The Cheating Heart (2 page)

N
ANCY'S HEART
began to race. She knew that Ned was honest. How dare this professor accuse him of stealing anything!

“Let's not jump to any conclusions, Professor,” Nancy heard Dean Jarvis say. “I can personally vouch for Ned's integrity.” Then his voice went on in a soothing murmur, and Nancy couldn't make out his exact words.

The professor gave a loud
hmmph!
“I don't know this young man from Adam,” his voice whined. “I only asked him to photocopy that test!”

Nancy still couldn't hear the dean. She leaned forward on the bench, straining to catch his reply.

“That's easy for
you
to say!” the professor exploded. “The test is tainted now. I'll have to
start all over again. I'll have to create a new exam that the freshmen will have to take again. Then I'll have to grade it—and all before classes start on Wednesday!”

“But we're not sure anything was stolen,” the dean put in. “Just because you can't find your answer sheet . . .”

“Dean Jarvis,” the professor said haughtily, “I am beginning to suspect that academic integrity is of no importance to this office. Do you, or do you not, intend to take action in this case?”

Nancy couldn't stand by another minute. She hopped up and stood in the doorway. “Hello, Dean Jarvis!” she said brightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ned's handsome, square-cut face. He was flushed, whether with anger at Tavakolian or pleasure at seeing her she couldn't tell. She flashed him a swift pretend-you-don't-know-me look and he understood immediately.

“Why, Nancy Drew—” the dean said awkwardly.

“I happened to be on campus, and I thought I'd drop by to see you,” Nancy said breezily. “Got a mystery for me to solve?”

The dean continued to stare at Nancy in confusion. She swiveled around and got her first good look at the professor. He was a man of medium height with a chunky build, curly pepper-and-salt hair, and a neat black beard. Despite the hot weather, he wore a rumpled tweed silk jacket over a dark blue polo shirt.

“Sorry—was I interrupting anything?” Nancy asked innocently.

Dean Jarvis cleared his throat. “Professor Tavakolian, this is Nancy Drew,” he said. “She's a talented detective who has helped us solve a number of mysteries on campus.”

Nancy shook hands with the professor and then turned to Ned and stuck out her hand. “Nancy Drew,” she said, introducing herself.

Ned's dark eyes sparkled with amusement and relief. “Ned Nickerson,” he said quietly, trying hard to keep a straight face. As they shook hands, Nancy could see the dean's baffled expression.

“A detective, you say?” the professor asked. “Well, it just so happens we do have a problem. Someone has stolen the answer sheet to an important exam.” He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow, then quickly replaced it.

Nancy glanced at the dean, and she saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “Professor, perhaps you'd like to tell Nancy your story.”

“I would indeed,” the professor declared, then quickly retold the story Nancy had already heard. Nancy nodded and listened thoughtfully.

“I'd like to go to your office to check out the scene of the crime,” she suggested when he had finished.

“Excellent.” Tavakolian beamed. “If you'll excuse us, Dean?”

“By all means,” the dean said. But as the
professor headed out the door, Dean Jarvis pulled Nancy aside. “Are you sure you know what you're up to, Nancy?” he whispered.

“Thanks for not blowing my cover, Dean Jarvis,” she whispered back. “Maybe I can find out if the test was actually stolen or not.”

The dean nervously glanced at the professor waiting outside the door. “Nancy, I don't want any complaints about a conflict of interest. You must investigate quietly—Tavakolian doesn't know Ned is your boyfriend, but lots of people at Emerson do. And after all, Ned is our chief suspect.”

“But . . . but I thought you said that you didn't believe Ned did it.” Nancy frowned.

“I can't afford to take anything for granted,” the dean replied. “Can I trust you to pursue this truthfully, no matter where it leads?”

“You can, sir,” Nancy promised, shaking his hand. Then she glanced over at Ned, who was still standing awkwardly by the desk. Their eyes met only for an instant, but they knew each other so well that an instant was all they needed. Without a word, she knew he trusted her, too.

Drawing a deep breath, Nancy turned and joined the professor in the hallway. They headed for Ivy Hall, an old brick classroom building in the center of campus.

“I'm an English professor,” the professor told Nancy as they walked. “I teach one of Emerson's core curriculum courses. All Emerson students
have to take four courses before they graduate—a world history course, an earth sciences course, a math and computer course, and a literature course, which is the one I teach.

“I said all students have to take the courses,” he added, “but there are exceptions. During orientation week, freshmen take placement exams in those four subjects. If a student scores well on a specific test, he or she can skip that required course and get extra credit for it.”

“And it's the answers for that test you think were stolen,” Nancy said.

“I
know
were stolen,” Tavakolian corrected her. “On Monday afternoon I asked the English department office for a student aide to photocopy the test. Apparently all the student aides in the English department were busy, so the department secretary, Ms. Belzer, called the campus jobs office to send over a temporary worker.”

“Ned Nickerson,” Nancy filled in.

Tavakolian nodded as he held open the door of Ivy Hall for her. “I had a single copy of the test and the answer sheet on Monday afternoon. I handed Ned the test and asked him to make two hundred copies of it.”

“You gave him the test only?” Nancy asked.

“Yes. I left the answer sheet in the file folder, with the computer disk containing the test and the answers,” he replied firmly. “While Ned went to make the copies, I placed the folder on my desk.

“When he brought the copies back,” he went on, “I put the original copy of the test back in the folder. I laid the folder aside for a minute when I was putting the photocopies in my file drawer. That's when I think Ned stole the answer sheet. Then I put the folder in my file drawer and I left my office, locking the door.”

“When did you return next?” Nancy asked.

“Yesterday morning, Wednesday, at ten-thirty,” he said. “I picked up the copies and took them to the auditorium, where the test was scheduled for eleven o'clock.”

They were walking down the second-floor hallway when the professor abruptly stopped outside a varnished wood door. F. M. Tavakolian was painted on the door in flaking black paint.

“Was this door locked yesterday when you got here?” Nancy asked.

“Of course it was.” The professor pulled out a small key ring, attached to his leather belt by a short chain. “My keys are always with me, you see,” he noted as he slipped a key into the lock and pushed open the door. “No one ‘borrowed' them, if that's what you're thinking.”

The professor ushered Nancy into his small, book-crammed office. He gestured toward a tall black steel cabinet next to his battered wooden desk. “The file cabinet was locked when I got here, too.”

“Did you notice whether the answer key was in the file yesterday morning?” Nancy inquired.

Tavakolian huffed slightly. “Well, no—I didn't check inside the folder Wednesday morning. All I needed were the tests to hand out to the students. I took the completed tests home with me last night, and I didn't return until this afternoon, when I came to get the answer sheet.”

“Were the office door and the file cabinet locked this afternoon when you got here?” Nancy was closely studying the surface of the file cabinet, looking for scratches that might indicate someone had jimmied the lock.

“Yes, definitely,” Tavakolian answered as he took out his key and unlocked the cabinet. “I kept the test folder in the bottom drawer.”

Nancy opened the deep bottom drawer of the cabinet and glanced over the folders crammed into it. “Aren't you going to dust for fingerprints?” the professor inquired curiously.

Nancy hid her annoyance at his meddling. “I doubt that that would help us here,” she said politely. “A surface like this is probably covered with many people's prints. Besides, we're not looking for a criminal whose prints would be in a police file. Now, do you still have the original copy of the test?”

From the drawer, Tavakolian pulled out a ten-page document on plain white copy paper from a manila folder. Nancy held it up to the light to study the typeface. “I took my disk and printed the test out on the laser printer in the
English department office,” the professor said. “It's faster than my printer here.”

Nancy nodded, rapidly checking out his desktop computer setup. Then she scanned the test itself. “If someone cheated on the test, he or she would get a high score, right?” she asked.

“Well, you see, there are two sections of the test,” Tavakolian pointed out. “The first part is multiple-choice, with fifty questions—the answers are A's, B's, C's, and D's. Whoever stole the answer sheet would get a perfect score on that part. But the second part of the test wouldn't be easy to cheat on.” He flipped the pages to show her. “It consists of five essay questions.”

“And the answer sheet didn't list answers for essay questions,” Nancy concluded.

Tavakolian shrugged. “For each essay question, I did write down a few phrases, indicating topics that should be covered by the student. But when I grade such a test, I also give points for clear, intelligent thinking.”

“So we might be able to identify the cheater,” Nancy mused, “if a student gets a perfect score on the multiple-choice section and mentions the correct topics on the essay questions, but doesn't really seem to understand them.”

“True,” said Tavakolian.

“Although the only clear proof of the theft would be to find the missing answer sheet in a student's possession,” said Nancy. “But if you
had the tests graded, we could zero in on the most likely cheaters.”

“I hadn't planned to grade them at all,” Tavakolian said, “since the test has to be thrown out. But if you wish, I will grade it. I'll do the multiple-choice section first.

“Of course,” he added fussily, “it will take me a number of days to correct the essay section. In any case, I'll give you the names of any students who get a perfect score on the multiple choice.”

As Nancy jotted down her phone number at the Theta Pi house for the professor, she asked, “Does anybody else have a key to this office?”

“No. Oh, there's the cleaning woman,” he remembered, “but she doesn't have a key to the file cabinet. Besides, she barely speaks English. What use could she have for a literature exam?”

About as much use as Ned Nickerson would have, Nancy thought to herself. “I'd like to speak to her anyway,” Nancy told him.

“I think she starts work, down the hall, around now,” Tavakolian said. “I'll see if I can find her.” He went out the door.

While he was gone, Nancy conducted a careful inspection of the office. First she searched through the other two drawers of the file cabinet. The professor seemed to have a well-organized filing system, she noticed. Each file had a neatly typed label and was in perfect alphabetical order.

Next she moved to the large double-sash window
that overlooked Emerson's central lawn. The glass rattled loosely in the wood frame, but the old brass lock fit tightly. No one had climbed up to the second floor and entered that way.

Stepping over to the office door, Nancy inspected the lock there. It was a cylinder lock, set into the wood. She recognized the brand name and knew it was a good, sound lock, almost impossible to pick. It didn't seem as though anyone had broken into the office.

Just then the professor returned, leading a middle-aged woman with graying blond hair. Over her slacks she wore a flimsy mustard-colored smock. Her deep-set blue eyes reflected her fright.

Nancy offered her a seat, but the woman shook her head and stood beside the chair. As Nancy gently questioned her, she said her name was Sophie Maliszewski. She'd worked at Emerson for twelve years, ever since coming to the United States from Poland. Showing Nancy her large ring of keys, she said that she cleaned the professor's office every weeknight, usually between seven-thirty and eight.

“The professor says something's missing from his office—a piece of paper,” Nancy said.

“The professor have many piece of paper here,” Sophie joked weakly.

Nancy smiled. “We think someone may have stolen the answers to a test.”

“And if there was cheating going on, the students will have to take the test over again,” Tavakolian said.

Suddenly Sophie's pleasant round face went absolutely white. “Oh, no!” she cried out, greatly agitated. She collapsed into the chair beside her, and her head fell forward. Nancy rushed to her side. Sophie was about to faint.