Authors: Carolyn Keene
In the taxi Nancy told Ned and George what she had figured out, and what she wanted them to do.
“The important thing here is the timing,” she said. “Surprise is absolutely necessary, so it’ll all have to run like clockwork.”
Ned picked up Nancy’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “It will.”
“I certainly hope so,” George said. She was shivering so hard that her teeth were rattling. “I want to get out of these clothes. I’m freezing! And I must smell like a locker room.”
Nancy grinned. “I’ve got to admit that you
are
pretty ripe,” she said. “But what can you expect from somebody who’s been living in a barrel?”
She ducked the punch that George aimed at her.
At the Cherbourg Building, they signed in with the guard at the lobby desk and went up in the elevator. The deserted building was dark and spooky. But when they got to the fifteenth floor, Nancy could see the light at the end of the hall. Ashley Amberton must still be there, working late just as she’d promised.
Quietly, with Ned and George right behind her, Nancy tiptoed down to the end of the hall and pushed open the door to Ms. Amberton’s outer office. It was dark and empty, but through the glass window over the secretary’s desk, they could see into the inner office. Ms. Amberton was there, sitting behind her desk, signing papers with her bandaged left hand. The door to the outer office hung slightly ajar, and Nancy could hear the
scratch-scratch
of the woman’s pen on the paper.
“It’s dark in here,” Nancy whispered, “so she can’t see us.” She gave Ned a little push. “Okay, Ned,” she said. “Get going. And be careful out there!”
Ned touched her cheek affectionately. “I will. You, too, Nan,” he said. “Watch yourself.” He disappeared into the darkness.
“What time is it?” George whispered.
Nancy looked at her watch. “Three minutes to ten,” she said quietly. “That phone should ring just about
now
.”
As if on cue, the telephone on Ashley Amberton’s desk rang. She reached for it.
“Hello,” she said curtly. And then, with a little surprise, added, “Oh, hello, Ms. LeBeau.” She listened intently for a moment, her lips tightening. “A Cherbourg helicopter?” she asked, a deep note of concern in her voice. “Yes, of course. I’ll turn it on right now. Thank you for calling.” She put down the phone and picked up the television remote control and flicked it on.
A few minutes later, the news came on. It was the usual scene, Nancy saw—two anchor-people sitting beside each other, behind a desk. “And now,” one of them said, in a deep voice, “we take you to Annette LeBeau, at the scene of the crash. Annette?”
The scene shifted to the dark, rain-swept plaza. In the background was Nelson’s Column, and beside it, the blazing wreckage of the helicopter. The camera was focused on Annette LeBeau’s somber face as she stood in front of the fire. Behind her were a half dozen firemen and policemen. The pavement around her was strewn with bits of metal.
“Thank you, Carl,” Annette said into the microphone. The rain was dripping off the black umbrella she held. “We’re at the scene of a tragedy that apparently took four lives in downtown Montreal just moments ago. A Cherbourg Industries helicopter crashed on Place Jacques-Cartier, directly in front of Nelson’s Column. Narrowly missing the few evening strollers braving the rain as it lost power and crashed, the helicopter burst into flames almost immediately. First reports are that there were four people on board, but there appear to have been no survivors. We’ll get back to you as soon as we have more details.” The camera left Annette and zoomed in on an ambulance, parked at the curb. “A terrible tragedy in downtown Montreal,” Annette concluded. “And now, back to you, Carl.”
Ashley Amberton turned off the television set. Then, as Nancy and George watched from the darkened office, a triumphant smile spread across her face. She reached in her desk and poured herself a drink. Then she took out a file folder and pulled out a newspaper picture of Nancy. She held it over an ashtray on her desk and lit it with a cigarette lighter.
“Ah-ha, Nancy Drew!” she said, gloating as the flame spread across Nancy’s face and the paper disintegrated into ash. “Who’s the best mind of crime? It’s no longer you, Nancy Drew—it’s Ashley Amberton, blackmailer, kidnapper, and murderer extraordinaire!” And she lifted the glass in a toast to herself.
Just then Nancy opened the door and stepped into the office.
“Sorry, Ashley,” she said calmly. “But it appears that your little plan didn’t work so well after all.”
Chapter Eighteen
“
N
ANCY?
N
ANCY
D
REW?
But I thought—” Ashley Amberton stood up behind her desk and swallowed hard, her face turning a pasty white. “But the television broadcast just said that the helicopter crashed! It said that you were all dead!” She pulled off her glasses, obviously fighting for control. “I was simply thunderstruck. How could such a horrible, horrible thing have happened?”
“It happened,” Nancy said calmly, “because you loosened the oil drain plug and disconnected the warning light.” She smiled slightly. “I have to hand it to you, Ashley. You thought of everything. If the copter had gone down before we found George, we’d be out of the way and there’d be plenty of time to get rid of George. And if it went down with all of us aboard . . .” She shrugged. “Either way, you’d come out a winner.”
“A winner?” Ms. Amberton pulled herself up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why, I was shocked to hear—”
“It’s no use, Ashley,” Nancy said, raising her voice. “I know all about it. I know that you blackmailed the Cherbourg employees. It was so easy for you to find out their secrets, wasn’t it? You simply poked around in their personnel files, didn’t you? And you were also the one who poisoned Monique when you took flowers to her the day before she fell ill. You also stole the notepaper and the liquid nitrogen from Dr. Dandridge’s office when you took candy to his staff.”
Ms. Amberton smiled. “You have a very lively imagination, my dear,” she said smoothly. “No wonder you’ve made such a name for yourself as a detective. Are you finished yet?”
“No, there’s more,” Nancy told her. “Much more.” She pointed to the charred remains of the newspaper photo in the ashtray. “You made up the phony headline to scare me, and you arranged for the passes to get us into the stadium. And of course, it was you who phoned Jacques Olivier and told him to run us down.”
Ms. Amberton frowned. “Me? What makes you think that?”
Nancy smiled. “You knew we’d be at the plaza, watching Emile Dandridge drop the money into the trash can. Remember? I phoned you and
told
you we were going to be there.” She shook her head. “It was so obvious, I don’t know why I didn’t see it right away. You were the
only
one, besides the doctor, who knew we’d be there. In fact, you were the only person in Montreal who knew every move we made.”
“So you’ve figured it all out,” Ms. Amberton asked archly. “What made you suspect me? It wasn’t just that I knew where you were or you’d have figured this out right away.”
“True. Your question about the damage to the stove when I told you about the liquid nitrogen spill was the first thing. I didn’t think about it at the time, though. It was only this evening, when everything began to fall into place, that I remembered our conversation.”
“Yes, that was rather an undisciplined remark,” Ms. Amberton admitted. “I realized immediately that you hadn’t told me
where
in the kitchen the spill had occurred. Was there anything else?”
“Your bandaged hand,” Nancy replied. “The hand that George bit. And, of course, the keys. The kidnapper couldn’t have gotten into the locked warehouse to hide George—unless
she
had the key, too. Also the police never arrived to help us.”
“Well, well, you
are
an amazing young lady,” Ms. Amberton said with a deep chuckle. “I do congratulate you on your stunning detective skills. It appears that you have won this round, doesn’t it?”
Nancy stared at her. “So
that’s
it,” she said. “A game. The whole thing has been a game of wits all along. You’ve been laying out the clues for me to follow, haven’t you?”
“Indeed, yes,” Ms. Amberton said, sitting easily on the corner of the desk. “In fact, I think a little boasting is in order, if you don’t object. I masterminded the whole thing—all of it. But I didn’t do it for the money, of course.”
“Of course not,” Nancy said, going to the balcony door to look out. “You did it for the
fun
of it, didn’t you? It was a test of your abilities—your criminal abilities.”
“Exactly.” Ashley Amberton beamed. “At first, of course, there was just the pleasure of finding out what I could do,
practicing
in a way. Why else would anyone want to bother with such
insignificant
blackmail victims as poor Monique and Jacques and that miserable Evans girl?”
“But then, as you began to discover your real talents, it occurred to you that there was bigger game out there. So you went after Lake, and Annette and Emile Dandridge.”
“I knew about their silly little mistakes, of course,” Miss Amberton said with a modest shrug. “It’s simply amazing how much you can find out if you have an inquiring mind and are determined to learn about people’s pasts. But after a while even
that
game lost its challenge. So—”
“So you decided to test yourself against me,” Nancy said, looking out into the night. “Even at the risk of getting caught.”
Ashley stood up. “Who else is worthy of my efforts? Your reputation, your skill.” She smiled a little. “Although I must admit that your friend George
did
tax my physical capabilities to their limit. It’s a good thing I’ve been working out at the gym for the past year. I could never have managed to carry her otherwise.”
Her smile deepened into a laugh and she opened the top desk drawer. “As for getting caught, well—you may have won this round, Nancy Drew. But you haven’t won the game.” She reached into the drawer of her desk and pulled out a gun. Ms. Amberton stepped closer to Nancy, her eyes glittering. “And you’re not going to, either.”
Nancy’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun. “You—you wouldn’t,” she said in a whisper.
“It’s a miracle that you survived the helicopter crash,” Ms. Amberton said, her lips taut. “But no miracle can help you escape a fifteen-story fall.” She shoved the gun into Nancy’s stomach. “Our little game is over, Nancy Drew, and
I’ve
won. Now get out on that balcony!”
A loud shout rang through the office as Ned burst in through the balcony doors. Ashley Amberton half turned, her attention distracted, and Nancy aimed a hard, quick karate chop at her extended forearm. With a moan, she dropped the gun and grabbed her arm. Nancy scooped up the gun and pointed it at her.
“It’s broken,” Ms. Amberton groaned in agony. “You’ve broken my arm!”
At the same moment, George rushed through the office door with Annette LeBeau, a cameraman, and two burly policemen right behind her.
“You see, Ashley,” Nancy remarked pleasantly, “the game’s never over until the final move.”
While the lights blazed and the camera whirred, the police arrested Ashley Amberton. Her eyes glazed with pain and defeat as they led her out the door. Annette followed close behind, holding a microphone over Ms. Amberton’s shoulder and firing rapid questions at her as they went down the hall.
“Whew,” Nancy said, collapsing onto the plush sofa. “I’m glad
that’s
over!” She looked at Ned. “Thanks for being on time with your cue,” she said. “I would have hated to take a swan dive off that balcony.”
Ned laughed. “I felt a little queasy at the idea of crawling out that window in the next office and onto a balcony fifteen stories up,” he admitted. “But it all worked out.”
“And I was a little worried that Annette wouldn’t arrive with the police in time for Ms. Amberton’s confession,” George said. “But we heard every word of it. And Annette had the mike going, too, so I’m sure it’s on tape.” She laughed. “Annette has even thought of a title for her story,” she said.
“Really?” Ned asked curiously. “What is it?”
“She’s calling it The Other Side of Evil.’ ” George told him.
Nancy stretched. “Hey, that’s a neat title. And I’m glad she got the story. Maybe it’ll help make up for some of the misery she’s been through.” She stretched and yawned. “Well, I guess we can wrap this one up, gang.”
“Yeah,” George said. “Speaking of a wrap-up”—she hugged herself—“do you suppose we could go back to the apartment—
now
? These running shorts are a little drafty. Besides, I’m dying for something to eat. Something like a sixteen-ounce steak and a bushel of french fries.”
“Tell you what,” Ned said, pulling Nancy off the sofa and putting his arm around her, “after George gets changed, I’ll treat both you girls to a midnight snack. How about it?”
“Sounds super,” Nancy agreed. She looked at the pile of ash that was all that was left of the picture Ashley Amberton had burned. “ ‘The Other Side of Evil,’ huh? Well, I think we can close this case, for
good
.”
“
Oui
,” Ned and George said together and then laughed.