Authors: Carolyn Keene
The Swami's Ring (9 page)
“Zowie!” Tommy cried happily. He ran the tiny wheels up and down his cast, then over the mattress, onto the night table, and back again.
Nancy giggled. “I’m sure your doctor never dreamed that cast would turn into a racetrack!”
When she left the boy’s room, he was still playing with the car, rumbling like an engine, and laughing in between.
“I’ll be back,” the girl told him, though she wasn’t sure when her next visit would be.
She stopped by the nurses’ station to leave a message for Lisa Scotti, and was pleased to find her friend there in person.
“The strangest thing happened this morning,” Lisa whispered to Nancy. “We got a phone call from someone who said his name was Cliff.”
“You’re kidding!” Nancy replied.
“Of course, I was positive it was some crackpot,” Lisa went on.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I knew Cliff was staying at your house.”
“Not anymore,” Nancy said, revealing the full story.
Lisa was completely shocked, saying she wouldn’t have bothered to tell Nancy about the call except that she had stopped by the hospital.
“Oh, Lisa, you must tell me everything that happens if it’s pertinent to Cliffs case.”
“Now that I think about it,” Lisa said, “the voice did sound like Cliffs, but I can’t be certain. There was a lot of static in the background.”
“What did he say?” Nancy questioned.
“Not much, really, but it had something to do with singing.”
“Singing or the name Singh?”
Lisa shrugged. “As I said, the voice wasn’t too clear.”
If only the young nurse had known about the disappearance, Nancy thought, she might have tried to trace the phone call.
Thinking of missed opportunities, Nancy decided to try contacting Angela Pruett again. The telephone seemed to be working, but the harpist was not home—all the more reason, Nancy mused, why she should attend the performance at the River Heights Theater that night.
Nancy spoke briefly to Ned, who had already heard from the other Emerson boys, and despite a minor problem that had to do with the availability of a car for the evening, everyone had decided to meet at the Drew home.
The sky had thickened with clouds and there was the promise of another rainstorm.
“Don’t forget your umbrella, dear,” Hannah advised Nancy as the group left, but Ned waved his, a large, black one that could amply cover two people.
When they arrived at the theater, Nancy was struck by the small, scattered audience.
“Where is everybody?” Burt asked.
“Maybe they were afraid to come out in a storm,” George said.
“But it isn’t even raining yet,” her cousin stated.
Nancy, however, surmised that a number of ticket holders had received the cancellation notice and for whatever reasons had not yet called the theater for a refund. If they had, they would have been told the announcement was a hoax!
She thought no more about it, though, as the orchestra filed into the pit. She looked for Angela, but someone else—another woman—was seated at the harp.
“Where is she?” Ned whispered to Nancy.
“I don’t know.”
But as the overture swelled, the young detective temporarily pushed her concern to the back of her mind. The medley of tunes was a welcome respite from earlier events of the day, soaring to a climax and dissolving when the curtain opened.
The stage, however, remained pitch-black for several minutes as the first actors entered. Then harsh red lights came on.
“What’s going on?” Bess said.
That was what everyone wanted to know. The actors moved mechanically through the scene, saying their lines and singing with as much ease as they could muster. But the red lights turned blue, then amber, and the din of the audience competed against the sound on stage, causing the lead singer to stop in the middle of his number.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, as the overhead lights went out abruptly. “House lights, please,” he instructed someone offstage.
Nancy slid out of her seat and hurried to the back of the theater, without waiting to hear the announcement.
“I’m coming with you,” Ned whispered.
“No, stay here,” Nancy said. “I’ll be back in a second.”
She darted through the lobby doors, spying another one marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Did it lead to the sound booth where the technician controlled the sound and lighting systems?
Nancy turned the knob, ready to climb the inside stairway, when a young man bolted out the door. He was no more than twenty and had shoulder-length brown hair that blew off his neck as he ran down the front steps.
“Stop!” Nancy cried. She dashed after him, but her high dress heels slowed her down.
The boy had jumped in a car and roared away in the darkness before she could catch him. Instantly, she hurried back into the theater, racing to the employees’ door and up the steps.
“Oh!” she gasped upon seeing a man slumped forward over a board of dials.
Next to him lay a wooden rod that had obviously been used to knock him out!
“What’s going on here?” a voice barked behind her. It was the festival manager. Nancy turned sharply, giving him full view of the injured man. “Are you responsible for this, Miss Drew?”
“Me?” Nancy said, aghast. She felt her former irritation, but kept her temper in check and quickly explained what had happened. “He needs a doctor. Excuse me while I find one.”
The stream of people prevented Nancy from getting an usher’s attention, but as her friends appeared, she made her way toward them.
“Someone attacked the man in the sound and lighting booth,” Nancy advised them. “We have to get a doctor for him.”
“Is he bleeding?” George asked.
“No, but he’s out cold.”
Ned raced away from the group, negotiating through the slow-moving crowd to a man in a theater uniform at the far end of the lobby. Briefly, Ned reported the situation and the two of them hurried to a telephone in a rear office.
By the time they emerged again, Nancy had gone back to the booth, leaving the others to wait for Ned and the emergency squad.
The technician moaned quietly. His fingers curled over a switch, then spread out as he tried to lift his head.
“He’ll be all right,” the festival manager said. He glared at Nancy. “Trouble seems to abound when you and your father are in our midst,” he said sarcastically.
The young detective gulped, ignoring the comment. Instead, she leaned close to the technician.
“Please try not to move too much,” she said gently. “You could have a concussion.”
The man blinked his eyes slowly, murmuring, “I’m okay. That kid only tapped me.”
But the eyes closed again, and the fingers stopped moving.
Ned, in the meantime, appeared in the doorway. “Rosemont is sending an ambulance right away,” he said.
“That’s good,” Nancy said, noting the lump that had swelled through the victim’s thinning hairline.
“There is no need for you to stick around,” the manager told the couple. “I will take care of Vince from here on.”
Nancy, however, did not wish to leave the theater until the ambulance arrived, so she and Ned returned to the lobby. The two large, glass doors were open now, and an approaching siren soon stopped as the hospital vehicle pulled in front.
“What was the announcement I missed?” Nancy asked her friends as two men in white uniforms wheeled in a stretcher.
“The star apologized for the interruption,” Bess said, “but said they couldn’t go on under such circumstances.”
Burt revealed a handful of money. “Everybody got a refund on their tickets,” he said.
“I wonder why they didn’t offer to honor them for another evening,” Nancy said.
“Well,” George replied, “I did overhear one woman say to another that she doubted that she would want to come to such a poorly run operation again.”
“What’s on tomorrow night?” Dave inquired.
“Nancy has the schedule,” Bess said.
“Whatever it is,” Nancy put in, “I have a strong hunch that unless they strengthen security around here, the program could fall apart like this one did.”
Now the group watched the ambulance team carry Vince through the employees’ door. His head did not move as he lay on the stretcher.
How long would it be, Nancy wondered, before he could tell her about the incident? Had Vince expected the visitor, or was it a surprise attack?
14
Flannery Foolery
While the group followed the stretcher out, the festival manager hurried briskly toward his office.
“Boy, he’s unfriendly,” Bess said as they stepped out under the dark sky.
He was more than unfriendly, Nancy thought. He was downright antagonistic.
Since the performance had been cut short, the young people decided to stop somewhere for a light snack, giving them a chance to discuss a plan of action.
“Come to think of it,” Nancy said, “I’ve yet to meet Dr. DeNiro.”
“Young or old?” Ned asked.
“Young,” Bess smirked, causing a mock frown to form on her listener’s face.
“And rather nice-looking,” George said.
“I thought you said you wanted to go to the Flannery house,” Ned said to Nancy.
“Oh, that too.”
“Well, I’m free tomorrow, if you want company,” the young man offered.
“I could use an extra pair of eyes,” Nancy teased.
“How about my sunglasses, then?” George said in a laughing voice.
“I’d rather take Ned, thank you,” Nancy grinned.
As the conversation faded into light banter, the group temporarily forgot about the latest developments in the mysteries. When Nancy’s telephone rang early the next morning, however, she was surprised and happy to hear Angela Pruett’s voice.
“I’ve been so concerned about you!” Nancy told the harpist.
“I’m sorry. I should have called you sooner,” Angela said, wavering as she went on. “But I received a short message from Phyllis.”
“Yesterday?” Nancy interrupted.
“Yes, and she said she wanted to meet me at Swain Lake Lodge in the afternoon.”
Nancy listened intently as Angela explained how she had waited almost two hours for her sister to arrive, but she never did.
“I finally inquired at the desk,” Angela said. “That’s when I discovered a second message from Phyllis. All she said was that she couldn’t come after all.”
“Were both messages handwritten?” Nancy questioned.
“No. The first one was, but it was scribbled. The second one was phoned in by a woman, the clerk said.”
“But not necessarily by Phyllis,” Nancy remarked in a suspicious tone.
She immediately revealed her own experience at the same lodge, which now more than ever seemed integral to the mysteries she sought to solve. She described Lal and asked if Angela had seen him.
“No, I haven‘t,” the harpist replied, pausing. “Now I’m wondering if I should go back to the lodge today. Phyllis said she might be able to come.”
Somehow, the idea did not sit well with Nancy.
“The whole business seems very odd to me, and I have a feeling you’ll just find a third message,” she sighed. “Anyway, don’t you have a performance tonight?”
“I’m not sure,” Angela said. “There’s been some talk of canceling the rest of the week.”
She had not yet heard about the catastrophe the night before, so Nancy gave her the details.
“Then I’m sure everything will be postponed,” Angela said. “The festival has really turned into a fiasco, and what worries me most is that I may be out of a job sooner than I anticipated. I’d have to go home, and I can’t. I just can’t.”
“We’ll find Phyllis before that happens,” Nancy assured her. “As a matter of fact, I’d like to see Mrs. Flannery. Do you have the address handy?”
Nancy refrained from telling the woman about the man identified as Flannery, whom she had seen at the lodge and later realized was the person who had attacked Cliff. There was no point in further upsetting Angela, Nancy decided.
So when the harpist gave her the information, the young detective merely thanked her and said she would be in touch. Ned was to arrive within the hour, so Nancy hurried to get ready.
When the doorbell rang, she greeted the young man in a new summer skirt and puff-sleeved blouse that complemented her lightly tanned complexion.
“Hi!” Ned smiled. “I gather we’re not going on a hike in the woods today.”
“Not in these I’m not,” Nancy chuckled, taking a glance at the bare, white sandals she wore. “I’d probably wind up with a terrific case of poison ivy!”
“And who wants itchy feet when you’re chasing down kidnappers!” Ned said, leading the way to the car.
They found the Flannery house without too much difficulty, and to their delight, Mrs. Flannery was there. She was at least twelve or fifteen years older than her visitors, a judgment they drew based on the line of her face. Her figure, on the other hand, was taut like an athlete‘s, and she exuded energy as she spoke.
“Yes?” she said crisply when she opened the door.
Nancy and Ned introduced themselves and said they were looking for Phyllis Pruett.
“She hasn’t been here for a week,” the woman said. “I haven’t the vaguest idea where she went, and—”
“Did you call the police about her disappearance?”
“Who said anything about a disappearance?” Mrs. Flannery charged back. “She’s only been gone a few days. I don’t keep tabs on her, anyway. She pays me rent, and she comes and goes as she likes.”
She started to close the door, but Nancy moved forward.
“May we come in for a minute?” she asked sweetly.
“Look, I have a lot of errands to do.”
“It will only take a moment,” Ned added, knowing that Nancy was hoping to pick up some clue to the whereabouts of the missing girl.
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