Mystery at Moorsea Manor

  the night before, but she decided not to bother

  Annabel with them now. Nancy had wondered why

  Georgina hadn't appeared at breakfast—and decided it

  was probably because she'd slept late after her

  nighttime wanderings.

  Annabel turned her hazel eyes on Nancy. “By the

  way, Nancy, I hope this case isn't getting to you. After

  all, this is supposed to be a vacation.”

  “Don't worry about me,” Nancy assured her. “I'd

  rather be doing something about the case than sit by

  and watch all this stuff happen.”

  “Well, I hope you'll take the afternoon off and join

  us for the boating party,” Annabel said.

  Nancy gave her a thumbs-up sign. “Count on me for

  that, Annabel.”

  Nancy walked back up the wooden stairs to the

  bottom of the lawn at Moorsea Manor. From the top of

  the stairs, Nancy was reminded of what a magnificent

  place it was. With its stately stone facade gleaming in

  the sunlight and ivy spilling over its ancient eaves, the

  house was breathtaking. Nancy clenched her fists in

  determination—she had to get to the bottom of this

  mystery and save Moorsea for the Petersons. She

  couldn't let Annabel lose her ancestral home.

  “Nancy, lass,” a man's voice shouted. Turning, she

  saw Malcolm and George strolling toward her from the

  small parking area next to the house. “What a beautiful

  day,” Malcolm exclaimed. “I was about to take my wee

  bairn out for a spin with George when I spotted you on

  the lawn. We were hoping that you would join us.”

  “Your wee bairn?” Nancy said as they joined her.

  “My baby. My brand-new convertible Jaguar. It's my

  prize possession. All it needs is a couple of pretty lasses

  riding inside.” He flashed the two girls his signature

  grin.

  “Come on, Nancy,” George urged. “You should see

  Malcolm's car. It's really something. It'd be a hoot to

  take a ride in it.”

  “We'll see some nice views of the sea,” Malcolm

  said. “With the wind in your face and the sun

  sparkling—what better way to pass the morning?”

  Well, I would like to ask Malcolm more questions,

  Nancy thought, studying the playful gleam in his eye.

  She felt a sudden wave of irritation toward him. Was

  his humorous personality for real? she wondered. Or

  was it a cover for something darker? “I'd love to come,”

  she said, and they headed off for his car.

  Ten minutes later Nancy was clutching the backseat

  of Malcolm's cherry-red Jaguar as he floored it around

  hairpin curves. Inches away from the car, enormous

  cliffs plunged down to the rocky shore thirty feet

  below. From the front passenger seat, George glanced

  nervously back at Nancy. Cupping her hand to her

  mouth, George muttered, “I wish he'd stop showing

  off. We're going to end up impaled on those rocks

  below.”

  Nancy nodded grimly. Why was Malcolm driving

  like such a hotrodder? she wondered. Was he trying to

  scare them off the case?

  Nancy's knuckles were white as she gripped the seat

  and leaned toward Malcolm. “Slow down!” she

  shouted, but the sound of her voice was drowned out

  by the wind.

  Soon, the houses of Lower Tidwell appeared,

  zooming into sight like a movie in fast motion. Malcolm

  would have to slow down now, Nancy realized.

  They proceeded down the main street with Malcolm

  hunched over the steering wheel, clucking about a slow

  car ahead. He slapped his thigh, then said, “That car is

  going at a snail's pace. Do they think I have all day?”

  On Nancy's left, the stark office building of the

  Singh brothers came into view. Nancy was surprised to

  see both men standing outside their front door on a

  Sunday. They were probably showing houses to a

  client, she reasoned, catching sight of a third person

  behind them. Suddenly one of the Singh brothers

  shifted his weight to the side, and Nancy gaped. The

  third person was Georgina Trevor!

  George and Nancy traded alarmed glances.

  Georgina must have driven into town when Nancy and

  the Petersons were down at the beach.

  “Malcolm!” Nancy said, tapping his shoulder. She

  had to get back to Moorsea Manor right away to search

  Georgina's

  room.

  “Can

  you

  turn

  around?

  Immediately?”

  “Turn around?” Malcolm asked. His face was filled

  with disappointment as he craned his neck toward

  Nancy. “You don't mean it! Why?”

  “I need to get back to Moorsea Manor.” Nancy

  fumbled for an excuse. “I . . . uh, I'm expecting a

  transatlantic call in five minutes. Do you think your

  wee bairn' is up to the job of getting us there in time?”

  “Of course she's up to it,” Malcolm replied in a

  sullen tone. “The question is whether she wants to be.”

  “Come on, Malcolm,” George urged. “Be a good lad

  and drive us home.”

  “Okay,” Malcolm said glumly. “If you insist.”

  Back at Moorsea Manor, Malcolm skidded into his

  parking space with a loud crunch of gravel. Then

  without a word to the girls, he jumped out of the

  Jaguar and slammed his door. By the time Nancy and

  George stepped out, Malcolm was already jogging

  briskly up the front steps of the house.

  “What's his problem?” George wondered with a

  puzzled frown.

  “I guess he's insulted because a phone call is more

  important to us than a car ride with him,” Nancy said.

  “Maybe he wanted us to ooh and aah over his car

  more.”

  “That's very grown-up of him,” George said dryly.

  “Do I detect a slight change of opinion over Mr.

  Malcolm Bruce?” Nancy asked with a sly grin. She

  punched George playfully on the arm as they hurried

  to the Petersons' office to fetch Georgina's room key.

  Nancy pulled George to a sudden stop just in front

  of Reception. Running footsteps clicked loudly on the

  stairway above them. Nancy and George whirled

  around. Whoever was running sounded frantic, Nancy

  thought.

  Malcolm appeared, ashen-faced, at the top of the

  stairs. “There's a snake—coiled in my bathroom sink!”

  he gasped. “A huge black snake!”

  14. Swept to Sea

  Annabel rushed out of Reception, joining Nancy and

  George at the base of the stairs.

  “What's all this commotion?” she asked, glancing

  from Nancy to George.

  “I'm afraid I'm the cause of it,” Malcolm said as he

  descended the stairs.

  Annabel paled. “Why? What happened, Malcolm?”

  In a shaky voice, Malcolm told Annabel about the

  snake. The moment he had finished, she bounded up

  the stairs, two at a time, with Nancy, George, and

  Malcolm on her heels.

  Up in Malcolm's bathroom, Annabel, Nancy, and

/>   George peered cautiously at the snake. It was about

  three feet long, curled up placidly in the sink as if it

  lived there. “Whew—it's just a garden snake,” Annabel

  proclaimed. “Completely harmless. I'm going to ask

  Hugh to remove it.” With a little shudder, she left the

  room.

  Nancy turned to Malcolm, feeling puzzled. He really

  did seem shaken by the snake, she thought. She

  doubted he was pretending. Then what was he doing

  with the sign in his closet if he wasn't responsible for

  the other pranks? “Malcolm,” she began, “I thought I'd

  let you know what I found the other day.” She opened

  his closet door and pointed inside.

  Malcolm's jaw dropped, and then a hurt look came

  into his eyes. “You were snooping in my closet?”

  “I'm a detective, Malcolm,” Nancy explained. “The

  Petersons wanted me to get to the bottom of all these

  weird things that were happening at the inn, so they let

  me search some guest rooms for clues. We thought the

  sign might be another trick. Remember when I said

  that George and I almost slid backward down that

  hill?”

  “I didn't mean for that to happen, really!” Malcolm

  said in an anguished voice. Then he clamped a hand

  over his mouth. “I can't talk about this anymore.”

  “Would you like to talk to the police, then?” Nancy

  asked.

  “No,” Malcolm said, his blue eyes widening. “Okay,

  I'll tell you then.” In a sheepish tone, he explained, “I

  was driving my Jag a bit too fast the day I arrived at

  Moorsea. I ran into the road signs, side by side at the

  fork in the road. I knocked them down—by mistake, of

  course—and then I must have stuck the A sign back

  where the B sign belonged. But I didn't realize my

  error, I promise!”

  “But why did you take the B sign and hide it in your

  closet?” George asked.

  Malcolm's face turned red, and he refused to meet

  George's eyes. In a stricken tone, he said, “I was in a

  hurry—I just wanted to get away. I was about to stick

  the B sign back when I heard a car approaching. I

  didn't want to get caught, you see—bad publicity, and

  all”—he flashed George an embarrassed glance—“so I

  threw the sign in the back of my Jag. I know I did

  wrong, and I meant to replace the sign, but with you

  two lovely girls around, I just forgot.” He sneaked a

  hopeful grin at George.

  “Yeah, right, blame it on us,” George muttered,

  rolling her eyes.

  Nancy studied Malcolm. He certainly was kind of

  silly, she thought, but his story sounded true. In any

  case, she doubted whether someone so impulsive and

  easily distracted could have planned the pranks and the

  dognapping. What could Malcolm's motive be,

  anyway? More and more, Georgina, the Singhs, or the

  three of them together seemed the likeliest suspects.

  And even though Nancy couldn't figure out a motive

  for Georgina, she was acting awfully suspicious.

  “All right, Malcolm. I believe you,” Nancy said. “But

  tell me, had you locked your bedroom door this

  morning?”

  “Yes,” Malcolm answered. “I can't understand how

  anyone got in.”

  Nancy drew George aside and said, “I've got to

  search Georgina's room.”

  “I'll keep Malcolm company till Hugh arrives,”

  George offered.

  Nancy found Annabel in the kitchen telling Hugh

  about the snake. As soon as she finished, he grabbed a

  large paper bag and a pair of thick work gloves and

  hurried out of the room. Nancy pulled Annabel into

  the pantry, away from the kitchen staff, who were busy

  preparing lunch.

  Nancy filled Annabel in about Georgina's recent

  activities—the sleepwalking, talking to the Singhs, and

  lying about staying in her room to nurse a headache.

  “It's possible that after the treasure hunt, Georgina lied

  about getting a clue that sent her to the roof,” Nancy

  declared. “I wonder if anyone actually saw Georgina

  slipping on the roof and hurting her ankle.”

  “I certainly didn't,” Annabel said. “And I doubt

  other guests saw her, because they were busy following

  their own clues.”

  “I'm wondering if she could be in league with the

  Singhs,” Nancy said. “See, the twins could have hired

  Georgina to do the pranks. After all, they wouldn't

  want to be seen trespassing at Moorsea because they'd

  instantly be suspected, but Georgina as a guest would

  have free run of the place.”

  Annabel looked thoughtful. “That makes sense,

  Nancy, except that Georgina seems so . . .”

  “Clueless?” Nancy finished. “It's kind of hard to tell

  whether she's putting on an act or whether she's really

  that spacey. Anyway, I'd really like to search her room.

  If I can find the matching earring, we'll be in luck.”

  Annabel led the way back to her office. As she

  pulled Georgina's extra key off the peg board behind

  her desk, Nancy noticed that the key to Room Seven

  was missing.

  “Hey—Georgina could have sneaked in here this

  morning and taken Malcolm's extra key,” she

  remarked, pointing at the empty peg. “Maybe she

  forgot to put it back after leaving the snake in his sink.”

  Annabel did a double take as she noticed the missing

  key. “You're right. Georgina, or . . . whoever, probably

  took that key.”

  With Georgina's room key in hand, Nancy hustled

  upstairs. The house was entirely still. All the guests

  were probably outside enjoying the beautiful weather

  before lunch, she reasoned.

  Quickly—aware that Georgina might return at any

  minute—Nancy slipped inside the room. She made a

  beeline for the bureau. A makeup kit sat on top of it,

  with a heart-shaped papier-mâché jewelry box nearby.

  Inside the jewelry box were a few pairs of earrings.

  A thrill went through Nancy. Nestled among them

  was a single gold stud, identical to the one she had

  found inside the cave!

  Nancy put the earring in her pocket and hurried

  downstairs to find Annabel. In Reception Annabel was

  sorting through some old photographs and organizing

  them into an album. She raised her eyebrows when

  Nancy showed her the matching earring. “So Georgina

  is our villain,” she said, shaking her head in

  amazement. “I guess now we should contact the police

  and show them this earring as proof.”

  “It's just one piece of evidence, Annabel,” Nancy

  countered. “It's not total proof. Before calling the

  police, I'd like to catch Georgina doing one of her

  pranks. If the police question her now, she'll be on her

  guard. Also, we still don't know whether she or the

  Singhs are the masterminds. I don't want the Singhs to

  be alerted so they can cover their tracks.”

  Annabel sighed. “All right, Nancy. As
usual, I trust

  your judgment.” She picked up a photo of a dapper-

  looking couple and their young daughter to place

  inside her album.

  “Who are they?” Nancy asked curiously.

  “This is me with my parents when I was six,”

  Annabel explained. Cupping her chin in her hand,

  Annabel gazed at the picture dreamily. “My parents

  look happy here, but I know it was a tough time for

  them. My sister, Gloria, had run away from home the

  year before. She never came back, and everyone

  assumed she was dead.”

  “She ran away?” Nancy asked, surprised. “That's so

  sad. But . . . how old was she then?”

  “Gloria was twelve years older than me, so she was

  seventeen when she left home. She was completely

  wild—the black sheep of the family. I remember her

  fighting constantly with Mum and Dad. Then suddenly

  she was gone.”

  “Why did she fight with them?” Nancy asked.

  “No one really knows,” Annabel replied. “My

  parents were good people—loving and not too strict.

  Gloria was just one of those types who could never be

  satisfied, no matter how much anyone tried to

  accommodate her. At least, that's what Mum said. Still,

  she blamed herself for Gloria's problems.”

  “Why?” Nancy asked.

  “Because when Gloria was three, Mum and Dad

  moved to India for two years for Dad's job. They left

  Gloria in England with Mum's sister. Even though

  Gloria resented my parents and fought with them, Dad

  absolutely doted on her. He used to call her his little

  morning glory.' ”

  “His little morning glory?' “ Nancy repeated. She

  held up the earring between her thumb and forefinger,

  studying the etching of the morning glory on the flat

  gold surface of the stud. “Do you have any pictures of

  Gloria?” Nancy asked, eagerly scanning the pile of

  pictures.

  “No,” Annabel answered. “My poor parents were so

  heartbroken after Gloria left that they threw out her

  pictures in a fit of grief. Whenever Mum looked at

  those pictures, they made her cry. My parents decided

  they'd best get on with their lives for my sake.”

  Nancy held out the earring for Annabel to see. “Do

  you remember whether Gloria owned a pair of earrings

  like these?” she asked.

  Taking the earring from Nancy, Annabel examined it

  with a puzzled frown. “No, I don't remember. Why?”

  “I could be wildly off base,” Nancy said, “but I'm