The Haunted Carousel (11 page)

Nancy caught her breath anxiously. “Then you—you mean Mrs. Harrod’s been missing for the past twenty-four hours?!”

“Well, I don’t know if ‘missing’ is the right word,” the clerk replied cautiously, “but it does seem as though she hasn’t returned to the hotel.”

Seeing Nancy’s dismayed look, he went on, “Tell you what, the relief clerk—the one who must have taken down that message—will be coming on duty shortly. He can tell you more about it than I can.” The desk clerk smiled reassuringly.

“Yes, of course. I’ll wait for him,” Nancy said, realizing nothing could be done until then. She went and sat next to Ned on a sofa amid the lobby’s potted palms and tried to curb her impatience. Finally, after ten long minutes, a

dark-haired young man walked behind the counter, buttoning his uniform jacket.

As Nancy rose and walked to the desk, she kept her fingers crossed. It turned out that she was in luck. The young man had a good memory.

“Sure, I remember writing down that message,” he recalled. “Mrs. Harrod dictated it to me. Some man had called her just a couple of

minutes before.”

“Did the caller leave his name?” Nancy inquired.

“No, but he had rung her room and gotten no answer, so his call was switched here to the desk. It was about that girl whose name is on the message—Joy Trent.” The clerk pointed to the slip of paper on the marble counter.

“Do you mind telling me what the caller wanted?”

“No, he said that if Mrs. Harrod wanted some information about this Joy Trent, she should meet him at the airport coffee shop—that he’d wait for her there exactly one hour. And she should look for a man with a mustache and a cane.”

The desk clerk went on to relate that just as he had hung up from taking this call, Mrs. Harrod herself had come walking into the lobby. “I

told her what the man had said, and it seemed to make her very happy. That’s when she dictated this message to me—and I stuck it in her room slot as a reminder. Then she turned right around and left the hotel again. Since her room key’s still here, I guess she never came back.”

“Thanks ever so much for your help.” Nancy smiled at the desk clerk, trying not to show her worry. Then she went back to the sofa to tell Ned what she had learned.

“We’d better get out to the airport!” said Ned. Nancy nodded, and they hurried outside to his car.

The airport was not far from River Heights, but in the rush-hour traffic the going seemed agonizingly slow. After Ned had parked his car in the airport lot, the two young people quickly made their way to the coffee shop inside the air terminal.

There was a serving counter and small tables grouped around the shop’s glass window-walls. Aside from a middle-aged woman nibbling a sandwich at one of the tables, the place was empty.

As Nancy and Ned hesitated uncertainly, a smiling, kindly-looking woman in a waitress uniform emerged from the kitchen. She was carrying some boxes which she put under the counter.

“Can I help you people?”

In response, Nancy described Rose Harrod and the time when she had presumably come to the coffee shop yesterday.

The waitress nodded promptly with a look of interest. “Yes, I remember her. It was almost as quiet as today. She came in and looked around and went right to that table over there.” The waitress pointed. “Some guy was sitting there— must’ve been waiting for her, I guess. Anyhow, he ordered fresh coffee for himself and a cup for her, and they began talking.”

“This man she met,” Nancy interrupted, “can you describe him?”

“Yeah, he was kind of a skinny old guy . . . had a mustache and glasses and a hook nose . . . oh, and I remember he had a cane.”

“Please go on.”

“Well, next time I looked over that way, the lady had her elbows on the table, and she was holding her head in her hands. She looked real

sick.”

Nancy exchanged a startled glance with Ned, who asked the waitress, “Sick enough to need medical attention?”

“She sure looked that way to me. The old guy threw some bills on the table, and they left. She was so wobbly he had to help her walk.”

“Did anyone send for an ambulance?” Nancy inquired.

“No, I could see right out through the glass. A big, fat guy with long, blond hair and a beard came up and offered to help. He was holding the lady on one side. I ran out to give the old man his change and ask if I could call a doctor.” “What did he say?”

“He said he was a doctor himself, and he’d take her out for some fresh air.” The waitress shrugged. “So they walked out of the building, and that’s the last I saw of them. How come you’re looking for her, dear? Was the lady a relative of yours?”

“No, just a—a friend. But she never returned to her hotel, so it’s quite worrisome.”

The waitress clucked sympathetically. Nancy thanked her for the information and went back out to the parking lot with Ned.

“I hate to say this, Nancy, but it sounds like Mrs. Harrod was drugged,” Ned commented.

“That’s just what I’m afraid of. That man she met could easily have slipped something into her coffee.” Nancy shaded her eyes as she gazed at the row of parked cars. “Ned, Rose

Harrod’s car was a silver two-door sedan—I don’t know what make, but I’m sure I’ll recognize it. Let’s see if it’s still in the lot.”

After several minutes of searching, Nancy sighed. “Wow, I never realized it before, but silver has got to to be the most popular car color!”

“Let’s talk to the parking lot attendant,” Ned suggested.

“Yes, maybe he’ll remember,” Nancy said. “Let’s just hope he was on duty this time yesterday.”

The attendant was reading a newspaper in his booth. He was a chubby man about fifty years old, and was a retired policeman. When Nancy asked him about Mrs. Harrod, he immediately recalled seeing the two men bring her into the lot from the air terminal the day before.

“Reason I remember is, she drove in here in a nice-looking silver car, and then ten or fifteen minutes iater she comes back out, with two guys having to hold her up on her feet. And then she leaves in their car, instead of her own. ‘Course I could see she’d been taken ill, but even so it seemed kinda odd.”

“Did you talk to them at all?”

“Well, when they drove up to pay me, I asked her if everything was okay—at least I tried to—I

mean about leaving her car here and all. She was too sick and woozy to give me a straight answer, but the old guy with glasses and a mustache said he was a doctor and he was taking her to the hospital.”

Nancy said, “Do you remember what kind of a car he was driving?”

“Yeah, a beat-up old black station wagon. That seemed funny too, ’cause I figured a doctor would be driving a better car than that. So I even wrote down the license number—just in case. I got it right here.”

“Good for you!” Nancy jotted down the information which the parking lot attendant supplied, then thanked him and hurried to the nearest public telephone with Ned.

Nancy called Police Chief McGinnis and gave him the description and license number of the station wagon. She asked if he could trace its registration and have all police cars keep a lookout for it.

“Will do, Nancy. I’ll call as soon as I have anything,” Chief McGinnis promised.

After hanging up, Nancy said, “Would you like to come to dinner with me, Ned? There’s nothing more we can do for the time being, and I’m sure you must be as hungry as I am.” “Sounds good to me!” Ned replied with a

grin. Soon they were on their way to the Drews’ house.

Hannah Gruen was just about to serve dinner. The motherly housekeeper set another place for Ned, and the two young people joined her and Mr. Drew at the table.

Nancy had just finished her shrimp cocktail when the telephone rang. She immediately jumped up, saying, “That may be for me—I’ll get it.”

“Nancy?” said the caller’s voice when she picked up. “Chief McGinnis here. Sorry if this is your dinner hour, but I thought you’d want to know immediately. That station wagon was reported stolen yesterday. It was found abandoned, early this morning, out near Fishwick. Hope this helps you.”

“Oh, it does, Chief. Thanks for letting me know so promptly.”

Hanging up, Nancy returned quickly to the dining room. “Ned, they found the station wagon out near Fishwick this morning. I’m going out there now. Want to come?”

“Sure thing. Please excuse me, Mrs. Gruen— Mr. Drew.” He rose from the table.

Nancy hastily apologized for interrupting the meal. “Dad, Hannah—I’ll explain it all when we get back. It’s really urgent—I’m sorry.

Please go on with your dinner. We’ll get something later on, while we’re out.”

Nancy kissed her father, gave Hannah a hug, and whirled out of the room, followed by Ned.

It was not yet 8:00 P.M. and still light out. Fortunately traffic was sparse, and Nancy drove as fast as the speed limit allowed down to the River Road, then out along the two-lane country road that led to Fishwick.

“I feel I just can’t get there fast enough, Ned,” Nancy murmured anxiously. “What do you think happened to her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should have checked the hospitals first.”

“You’re right. If this turns out to be a fruitless trip, that’s the next thing we’ll do.”

Fishwick was a seedy beach community strung out along the riverbank. It centered on a cafe, a gas station and general store, and a boating pier. A row of run-down-looking cottages completed the picture.

After slowing to look around, Nancy pulled into the gas station. A leathery-faced man got up off his tilted-back chair. “What’ll it be—gas or bait?”

“Neither.” Nancy smiled at him. “You look like a very observant man.”

The man responded with a pleased grin and

shrewd wink. “Ain’t much goes on around here gets by me. Why? You lookin’ for someone?” “Yes, a sick woman. Two men brought her out here late yesterday in an old, black station wagon. Did you happen to notice them?”

“Yep—that’s the place.” He pointed to a cottage half hidden among some trees.

“Do you know who lives there?”

“Shucks, can’t keep track. These places are rented by the day or week.”

Nancy thanked him and drove on with Ned to the cottage. When they knocked, no one answered. But suddenly, a faint moan reached their ears.

“Ned, did you hear that?!” Nancy exclaimed. “You bet I did!” Her friend put his husky shoulder to the door and pushed hard.

The cheap lock soon gave way, and the door flew open. Nancy gasped at the sight that met their eyes.

On a bare cot lay Rose Harrod, tied and gagged!

Nancy rushed to undo the woman’s gag. “Mrs. Harrod!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right?” The woman’s eyes flickered open, but they scarcely seemed to focus, and the only audible response was a few faint, mumbled words. “I ... I d-don’t know . . . Wh-where am I?” Before Nancy could reply, Rose Harrod’s eyes rolled upward and her lids drooped shut again. She was obviously dazed and disoriented.

“She must still be under the effects of that drug the fellow gave her!” Ned declared grimly.

But Nancy shook her head. “I doubt if whatever he slipped in her coffee would keep her under this long. More likely they sedated her again after they brought her here to the cottage.”

The cottage, though barely furnished, at least had electricity and running water. Ned switched on the overhead light, since dusk was gathering fast outside, and untied the ropes binding Mrs. Harrod. Meanwhile, Nancy wrung out her handkerchief in cold water.

Together, they raised Rose Harrod to a sitting position and managed to revive her. But she was able to stammer out only a few confused words about the kidnapping before slumping unconscious again.

“We’d better get her to a doctor right away,” Ned decided.

“Yes, the sooner the better,” Nancy agreed. “I’ll help you carry her out to the car.”

“No problem. I can carry her.”

Ned, a well-muscled six-footer, easily gathered the woman up in his arms, and minutes later they were speeding back to town.

After they had delivered Mrs. Harrod to the emergency room of the River Heights Hospital, Nancy called police headquarters to report what had happened. By the time she hung up, the intern on duty had finished examining the patient.

“She’s been drugged, all right,” he told Nancy and Ned, “but I don’t think there’ll be any permanent ill effects. In any case, I want to keep her here under observation, at least overnight.”

The two young people went to a nearby restaurant to settle down at last to their delayed dinner. But both were still too keyed up over the events of the evening to eat much. Moreover, Nancy was already laying plans for her night’s detective work.

“Will you help me, Ned?” she asked. When he eagerly agreed, Nancy explained what she had in mind. Then she made several calls from a pay telephone in the rest room. She succeeded in contacting reporter Rick Jason; George’s friend Neil Sawyer, the electrical engineering student; and the park policeman, Officer Doyle, who by now had gone off duty. All three promised to meet her shortly before 11:00 P.M. at the same wooded stakeout spot where she and Ned had kept watch on the carousel on Monday night.

It was long past nine-thirty when Nancy and Ned finally left the restaurant. They drove first to police headquarters, where Nancy borrowed a pair of police walkie-talkie radios. Then they drove on to the Trents’ house. Nancy had al-

ready called Joy from the restaurant and learned that she had a key to the day-care center, since Joy did volunteer work there in addition to lending her carousel horse for the children’s enjoyment.

Ned waited in the car while Nancy went up to ring the bell. Joy herself answered the door and handed Nancy the key.

“Something tells me you have an exciting evening ahead,’’ she said enviously.