Hotline to Danger (14 page)

Nancy clutched the lamp tightly. “So you knew I was onto you?”

He nodded. “I knew it wouldn't be long. Then
dear Mrs. Johnson called this morning about another donation. She mentioned how thoughtful it had been for someone from the center to call thanking her for February's donation. When I asked her who had called, she mentioned you.”

As if to emphasize his point, he thrust the knife blade closer. Nancy's gaze flickered from the blade to Mr. A's eyes. Anger gleamed in them. How had he been able to hide his true side all this time?

“Well, that cleared up two things,” he continued, his voice low. “One, I finally figured out what else Paul had put in that envelope besides the account page he stole from the ledger. He stuck that check in, hoping that whoever got it would put two and two together.”

“And come up with the fact that you've been embezzling funds from the teen center,” Nancy finished for him.

He shrugged. “You look at it as embezzlement. I look at it as payment for services rendered. After all, who else would have worked so hard for a bunch of high-school dropouts? And it was the perfect setup, too, until Paul started checking out my account ledger. He thought he was doing me a favor. After a couple of business courses, he figured he could help me straighten out my books.”

Mr. A snorted disdainfully. “When I found out what he was doing, I put the ledger in a locked file drawer. But I was too late; Paul had already
noticed the center was taking in more money than it spent. When he asked me about it, I told him the money was in a special account for the new dorm.”

“And he believed you?”

“Until the little crook broke into the file drawer and found my account book.”

“From Chicago Bank and Trust.”

Mr. A looked sharply at Nancy. “How'd you know about that?” he growled, his gloved hand tensing on the knife.

Nancy took a step backward, bumping her hip into the nightstand. She steadied the lamp in her hand, in case the director was ready to spring.

“Paul again, huh.” Mr. A's eyes narrowed.

“So how did you actually embezzle the money?” Nancy asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “You must have deposited any donations that didn't require a receipt in the J. R. Communications account, right?”

“Something like that. You'd be surprised how many do-gooders out there donate anonymously. All they want in return is for me to call and tell them how wonderful they are. It was a perfect setup until that senile Mrs. Johnson brought her February check over and gave it to Paul instead of me. She must've told him about all her contributions to the center.”

Nancy shifted her weight so that she was slightly closer to the door. If she could only distract him somehow, she could escape. “Of
course,” Nancy said calmly, “Paul was smart enough to notice that her donations weren't recorded in the ledger and realize that you were putting them in your own account under a false name.”

“The lady gets a prize!” Mr. A sniggered. “He said he wanted to meet Monday night. When I told him it had to be away from the center, he suggested behind the warehouse by the tracks—his turf, he called it.” Mr. A's chuckle was low and evil, and Nancy shivered, repulsed by him.

“When we met and Paul confronted me about everything he'd found out, I figured he was going to blackmail me. Was I in for a big surprise! Mr. ex-Nighthawk had turned into a do-gooder. He said he'd keep all the information in an envelope and put it in a safe place with instructions that if something happened to him, the envelope was to go to the police. He told me that he'd destroy it if I gave back all the money to the center and resigned. Otherwise, he was going to the police himself.” Mr. A shook his head slowly. “I tried to reason with him, even offered to cut him in on the deal, but he was too stubborn. So I killed him.”

He said it so coldly that Nancy instinctively gripped the lamp tighter. It was her only protection from this madman. “So that's why you were after Rachel and ransacked her apartment? You figured she had the envelope?”

“That's right, Ms. Drew,” he replied.

“And that's why you showed up in the alley last night?”

He nodded. “I planned on getting there early and just grabbing the envelope. But Rachel didn't show up until right before you did—”

“And to get the evidence, you had to get rid of me. Only my friends stopped you,” Nancy finished for him.

“And now I think you're stalling,” he said, “hoping one of those lamebrain cops I sneaked by will come to your rescue. Only when they finally do get up here, you're going to be dead.” Waving his knife, he gestured toward the window. “Climb out on that fire escape. You're going to have a bad fall.”

“This is crazy! The cops are right out front. You won't be able to get away with this.” Nancy yanked the cord from the wall, then swung the lamp in front of her like a club.

Mr. A jumped backward. “Oh, but I will.” He gave her another sick grin. “I'll ditch the black outfit and walk right past them. The cops aren't looking for a short, skinny, bald guy. And if they do stop me, I'll tell them I'm here to see Detective Hawkins about some important information.”

Nancy flushed. He was right. If she didn't stop him, he just might get away with it.

Using the lamp like a sword, Nancy thrust it at the director's hand. The shade caught the blade
of the knife. It flew from his grasp and went skittering across the floor, toward the door.

Nancy dove after it. Her fingers wrapped around the handle. At the same time, Mr. A dropped to the floor, and his gloved hand grabbed hers.

He squeezed Nancy's fingers. Tears stung her eyes. Drawing up one leg, she kicked sideways with all her might.

She could feel her foot connect with muscle, and the man grunted with pain. Then strong fingers reached for her throat. Nancy gasped for air. Letting go of the knife, she clawed at his fingers with both hands.

Just then a roar of anger came from above both of them. Suddenly Mr. A's hands were yanked from Nancy's throat. She coughed, then looked up.

B.D. had grabbed the man's shoulders. He picked Mr. A up and threw him against the wall. In an instant B.D. had drawn his gun and aimed it at Mr. A's head. “Make one move and I'll blow your brains out.”

The director hesitated, then bowed his head.

B.D. glanced anxiously at Nancy. “Are you all right? You were up here so long that I got worried and decided to check on you.”

Nancy took a ragged breath, then smiled. “
I'm glad you did. And now that we've really closed this case, I feel great!”

• • •

Two days later George and Nancy stood in the lobby of the River Heights airport. In front of the security gates, Kyle and Bess were wrapped in a romantic embrace.

“Uh, how much longer are those two going to say goodbye?” George asked, glancing at her watch.

Nancy laughed. “Probably until Kyle's flight is announced,” she said.

Just then the loudspeaker blasted, “Flight Eleven to Chicago is now boarding at Gate Twenty-two.”

George breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was afraid we'd miss our hotline shift.”

With one last kiss, Kyle and Bess parted. Kyle went through the security gate, waving at Bess until he was out of sight.

When Bess joined Nancy and George, she sighed deeply. Her eyes were red from crying, and her mascara had run down her cheeks.

Nancy handed her a tissue. Then she and George linked their arms with Bess's and escorted her from the airport.

“It's so sad.” Bess sighed again. “Even though Kyle promised he'd write, I know it won't last. He's going to be so busy and—”

“You'll be busy, too,” George said, patting her cousin's arm.

Bess's eyes brightened. “That's true. There's the hotline and my self-defense course—”

“And Tony,” Nancy added teasingly.

Bess blushed. “Well, maybe. Hey. Isn't it almost dinnertime?” she asked, stopping abruptly. “I hope you two don't expect me to answer hotline calls on an empty stomach.”

“No, we'll stop for a bite to eat first,” Nancy said, winking at George.

“It's good to hear you're thinking about food again, Bess,” George added. “That must mean you're going to be all right!”

An hour later Nancy, Bess, and George walked into the hotline office. Billie and Rachel were answering the phones. When she saw Nancy, Rachel jumped up and greeted her with a big hug.

“I didn't expect to see you here so soon,” Nancy said. Rachel grinned happily. “Hey. The hotline saved my life,” Rachel replied. “I owe it lots of volunteer hours. I'm just observing now, but pretty soon I'll be taking calls with the best of you.”

George, Bess, and Nancy laughed. Billie was hanging back by the desk.

“And, Nancy, my mom owes you her life,” Rachel added. “The police are only going to charge her with fleeing the scene of the crime and obstructing an investigation.”

“What was she doing at the warehouse?” Nancy asked.

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Following Paul. That same night, the private eye she hired had tailed Paul to my apartment. He called my mom, and she stormed over to confront him again. Remember,
she'd ‘paid' him off. When she arrived, he was leaving to meet Mr. A. She followed. She saw him drive to the back of the warehouse, and she waited out front. When he didn't return, she decided to see where he had gone. By the time she got to the tracks, he was already dead.”

Bess grimaced. “Could she be put in jail?”

“No.” Rachel shook her head. “She's already hired some hotshot lawyer.”

“And compared with Mr. A, she's really getting off light,” Nancy said. “B.D. said they're racking up the evidence against him. The same knife he threatened me with is the murder weapon, his prints are all over the tape recorder in the basement, plus, they traced the J. R. Communications account to him.”

“And then there's always his confession to you, Nan,” Bess pointed out. “That should put him behind bars forever.”

“Right. Most of the loose ends have been tied up, but I still have some questions.” Nancy turned to Rachel. “Since it was Mr. A who bugged the phones, how did your mom find you at the hotel?”

“That detective she hired tracked me to the Chestmont about the same time the police did,” Rachel answered. “That's why she burst into the room. She was expecting a joyful reunion.” Rachel grimaced. “Fat chance of that.”

“What
is
going to happen between you and your mom?” George asked.

Rachel sighed wearily, and her shoulders slumped. “I don't know. She's always run my life, but this escapade was the last straw.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she sighed loudly.

“You all right?” Billie had silently come up beside Rachel. Nancy could tell by the concern in Billie's voice that the two were becoming good friends.

Nancy touched Rachel's arm gently. “Maybe all that happened will help her see she needs to make some changes.”

“Talking about changes, who's going to take over running the center?” George asked.

“Me!”

The five girls swung their heads around. Tony was standing in the doorway of the office, a jubilant expression on his face.

“Tony! That's great!” everyone exclaimed, then started asking questions.

He held up his hands. “Slow down. There's still a lot to be worked out, but since I'm graduating in two months, I'll take over full-time this summer. Of course, the board of directors has suggested a few changes. For instance, the city will help fund the center from now on, which means I'll get a salary, and the financial side of things will be better policed.”

“That's terrific, Tony,” Bess said. “Should we start calling you Mr. R?”

Everyone laughed.

“No way. But I hope you guys will stick
around. The center's going to need lots of volunteers.”

Nancy looked at the other girls. “I think we can handle it, right, guys?”

They all agreed. When they'd stopped chattering and laughing, Billie shyly glanced over at Nancy. “Before I go, I—we—need to thank you, too. Kip and the others, well, they're not much on thank-yous, and I know they aren't totally innocent, either,” she added in a rush. “If Kip hadn't been involved with that robbery in the first place, no one would have even suspected him.”

“Does he know that?” Nancy asked gently.

Billie shrugged. “Yeah. Fortunately, charges were dropped on that drugstore thing, and the whole murder scare really made him think about what he wants to do with the rest of his life.”

She blushed as if embarrassed by her speech. Bending over, she pulled a jacket off the seat of the chair, then held it up. It was a black leather jacket with the letter
N
on the front.

“From us to you,” Billie said.

“It's great!” Nancy exclaimed, taking it. “I love it. Hey! Did the gang give Mr. A a jacket, too?” she asked.

Billie nodded. “Yeah, about six months ago. To thank him for all the work he was doing for the kids in the neighborhood.”

“So that's how he got one,” Nancy murmured to herself, glad that one more piece of the puzzle
had fallen into place. It was sad, though, she thought, that a man who had done so much good should end up being so evil.

“Try it on,” Bess said, interrupting Nancy's pensive thoughts.

Nancy smiled as she slipped on the jacket. It fit perfectly.

“To Nancy Drew,” Billie said, grinning. “From all the members of the Nighthawks. Thanks for finding out who really killed Paul Remer!”

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.