Fatal Ransom (2 page)

It was only a few minutes after eight when she arrived at Lawrence Colson's house. I was expecting a mansion, she thought to herself, but this is a palace! A long, curving drive led up to a three-story brick house surrounded by formal gardens and magnificent oak trees. It looked like something belonging to a British aristocrat.

Nancy parked her Mustang in the drive beside a beautiful red Maserati. She wondered if it was Hal's. Lots of families out there could afford cars like that—but for a teenager? If it is Hal's, his uncle must be very generous, Nancy thought as she rang the doorbell.

A man who appeared to be in his midtwenties opened the door. For a second Nancy wished they had a person as good-looking as that to help Hannah. He was the handsomest butler she had ever seen—wavy brown hair, eyes so dark they almost looked black, and a tall, muscular build.

“I-I'm Nancy Drew,” Nancy said. “Mr. Lawrence Colson is expecting me.”

A smile spread across the man's somber face,
and a look of relief flooded his dark eyes. “I sure am! Come right in, Miss Drew.”

“You're
Lawrence Colson?” Nancy asked, following him inside. She'd been expecting someone much older.

“The one and only,” he said. “But please call me Lance.”

“Lance. Yes,” Nancy managed to say, hiding her astonishment.

Lawrence Colson wasn't Nancy's only surprise. From her Mustang, she had tried to picture what the inside of his mansion would look like. She'd been totally off base on her guess about that, too.

Instead of the colonial pieces and huge fireplaces she had been expecting, contemporary furniture in white and beige filled the rooms. Thick, pale Oriental rugs covered the burnished wooden floors, and a couple of crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceilings added to the sophisticated look.

But the focal point of the house was the staircase that thrust its way up from the foyer into the second floor. It was breathtaking. For a minute Nancy imagined herself sweeping down those stairs in a flowing ballgown. . . .

“It is beautiful, isn't it?” Lance asked, interrupting her daydreams.

“Unbelievable,” Nancy answered.

“This house belonged to my brother, Michael,” said Lance. “He was the one who bought it and decorated it and loved it. I'm really just a live-in guest—and Hal's guardian, of course.”

He shook his head. “Some guardian! It was bad enough that I couldn't keep him in school or away from those punk friends of his—but letting him get kidnapped? I'll never forgive myself. I'm not fit to be anyone's guardian.” His eyes were anguished.

“I think you're being too hard on yourself, Mr. Colson,” Nancy said gently and immediately corrected herself, “Lance.” She ran her fingers through her reddish gold hair as she often did when she was trying to come up with the right words.

“I'm going to find your nephew.” Nancy didn't add “dead or alive” because she didn't want to worry Lance even more. “I've got to work fast, though, and I need all the help you can give me.”

“I'll do anything,” Lance said simply. “Just tell me what to do. You are taking the case for sure?”

“Yes, I am taking the case. But we've got a lot to do. First, tell me everything you know about this kidnapping. Even the smallest detail may be helpful.”

Lance escorted Nancy into the den, where she was seated on a white loveseat.

“I don't know much about it at all,” he confessed. “When I came home from work last night I found a ransom note—the one I gave to your father. There was no sign of a break-in—but the door to my study had had the glass cut out, and the door had been unlocked and opened. The note was on my desk.” Lance's eyes had a haunted, distant look, as if he were reliving the scene.

“Who would do something this horrible?” he asked her helplessly.

“That's what I'm going to find out. Now, when was the last time you saw Hal?”

Lance leaned back in his chair. “Yesterday. He said he was going to the Woodland Mall. That's the only place he's been spending his time lately.” He frowned. “You know, I just haven't known how to handle Hal these days. I guess it's a good thing Michael isn't around to see how he's turned out. Michael wouldn't be able to take it if he knew that Hal's main goal in life is to be a roadie for a punk rock band. And that crowd he runs with—trash, all of them.”

“Michael was—”

“Hal's father,” Lance explained. “He's the one who started Colson Enterprises. When Michael and Karen, Hal's mother, were killed
in a plane crash, their will stipulated that I would be Hal's guardian and that the running of the company was up to me until Hal turns twenty-five.”

“When did they die?” Nancy asked.

“Two years ago in March.”

Nancy knew that kids sometimes went off the deep end when their parents died. Maybe that was what had happened to Hal. But that wasn't the time to talk about it.

“Does anyone know Hal is missing?” she asked instead.

“No. Except you and your father.”

Nancy couldn't help remembering the incident earlier out on Allegheny Drive. “I know this sounds crazy,” she said, “but I was run off the road tonight on the way over here. I wonder if someone already knows I'm in on this case and would like to see me taken off it.”

“Oh, no,” Lance said immediately. “You weren't hurt, were you?”

“No. Just suspicious.”

“I wouldn't be,” Lance told her. “We've had trouble with teenagers running people off the road out here lately. The police are trying to catch the kids, but so far they haven't been successful. As a matter of fact, I was their target the other night.” He grinned. “But my Maserati and I outran them.”

So the Maserati is his, Nancy thought.

“Did you get a description of the car?” Lance asked.

“No. It was too dark. All I saw were the headlights.”

“Too bad,” Lance said. “But, as I said, I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure it has nothing to do with Hal's disappearance.”

He shook his head irritably. “The teens in this town are really getting out of hand. I read in the paper just this morning that the blood bank had reported several pouches of blood missing—blood, for God's sake!—and that they'd fired the teenager who'd been driving the delivery truck because they thought he'd taken it.”

“Pretty strange. But not all River Heights teenagers are bad. I know that for a fact—I'm eighteen myself. But to get back to the kidnapping,” Nancy reminded him, “do you have a photo of Hal?”

Lance was just about to answer when a tall, slender, dark-haired woman came into the room. She was wearing tailored pale gray pants and a matching sweater. Her beautiful face was bored and petulant looking.

“Hello, Monica,” Lance said, getting to his feet. “Nancy, this is Monica Sloane. Monica, Nancy Drew. She's here to help us find Hal.”

Us? Nancy thought. Monica wasn't married
to Lance. Nancy just smiled politely and nodded at the other woman.

Monica just stared at her. “So you're here to help Lance find little Hal,” she said at last. Her tone was icy.

“Yes, I am,” Nancy answered. “Do you know anything about this case that might help me?”

“No, I don't, Ms. Drew,” snapped Monica. “And I couldn't care less about that stupid kid.”

“Monica!” Lance protested. “This is no time—”

“She might as well know what I think,” Monica said. “She'll probably try to ask me questions anyway.”

“You're right,” Nancy said cheerfully. “Why don't you tell me what you have to say now, Ms. Sloane? It might save both of us a lot of time and trouble.”

Monica glared at her. “All I've got to say is this: it's just one more thing that crazy kid has done to mess everything up for Lance. Poor Lance is losing his shirt on his new project, and now he's going to have to pay ransom for that no-good brat who's part of the problem at the mall!”

Lance's face was crimson. “Monica, please. Try to control yourself. Nancy doesn't want to hear this.”

But Lance was wrong. Nancy did want to hear it.

“What do you mean he's part of the problem at the mall?” Nancy asked.

“Do you know the new Woodland Mall?” Lance asked. Nancy nodded. “Then you know that we're having trouble renting some of the shops, and most people think that it's because of the punks that are hanging out there. And Hal
does
hang out there . . .”

“I see. Well, will there be a problem coming up with the ransom money—if we have to go that far?” she asked.

Lance shook his head. “No. As I said, we are having trouble with the mall project, but Colson Enterprises is still sound. And I think things will turn around once the mall is fully leased. That's the only problem right now.”

“No, our problem right now is that kid and the kids he hangs out with,” said Monica. “We didn't
have
problems until he started acting up.

Lance gave Monica a disapproving look. “Don't you have something to take care of upstairs?” he asked.

Monica's eyes swept Nancy's face coldly. “Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “I think I do.”

“I'm sorry,” Lance said once she had left the room. “Monica and Hal have never gotten along.

“I have to admit, all this guardian stuff came as a big shock to me,” he went on. “I had my own construction business before my brother died. It was small, but I was doing pretty well. I had to sell my business so I could devote all my time to Colson Enterprises. You know—keep the business running so Hal would have something to take over one of these days.”

“That must have been a real sacrifice—especially when you had to start a new life so suddenly,” Nancy said. She was starting to admire Lance Colson more and more.

“Monica and I used to have time for each other. But since I moved in here and took over Colson Enterprises—well, I just haven't had much time to be with her, I guess I'm not the greatest company these days, and she resents it.”

“Resents” would be putting it mildly, Nancy thought, still a little chilled by Monica's parting glance. But all she said was, “I think I understand.”

She stood up. “If you could provide me with a good photograph of Hal, I can get out of your way and get started solving this case.”

Lance picked up a small photo from a table next to the den entrance. “I thought you might want this, so I had it ready for you.”

“Someone who thinks like a detective,” Nancy said, smiling. “We're going to make a
great team. One more thing,” she added as she started walking to the front door, “what kind of car does Hal drive?”

“A new white Mercedes convertible.”

Nancy jotted it down in the little notebook she always took with her. “What's the license plate number?”

“HAL,” Lance answered.

“That should be easy enough,” Nancy said. “I'll get right on it.”

She reached for the door handle, but Lance got there before her. “I really appreciate your help on this, Nancy,” he said warmly.

He opened the door—and then froze.

He and Nancy were face-to-face with a teenage girl. She had orange spiked hair on the left side of her head and shoulder-length purple hair on the right. And she looked furious.

The girl stared past Nancy at Lance. Finally she snarled, “Okay, Lance. What did you do with Hal?”

W
HAT ARE YOU
doing here, Amy?” Lance asked angrily. “I thought I'd made it clear that I didn't want you around here anymore.”

“It'll take more than
you
to keep me away from Hal,” the girl answered. Her voice was strong and controlled. “I know you've done something with him. And I'm going to find out what—one way or another.”

Lance's eyes were locked on the girl. His hands were trembling. He took a slight step forward. For a moment Nancy thought he was actually going to hurt Amy.

“Oh, give it a rest, Amy,” he said at last. It
sounded as though he was forcing himself to be casual. “Your precious Hal has gone to his grandmother's up in Michigan.”

“He didn't tell me that,” Amy shot back.

“Maybe that's because he's not as crazy about you as you think he is. Could that be possible, do you suppose?”

“You wish!” Amy looked at Lance suspiciously. “Why would he decide all of a sudden to go visiting?” she asked. “That just doesn't sound like Hal to me.”

Nancy could feel the pressure building. Poor Lance! she thought. He was having a hard enough time coping with Hal's disappearance, and this must seem like the last straw to him. Nancy decided to help him out a little.

“Hal went to his grandmother's because she's very sick,” she said, deliberately moving closer to Lance to provide a united front against Amy. “We don't know when he'll be back. Probably next week some time.”