Fatal Ransom (3 page)

“Who asked you?” Amy asked coolly, staring straight into Nancy's eyes. “Who
are
you anyway?”

“She's a friend of Monica's,” Lance said. “If it's any of your business. Which it is not.” He grabbed the doorknob and started to close the door. “Go away, Amy. This conversation is over.”

But Amy jammed her foot in the doorway.
“I'll go,” she said. “But you'd better have Hal call me as soon as he gets back. Understand?”

“Sure,” Lance said. “Goodbye.” He gently nudged Amy out of the way and closed the door. Amy kicked the closed door once, and then the room fell silent.

“What was
that
all about?” Nancy asked. “Who was that girl?”

“Amy Tyler,” Lance said through clenched teeth. “Unfortunately, she's Hal's girlfriend. It seems they can't live without each other. She put on quite a performance, didn't she?”

“Performance? What do you mean?” Nancy asked.

Lance began pacing back and forth. “Oh, I don't know. Somehow I just can't believe she's that cut up about Hal being gone. If my hunch is correct, the only thing she's missing right now is Hal's money. Not Hal.”

Nancy's mind was racing. The last time Lance had seen Hal, Hal had been on his way to the mall, where he usually hung out with his friends. Friends like Amy, who loved money? Was something starting to click?

“Do you think there's any possibility that Amy Tyler could be involved with this kidnapping?” Nancy asked.

“It wouldn't surprise me,” Lance said. “I know she only hangs around Hal for his money—or his future inheritance. She probably
wouldn't mind trading him for the ransom.” All of a sudden he sounded exhausted.

Nancy rested her hand on his arm for a second. “I've got to go,” she said. “But I'll be back in touch tomorrow. Try to take it easy, okay?”

Lance nodded.

Nancy walked to the door again and then paused. “This is going to be all right,” she said reassuringly. “I'm going to the mall first thing in the morning to see if I can come up with any clues.”

“Keep an eye out for Amy,” Lance said.

“I will. Is there anything else you can think of that I need to know?”

Lance shook his head. “I wish there were.”

As Nancy reached out for the doorknob, though, Lance stopped her. “Wait. There is something. At the mall, get in touch with Lester Mathers. He's the head security guard there and an old friend of Michael's and Karen's. He might be able to tell you something about Hal.”

“Will do.”

• • •

The first thing Nancy did when she got home was to call Bess and George and fill them in on the case. The mall was so large that she knew she'd need help to investigate it the next day. Both of them agreed to help her, and they
decided to meet in front of the glass elevator at whatever time Nancy decided.

She had just hung up the phone from talking to George when it rang again.

“Hi, gorgeous,” came Ned's voice over the phone. “How are you doing? I'm sorry to call so late, but I got to missing you so much I just had to.”

“Ned! No, it's—it's not too late. But what about your term paper? Shouldn't you be writing it instead of talking to me?”

Ned laughed. “Well, you know what they say about all work and no play. I think it's all right to take one break every twenty-four hours. Anyway, it's coming along okay.”

“Umm . . . That's great,” Nancy said. Her thoughts were running in a dozen different directions at once. She couldn't tell Ned about the case—and yet the case was really the only thing she could think about. How could she sound convincingly normal?

“Hey, are you all right?” Ned asked. “You seem a little preoccupied.”

“No—no, not at all! I'm fine. Just a little tired, I guess.”

“Why? Is a new case taking up too much of your time?”

“A new case?” Nancy tried to laugh casually. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” said Ned cautiously, “you have that slightly distracted tone that means a new case.”

“Oh, Ned, it's nothing like that. I miss you, too, by the way.” At least
that
was true, Nancy thought miserably. She didn't trust herself to talk to him any more. “Hey, why don't you give me a call when your paper's done, and we'll try to figure out a way to celebrate long-distance?”

“Well, okay,” Ned said. Was he disappointed? It was impossible to tell. “Take it easy, Nancy. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Nancy whispered. “Goodbye, Ned.”

Then she felt terrible. Had Ned thought she sounded cold? She knew that if she'd stayed on the line for one more minute, she would have told him everything. But she couldn't allow herself to think about Ned then. For the moment the only thing she could concentrate on was getting Hal back. And the best way to do that would be to get a good night's sleep so she'd be able to work the next day. But it was a long time before she fell asleep.

Nancy prided herself on being ready for anything at anytime. But she wasn't ready for her next phone call—the one that woke her early the next morning. “Hello,” she said sleepily. She glanced at the clock. Six-thirty, an hour before she'd planned to get up.

“Nancy, it's Lance. We've found Hal's car. Someone must have driven it onto the property in the night. It looks pretty bad. Do you think you could get over here right away?”

“Be there in half an hour,” Nancy said, and suddenly she was very much awake.

When Nancy arrived at the Colson mansion, she saw the white Mercedes convertible parked at the end of the long drive. The top was down, and the white interior was splotched with something.

Nancy jumped out of her Mustang and raced to the Mercedes. The dark reddish brown stains that covered the car's interior were all too familiar to her. It was horrifying to think about what might have put the car in that condition.

“It's blood, isn't it?” Lance said over her shoulder. He had just come out of the house.

“I think so, Lance,” Nancy said. And the amount that's in the car isn't a good sign, she thought to herself. For the first time she was beginning to wonder if Hal was still alive.

She shook the thought out of her head and began to search the car for clues. There wasn't much there, except for a paper Halloween skeleton that hung from the rearview mirror.

“Is this usually here?” she asked.

Lance shook his head. “I've never noticed it before.”

Carefully Nancy detached it from the mirror. A piece of folded notebook paper was taped to the back of the skeleton's chest.

It was another note. Magazine letters had been cut out to form the words that spilled across the page. “Waiting is not our game,” the note said. “You have forty-eight hours to get the money—until 12:00 noon on Thursday. We will tell you where to drop it that morning.” Under the message was a crude drawing of a vampire.

Silently Nancy showed the note to Lance. “What do you think?” he asked her after he'd read it.

“I think Hal's still alive,” Nancy said. “And I think we'd better get the money ready. I was hoping not to have to take that step, but—”

She broke off and stared into the car again, hoping to find any other clue—a matchbook, a club pin, anything that might offer more than they had. But there was nothing. Except for the bloodstains, the car was clean.

Nancy glanced at the drawing on the note. “The paper and the quality of that drawing make me think we're dealing with amateurs,” she said, more to herself than to Lance.

“You might be right,” he answered. “I hope you are. Amateurs will be easier to catch, won't they?”

“Not necessarily,” Nancy said. “I don't want to destroy your hopes, but if they are amateurs, their inexperience will make them more unpredictable and possibly harder to track.”

And
more dangerous, she thought to herself. Uneasily she remembered her father's warning. She knew then that she was going to have to be even more careful on the case. Nancy glanced at her watch. Time was running out.

“I had planned to have my two associates meet me at the mall this morning to check things out, but I need to change my plans,” Nancy said. She glanced at Lance and then back at the car. “I'm going to have my friend Bess come over and get samples of these stains. She has a friend who can type the blood for us. Once we have that information, we'll be a little better off than we are now.”

“Fine,” Lance said. “Come with me. We've got a dozen or so phones in the house. You can have your pick to call her.”

Nancy followed him into the mansion.

“There's a phone here in the foyer,” Lance said, nodding to the one just behind the staircase. “But you'll have more privacy if you use the one in the library at the top of the stairs.”

“Thanks, I think I will,” Nancy said. Even though she had told Lance her plan, she didn't want him or anyone else to hear her conversation.
The situation was more serious than she had led Lance to believe, and she needed to explain everything fully to Bess.

Nancy hurried up the stairs, her mind racing. But just as she cleared the top step, something jarred her off balance. Suddenly she was tumbling backward—and then before she knew it, she was falling down the stairs.

W
HEN
N
ANCY FINALLY
did stop her fall, she didn't know which hurt more—her pride or her body. She sat at the foot of the stairs, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and tried to regain her composure.

“Are you all right?” Lance asked frantically, bending over to help her up.

“I will be.” Nancy put her left hand in Lance's and tried to push herself off the floor with her right. There was a wrenching pain in her right wrist. “Ouch!” she cried, falling back against the wall.

“You're hurt!” said Lance.

Behind Nancy, Monica came delicately downstairs.
She paused for a second when she saw the scene at the foot of the stairs.

“Call an ambulance right away!” Lance ordered her.

“No. Don't,” Nancy said quickly. “I'll be all right.” She struggled again to get to her feet, and this time she was successful. “I've probably just sprained my wrist a little.”

“I still think you should see a doctor,” said Lance.

Nancy ignored him. “Why did you push me down those stairs, Monica?” she asked, turning to face her.

“Monica!” Lance gasped.

“I didn't push her.” Monica gave a sigh of exaggerated boredom. “She startled me. I was walking down the hallway, and she banged into me when she came charging up the stairs.” She glared at Nancy. “How was I supposed to know that hiring a private detective would just mean having another kid around the house?”

Nancy's temper was simmering—but she forced herself to calm down. Although she didn't believe a word of Monica's story, she knew that getting angry would only give Monica the advantage. She took a deep breath instead and tried to will her arm to stop throbbing.

Lance stepped to her side. “I really do think you should see a doctor,” he said, taking her good arm protectively. “Come with me. I'm
driving you to the emergency room at the hospital.”

“I don't need a
hospital,
Lance!” Nancy protested. “All I need is to get back to work!”

“This is my house, you're working for me, and you were injured as a result of something my guest did,” Lance said. Nancy thought she could see a flicker of rage in Monica's eyes at the phrase “my guest.” “We're going,” Lance finished. “Now.”

“Okay,” Nancy said reluctantly. “But let's not take too much time. Your nephew is the important one here. Oh, I really have to call my friend Bess about that blood typing before we leave.”

Before going upstairs Nancy turned back and fixed her gaze on Monica. “You'll be in charge while we're gone,” she said. “If the kidnappers call, listen carefully to what they say and take down any message they leave for us. And, please, don't give anything away.” Monica glared, but Nancy felt sure she'd gotten the message.

• • •

It was almost afternoon by the time Nancy and Lance got out of the hospital. The doctor had told her she'd be back to normal in a day or two.

“I've never understood why emergency rooms take so long,” Nancy said. “More than
two hours to tell me I have a sprain—which I already knew!”

Lance walked her to his car. “I'm just glad you weren't hurt worse than you are.” His pace was slow, and Nancy thought she detected some kind of hesitation in his voice.

“I guess I'll take you back to the house so you can get your car, and then I'll go to the police. Maybe they can find Hal.” He paused, then whispered, “Before it's too late.”

Nancy stopped in her tracks. “Does this mean you're firing me?”