Hotline to Danger (10 page)

George sighed. “Let's just hope Tony has good news.”

After they picked up lunch from a drive-in, Nancy drove to the teen center. When they entered the hotline office, Tony looked up from a psychology text he was reading.

“Exam tomorrow,” he told them as he shut the book. “Usually, the machine is on from twelve to three, but since I'm hanging around anyway, I thought I'd answer calls. It's been pretty quiet, though.”

“Did Rachel call this morning?” Nancy asked.

He shook his head. “Sorry.”

“No word from Rachel?” came a voice from the doorway. It was Mr. A. His face was flushed from the climb up the steps, and he was clutching a file folder stuffed with papers.

Nancy shook her head. “No. And nothing about the money we found hidden on the third floor.”

“Well, keep me posted.” He started to go, then hesitated. “Nancy, may I speak with you for a second?”

“Sure.” Nancy joined him in the hallway.

“I've been trying to remember anything Paul might have done or said that might help with the case,” he said, his voice low. “And I recall about a week or so ago, Paul was telling me more about meeting Rachel at the community college. Apparently, she had told him her mom had lots of money, but she didn't care about it.”

“I figured Mrs. Thackett was pretty wealthy,” Nancy commented.

The teen center director looked at her sharply and went on. “A few days later, when we were working in the office, Paul mentioned that he wanted to go to the University of Illinois next year, but that the tuition was too high. Then he jokingly said, ‘But now that I've got Rachel, I don't have to worry about money anymore.' ”

Nancy's eyes widened. “Thanks, Mr. A. Maybe that explains where the five thousand came from.”

“Anytime.” He patted her arm, then went down the stairs. Still standing in the middle of the hall, Nancy pondered what he had told her.

Would Rachel have given Paul the money? And if she had access to that much cash, why not rent her own apartment?

It didn't make sense, she decided. Still, she
tucked the information away as she returned to the hotline office.

“How about lunch? Everything's getting cold,” Bess said, opening one of the bags and pulling out several wrapped burgers. “Tony? We got one for you. And french fries, too.”

“Great. Thanks,” Tony said, reaching for the food.

Sitting on the edge of the desk, Nancy unwrapped her burger. For the next ten minutes, they ate while they discussed the case. Then the phone rang. Nancy grabbed for it, hoping it was Rachel, but it was B.D.

“I'm down at the community theater,” he told her. “And guess what. It didn't take long before I found an usher who saw Mrs. Thackett sneak out an exit about nine-thirty on Monday night.”

“What!” Nancy's mouth dropped open.

“I'm on my way to the judge to get a warrant to check her car tires and search her house. It seems that Mrs. Thackett has some explaining to do.”

“Wow.” Nancy slowly hung up the phone. She told George, Tony, and Bess what B.D. had discovered.

“So, not only does she not have an alibi for the night Paul was murdered,” Nancy said, “but she also lied to the police. That may just put her at the top of the suspect list. If she's as obsessed with Rachel as you say, maybe she got so angry at Paul for supposedly stealing her daughter away that she lost it.”

“I don't know.” Bess shook her head in disbelief. “I can't see Mrs. Thackett knifing someone. And even if Rachel witnessed it, Mrs. Thackett wouldn't go after her own daughter.”

Nancy frowned. “Good point.”

“Really. If you ask me, the whole thing doesn't seem like Mrs. Thackett's style,” George said, biting into a french fry.

“I disagree,” Tony cut in. “It sounds as if that lady has a ‘control complex'—as they say in the psychology books. When Rachel defied her, she may have freaked out.”

“Could be,” Nancy said. “But I do have to agree with Bess and George—things just don't quite fit. If Mrs. Thackett wanted somebody killed she probably would have—” Suddenly the answer popped into her head. “That's it! Bossing someone around and paying him lots of money would be Mrs. Thackett's style, right?”

“Right,” Bess agreed.

“So maybe she hired somebody to do the dirty work,” Nancy said.

George slapped the desk. “I think you're right. Though if Mrs. Thackett hired someone to do the job, isn't she just as guilty?”

“Yes she is.” The phone rang again. Deep in thought, Nancy wiped off her greasy fingers, then picked it up slowly. “Hello. Help Is Here Hotline. Nancy speaking.”

“Nancy? It's Rachel.”

Quickly, Nancy jumped off the desk and
grabbed a pad of paper. “Rachel? I'm so glad you called.” Checking her watch, she noted the exact time so B.D. could cross-check the call with the phone company. Bess, George, and Tony stopped eating to listen.

“Are you okay?” Nancy continued.

“Yeah, I'm all right,” Rachel said, but then she began to sob. “No, I'm not okay. I'm so worried and tired and hungry that I'm starting to freak out.”

“Rachel, please let us help,” Nancy pleaded. “Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was so soft, Nancy could barely hear her. “But only you. You're the only one I trust. The night Paul was murdered, he gave me an envelope. He said if something happened to him, I was supposed to get it to the police. But I want
you
to take it to them for me. Tonight, at ten o'clock, go to the alley behind Billie's apartment. I'll leave the envelope under the third trash can.”

“Why are you afraid to go to the police yourself?” Nancy asked. A click told her that Rachel had hung up.

“Well?” George prompted.

Nancy explained about the envelope, then quickly called the police department and left a message for B.D. stating the time that Rachel had called. The phone company could then trace where the call had originated from, which would narrow the search for her.

After that, Nancy sat down on the edge of the desk again. “I'm stumped,” she admitted. “What could possibly be in that envelope?”

“I don't know,” Bess replied. “But we'll soon find out!”

• • •

At ten o'clock on the dot, Bess drove Nancy and George to Billie's apartment.

“Keep the motor running,” Nancy suggested. “If everything goes okay, I'll be back in a second.”

“Be careful,” George said as Nancy shut the door of Bess's Camaro and headed down the dark alley beside the building.

Nancy had dressed in black and tucked her hair into a baseball cap in order to look as inconspicuous as possible. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she was able to move swiftly down the alley. Reaching the rear corner, she peered around the building. Six trash cans were lined up in a row by the back entrance. They were overflowing with garbage.

Nancy hesitated. Was the envelope under the third trash can from the right, or from the left?

Cautiously, she crept around the corner to the third can from the left. Bending down, she tilted it up. The lid fell off, and a smelly bag fell at her feet.

“Phew!” Nancy moved back, the same instant she heard soft footsteps behind her.

Instantly, she twirled around. A knife blade
slashed through the air, catching the sleeve of her jacket. She jumped sideways, fell over a trash can, and landed on an overstuffed plastic bag. Instinctively, she raised one hand to shield herself from the attacker before glancing up.

Standing over her was a figure wearing a ski mask and a black leather jacket with an
N
on the front. In one fist a knife blade gleamed in the moonlight.

Nancy screamed as the attacker stepped toward her, ready to strike again!

U
SING ALL HER STRENGTH
, Nancy kicked the trash can beside her, toppling it into the black figure's knees. For a second her assailant staggered backward, giving her time to scramble to her feet. But before she could run, the attacker lunged at Nancy. As she dodged the glistening blade, her heart pounded like a drum. How long could she hold him off?

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling yell came from Nancy's right. The attacker froze for an instant, glanced to the left, then spun around and raced off in the opposite direction. The attacker turned the corner and disappeared. Bess and George had rounded the other corner of the building. Hands cupped around her mouth, Bess let out another piercing yell.

“Nancy! Are you all right?” George asked, rushing up to her friend.

Nancy stepped over the fallen trash can and garbage. “Yes. Thanks to you guys.”

“We heard you scream,” Bess explained. “I know we weren't supposed to leave the car, but—”

“That's all right.” Grinning, Nancy gave Bess a hug. “Where did you learn to yell like that?”

“Self-defense class.”

George bent down to help Nancy pick up the trash can. “From what I could see, that guy meant business.” Concerned, she glanced at Nancy. “Where did he come from? We didn't see him go into the alley.”

“He could've come from the other side,” Nancy said. “This back alley leads out to another street.”

“Was that a knife he was holding?” Bess asked.

Nancy nodded. “And he had a black jacket with an
N
on the front.”

“Like the ones the Nighthawks wear?” Bess's eyes widened.

“Right.” Nancy turned and quickly found the third trash can from the right. She pulled it away from the building wall. “And I have a feeling whoever it was was after this.” Bending down, she picked up a white standard-size envelope that had been under the trash can. She held it up. “Luckily, I checked under the wrong can at first. Otherwise, the attacker would have gotten it.”

Bess and George gathered around Nancy. Silently, all three stared at the envelope.

“Well, are you going to open it?” George finally asked.

“Hey, guys, let's go somewhere safe first,” Bess said, nervously looking around. “The attacker may have friends. Like a whole gang of them.”

The three made sure all the trash was picked up, then ran back to the Camaro. After the car doors were locked, Nancy opened the envelope. Inside was a paper folded in thirds.

“Let me guess,” Bess said excitedly. “It's a note telling the police who killed Paul.”

Nancy pulled it out and unfolded it. A smaller piece of paper fell to her lap. “No. It's a page from an account ledger and a check.”

“Huh?” George grabbed the larger paper from Nancy. “Accounts payable. Accounts receivable. You're right. What's on the check?”

“It's for a thousand dollars and written out to the teen center. And it's signed by a lady named Johnson.”

“A donation?” Bess guessed. “That's weird. Let me see that page from the account book.”

George handed the paper to Bess, who held it up to the light coming in the window. Squinting, she scrutinized both sides. “I'll bet there's a message written on it in invisible ink. What do you think, Nan?”

Taking the paper, Nancy refolded it and put it back in the envelope with the check. “I think the
more important question is: How did the attacker find out I was picking up that envelope?” She looked directly at George, then at Bess. “Did either of you tell a soul where we were going tonight?”

They both shook their heads.

Nancy rubbed her chin. “What if the attacker wasn't after the envelope? What if he or she thought I was Rachel?”

“You mean the person could have been after Rachel, not the envelope?” Bess asked in a whisper. “To—to kill her?”

Nancy frowned. “Let's hope not.”

“Maybe we were followed.” George spun around in the car seat and looked out the back window.

Bess shook her head. “No way. I would have noticed.”

“It could be that someone's watching the apartment house all the time, hoping to catch Rachel, or—” Nancy paused. Leaning back in the seat, she thought a second. “Or the phone at the hotline is bugged.”

George and Bess exchanged puzzled glances.

“It already is—by the phone company,” George reminded Nancy.

“That's different. They don't listen in on the conversations. I mean
really
bugged by whoever wants to catch Rachel.” Nancy tapped Bess on the shoulder. “Let's head to the teen center. The
last hotline shift isn't over yet, so we should be able to get in.”

“You got it,” Bess said firmly as she started up the car and stepped on the gas. The Camaro squealed away from the curb. Fifteen minutes later the girls ran upstairs and into the hotline office.

Startled, Tony's head jerked upright. His feet were propped on the desk, and he was still reading his psychology text.

“Slow night?” Bess asked.