Cold as Ice (8 page)

Wishing she had a more powerful flashlight with her, Nancy began to search the shed. Just behind the mower, she found what she was looking for—a simple rectangular metal container painted red. She knelt down, taking care not to touch the can, and sniffed. The odor of gasoline was still strong.

Nancy was willing to bet that can of gasoline had been used to drench Rob's coat. Also, his jacket could have been bunched up and hidden in the shed without arousing any suspicion.

Nancy's penlight flashed on something white lying on the ground next to the gas can. She moved her light closer to the object. It was a scrap of paper—torn but crisp and white. It had some typing on it. It looked somehow familiar, but where— Nancy picked up the paper to read it.

She realized instantly what it was—a piece of the museum label from the stolen jewels!

N
ANCY STARED
at the label. What luck! This was exactly the clue she needed. Since the museum tag was in the same place as the gasoline, that meant that the same person was probably responsible for both crimes
and
for setting up Rob.

Just then the shed door was pulled shut!

Nancy's first impulse was to run over to the door and try to force it open. But instead she made herself stand still and listen. She couldn't be positive, but she thought she heard someone running up the lane.

Nancy tucked the museum label in her pocket, then moved over to the door and pulled on it. As
she had expected, it was locked tight. She pulled harder, but still it didn't budge. She thought of yelling for help but didn't think that it would do any good. The shed was pretty isolated, and she doubted that many people would be strolling down to the boat house on a winter evening.

She shone her penlight around the shed again. No windows. Now she had to find some tools to force the door open. Her penlight revealed a battered metal toolbox on a shelf. Before Nancy checked it out, she paused to think. Where were the hinges? On the inside or the outside? They had to be on the inside because the door opened
into
the shed. That meant she could remove the pins in the hinges and walk out.

She shone her light on the doorframe. The hinges were there, worn and rusty. If Nancy could slip out the pins, she'd be free.

Going over to the right-hand door, she tugged at the pin of the upper hinge. To her surprise, it slid free easily. The pin on the bottom hinge, however, was more stubborn. She pulled and pulled, but it refused to budge. Finally she took a hammer from the toolbox. Banging hard, she managed to force the second pin up and out of the hinge.

She stood up, took a deep breath, and then pushed at the edge of the right door. For one frustrating moment it didn't move. Then, with a
loud screech, it swung out just enough for Nancy to squeeze through.

The chilly evening air felt wonderful in her lungs after the stale, gasoline smell of the shed. She took out her penlight and shone the small beam of light in front of the shed. A short length of lumber was jammed through the handles of the two doors.

The person who followed her had tried to trap her inside the shed.

Nancy took a last look at the shed, and her penlight shone on a tiny flash of color. She bent down to look. Caught in the edge of the door was a piece of bright orange yarn. She tucked the yarn into her pocket along with the scrap of paper.

Nancy zipped the pocket closed. She shone her light on her watch and gasped. In less than twenty minutes she was supposed to meet the others. She took off at a fast jog up the lane toward the dorm.

As she entered the dorm, Nancy passed a bank of telephone booths. She made a quick decision to call Sergeant Balsam and tell him about the gas can and the label. Despite his negative attitude toward amateur detectives, she still felt that it was important to cooperate with the police.

“What is it, Ms. Drew?” the sergeant asked brusquely.

“I think I found where the gasoline came from
and why your searchers missed that jacket earlier,” she said. She told him what she had found in the shed.

“My officers spotted that gas can this afternoon,” he replied, sounding bored. “It belongs there. No reason to think it has any connection with the arson attempt.”

Nancy sighed with frustration. “Did they check how much gasoline was in it? Because I'll bet that a lot of it was poured over the jacket.”

“Pure guesswork, Ms. Drew,” the sergeant replied. “That's one thing people who read detective stories don't understand. Real police work is mostly spadework, not guesswork.”

“Does that mean that they
didn't
check the level of gas in the can?” she asked.

“I'm sure they didn't touch it,” he said. “Just a minute, I'll check the report. . . . Yeah, they spotted it on the shelf and left it there.”

“But, Sergeant,” Nancy persisted. “When I found it, it was on the ground. Don't you see? Somebody must have moved it!”

Sergeant Balsam sighed loudly into the receiver. “Okay, Ms. Drew,” he said. “I'll send someone around tomorrow morning to take a look.”

His tone made it clear that he was humoring her. Why wouldn't he take her seriously? “What about the museum label?” she asked.

“Well, Ms. Drew, when my officer comes
around tomorrow, you give him your piece of paper, too, and we'll see if it really is what you say. Any old piece of paper can look a lot like a label.”

Nancy decided there was no point telling him about being shut in the shed—or about the yarn. He would probably think that she was making up the whole episode.

“All right, Sergeant Balsam,” she said. “Thanks for your help.” To herself, she added, Thanks for nothing!

When Nancy left the phone booth, she ran into Bess and George, who were already dressed and waiting in the entrance area of the dorm.

“Nancy! What took you so long?” Bess exclaimed.

“Here's the key,” said George, handing it to her. “You'd better hurry, though. The guys will be here any second.”

“Tell me about it,” Nancy said, rushing past them. “I'll explain everything after I'm dressed,” she called over her shoulder.

When Nancy got upstairs, she found Susan sitting at her desk, writing a letter. Seeing Nancy, she smiled and said, “Hi. Did you see Bess and George? They just left a minute ago.”

Nancy nodded. “They're waiting for me. I have to make the fastest change in history!”

Susan laughed, her chin-length hair bouncing
around her face. “How are you liking Winter Carnival so far?” she asked.

“Well, it certainly hasn't been dull,” Nancy said.

“No, I guess not! First the fire at the boat house, then the museum robbery. You can bet Emerson will make the front page of all the major newspapers. Some of us who work at the museum were wondering if it was all part of a publicity stunt.”

Nancy looked at her in surprise. “You're not serious, are you?”

“No, of course not,” Susan said, shaking her head. “The last thing a museum wants is to have people think its security is weak. Who'd lend it things to display? But I'm predicting crowds tomorrow, just the same.”

Nancy crossed to the closet and took out the dress she was planning to wear to dinner. It was a scoop-necked minidress in rich red silk with a red flowered pattern in it.

“I love that dress,” Susan said as Nancy slipped it on. “The color is great with your hair.”

“Thanks.” Nancy found the bracelet that Ned had given her for her birthday and clasped it on her right wrist. “Oh, Susan,” she said, “I almost forgot to warn you. I'm planning to get up very early tomorrow morning. Ned and I have a skating date before breakfast. I'll do my best not
to disturb you, but my travel alarm is pretty loud.”

“No problem,” Susan said. “I'm an early riser myself. Will you be gone all evening?”

“I'm not sure,” Nancy said, grabbing her coat. “We're going out to dinner, but I don't know what's on after that.”

Nancy was about to ask Susan if she wanted to join them when she remembered the run-in between Rob and Susan's new boyfriend earlier that afternoon.

As if Susan had read her thoughts, she said, “Urn, Nancy, about that fight this afternoon . . . I'm sorry if Greg was rude. He's not such a bad guy, really, but he's never really liked Rob very much.”

That was the understatement of the year, Nancy thought to herself. The question was, did Greg hate Rob enough to set him up for the jewel theft? “At least they didn't actually throw any punches,” Nancy said. “Listen, I have to run—”

“Okay. You have your key. Have fun.”

• • •

On the way to the restaurant, Nancy told the others about what had happened at the shed. “Anyway,” she concluded, “one of the officers is going to come see me sometime tomorrow. Maybe I'll finally be able to convince them that Rob is being framed.”

“I sure hope so,” Rob said.

“Hey,” Ned said. “You never told us what the police asked you at the library.”

Rob shrugged. “The same old stuff. They kept telling me they think I stole the jewels, and I kept telling them I didn't.”

La Fleur-de-Lis was just a block from the edge of campus. Jerry gave his name to the headwaiter, who said in an accented voice, “Would you mind waiting a few moments, Monsieur McEntee? Your table is almost ready.” He showed them to a curved bench in a little alcove. A low wall topped by potted plants separated it from the dining room, which was decorated to look like a small French inn.

Nancy sat down on the bench. On the other side of the low wall, just behind her head, two men were speaking, and she was distracted by their conversation. One of the voices sounded familiar, but Nancy couldn't quite place it.

“We'd like to make a major move into sporting goods,” the familiar voice was saying. “It's a good fit with our other activities.”

“I don't know,” the other man said. “I know my customers. One of the reasons they come to my store is that I know them and their kids. They're willing to pay a premium for personal attention, and they'll go elsewhere if they don't
get it. I just can't become part of a chain.” The man sounded unhappy and defensive.

“Look,” the first man said, “you know what happens to people who stand in the way of progress. They get flattened. Of course, I might consider calling the deal off,
if
someone comes through with something.”

“Hey, Nancy.” She blinked as Jerry tapped her on the arm. “Are you still with us? You can forget about those stolen jewels for one evening, can't you?”

“And one morning,” Ned added. “Don't forget we've got a skating date first thing tomorrow.”

“Oh, I remember,” Nancy assured him.

“You'll have a lot of fun,” Bess said with a grin. “You'll be freezing your nose and toes down at the lake, while we're suffering through a warm, delicious breakfast.”

Nancy groaned dramatically, then became silent as she realized that the conversation behind her had taken a very interesting turn. The men were now talking about the jewel theft!

“A terrible thing,” the one with the familiar voice was saying. “I'm happy, of course, that I didn't lose anything, but it's a blow to the museum's reputation. If the jewels aren't recovered immediately, the museum won't attract other traveling exhibitions.”

Just as Nancy realized whose voice she was listening to, the headwaiter reappeared. “Monsieur McEntee?” he said. “Your table is ready. If you would follow me?”

As she stood up, Nancy glanced over the row of potted plants. Sure enough, she found herself looking straight at William Whorf—and he was returning her gaze. Apparently he recognized her because he gave her a nod. Nancy barely had the presence of mind to smile. William Whorf, she thought. The diamond ring and stickpin he had been wearing at the museum opening—the museum director saying that Whorf was an avid collector of famous jewels—a new theory hit Nancy with the force of a Mack truck.

What if
Whorf
had stolen the empress's jewels to add to his private collection?