Don’t Look Twice (6 page)

“Gone?
Where did she go?” Ned asked, his voice rising in pitch.

“She's—out of town for the weekend,” the woman replied, sounding oddly hesitant.

“She is? Funny—she didn't mention anything about leaving town to me. This is Ned Nickerson. I'm on the basketball team—”

“This is Denise's mother.” The woman sighed audibly. “Is there a message?”

Ned looked at Nancy questioningly. “Ask for a number where you can reach her,” Nancy mouthed.

Ned nodded. “Well, I really need to talk to her. Is there any way I can reach her?” he persisted.

“I'll give her the message. She's at her grandmother's, but they're, er—they're out shopping. When Denise calls, I'll make sure she gets your message. Goodbye, now.”

Ned hung up the phone. “Boy, she couldn't wait to get me off the line.”

“Don't you think it's strange that Denise just decided to go to her grandmother's?” asked Nancy. “She did say she'd be seeing us over the weekend. I'm sure she wasn't planning this trip last night.”

“Well, Denise is impulsive—and I do know she's very close to her grandmother. So I guess it's possible,” Ned responded. He frowned. “Anyway, why would her mother lie?”

“Maybe the kidnappers told her to. They wouldn't want anyone to alert the police, after all,” Nancy pointed out.

Ned looked a little annoyed. “That's stretching it, isn't it, Nan? No, I think we're back to square one. You know, maybe your kidnapping was a practical joke after all.”

“Ned!” Nancy said through clenched teeth.

“Okay, forget I said that,” Ned said quickly. He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to get to practice. I'll be done at noon, and then I'm all yours. Here's the dorm number—call me. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Nancy said. She turned away, trying not to let her disappointment show. Why wasn't he taking this more seriously? And how
did he know so much about Denise, her impulsiveness, and her grandmother? It sounded as if Ned knew Denise pretty well.

After Nancy left the dorm, she slipped back into Nella's sports car and slumped in her seat.

“It looks like I was wrong about Denise,” she told Nella. “Ned thinks so, anyway.”

“Hmmm,” said Nella. “You look a little discouraged. What do you say to a nice breakfast at the Museum Café and a quick look through the new Hans Pieters exhibit at the Amster Gallery?”

Nancy sighed. She did have a case to crack, but at the moment she had no concrete leads. A late breakfast and a little culture might be exactly what the doctor ordered. It had made her feel left out when Ned and Denise had been able to discuss the art at Puccini's so knowledgeably.

Puccini's! Nancy had forgotten all about wanting to talk to Mario. She did have a lead to follow, after all!

“The gallery sounds great. But how do you feel about Italian food for breakfast?” Nancy asked Nella with a grin.

Nella raised an eyebrow. “Well, it's not my first choice, but I'll try anything once.”

They swung by the Sampsons', where they picked up George and switched to Nancy's Mustang. Then they drove over to the restaurant.

Puccini's was not even open for lunch yet when the threesome arrived. The door was unlocked,
so they ventured inside. It was dark and quiet and hadn't yet been transformed by lights, music, tablecloths, and people. No one was around except for a janitor who was sweeping up and a bartender who was washing and stacking glasses.

“Can I help you?” the bartender asked, glancing at them. “We're not open for lunch until noon.”

“We're looking for Mario,” said Nancy.

“You here about the waitress job?” asked the bartender, looking interested for a moment.

“No,” Nancy replied. “I just wanted to talk to Mario for a few minutes.”

The bartender shrugged and slid a wineglass into a slot in the rack above his head. “He's in the kitchen, but watch out. He's on the warpath today. The sausage delivery hasn't come yet, and the bread delivery that did come in was stale. So, if he starts throwing pans and meat cleavers around, don't be surprised.”

“I think I'll wait out here,” George said. “He probably doesn't want a whole crowd of starving women invading his kitchen.”

“Okay. If he comes at me with a meat cleaver, I'll scream and then you run in and save me.” Nancy waved. “Wish me luck.”

“Oh, you two are being silly,” Nella began. Just then there was a loud crash in the kitchen, and someone started screaming in Italian.

“You sure you don't want to come back later?” the bartender asked with a sarcastic smile.

“I would, except it's really important,” Nancy told him. “I'll be right back.”

She pushed through the swinging kitchen door and immediately spotted Mario stirring a huge caldron of red sauce. He was standing next to the prep cook, practically yelling in his ear and gesturing madly with his free hand.

“Why don't you think? Use your head once in a while. Your mama tells me you're smart, but all I see is you getting yourself in trouble.”

The prep cook was tall, so he had to hunch over the cutting board to chop up mounds of tomatoes, peppers, and onions. Both of them had their backs to Nancy.

“Excuse me, Mario?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah, what do you want?” Mario turned and answered gruffly. He seemed a completely different person from the one who had served them dinner the night before.

“My name is Nancy. Nancy Drew.”

“Oh, ho, Miss Disappearing Act herself.” Immediately his genial manner returned. “So, you had fun with your big joke?”

“That's what I came to talk to you about,” said Nancy. “You see, it wasn't a joke at all. I was kidnapped last night.”

“So, you were kidnapped last night, and today you're in Mario's restaurant. What happened, they get the ransom money already?” Mario's whole body shook with laughter. “That's fast work.”

Nancy could see he wasn't taking her seriously. She took a deep breath. “Well, apparently they had the wrong girl,” she said.

“So, they threw back the little fish and went for the big fish, huh?” Mario remarked. He chuckled. “I hope they went to a seafood restaurant!”

Nancy could feel herself beginning to get annoyed. Mario was treating this like a game.

“I'm trying to keep them from getting the big fish,” she said, forcing herself to remain in control. “As far as I know, they don't have her yet.”

“Ah, I see. And who might this big fish be?”

“I don't know. But you told me last night on the phone that someone had told you that my kidnapping was a big joke. Who was it who told you?”

Mario's mood subtly changed again. “What are you, a detective?” he asked with a sour grin.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Nancy retorted.

“Owwww!” yelled the prep chef. He dropped his knife, clutching his hand. Nancy looked over at him.

With a start, she saw that it was Tim Raphael. He must have been on his way to work when I stopped at the university, she guessed.

She rushed over to look at his hand. Blood was flowing from the left index finger. Nancy quickly grabbed a clean towel and wet it.

“Here, press this against the cut. Hold it tight,” she said briskly.

“Thanks,” Tim mumbled. He quickly glanced
at her with a mortified expression. Again, Nancy found herself drawn to his eyes. They were clear as blue crystal and tinged with sea green.

“Let me take a look at your hand,” Mario said in a gruff voice. He took Tim's hand and studied the cut, but Nancy could see that his face was anxious.

“You're going to live,” he announced after a moment. “Go downstairs, wash it with soap, and put a bandage on. I'll finish up here.” He sighed, picking up the sharp knife.

Nancy watched as Tim walked through the swinging doors of the kitchen. What is going on with him? she wondered. Why do I make him so nervous?

Mario cleared his throat, and Nancy turned back to him. “You were about to tell me who told you about the practical joke,” she reminded him.

Mario scowled. “I don't remember.”

He's protecting someone, Nancy knew instantly. Tim? She thought about the conversation she had walked in on as she came into the kitchen. Mario was scolding Tim about getting into trouble. He had sounded very protective of Tim.

Tim keeps cropping up in this case, Nancy thought. It's time I got some answers from him.

Thanking Mario, Nancy left the kitchen. She made a beeline for the rest rooms and stopped at the men's room door.

“Tim,” she said, knocking. “Tim, can I talk to
you?” She thought she heard water running, but no one responded to her question.

“Tim, I'm coming in there to talk to you.” Still no answer. Nancy took a quick look around and then pushed open the men's room door.

A thin stream of water was dribbling into the sink, but the place was empty. She looked for feet in the stalls. No one.

Nancy walked out to the phone area and glanced around. She noticed that the rear door leading into the alley was ajar.

The feeling of déjà vu swept over her again. Less than twenty-four hours earlier the mysterious kidnappers had dragged her through that very door. Now Tim was gone.

Her heart pounding, Nancy raced out to the alley. Had Tim been kidnapped, too? She was about to run inside and call for help when she happened to glance down at the far end of the alleyway.

A figure on a bicycle was pedaling furiously away from Puccini's. He was too far off for Nancy to make out any details, but she recognized his height and the cap of dark curly hair.

It was Tim. He was evidently safe, but he was obviously running away from something—or someone. Nancy had a strong feeling that the person Tim was running away from was Nancy Drew!

T
HERE WAS NO WAY
Nancy could catch up with Tim on foot, and by the time she got to her car, he'd be long gone. Gritting her teeth, Nancy went to join George and Nella. First Denise, now Tim—people kept disappearing on her. It was more than frustrating.

George and Nella were sitting at one of the tables near the door. George had a couple of maraschino cherries on a napkin in front of her, the artificial red coloring dyeing the napkin pink.

“See how hungry I am? I
hate
maraschino cherries,” George said. “Can we please eat something before I die of starvation? Please? Please?” She grabbed her stomach dramatically.

Nancy had to laugh. “I get the message,
George. Nella, what was that you said about breakfast at the Museum Café?” she asked.

Nella glanced at her watch. “Let's call it brunch—and let's go!”

Over a hearty brunch of eggs Benedict and waffles, Nancy laid out the case as she understood it so far.

“Now, let me see if I can recap,” Nella said, licking the last bit of maple syrup from her fork. “You were kidnapped and then let go because the kidnappers kidnapped the wrong girl. You figured out who they thought the right girl was, and then she apparently disappeared. Her mother now claims she's simply gone to visit her grandmother for the weekend. I'm saying it, but I'm not sure I understand it.”

“So far, so good,” Nancy complimented Nella.

“Except we're not really sure Denise
is
the right girl,” George said. She was contentedly sitting back in her chair, her plate wiped clean. “It just makes sense that she is, because she has the same color hair as Nancy and was sitting at the table with her. It would be logical that the kidnappers had mixed them up.”

Nancy picked at a stray clump of spinach on her plate. “Then there's this Tim Raphael. He's got to be involved somehow,” she muttered. “Why else would he act like a scared rabbit every time he sees me? But I don't know how to fit him in. None of the motives I can think of make sense for him.”

“Okay, let's talk about a motive here. Who are these kidnappers and what do they want?” asked Nella.

“Well, the only thing I can come up with is something to do with the tournament,” Nancy said. “Maybe someone placed a big bet on the Eagles to win and it doesn't look like they will now, so this person is hoping to make the Wildcats either lose their nerve or forfeit by kidnapping one of the cheerleaders.” Nancy answered Nella's questioning stare. “I now think they wanted her because she's a cheerleader,” she explained.

“Maybe it's just somebody who wants money,” George suggested. “Is Denise Mason rich?”

“Mason? Did you say her last name is Mason? Are we talking about Jonathan's kid?” Nella had suddenly turned pale.

“I don't know her parents,” replied Nancy.

“Well, I do. Oh, I can't believe I didn't make the connection sooner,” Nella moaned.

“What connection? What are you talking about?” Nancy asked.