The Case of the Photo Finish

  “No, this isn’t usual,” Nancy said, replying to Willy’s question. “As a matter of fact, I’m not sure what Eric and Steve are doing here at all. I don’t think anybody invited them.”

  She hadn’t meant for Eric to overhear her, but her words must have carried farther than she had intended them to. Eric grinned at her, and said “We’re just covering the games, Nancy.”

  Making her an exaggerated bow, he stepped to one side to get a better angle on Cheryl smiling at Carson Drew.

  “He goes too far,” Willy muttered. “Cheryl should never have said she would allow this project. He is only using her for his own purposes. The medals she wins and the times she turns in are the only publicity she needs.”

  “It must be nice to see a photo of yourself crossing the finish line, though,” Nancy commented. “And to know that lots of other people saw it, too.”

  Willy shrugged. “Nice, perhaps,” he said. “But the experience itself and the knowledge of what you have done—that should be enough.”

  Still, camera lights continued to flash for the remainder of the evening. When the dessert arrived, everyone began to clap. George’s mother had ordered a big oval cake decorated to look like an athletic field, complete with running track, a pole-vaulting setup, and even an array of tiny hurdles.

  Carson Drew stood up. “No long speeches,” he said. “I promise. But I can’t let the evening end without saying how happy all of us in River Heights are that you remarkable young people have come here to share your talents and dedication with us. Thank you.”

  When the applause died down, Willy glanced around the table at his fellow athletes, then stood up in turn. “It is for us to thank you,” he said, “for taking us into your homes, for giving us a chance to try ourselves against one another, for allowing us to see something of your wonderful country, and most important”—he paused and looked across the table at Cheryl—“to give us the chance to make wonderful new friends. We will not forget our visit here.”

  As everyone clapped and cheered, Eric and Steve were jockeying for the best camera angles. “Okay, buddy,” Steve said. “You’ve been on my case for two days now, and I’ve had enough!”

  Eric whirled and said, “Yeah? Too bad you can’t use a camera as well as you use your mouth!”

  Carson stood up again and said, “May I remind you gentlemen that this is a private party? It might be better if you were to leave now—and quietly.”

  Steve and Eric looked at each other, then glanced around the room at the disapproving faces of the others. After an awkward pause, they each muttered, “Sorry,” and headed for the door.

  Mrs. Fayne cut the cake and started passing slices around, but the fight between Eric and Steve had taken some of the fun out of the dinner. As soon as everyone had finished the cake, George said, “I think we ought to break up early. These guys have a meet tomorrow, after all.”

  Steve and Eric were waiting for them outside the restaurant door, and Nancy was glad to see her father give them a friendly smile. He had been right to ask them to leave, but there was no point in starting a feud. There was already enough fighting going on in this group!

  “Willy?” Nancy said when they reached the parking lot. “Can we give you a ride?”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking Cheryl’s hand.

  “Marta, Helga?” George called. The Faynes had parked next to Nancy’s father. “You can come in back with me.”

  “Ramsay and Annelise are coming with us,” Bess announced. “And Marie-Laure, of course.”

  Nancy realized with a guilty start that she had barely said more than a hello to the young French girl all evening. She was about to go over to her when Mr. Fayne exclaimed, “Oh, no, not again! The car won’t start.”

  He climbed out with a flashlight in his hand and raised the hood. Nancy went over and peered down at the engine. “Do you know what the problem is?” she asked.

  “Not really,” he grumbled. “It must be something electrical, but no one has been able to track it down. Usually it just seems to fix itself.”

  “Mr. Fayne?” said Willy. “Would you mind to let me look at it? I know something about automobiles.”

  “I’d be grateful,” Mr. Fayne said.

  Willy took the flashlight from Mr. Fayne and he began to pull and push at the tangle of wires.

  Nancy watched curiously. Willy certainly seemed to know his way around cars. Could he have been the one who had sabotaged her Mustang? Eric and Annelise had also gathered around. Nancy heard Annelise give Willy some suggestions about what might be wrong. She was about to join them when Bess came over with Marie-Laure. As Nancy chatted with them, she kept glancing at the group bent under the Faynes’ hood but didn’t have a chance to watch closely.

  “Try the engine now,” Willy suggested after a few minutes.

  Mr. Fayne got in and turned the key. The engine caught at once.

  Willy was just closing the hood of the car when suddenly Eric said in alarm, “My bag! Where’s my camera bag?”

  Nancy hurried over to him. “Where did you leave it?”

  “On the ground, next to my motorcycle.” He was looking frantically from side to side. “I put it down when you guys came out of the restaurant, and now it’s gone. All my equipment is in it—everything!”

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy said. “No one’s been in the parking lot except us. It’s bound to be around here somewhere.” Unless someone in the group took it on purpose, Nancy added to herself. She looked quickly toward Helga and Marta, who were standing quietly at the side of the Faynes’ car. “We’ll all help you look,” she told Eric.

  Nancy borrowed Mr. Fayne’s flashlight and bent down to look underneath the nearest cars. All she found were a couple of discarded soda cans. Straightening up again, she headed toward the dark shadows of the surrounding shrubbery.

  “Here,” Annelise’s voice called from beyond one of the nearby cars. “Is this it?”

  She appeared with a canvas-and-leather bag in her hands, and Eric ran over to her. “Hey, I really don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

  “It was nothing,” she replied, handing him the bag.

  “Where did you find it?” asked Nancy.

  Annelise pointed. “It was under one of those bushes, but the strap was still in sight. That is what led me to it.”

  “I don’t think it got there by accident,” Nancy said. “Eric, you’d better check—”

  “Oh, no!” he wailed, staring down into the open bag. “My film. It’s gone!”

  “Don’t worry,” Carson Drew said. “You can buy more first thing in the morning, before the games begin.”

  “You don’t understand,” Eric said, his voice shrill. “This was exposed film. I was planning to mail it to the processors tomorrow.”

  “You mean—” Nancy began.

  “I’m finished.” Eric pounded his fist against his forehead. “Wiped out! Every color shot I’ve taken in the last two days is gone!”

  15

  Race for the Gold

  “Are you sure, Eric?” Nancy asked. “Could you have left the film at home and then forgotten about it?”

  “I’m sure, all right,” he replied. “It was in there fifteen minutes ago when I changed lenses, and it’s not there now. And I know who to blame, too.”

  Pushing past Nancy and her father, he strode over to Steve, who was standing talking to Marta and George. He grabbed Steve by the shoulder and spun him around.

  “Where is it, you dirty thief?” Eric demanded. “What did you do with my film?”

  “Get your hands off me!” Steve scoffed, pushing Eric away. “I never touched your film!”

  “You knew you couldn’t win the contest fair and square, right?” Eric continued, his fists clenched. “So you cheated and stole instead. I ought to flatten your nose!”

  “Eric,” Nancy said calmly, taking his elbow. “Getting into a fight isn’t going to help you find the missing pictures.”

  Willy had stepped in between
the two photographers and was talking in a low voice to Steve, who said, “You think I’m going to let him call me names like that?”

  Willy kept talking, and finally Steve said, “Okay, okay!” He took a step forward and said, “Listen, Eric, I didn’t steal your film, and I’m sorry it’s gone.” He took his camera bag and opened it so Eric could see its contents. “Here. Take a look if you don’t believe me.”

  Nancy handed Eric the flashlight. He looked in the bag, but his film wasn’t there. “If I was wrong in saying you did it, I’m sorry,” he said grudgingly. “But I’m warning you, I still mean to win the Athletics Weekly contest. I have all my black-and-white shots in a safe place, and some of them would knock your socks off!”

  The tension had eased, and once again everyone began to get ready to leave.

  Nancy went over to Eric and took him aside. “What exactly was on those rolls?” she asked.

  “I told you, all the color shots I’ve taken since arriving in River Heights.”

  Nancy thought quickly. That meant the rolls he’d shot during the ceremony at City Hall were gone—including any pictures of someone pushing Cheryl off the stands. “Would the missing pictures include Cheryl winning the hundred-meter sprint today?” she asked. “Could you have gotten a picture of someone doing something they shouldn’t?”

  Eric shook his head. “No. I’m planning to shoot tomorrow’s final with high-speed color film, but today I used black-and-white.”

  “What about this morning, at the swimming pool? I remember you were using two cameras. Was one of them loaded with color?”

  “Sure,” he replied.

  “Did you take any pictures just before the lights went out? Is there any chance you got a shot of the person who turned them off? That would be solid proof of who’s been harassing Cheryl.”

  Eric thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “No way. I remember I was focusing on Cheryl, hoping to get her in middive. I had my back to the entrance at that point.”

  “Oh, well.” Nancy sighed. “It was an idea, anyway.”

  “Maybe this is just more harassment,” Eric said. “Maybe somebody simply doesn’t want Cheryl to have the kind of publicity she’d get if I win the contest.”

  “Nancy?” Carson Drew called from the car. “We have to go.”

  “Right, Dad,” she replied. “Okay, Eric, thanks. And don’t worry too much. I have a feeling that you’ll get your film back.”

  “I hope so,” he said in a gloomy voice. “There are a lot of shots I’d hate to lose. See you tomorrow.”

  A few minutes later, Nancy waved goodbye and then got into her father’s car. Carson Drew pulled up in front of the house where Willy was staying.

  “I’ll get out here, too,” Cheryl said, “and walk back later.”

  “Are you sure you know the way?” Mr. Drew asked.

  “I still have my map,” she replied. “Don’t worry, I won’t be very long. Remember, I’m in training.”

  “All right,” Nancy’s father said. “But be careful walking home. We’ll leave the front door open. Be sure to lock it after you come in.

  After she and her father returned home, Nancy sat down at the desk in her room and made up a chart. Down the left margin she wrote the names of all the people who had any connection with the case: Helga, Marta, Cheryl, Barbara, Steve, Eric, Ramsay, Willy, and Annelise.

  Across the top she listed all the important incidents, beginning with Cheryl’s near-fall from the stands during the welcoming ceremony at. City Hall and ending with the theft of Eric’s undeveloped film.

  Next Nancy began to fill in the boxes on the chart. For each incident, all of the people got a check if they could have been responsible for it, an X if they couldn’t have, or a question mark if she wasn’t sure. She had planned to circle the boxes where she didn’t know what to put, but to her surprise, there weren’t any. She knew more about everyone’s whereabouts and actions than she had realized.

  Once she completed the chart, she sat back and examined it closely. Whom could she eliminate? Ramsay, certainly; he hadn’t been anywhere nearby during some of the major incidents. What about Steve? He had several check marks. For that matter, Cheryl, Marta, Helga, Eric, Barbara, Willy, and Annelise all had some X’s, too.

  Nancy tossed her ballpoint down on the desk in disgust. The only thing the chart proved was that there were plenty of suspects! To make matters worse, if more than one person was involved—if, for instance, Cheryl was harassing Marta and Helga was harassing Cheryl—then no one person could be eliminated just because he or she couldn’t have committed all the tricks. She hoped the magazine George had would provide some concrete proof, but she wouldn’t know that until the next morning.

  A yawn that felt as if it would crack her jaw reminded Nancy that she had been up and active since daybreak. After taking another long look at the chart, she put it away and started getting ready for bed.

  • • •

  The following morning, the weather was perfect—sunny and clear, with just enough of a breeze to keep it from being too warm. For a moment, Nancy turned her face up toward the sun, eyes closed. Then a burst of applause from the stands called her back to reality. A hurdles race had just ended. Even before the results were announced, a dozen uniformed aides scurried onto the track to remove the hurdles and prepare the track for the next event.

  “Oh, there you are,” Barbara said, coming up to Nancy. “I was looking for you. I hear from Steve that I missed a pretty exciting evening last night.”

  “I guess you could say that,” Nancy replied. “How are you doing?”

  “My interviews are going pretty well but the reason I was looking for you . . .” She paused to clear her throat, looking embarrassed. “You know that story I passed along to you yesterday?”

  “About Helga and the Olympics, you mean?” Nancy leaned forward.

  “Uh-huh. I thought it was a terrific story, especially the way it tied in to what’s been going on here. So I’ve been going around talking to people, trying to dig up more material.” She fell silent.

  “And?” Nancy prodded.

  “And it looks like it’s just a lot of nasty gossip,” Barbara admitted. “The guy who told me about the accusations—the sportswriter? He seems to have a long-standing grudge against Helga. I couldn’t find out why.”

  “But what about the accusations themselves?” asked Nancy.

  “The word is that they were made by a runner whose father is a very important politician in her home country. Apparently, she’s not much of an athlete, but the others on her team, including the coach, were very eager to find excuses for her poor showing. The accusation against Helga was one of the things they came up with.”

  “I see,” Nancy said, disappointed. That meant the case was just as open-ended as ever. Excusing herself, Nancy set off across the field to look for George. She must have arrived by now with the magazine, but Nancy hadn’t seen her yet.

  She turned in surprise as a hand touched her arm. “Just the person I’m looking for,” Nancy said, smiling.

  “I just got here,” George explained. “I stayed home until after Helga and Marta left. I didn’t want to take the chance of them seeing me with their magazine.”

  “Do you have it with you?” Nancy asked.

  George patted her oversize shoulder bag. “Right here.” George reached into her bag, pulled out the magazine, and handed it to Nancy. On the cover was a dynamic color photo of four men charging down a track, knees high and arms pumping like mad. Across the top, in big red letters, were the words Der Läufer.

  Nancy thumbed through to page twenty-three. Just as George had said, the page had been torn out, so roughly and hastily that a large corner of the photo of Cheryl still clung to the center of the magazine.

  Nancy stared at it. “But—” she began. Then she thrust the magazine back into George’s hands, opened her own shoulder bag, and found the brown envelope that contained the previous day’s threatening notes. ?
??Look at this,” she told George.

  “It’s the same, all right,” George said, “I guess that proves it.”

  “If it proves anything, it proves that Helga and Marta are innocent,” Nancy proclaimed. “This photo was neatly cut from the magazine with a pair of scissors, not torn out. And this corner of the picture is still inside Marta’s copy.”

  George stared at Nancy. “Then who—”

  “Someone else who had a copy of the magazine,” Nancy cut in. “Someone like Eric, who got a copy because his photo was in it. Or any of the German-speaking runners could have brought a copy.”

  “And anyone else might have stolen it from them,” George pointed out, “if they wanted a picture of Cheryl and knew one was in it.”

  Nancy pounded her thigh with her fist. “Every time I think I’m starting to get somewhere with this case, the evidence turns out to point fourteen different ways instead of one! And the awful part is, I’m sure I’m forgetting or overlooking something crucial. It’s right here”—she tapped her temple—“but I just don’t know what it is.”

  “It’ll come to you, Nancy,” George remarked. “It always does.”

  “Hey, listen!” Nancy said excitedly. “The announcer is calling the finals of the girls’ hundred-meter sprint. That’s Cheryl’s and Marta’s big race. Come on!”

  Nancy hurried across the field toward the starting line, with George close behind her. The finalists were already starting to take off their warm-up suits. After the uniform white suits, it was almost a shock to see jerseys and shorts in a rainbow of colors.

  Nancy stopped so suddenly that George bumped into her. “Pink,” Nancy muttered to herself, looking at Cheryl’s pink running shorts. “Pink . . . and white. Of course! I’m an idiot!”

  George looked at her as if she were crazy, but Nancy paid no attention. Looking quickly toward the track, Nancy saw that the runners were moving toward the starting blocks. Even from twenty feet away, Nancy could sense the tension between Cheryl and Marta.

  “Come on!” Nancy cried, dragging George by the arm. “Let’s get down to the finish line before it’s too late!”