Danger for Hire (3 page)

Nancy's father lifted the salt shaker from the table. “I guess he needs more ‘seasoning,' eh, Hannah?”

Nancy groaned. “Dad, that was your worst pun in a week.”

“Just trying to add some spice to the discussion,” Carson quipped.

“Ohhh!” Nancy moaned, rolling her eyes.

“Mr. Drew, you shouldn't joke about it,” Hannah scolded. “Tom Hayward is in trouble. He needs help, and I think it's wonderful that Nancy is giving it to him.”

Nancy smiled. “Thanks, Hannah. It remains to be seen whether I'll be much help, though.”

“I'm sure you will,” her father said, setting the salt shaker down again. “In fact, you have one suspect already, don't you? That young guard . . . what was his name?”

“Adam Reeves.”

“He seems a likely bet.”

“Sure,” Nancy agreed. “I'll be checking up on him as soon as I can.”

Carson wiped his mouth on his white linen napkin. “There's something I don't understand. If Adam Reeves was tied to a chair, who called the police?”

“He did—in a way,” Nancy explained. “The chair the robbers tied him to had wheels. He waited until they were gone, then he rolled himself to a side exit and butted open the door. It had a bar lever, so he didn't have to use his hands.”

“How did he untie himself?” Hannah asked.

“He didn't. The emergency exit had a separate alarm connected to it. The alarm went off, and a patrol car stopped to investigate. The two officers untied him and called headquarters.”

“Hmm. That's how Brenda found out about it, too,” Carson surmised. “Monitoring the police channel.”

“Obviously,” Nancy agreed.

Hannah rose and began clearing the dishes. “Who'd like cherry pie?”

“None for me,” Nancy said, folding her napkin and rising. “It sounds fantastic, but I don't want to be slowed down by a full stomach tonight.”

“Going dancing with Ned?” her father asked.

“No, he's staying on campus this weekend,” Nancy answered a little wistfully. Her boyfriend was a student at Emerson College and didn't get home very often. “I'm going to begin some surveillance of the warehouse district. I have a hunch that we haven't seen the last of these robbers.”

“Are you sure that's a good idea? Especially at night?” Carson asked.

“I'll be careful. If they show up again, I'll phone the police,” Nancy promised.

In the daytime the warehouse district was crowded with trucks and warehouse workers. At night, though, the area was quiet and seemed sinister, the occasional streetlight dropping an isolated white cone of light into the darkness.

Nancy drove once through the entire grid of streets, carefully noting the location of pay phones and fire boxes. Then she parked near the river, not far from the fat silver grain silos and began to patrol on foot.

She was wearing black jeans, black sneakers, and a worn leather jacket that Ned had given her. It was chilly out. Nancy zipped her jacket to her chin and flipped up the collar.

Late-night deliveries were under way at a few of the warehouses, but most were dark,
their loading bays closed with metal security doors. Nancy was pretty sure she'd be able to tell if a robbery was under way—a truck would be loading at one or another of the bays, but the work would be done with flashlights. She saw nothing suspicious.

After an hour she had worked her way around half the streets. The next block was a long one. Nancy walked down it quickly. All of the warehouses were dark. If she were looking for a place to rob, this was definitely a block she'd be interested in.

Then, passing an alley, she thought she heard a faint sound.

Nancy paused. Alert for the slightest noise, she peered down the alley. There was nothing but some garbage dumpsters, a few stacks of crates, and a door set into one wall. Nancy waited.

Creak.

There! No mistaking it that time. Something—or someone—had made a sound. She started down the alley, then stopped.

Silence. Nancy tiptoed farther. She kept near to the wall because it was darker there. She paused again, letting her eyes adjust to the alley's blackness.
Still no sound. Nancy crept one step farther and stopped behind a ten-foot-high stack of wooden crates.

Creeeeeeeak!

She was close now. But where was the noise coming from?

Suddenly Nancy froze—and raised her eyes. The stack of crates was falling toward her. In less than a second she'd be crushed!

W
ITH A SCREAM
, Nancy dived to her right. She tucked and rolled as the crates hit the pavement where she had been standing a second earlier.

The top ones splintered and sent a blizzard of white Styrofoam peanuts into the alley. As Nancy began to rise, a dark figure raced past her, shoving her violently to the ground.

“Hey! Stop!” Nancy shouted, but it was futile. She looked up just in time to see a dark shape zoom out of the alley and wheel left.

She was furious. There had been no need to
try to hurt her. Whoever it was had only needed to stand still in the shadows. In a minute or two she would have gone away.

Nancy took off at a sprint and turned left at the top of the alley. The figure was fifty yards ahead of her. As the figure crossed through a pool of light below a street lamp, Nancy saw that he—it was definitely a he—was wearing black. A rubber mask of some sort was pulled over his head.

She ran flat out. Unfortunately, her attacker was even faster than she was. Nancy couldn't keep up. Her heart was hammering and her shoulder was throbbing. She tried to put on speed, but it wasn't enough.

As she turned the second corner she groaned. The street was empty except for a car a couple of blocks away that was careening around a corner. Nancy watched in anger as her attacker's red brake lights flared for a second, then winked out.

He was gone. Nancy stood panting, her breath sending little clouds of vapor into the frigid air. She felt frustrated and unsettled. Maybe her attacker had been checking out a robbery target, but a nagging suspicion told her that his purpose was different. He had
been waiting for her, and she had walked right into his trap.

• • •

The next morning was bright and sunny—a perfect fall day. As Nancy descended the stairs, though, she still felt uneasy about the night before. Had she been set up? She still wasn't sure.

Hannah had a pancake breakfast waiting. Her father was already at the table.

“How'd the surveillance go?” Carson asked, smiling over the top of his newspaper.

Nancy shrugged. “I'm not sure. I think I ran into one of the robbers.”

Carson put down his newspaper. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” Nancy promised.

“I thought you weren't going to tangle with them. You said you were going to call—”

“The police. Yes, I know,” Nancy said, feeling a bit guilty. “I didn't have time. It was over in a minute.” She took her seat.

Carson frowned. “Nancy, I don't like you putting yourself in danger.”

“It wasn't a dangerous situation, Dad,” she said. “At least, not very,” she added under her breath. The guy had merely shoved her to the
ground, but he might have done worse.
Long-barrel automatics.
This gang used guns.

“Please be careful, won't you?” Carson said.

“I will,” Nancy assured him with a smile. “And don't tell Hannah! She worries about me even more than you do.”

“Don't tell Hannah
what
?” the housekeeper demanded, sweeping into the dining room with a pitcher of orange juice.

Nancy casually forked two pancakes onto her plate. “Nothing. It's just something . . . uh, something in the newspaper.”

“You never lie well first thing in the morning,” Hannah observed, taking her seat. “Your father said something about worrying. What have you been doing that would worry me?”

Nancy grinned weakly. “Uh . . . can I tell you about it this afternoon?”

Hannah sighed wearily and, to Nancy's relief, let it go at that.

After a minute Carson extended the front section of the newspaper to Nancy. He said, “Here's a story that will interest you.”

Nancy glanced at the paper. “Ugh. That's Brenda's paper.”

“Yes, but take a look anyway.”

Nancy took the paper from him and scanned
it. The headline read, “Robbery Embarrasses Security Wizard.” The byline was Brenda's. “It figures,” Nancy muttered.

She began to read. Brenda's writing style was breathless and sensational. It always irritated Nancy, and now she liked it even less. According to Brenda, the robbery was the most daring ever pulled in River Heights. The police, she stated, were baffled. No clues had been found.

“This is totally exaggerated!” Nancy complained.

“It gets worse,” her father told her.

The concluding paragraph read:

Yesterday's events may be the beginning of even deeper trouble for Hayward Security Systems. A survey of the crime scene by this reporter indicates that a company insider may have aided the robbers. A well-known private investigator was also at the site, suggesting that the company is planning an inquiry by impartial outsiders.

“Oh, great,” Nancy said, tossing down the paper in disgust. “Not only does she trash
Tom's company, she also tips off his employees about my investigation.”

“Were you planning to work undercover?” Carson asked.

“No, but it's always nice to have the element of surprise when you interview someone,” Nancy explained. “People are usually more candid when they're caught off guard.”

Nancy finished her breakfast in gloomy silence. She spent most of the day in her room reviewing the employee records that Tom had given her the day before. It was boring stuff, mostly, but Nancy found two items of interest.

The first was in Adam Reeves's employment application. As Nancy had guessed, he was nineteen. He had graduated from Mapleton High School two years earlier and had worked at a gas station from February until November of the previous year. Tom's company had hired him the previous December, and except for a two-week training period, he had been in the security guard division ever since.

What, Nancy wondered, had Adam done between his graduation and the following January, when he began working at the gas station? Six months of his life was unaccounted for!

The other interesting item that Nancy found was that both the security guard division and the crews who installed the alarm systems reported to the same man—the vice-president of operations, Neil Masterson. If anyone could tell her who could obtain the alarm code, it would be he.

• • •

Nancy was resting in her room before dinner when Bess Marvin and George Fayne swept in.

“Hannah says you've got a new case,” George said, breezing over to Nancy's bed and flopping down. She was trim and highly athletic. Her curly dark hair was cut functionally short, and her dark eyes sparkled.

“Why didn't you tell us?” Bess complained, crossing to Nancy's full-length mirror for a quick check of her makeup. Although they were cousins, Bess was George's opposite. Her eyes were blue, her figure was curvy, and she wore her blond hair long.

“Give me a break!” Nancy said, laughing. “I only got this case yesterday.”

“Well, where do we come in?” Bess demanded.

Nancy filled them in on the details. “As for you guys—well, I may not be needing your help this time around.”

“You mean we're fired?” George asked with a grin.

Bess gave her hair an exaggerated toss. “Well, talk about
gratitude!”

“Cut it out, you guys.” Nancy giggled. “After all, you're always griping that I drag you into these things against your wills. Especially you, Bess. And this time I've got the help of a volunteer.”

Nancy told them about her fan, Cindy Larson, and how she promised her she could help. “This case looks so straightforward, it'll probably be boring. I'll interview the suspects, check their backgrounds, and make my report. That's it.”

Bess shook her head. “Oh, sure. I've heard
that
one before.”

Just then Nancy's phone rang. She lifted the handset. “Hello?”

“Nancy, it's Tom. Can you meet me? Another warehouse has been robbed!”