A Date with Deception (13 page)

Talk about jumping to conclusions, she thought, furious with herself. She'd been so sure about Dmitri. It turned out he'd just been going along with Sasha, trying to keep him from getting into trouble.

That trip to the post office had meant nothing at all. The “secret meeting” between Dmitri and Bill Fairgate at the sandwich shop was completely innocent. The car accident really was an accident. And now Nancy was back where she'd started—in the dark.

Or was she? There was still that note she'd found on her car. She was sure the writer's first language wasn't English. Then, Sasha claimed he was on to something. He'd come here last night, to the institute, to try to find out more.

There had to be a connection between Jetstream and someone at the institute. But who? Could it be Jacques? It might not be fair to suspect him just because he was from France, but she had to start someplace.

Looking around, Nancy realized that she was alone in the auditorium. Bess and George
and the other dancers had left. The police were probably there by now, she thought. She'd talk to them, and then try to find Jacques.

As Nancy got up, she bumped the piano, sending the sheet music sliding to the floor. Down on her knees, she started to gather it up, hoping Yves wouldn't notice and throw another fit. One of the sheets had drifted under the bench. She reached for it and picked it up. Then she froze.

Nancy hadn't seen this particular piece of paper before, but she'd spent most of the night looking at ones like it.

She was holding a copy of a blueprint from Jetstream.

Y
VES
G
OULARD
. Of course, Nancy thought, her hand gripping the blueprint tightly. The temperamental accompanist who freaks out when anyone goes near his music. The twenty-nine-year-old who's already making plans to retire. The Frenchman who speaks English beautifully but probably doesn't write it as well, especially in a threatening note. Yves Goulard had to be the current link between Jetstream and Aviane.

Hearing voices from the lobby, Nancy suddenly realized how exposed she was. Yves could come back in here any second. In fact, he was probably waiting until the piano was clear.
With all the turmoil, he must not have been able to get to the blueprint yet. The last thing Nancy wanted was for him to find out she knew.

Her hands shaking, Nancy quickly but carefully slid the blueprint in with the rest of the sheet music and set it all back on the piano. Then she jumped off the stage, hurried up the aisle, and went into the lobby.

The first person she saw was Yves, standing with Dana Harding. The minute he saw Nancy, he frowned, checked his watch, and started toward the auditorium door.

Nancy actually held the door for him, giving him an innocent, helpful smile as he passed. Then she let out her breath and went over to George and Bess, who were standing with some dancers.

“Come on!” she said urgently, motioning them to follow her outside. She didn't say another word until they'd reached her car. Then she told them everything.

“I can't believe it!” Bess cried, her cheeks flaming in anger. “I mean, I believe it, but it's still incredible. No wonder he's ready to retire—he must be making a mint!”

“Any clue about who his contact is at Jetstream?” George asked. “Can we connect him to Bill Fairgate in any way?”

Nancy shook her head. “Not yet. I'm more worried about Sasha right now,” she said. “Yves has to know where he is. Dmitri told me
that Sasha was looking for something over here last night. The argument I overheard in Russian was Dmitri and Marina trying to talk Sasha out of trying to solve this case.”

“You mean he was working on his own?” Bess asked.

“Right. And he must have stumbled on something,” Nancy said. “Anyway, Sasha left with Dmitri and Marina. But then he went out again. Somehow, Yves must have figured out that Sasha was on to him. I don't know if Sasha called and told him or asked to meet him or what, but I'm sure Yves knows where he is.”

“What are we going to do?” George asked. “Stick with Yves and hope he leads us to Sasha?”

“No, I want to search Yves's house.” Nancy turned to Bess. “Do you know where he's staying?”

Bess nodded. “He told me. He's got a little cottage by himself, the last place on Dune Road. No wonder he never invited me there,” she added, still angry. “The place is probably crammed full of blueprints.”

Nancy couldn't help smiling. “Don't worry, Bess, we'll get him. In the meantime, you stay here and keep an eye on Yves while George and I go out to his house. If he looks like he's getting ready to leave, call. Let the phone ring twice, then hang up. Do you have his number?”

Bess nodded again. “I sure do. The creep!”

This time Nancy laughed. Then she and George got into her car and drove toward Yves's cottage on Dune Road. Nancy wasn't sure what they'd find. All she could do was hope that Sasha was all right.

Dune Road didn't have too many houses on it. In spite of its name, it wasn't on the dunes—it was a few streets in from the ocean. The houses on it were smaller and less luxurious looking than many others Nancy had seen in the Hamptons.

“It looks empty,” George said, as she and Nancy walked the last few feet toward Yves's cottage. They'd left the car partway down the road and come the rest of the way on foot. If anyone else was there, they didn't want the sound of the engine to give them away.

“There aren't any cars around,” Nancy agreed. “But I guess there's only one way to be sure.” Taking a deep breath, she reached out and knocked on the front door. She waited, slowly counted to ten, then knocked again, harder.

“Well?” George asked.

Nancy tried the door. Locked. “Too bad I threw away Bess's hair clip,” she commented. “Come on, let's see what's around back,”

At the back was a small flagstone patio, and sliding glass doors leading into the house. The glass doors were covered on the inside with a big bamboo shade.

“We're in luck,” Nancy said, testing the doors. “This one's almost off its track. I guess Yves's not much of a handyman.”

The door was enough out of line so that by pushing and sliding at the same time, Nancy was able to move it about half an inch along the track. That was enough for her to work her fingers into the opening and lift up the lock.

It didn't take long, but it made a lot of noise. When she slid the door open, the whole thing shrieked and rattled so loudly, they were afraid the glass would break.

“I guess if anybody else
is
here, they've heard us by now,” George remarked.

“Right,” Nancy agreed. “So what have we got to lose? Let's go in.”

Pushing the bamboo shade away, they stepped into a small, neat kitchen. A door opened into the living room, and they could see part of a baby grand piano in there.

Nancy and George stood still for a moment, listening for sounds. The house was quiet and felt empty. Cautiously, they moved into the living room.

“What exactly are we looking for?” George whispered.

“Anything to do with Jetstream,” Nancy whispered back. “But mostly anything that might lead us to Sasha.”

Nerves on edge, they walked around the living room. Nancy stopped at the piano, but she didn't really expect to find anything. Yves
wouldn't bother to hide blueprints in the sheet music in his own house.

George spotted a canvas carryall near the front door and looked questioningly at Nancy.

“Might as well,” Nancy said.

Unzipping the carryall, George began to rummage through it.

The phone and a notepad were on a low table next to the couch, and Nancy walked over to it. Maybe she'd get lucky and find a phone number scribbled on the pad.

“Just swimming stuff,” George muttered, zipping the carryall back up. “And lots of sand.”

The notepad was empty. Nancy pulled open the little drawer in the table, and a couple of pencils rolled around noisily. Still nervous, Nancy reached in and stopped them.

The house was silent again. Then Nancy thought she heard something. Her hand still on the pencils, she raised her head and listened. “I heard it, too,” George whispered, her dark eyes wide. “It came from upstairs.”

Both girls held their breath and listened. There it was again. A thump, coming from directly over their heads.

Nancy put her finger to her lips, tiptoed to the bottom of the stairs, and looked up. The landing was empty.

Leaving George downstairs as the lookout, Nancy slowly climbed the stairs. There were two doors on either side of the small landing.
One was half open, and Nancy could see a chest of drawers and part of a bed. She stuck her head all the way in. The room was empty.

The other door was closed. Just as Nancy put her hand on the knob, she heard the thump again. She turned the knob quietly and inched the door open. Then she flung it wide.

In the middle of the room, gagged and tied to a straight-backed chair, was Sasha Petrov.

In seconds Nancy was at his side, undoing the cotton kitchen towel tied around his mouth.

“Nancy!” Sasha gasped when the towel slipped off. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I didn't,” Nancy said, working on the knots at his wrists. She was so relieved at finding him safe, her hands were shaking. “I found out about Yves, though,” she explained, “and I was hoping something in this house would lead me to you.”

His hands free, Sasha quickly untied his ankles and stood up, shaking his arms and legs to get the circulation going. Then he turned to Nancy and hugged her, quickly and hard. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You're welcome.” Nancy hugged him back. Then she stepped away and took his hand. “Come on. George is probably going crazy downstairs. You have a lot of explaining to do, Sasha Petrov,” she added with a grin, “but it can wait until we're out of here.”

George bit back a cry of surprise when Sasha came down the stairs. Grinning irrepressibly, Sasha threw her a cocky salute. Nancy rolled her eyes, astonished at him. Didn't he realize how much danger he'd been in?

“Let's hurry,” she said, shepherding George and Sasha out the door before either of them could start talking. “We should get back before Yves starts wondering where I went. He looked at me pretty hard after he saw me sitting at his piano. I'm sure he's asking himself what I saw.”

“I overheard Yves on the phone,” Sasha told them, as they drove back to town. “It was the night before last, at the institute. I didn't know who he was talking to, but I heard him say ‘Jetstream' a couple of times. And he was very edgy.”

“So you put two and two together?” George asked.

“Of course!” Sasha proclaimed triumphantly. “Isn't that what detective work is all about, Nancy?”

“Sure,” Nancy said, her eyes on the road. “But it's not about putting yourself in danger, at least, not if you can help it.” She glanced over at him. She was still relieved, but she was beginning to feel annoyed, too. “What did you do? Call Yves and ask to meet him or something?”

Sasha nodded. “It was stupid, I agree. After Marina and Dmitri and I went back home last
night, I called Yves. He suggested I come to his house so we could discuss things. I walked part of the way, and then he picked me up and drove me the rest of it.”

“And?” George asked. “What did he do, knock you out? I can't believe you walked into that one.”

“I didn't,” Sasha protested, but he didn't sound terribly insulted by George's comment. “I was prepared for him to attack me. Don't forget, I am a dancer. I have very quick reflexes. Also, I have a little training in the martial arts.

“However, Yves didn't have to fight me.” Sasha twisted around and smiled at George. “He had a gun, so I decided to do exactly as he said.”

“That
was smart, at least,” Nancy remarked.

“I refuse to be insulted,” Sasha said cheerfully. “And you will stop being disgusted with me once you hear this—Yves made a call from his house last night. I was upstairs, but he hadn't shut the door.” He paused dramatically, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “There is going to be another Jetstream delivery. Tonight,” he added. “Right before the performance.”

“No kidding!” George cried. “You're sure?”

“As sure as possible,” Sasha said. “I wasn't able to tell who he was talking to, unfortunately. But I could tell he wasn't happy. He kept saying he had to have them both this morning.
But the person couldn't do it, I guess. Finally, Yves said, ‘All right, all right. Tonight, before curtain. Same place. And be careful.' ”

“ ‘Same place,' ” George said. “It must be the piano.”

Sasha turned to Nancy, smiling. “Well, Detective. What do you think?”

Nancy couldn't help smiling back at him. “Tonight,” she said, “I think we're going to set a trap. And it should be quite a performance!”