Fatal Attraction (2 page)

N
ANCY STARTED
. T
HAT
voice—in a flash, she knew the identity of the mysterious figure. It was Frazier Carlton, editor of
Today's Times,
Brenda Carlton's father!

“Mr. Carlton?” Nancy asked.

The man glanced into the backseat. “You
are
alone, Miss Drew?”

“Of course,” Nancy snapped, annoyed. “What's all this about? Why all the mystery? If you wanted to talk to me, wouldn't it have been simpler to meet for lunch somewhere?”

“It might be simpler,” Mr. Carlton agreed calmly, “but somebody might have seen us together.”
He was wearing a dark jacket and a dark turtleneck sweater—obviously an outfit designed to fade into the shadows. “I must impress upon you the importance of keeping the details of this case absolutely secret. No one must know that we've talked, except for the people you might need to work with you on the case.”

Nancy took a deep breath. “Maybe you'd better begin at the beginning,” she suggested.

Mr. Carlton leaned back in the seat. “I suspect that my daughter,” he said grimly, “is involved with somebody who may be after her money. I'm afraid she might be in for some serious trouble.”

Brenda? So
that
was who the letter had referred to—George and Bess weren't in trouble at all. “That's terrific!” Nancy exclaimed. And then, embarrassed, added, “I mean, that's
terrible.
Where's your evidence?”

Mr. Carlton cleared his throat. “My daughter is a great reporter and a wonderful girl,” he said slowly, “but she isn't exactly the world's best judge of character.” He grinned ruefully. “Sometimes she . . . well, she doesn't look before she leaps.
This
time she's jumped into a relationship with somebody who really worries me.”

“Oh,” Nancy said, remembering what Bess had told them that morning. “Are you by any chance talking about the guitarist at Charlie's?”

Mr. Carlton looked surprised. “Gossip gets around fast, doesn't it?” He shook his head
wearily. “Yes, that's the one,” he went on. “McKeever, his name is. Mike McKeever. Brenda met him a while ago on vacation in Miami Beach. Seems he was playing in a club down there—and he followed her back here.”

Nancy nodded. “I see.” But the fact that Brenda's new boyfriend was a performer didn't automatically make him a bad guy. “But I
don't
see,” she added, “what makes you think that he's after Brenda's money.”

Mr. Carlton drew his dark eyebrows together in a way that reminded Nancy of Brenda. “I've been a newsman for almost forty years, Miss Drew. I've got what they call a ‘nose for news.' I'm used to operating on blind hunches, and those hunches are usually right on the money.”

“But a hunch—”

Mr. Carlton held up his hand. “This guy doesn't strike me as the kind who'd give up a well-paying job for love. And that's exactly what he did when he followed Brenda back here. Charlie's doesn't pay a living wage, and Brenda's paying for all their dates. Furthermore, he got really angry when I asked an innocent question about his family. And when I tried to trace the license plates on his motorcycle, I found out that the bike they were from had been junked. He's driving on phony plates. I have a feeling—a father's intuition, maybe—that this attraction of
Brenda's will come to a bad end.” A note of deep concern had crept into his authoritative voice. “And I'm convinced that
you're
the only one who can help her!”

“Me? Help Brenda? Not a chance.” Nancy shook her head firmly. “You know, Mr. Carlton, that Brenda and I aren't exactly the best of friends. She would never accept—”

“I understand that,” Mr. Carlton said urgently. “And if I'm wrong, Brenda must never know that we've talked! If she thought I hired you to investigate her boyfriend, she'd never speak to me again!”

Nancy thought of all the times she'd vowed to close Brenda's reporter's notebook for good. And bumbling Brenda was dangerous enough when she was on the periphery of a case—what would it be like with her right in the middle of one? But still, Nancy had never wanted her to get
hurt.
And Mr. Carlton was obviously very worried, to have gone to all this trouble.

“Let's get this straight,” Nancy said. “You want me to protect Brenda from herself—and from this guy, if he's what you think he is. Is that right?”

Mr. Carlton nodded. “That's it exactly.”

Nancy laughed a little. “Considering how impulsive Brenda is, I'd say that's a pretty big order.”

“That's why
you're
the only one who can handle it,” Mr. Carlton said, looking at her intently.

Nancy nodded. Mr. Carlton was right. It certainly wasn't her standard assignment. It would definitely be a challenge. But maybe that was exactly why it appealed to her.

“I probably ought to have my head examined, Mr. Carlton,” Nancy said, sighing, “but I'll take the case.”

• • •

“I still think you've got to be crazy, getting involved with Brenda Carlton,” Ned told Nancy as they parked outside Charlie's the next night. “She'll drive you bananas in about thirty seconds.” He reached for Nancy's hand as they walked toward the club.

Nancy sighed. “I have the feeling I'm going to regret it,” she said. “But I can't resist a good mystery, and Mr. Carlton is convinced that something funny's going on.” She grinned. “Thanks for agreeing to help, Ned.”

“The things I do for love,” Ned replied with a laugh, opening the door for her. The small club was standing room only, and everybody's eyes were glued to a small stage in the corner, where a handsome young guy with dark, curly hair was perched on a stool, expertly playing a guitar. The room was filled with the sounds of jazzy blues,
and everyone was listening intently, not saying a word. The audience was mostly young people—Nancy saw only one person who looked over fifty, a man with gray hair and a gray beard.

“Well, that's Mike McKeever,” Ned said, pointing to the guitarist.

“No wonder Brenda's got a thing for him,” Nancy said, half under her breath. Mike McKeever had a brooding, sultry look about him that spelled attraction. Then she saw Brenda, sitting alone at a table on the far side of the crowded room, watching the stage almost hungrily. She was dressed in a skintight white top and white slacks, and her dark hair cascaded dramatically around her shoulders.. There was an intent gleam in her dark eyes as she tapped her plum-red fingernails against her glass.

Ned chuckled. “Looks like she's got it real bad for the guy. She can't take her eyes off him.”

As he spoke, the music ended and people started to talk again. The performer put down his guitar and stood up. Nancy and Ned watched as he made his way through the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd to the corner where Brenda was waiting with a greedy smile. He bent down to whisper something into her ear. Her hand came up to his head, her fingers twisting in his dark hair as she pulled him toward her.

“I'd say you're right, Ned,” Nancy agreed.

After a minute, the performer sat back and signaled a waiter, who brought a big pitcher of iced coffee and put it on the table.

“So how are you going to handle this?” Ned asked curiously.

Nancy made a face. “It's hard to lay plans where Brenda's concerned,” she said. “Let's just start a casual conversation and see where it leads. I'm hoping we can find out something concrete about this guy's background.” She and Ned began to thread their way through the crowd.

Brenda's smile evaporated when she saw Nancy. “Well, well, if it isn't Wonder Girl of River Heights,” she said icily.

Mike McKeever looked up. Close up, Nancy could see that he was movie-star handsome, with light blue eyes and a broad, muscular chest. The sleeves of his blue shirt were rolled to his elbow, revealing tanned, strong arms.

“Hi,” he said.

Nancy smiled her brightest smile. “We just
had
to tell you,” she said, bubbling, “what a
terrific
performer you are.” On the other side of the table, Brenda eyed her suspiciously.

“Right,” Ned chimed in, following Nancy's cue. “Especially that last song. It was great.”

Mike's blue eyes lit up. “You think so?” he said. “Hey, thanks a lot. Glad you liked it.” He
motioned to a seat. “Have a seat?” He turned to Brenda with a questioning look, and Brenda grudgingly introduced Nancy and Ned.

As Nancy sat down, she looked at Brenda. “You're really lucky,” she said smoothly, “to be friends with an up-and-coming star, I mean.”

Brenda looked surprised, then pleased. “We
have
been having a good time since we met in Florida,” she boasted. She laughed and poured Mike another glass of iced coffee from the pitcher on the table. “Do you know that Mike came all the way from Miami just to be with me?”

“All the way from Miami,” Nancy said, marveling. “I suppose you were playing in a club down there, too,” she added, to Mike.

Brenda ran a possessive finger down Mike's bare arm. “Mike has played all over the country—and some places right around here. The Waterloo Inn in Batesville and the Sweet Corn Festival over in Silver Hills, for example. And dozens of other places.” She gestured proudly at the crowd that surrounded them. “And look at the way he's packing them in here.”

Nancy relaxed a little. Maybe it wasn't going to be as hard as she'd thought to get background information on this guy—as long as silly, conceited Brenda wanted to brag about him. But she would have to be careful. Brenda might get the idea that she had a romantic interest in Mike.

Mike nodded and smiled, sipping his coffee. “Yes,” he said modestly, “I've come a long way from the little town where I grew up.”

Behind her, somebody bumped Nancy's chair, but she was too intent to notice. She leaned forward, smiling at Mike. This was
too
easy! “And where was that?” she asked.

Brenda's eyes narrowed, and she began to fidget a little. Clearly, she wasn't pleased that Nancy was asking questions of her new prize.

“Oakton, Vermont,” Mike said, obviously flattered by Nancy's interest. “It's just a wide place in the road, actually.” The crowd around the table was getting noisier and Mike had to raise his voice to be heard.

“Well, River Heights isn't exactly the big city, either,” Nancy said. “After the big city, it must be pretty quiet. Where are you staying?”

“The Ridgeview Motel,” Mike said. Somebody walked between the tables and he leaned forward to avoid being jostled. “Out on Ridgeview Road. It's pretty much a dump.”

Brenda gave Nancy a dirty look. “But Mike won't always stay in dumps. Just wait until he hits the top of the charts.” She lifted her chin. “Why, when he was playing in Miami Beach, a guy from Crescent Records happened to hear him and wanted him to—Hey, what's going on?”

Nancy looked down. Out of the crowd, a pair
of hands had gripped the edge of the table, right beside her elbow. The table lurched violently. The pitcher rocked a couple of times and then fell over with a crash, sending a stream of iced coffee cascading into Brenda's lap! Her furious screech filled the room.

O
OOH
!” B
RENDA JUMPED
up, her face twisted with rage. A brown stain was spreading across the front of her white slacks. “Just see what that idiot did. He's ruined a brand-new pair of pants—and he did it on purpose! He
deliberately
tried to turn our table over!” She turned angrily to Mike. “Go after him, Mike! Show him he can't get away with it!”

Nancy turned to look. The man who had nearly dumped the table was the same gray-haired man she'd seen earlier. He was disappearing rapidly—and very determinedly—through the door.

Petulantly, Brenda stamped her foot. “What's wrong, Mike? Why don't you go after him?”

Nancy looked curiously at Mike. His face was flaming, and he was avoiding Brenda's angry eyes.

“Well, I, uh . . .” he muttered. He stood up. “I'll go tell the waiter to bring a mop.”

“Tell you what, Brenda,” Nancy said placatingly, “let's go to the rest room. A flight attendant taught me a secret for getting out coffee stains. All you need is club soda.”

“Well, okay,” Brenda said sullenly. She looked at Mike. “But I still don't understand why you didn't show that guy a thing or two. He
deliberately
dumped our table.”

Nancy got some club soda from a waiter and followed Brenda into the rest room, where she sopped it on the wet stain, blotting it with a towel. After a minute, the brown began to fade.

“There,” Nancy announced, straightening up. “After it's washed, you'll never know what happened. It'll be good as new.”