor out from under her. She was plummeting through the gaping hole!

It all happened in a flash. Almost before she realized she was falling, Nancy's flailing arms had grabbed a beam and she jerked still. Gasping for breath, she clung to the beam. She didn't dare look down. Below her, she knew, yawned the cavernous space of the subbasement. The only thing that would keep her from smashing to the stone floor below was her own strength—and already her muscles were shrieking with agony.

As the panic subsided, she realized something was stabbing into her hand—probably a nail sticking out from the beam. Carefully Nancy
moved her hand a fraction to the right. Better. Then, warily, she raised her eyes.

She couldn't hear her assailant anywhere. Was he—or she—lurking above her, waiting for her to drop? Waiting to kick her hands off the beam if she made a move?

Nancy suddenly remembered something else. The chisel! She desperately searched her memory to see whether she had heard it drop through the floor, but she couldn't remember. Had her attacker found it? Was the chisel poised to strike again?

She listened again—and heard no sign of anyone else nearby.

I can't hang here forever, Nancy told herself. Even if someone
was
up there, the risks of climbing back up were a lot better than what would happen if she dropped into the subbasement.

But getting up on the beam was easier said than done. It took three agonizing tries before Nancy was able to hoist herself onto it. Precariously balanced, and feeling as if she might fall with every movement, she began to creep to safety.

The hand that had been pierced by the nail was throbbing now, and her muscles ached. Nancy felt sick with pain and fear. But inch by dreadful inch she moved along until at last she had reached the edge of the hole.

Trembling with relief, she crawled onto solid ground and collapsed onto the floor. For a minute all she could do was lie sprawled against the
floor, breathing deeply. Then she pulled herself together and sat up.

She peered down the shadowy hallway. There was neither sight nor sound of her attacker. Whoever had set this trap was gone.

That had been a close call. But if her assailant thought she'd back off now, he—or she—had another think coming!

Trying to kill her that way had been a desperate move. And now that the culprit was desperate, it was time for Nancy to make her own move—one that would send the criminal over the edge.

• • •

“Nancy, you missed the best mocha sorbet—” Bess's smile turned to a look of shock. “What happened to you?”

Nancy had come directly to the dining room from the east wing. Luckily the dining room was nearly empty now. But a few late diners were staring at Nancy's dusty clothes and bloody hands. At least the Tagleys, Samantha, and Tim were gone, Nancy noted with relief.

“You look as though you've been crawling through construction or something,” George added.

“That's pretty much what I
have
been doing,” said Nancy wearily as she dropped into a chair. “I'll fill you in in a second. Just let me catch my breath.”

“Did you meet whoever sent you that note?” asked George.

“Well, yes and no. I think that now it's time to get tough.”

“How?” Bess asked.

Just then a waiter walked up to the table. “Can I get you anything?” he asked Nancy politely.

“Just some information. Were you working here when Brock Sawyer was poisoned?”

“No, but another waiter on duty tonight was. Do you want me to get him?”

“That would be great.”

A young waiter with dark, spiky hair appeared shortly. “Do you have time to talk to me for a second?” Nancy asked him.

“I guess so,” he answered with a quick glance around the dining room. “Things seem to be winding down here.”

“Thanks a lot. This won't take long,” Nancy assured him. “I understand you were on duty when Brock Sawyer was poisoned?”

“I was. What a horrible thing!”

“It looks now as though an artificial sweetener that Brock used in his tea and coffee was what poisoned him,” Nancy went on.

The waiter's eyes grew wide. “You mean that powdery stuff? Boy, I'm glad I didn't try any! I never trust health food.”

Nancy couldn't help laughing a little. “Actually, someone
added
the poison to the sweetener,” she explained. “That's what I'm trying to find out. You didn't notice anyone besides Brock handling the jar of sweetener, did you?”

The waiter thought for a moment. “Besides Mr. Tagley, you mean?”

“Mr. Tagley?” Nancy asked incredulously.

“Jake, that is. He likes the staff to call him Mr. Tagley.”

“I didn't realize that,” Nancy said, half to herself.

“Well, anyway, Mr. Tagley took it out to the kitchen. Day before yesterday, I'm pretty sure. He said it needed a refill.”

Nancy shot her friends a meaningful glance. That was the day Brock was poisoned.

“Do they keep refills of Brock's sweetener in the kitchen?” asked George in surprise.

“I've never seen any,” the waiter said, shrugging, “but Jake must know the kitchen a lot better than I do. He came back with the refill right away.” The waiter glanced at the clock on the opposite wall. “I should really get back,” he said. With a quick smile, he walked away.

“Let's go upstairs,” Nancy said to Bess and George as soon as the waiter was out of earshot. “We'll be able to talk a lot more easily without people leaning over our shoulders.”

“So Jake refilled the sweetener,” Nancy mused thoughtfully when the girls were in the elevator heading upstairs. “I wonder if—”

“You're not accusing him of being the poisoner, are you?” Bess cut in. “Because I just know he's not.”

Nancy smiled slightly. “If it were up to you, Bess, no one would be the culprit.” The elevator door slid open, and the girls started down the third-floor hallway. As soon as they reached their suite, Nancy began peeling off her grimy clothes.

“Anyway, I'm not accusing Jake of anything,”
Nancy continued. “It does seem significant that he handled the sweetener just before Brock was poisoned. But I've got to take a shower and put some disinfectant on my hand before I even
think
about this case.”

Fifteen minutes later—showered, dressed in clean shorts and a T-shirt, and feeling a hundred percent better—Nancy sat down in the suite's living room with Bess and George and told them what had just happened to her.

Bess's blue eyes were full of tears when Nancy finished. “Nan, you could have been killed!”

George didn't seem to even hear her cousin. Her brow was furrowed as she asked, “Remember the night we saw Jake playing darts?”

Nancy nodded. “So?”

“So someone aimed that chisel pretty well, that's all,” George answered.

“You're right!” Nancy exclaimed. “I didn't even think of that, George!”

Bess was angry. “You don't have a shred of proof, either of you!” she stated emphatically.

“That's right, we don't,” agreed Nancy. “That's why I came up with a new plan while I was in the shower. It ought to help us even if we
don't
have any proof.”

“Well, what
is
this plan?” asked George. “How can we help?”

“First, did you guys notice anyone in the Tagley family leave the dining room during dinner?” said Nancy.

“Let's see,” George said thoughtfully. “They were all in and out. Weren't they, Bess?”

“Except Jake,” Bess said with a triumphant smile. “He came in a couple of minutes late, then stayed for the whole meal. But both Mr. and Mrs. Tagley left a couple of times, and so did Samantha. Come to think of it, Tim did, too. He was bringing in some kind of speaker system for the dance tonight. I think we should definitely go to that, by the way. It'll probably be fun.”

“I doubt we'll have time to get to the dance,” Nancy said apologetically. “I have a feeling we're going to be busy this evening.

“But I've got to make one call to set things up for my plan,” Nancy went on. She opened the local directory that lay next to the phone on the coffee table and looked up the number of the hospital. Then she picked up the receiver and began to dial.

“Hello, may I please speak to Brock Sawyer?” she said when the hospital switchboard answered. After a short pause the actor's voice came on the line.

“Hello, Brock? This is Nancy Drew. . . . Fine, thank you. And you? . . . Oh, that's good. Listen, Brock. I've come up with a plan to trap the person who poisoned you, but I'm going to need your help. And I think I'm going to need a doctor's permission, too.”

A few minutes later Nancy hung up and turned excitedly to her friends. “Now we'll run through my plan—and then we start rehearsing.”

• • •

The living room clock was just striking nine as Nancy walked gravely into the room and closed
the double doors behind her. Waiting for her were Bess, George, and the group of people who had assembled at Nancy's request.

Mrs. Tagley was there, sitting on the faded love seat by the fireplace. Samantha leaned against one wall, worriedly fingering the silk of her blue dress. Tim sat in a chair next to her, his head in his hands. And Jake made a determined effort to flip through a magazine despite the tension in the room.

From far down the hall the lilting strains of ballroom music could be heard.

Samantha checked her watch. “The dance has already started,” she said. “I hope you can let me get back soon, Nancy. I don't want to leave my stepfather to run things there too long without me.

“Would you mind telling me what's going on, Nancy?” Mrs. Tagley asked angrily. “I've got a lot of work to do, too, you know!” She began tapping her high heel impatiently on the floor.

“I'm sure Nancy's got a good reason for bringing us all together,” said Jake.

“Well, I hope we're not in for some kind of interrogation,” Tim muttered. Samantha shot him a warning glance, but he ignored it. “I've answered enough questions in the past couple of days.”

“I haven't come to interrogate you. I've come with some news,” Nancy told them. “News from the hospital.” Her voice was so somber that the group fell still instantly. Every pair of eyes in the room was watching Nancy intently.

Nancy made her voice tremble as she spoke again. “I just talked to Brock's doctor,” she said. “He told me that Brock has had a relapse.”

Samantha let out a little gasp. “But I—I spoke to him on the phone earlier. He was fine!”

“It happened very quickly.” Nancy bit her lip and stared at the floor as though she were fighting to keep from crying. Then she took a deep breath and said the hardest thing of all.

“An hour ago Brock Sawyer died.”

T
HERE WAS A GASP
of horror from Nancy's listeners.

“Oh, no! Oh, no!” Samantha cried sharply. “It's my fault! If only I hadn't asked Brock to come here!” Burying her head in her hands, she burst into tears.

Tim patted her shoulder awkwardly, but his green eyes showed no emotion. Nancy wondered fleetingly what he was thinking. What would it feel like to console your girlfriend over another guy's death?