Carolyn Keene
Trial By Fire
Chapter One
“I HOPE GEORGE has a good time,” Nancy Drew said as she, her boyfriend Ned Nickerson, and Bess Marvin drove onto the expressway away from the airport.
“She won’t,” Bess said. She giggled, and her long blond hair bounced around her shoulders. “George hates ruffles—and that bridesmaid’s dress is covered with them.”
“Then why did she promise to be in the wedding?” Ned asked.
“George made that promise years ago,” Nancy explained. “She was hoping Marian had forgotten it.”
“So now she’s on her way to Dallas,” Bess said, an impish grin on her round face, “carrying a shrimp-pink gown with lace and ruffles and bows. Speaking of shrimp, I’m hungry. How about stopping somewhere for lunch?”
“Are you kidding? We just had breakfast,” Nancy said.
“That was three hours ago!” Bess pulled against her seat belt so she could lean over to the middle of the back seat to see Nancy in the rearview mirror. “Pizza, maybe? With sausage and mushrooms and pepperoni and anchovies?”
“Arrgh!” Ned groaned and clutched his mid-section.
“Forget the anchovies and it’s a deal,” Nancy said, passing a slow-moving pickup truck. “All right with you, Nickerson?”
He reached over and flipped a strand of reddish blond hair off her forehead. “Sounds great. Let’s stop at the Pizza Palace. I can ask if they could use a hardworking college kid for two weeks.” Ned was on a break from Emerson College.
“That’s not fair,” Nancy protested. “I promised I wouldn’t take any cases while you were on break so we could spend some time together. You can work, but I can’t?”
Her reputation as a successful young detective kept Nancy busy most of the time. All too often her job had meant she couldn’t see Ned as much as either of them wanted.
“I won’t be working twenty-four hours a day,” Ned said. “And the important thing is, when we are together, we won’t be out on some case chasing anybody around.”
“And nobody will be chasing you,” Bess said, referring to Nancy’s most recent case, This Side of Evil.
Nancy shuddered. “I sure hope not.” Taking the next exit, she headed for the Pizza Palace.
“By the way,” Bess said, poking Ned in the shoulder, “George really meant it when she said you could use her car while she’s gone.”
“I’m still thinking about it,” Ned said. “But if someone ripped it off while I had it—”
Ned’s car had disappeared two days before. It had been stolen in broad daylight from the parking lot of a River Heights mall.
“Why would anyone want it?” Ned asked now. “It was five years old. It needed washing, and there was a rip in the cushion of the back seat.”
“And a nail-polish stain on the dashboard,” Nancy said, reminding him. “My fault for trying to fix a nail in a moving vehicle.” She quickly glanced at his handsome profile. He wore a gloomy expression. “Don’t worry, Ned. You’ll get it back.”
“Let’s talk about something else,” Ned said and sagged in his seat.
“Like pizza,” Bess suggested. “With pepperoni and—”
Ned laughed. “Bess you’re hopeless!”
By the time they reached their destination, it was just past noon. The tiny parking lot behind the restaurant was full, but Nancy managed to find a spot at a meter across the street.
They lost Bess as soon as they got out of the Mustang. “Go on. I’ll be right there,” Bess said. Her nose was already glued to the plate glass of a shoe store. “They have sandals in already!”
Nancy and Ned headed for the corner, holding hands. Seeing their reflection in the window of a store, Nancy smiled to herself. Ned, six-foot-two and co-captain of Emerson’s basketball team, had the kind of good looks that would turn the head of any girl. Nancy felt a surge of happiness thinking that their relationship had survived despite the demands her job placed on her.
They crossed with the light and started toward the Pizza Palace, which was nestled between an electronics/appliance store and a barber shop. As they were in front of the appliance store Bess caught up with them. “I saw two pairs I want,” she gasped. “A bright turquoise pair and a white pair. They’re great!”
Suddenly Ned stopped, looking into the window full of large-screen televisions. “Nancy, isn’t that your dad?” he asked.
“Where?”
“There. Look.”
Nancy looked into the store and saw tall, distinguished Carson Drew on all the various TV screens. He appeared to be leaving his office building, his arm in the grip of a uniformed police officer.
“I wish we could hear,” Bess said as they watched a reporter shove a microphone under Carson Drew’s nose on the nearest set.
“Let’s go inside so we can hear.” Nancy spun around and darted into the store.
A balding salesman hurried to her, but before he could speak, she held up a hand. “Please, we aren’t buying. We just want to . . .”
Her voice trailed off as she saw the police officer put her father into the rear of a squad car. A tall, brown-skinned young woman got into the front seat. As the camera swiveled back to the reporter, Nancy crossed to the nearest set and turned up the sound.
“Hey!” the salesman protested.
“To recap,” the reporter was saying, “Carson Drew, internationally known criminal lawyer, has been accused of attempted bribery.”
Nancy’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Drew,” the reporter went on, “is representing Ann Granger, an investigative reporter for the River Heights Morning Record. He is alleged to have offered a judge ten thousand dollars to quash the court order that would force Granger to reveal the source of a recent story in the Morning Record. Granger’s expose uncovered an insurance scam run by members of organized crime. That’s all for now, Larry. This is Jim Pratt at Judiciary Square.”
“I’ve got to go to him!” Nancy said, hurrying from the store with Ned and Bess at her heels. “It’s all a terrible mistake. My dad would never—”
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Ned agreed. “Hey! Watch it, Nancy!”
But Nancy was halfway across the street, darting between oncoming cars. Bess ran after her and tumbled into the back seat. By the time Ned had closed his door, Nancy was pulling away from the curb. One second later, and he’d have been left behind.
The police station was already jammed with reporters, cameramen, and newspaper photographers. Electronic flashes flared, and the quartz lights set up by the television crews exposed the faded paint on the grimy walls.
Nancy didn’t see her father anywhere. At the moment all the microphones were pointed at the woman who had gotten into the police cruiser with Nancy’s father.
“Who is she?” Bess asked. She was out of breath from the sprint from the parking lot.
“Dad’s client.”
“What will you do now that your lawyer’s in jail, Ms. Granger?” a reporter shouted.
Nancy was too far away to hear Ann Granger’s answer. She was edging around the crowd to get to the desk sergeant to ask if she could see her father.
“Well, I don’t know,” the officer said after Nancy got to him. He eyed her uncertainly. “He’s being processed, and we don’t usually— You’re his daughter, you say?”
“That’s right. Nancy Drew. Please, I—”
The sergeant’s face cleared. “Say, you’re the kid who’s the detective, aren’t you? I’ve heard of you. Let me see what I can do.” He disappeared through a set of double doors.
“You okay?” Ned asked softly, tilting Nancy’s chin up to peer into her face.
Nancy nodded. “I’m fine. I just hope they’ll let me talk to my dad.”
 
; “Sure they will,” Bess said.
The interview with Ann Granger was breaking up. Waving further questions aside, Ms. Granger threaded her way toward the now-vacant desk.
“Ms. Drew?” The sergeant, peering through the double doors, beckoned to Nancy. “In here.”
Nancy grabbed Ned and Bess’s hands and hurried toward the waiting policeman.
“Excuse me, are you Carson’s daughter?”
Nancy glanced back over her shoulder. Her father’s client was walking toward them. A worried frown was creasing her smooth oval face.
“I’m Ann Granger. I’m so sorry about all this. The charge against your father is ridiculous! If you see him, will you tell him I said so? I feel as if it’s all my fault.”
The TV cameras had swiveled around to capture their exchange. Reporters were heading toward them.
“Ms. Drew, what’s your reaction to the charge against your father?” someone called.
“It’s not true, and that’s all I have to say.” Nancy turned back to Ann Granger.
Looking up into wide, dark eyes, Nancy liked what she saw. The reporter was clearly upset, and her defense of Carson Drew seemed to have come from the heart.
“Come with us,” Nancy said firmly. Turning, she marched toward the double doors as if she had every right to bring the others with her.
Carson Drew was cleaning fingerprinting ink from his fingers when he glanced up and saw the four bearing down on him. In his perfectly tailored suit and dark tie, he looked calm and composed, but Nancy could see the strain in his eyes.
“Nancy!” Carson said, enfolding her in his arms. “I was hoping you wouldn’t hear about this until I’d made bail. Hello, Ned—Bess. Ann, it looks as if you’ve got a lemon of a lawyer. Feel free to cut your losses and find another, if you like. I’ll understand.”
“How can you think such a thing?” Ann Granger protested. “You’re my lawyer, no matter what.”
Nancy’s father smiled slightly. “I appreciate your loyalty, but I’m not sure I can still work to your best advantage. Getting myself out of this will eat up a lot of my time.”
“Dad, are you forgetting me?” Nancy asked. “You can keep working for her. I’ll work for you.”
Drew shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t, honey. I’ve been set up, and I’m sure organized crime has a hand in it.”
“Mr. Drew?” A young man in uniform stood at Carson’s elbow. “I’m sorry, but your visitors will have to leave now.”
Nancy gave her father a quick hug, smiling to hide how worried she was. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
“He might be a while,” the policeman said gently. “This way, sir.”
He led Carson Drew through a heavy door. It shut with a resounding thud, and that was the last glimpse Nancy had of her father.
Back out in the foyer, Ann Granger began to pace. “This makes no sense at all. Why has it all happened now? The court order, the death threats—the timing is all wrong.”
Nancy turned pale. “Death threats! Are you serious?”
“Only a couple of them.” Ann spoke as if she were used to death threats. “But why now? I’ve already written the articles exposing the insurance fraud, and I’ve cooperated with the grand jury—except for naming my source, of course. The grand jury will be handing down indictments any day now.”
“In other words, everything’s all over,” Ned said.
“Right. So what’s the point? Why threaten me and frame Carson, especially with something as ridiculous as trying to bribe a judge?”
“They goofed,” Nancy agreed. “Who’s going to believe my father would do such a thing?”
“Nancy,” Ned said, his voice gentle. “People will wonder. Don’t forget, your dad’s not accused of bribing just anybody. His accuser is a judge.”
“Which judge?” Nancy asked Ann.
“Renk. Judge Jonathan Renk.”
Nancy stared at her. “You must be mistaken! Uncle Jon would never do this to my dad.”
Ann’s eyes widened with astonishment. “Judge Renk is your uncle?”
“An honorary uncle. He’s a very close friend of my father’s. I’ve known him all my life.”
Ann groaned and slumped down onto a bench. “That makes it even worse. The accusation is coming from a respected judge who’s also a family friend? Even if Carson is cleared, his reputation will be permanently stained.”
“And if he isn’t cleared,” Nancy said, “it means a jail sentence. My father will have to go to prison!”
Chapter Two
NANCY, ANN GRANGER, and Bess sat in the police precinct’s cafeteria. It was a dingy basement room filled with vending machines, but since it was nearly three, they were all too hungry for the decor to matter. Ned had already eaten and gone back upstairs to see how much longer they’d have to wait.
“I just don’t understand it,” Nancy said again. “How could my uncle Jon do this?”
Ann sipped her coffee. “Judge Renk’s reputation is as impeccable as your father’s. Maybe more so, since he’s been around longer. He must really believe the bribe came from Carson.”
“He has a good reason.” Ned appeared behind them. Turning a chair to face them, he straddled it. “It’s worse than we thought, Nancy. The police have a tape of a call your dad is supposed to have made to the judge, offering him the money.”
“What?” Nancy stood up, almost knocking her chair over. “Then the tape’s a fake!”
“It must be a good one,” Bess said, “if it fooled the judge.”
“Right. That’s really scary,” Nancy said. “But how could my uncle believe— Ned, do you have a quarter? I’m out of change.”
He dug into a pocket. “Who are you going to call?”
“My uncle Jon. I won’t be satisfied until he tells me he really believes my dad is capable of something like this.”
Nancy walked upstairs to the first-floor hall where she had seen a bank of telephones. As she deposited the quarter, Ann, Bess, and Ned hurried toward her.
Her ring was answered immediately, and she recognized the lilting brogue of the housekeeper. “Hello, Mrs. O’Hara,” she said. “This is Nancy. Nancy Drew.”
There was a sharp indrawn breath. “Ah, Nancy, it’s a dark day, isn’t it? How are you?”
“Fine, Mrs. O’Hara. Is my uncle Jon there?” The only response was a long silence. “Mrs. O’Hara, please,” Nancy begged. “You know how important this is.”
“Aye, that I do, Nancy. But his honor hasn’t been well, poor man, and this business with Mr. Carson has almost put him in his bed.”
“I’m sorry, but he can’t feel any worse than we do. May I speak to him?”
“He’s not home. And he’s not at the courthouse, either,” Mrs. O’Hara added hurriedly.
“What time do you think he’ll be back?” Nancy asked.
“I don’t know, and that’s the truth. Whenever it is, he won’t be taking calls. He’s that sick at heart.”
Nancy was determined not to give up. “When he gets back, would you ask if he’d see me? Please?”
A gusty sigh told her she had gotten past the first hurdle. “I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to ask. I’ll call you and let you know.”
“I’d appreciate it very much, Mrs. O’Hara. Thank you.”
Nancy hung up, wondering if she could really count on Mrs. O’Hara’s help.
She glanced at the clock behind the sergeant’s desk. The afternoon seemed to be crawling by, and sitting around doing nothing made it feel that much longer. She wanted to get to work on her father’s case immediately.
Nancy turned to the reporter. “Ann, I need to know everything that’s happened so far. How about filling me in?”
“Sure.” Ann sat down on a bench and crossed her long legs. “I got an anonymous tip to check out the Mid-City Insurance Company. I found out that there was no such company. The address was a room about the size of a coffin, with a girl who answered the phone. Connie something.”
 
; “I don’t know anything about insurance companies,” Nancy admitted. “But what’s wrong with using an answering service?”
“Not only did Mid-City not have an office anywhere,” Ann said, “they had no insurance agents.”
“I don’t get it,” Nancy said.
“Someone who said he represented Mid-City Insurance hired Connie’s answering service to take their calls. Once a day the man phoned for messages. If Connie received any mail, she was to send it on to a post office box. She said they got one large envelope once a week. That was it.”
“Didn’t she think that was odd?”
Ann snorted. “What did she care? It was a cushy job, and she was being paid well.”
Bess looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should start an answering service.”
“Why not?” Ann said. “Anybody can. Anyway, by tracing who paid Connie, and then tracing the post office box, I finally stumbled onto the parent corporation. That was where several names popped up. Names I’d seen before—all tied to organized crime and all on the board of directors of Mid-City.”
Bess sat down. “It does sound suspicious, but I have to admit I can’t see what they were doing wrong,” she said.
“I couldn’t, either, at first. But I managed to sneak a look at the message log Connie kept on Mid-City. All the calls to Mid-City were from three local businesses.”
“So?” Bess asked.
“There were only calls from these three.”
“Oh,” Nancy said. “You figured at that point that they were paying their premiums to a company that didn’t exist. And that’s when you wrote the articles.”
“Right. And they launched the grand jury investigation.”
“And you testified?”
“I gave them everything I had and was thanked for my cooperation. They dismissed me. Didn’t even press for the name of my source—not then, anyhow.”
“Why’d they change their minds about wanting to know your source?” Ned asked.
Ann looked bewildered. “I’m not sure. I had put the Mid-City thing behind me and was following up a lead on something else. Then someone left a message at the Record for me to go talk to a woman out at Crimson Oaks—that retirement village on Wilson Avenue. It was about Mid-City.”