Glancing around the barren apartment, Nancy could believe he needed to look elsewhere for his interests.
“Some people watch television,” he said, “but I prefer real life. Then I can use my imagination to make up the bits that go between the little pieces I see.” He was small and very thin with pale, wispy hair.
“What pieces did you see of Kathy Novello’s life?” Nancy asked.
“Nothing much, really. She was very quiet. I had to do a lot of imagining where she was concerned, but I never thought up anything like what ended up happening to her.”
Nancy could hear in his voice the disappointment Detective Hicks had mentioned. She was disappointed too. Norman would have made an excellent witness, but he said he hadn’t witnessed anything.
“I did see something yesterday,” he added. “I might call the police about it and I might not. They wouldn’t even take the time to come inside and talk while they were here, and they wouldn’t tell me a thing about what was going on. So why should I tell them what I saw?”
“If you’d like to, you could tell us what you saw,” Nancy suggested, trying not to sound too eager. “We came in and talked.”
“Yes, you did,” he said, looking her over thoughtfully for a moment. “I suppose I could tell you.
“Well”—he leaned forward in his seat—“there was this young man in the hallway, and I’m almost certain I heard him upstairs trying the Novello girl’s door, but the police had put on a special lock so he couldn’t get in.”
“Did you actually see him?” asked Nancy.
“Yes, I did,” Fredericks answered, his tiny eyes glittering at the prospect of having an interested audience at last. “He was about medium height. And he had black hair. I only saw him from the back.” He looked disappointed. “But from the way he stomped out he seemed pretty upset.”
Nancy’s heart sank. “I see,” she said. Standing up, she held out her hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fredericks. You’ve been a big help.”
Later, as they were walking away from the building, George said what they’d both been thinking.
“You know who that description sounds like, don’t you?”
“Yes, unfortunately, I do.”
“Michael Mulraney.”
Nancy nodded agreement, though she wished she didn’t have to.
“Maybe we should call him Kevin Dougherty,” George remarked.
“Whatever we call him, we’d better do it while we’re asking him some tough questions about where he was the night Kathy Novello died. And there’s no time like the present for doing that.”
Nancy hurried toward her car with George in her wake. She didn’t bother calling Michael’s answering service this time. She figured he’d be at the job site.
But when she pulled up to the curb, the steel link gates were closed and locked and a small crowd had gathered outside.
“What’s going on?” George asked.
Nancy parked as fast as she could, half in and half out of the space, and both girls rushed to the gate. They could see that the outside lights were off around the building once again.
“There’s been an accident in there,” a woman carrying a grocery bag volunteered. “They say a big scaffolding collapsed and somebody got killed!”
Chapter
Eight
THE WAIL of an ambulance siren told Nancy this was no narrow escape like the incident with the circuit breaker. The gate swung open to let the ambulance pass. Nancy grabbed George’s hand and they slipped inside.
They found Pete Donaldson, and Nancy repeated George’s question. “Michael was up on the scaffolding correcting a mistake in some window trim when the support rope broke,” the foreman explained. “He doesn’t usually wear a safety belt. Thank heaven, he had one on tonight. That belt saved his life.”
Nancy had kept her distance from the spot where the ambulance team was huddled around the dark-haired form on the ground. Now she pressed forward to make certain that Pete was right and Michael was safe.
“He was lucky in another way too,” said Pete. “That block and tackle over there came down just inches from his head. If that had hit him he’d be dead now for sure.”
While Michael was being lifted into the ambulance, Nancy went to take a closer look at that scaffolding cable. Unfortunately, there was no way of telling if it had been tampered with. If someone had cut this cable partway through, then they’d done so strand by strand to make it look like a fray.
“Excuse me,” Nancy said to one of the paramedics. “Is he going to be all right?”
The paramedic looked at her. “Friend of yours?” she asked. “Sure, he’ll be just fine. We’ll take him in for observation, but I’ll bet you he’ll be on his feet again tomorrow. Don’t worry.” She gave Nancy and George a reassuring smile, then climbed into the back of the ambulance.
Nancy frowned. So far Michael had had two near misses. True, he’d survived both, but either could easily have been fatal. He couldn’t possibly have arranged them, could he?
No, it seemed highly unlikely. And even if it was possible, Nancy couldn’t believe it. Her instincts kept insisting that Michael was the victim, not the villain here.
So then who was the villain? Who had caused Kathy Novello’s death—and who was trying to kill Michael now?
Just then something that had been nagging at the edge of Nancy’s consciousness leapt into focus. She grasped George’s arm and pulled her friend around to face her.
“Remember the description Norman Fredericks gave of the man he saw at his apartment building?” she said urgently.
“Sure I do.”
“Well, could it fit somebody else besides Michael? What about someone Kathy knew from the office?”
George paused a moment to think. Then her eyes widened. “She had a crush on Franklin Turner,” she said, staring at Nancy. “And he fits that description too.”
Nancy nodded. “I thought there was something familiar about him when I saw him this afternoon,” she said. “I just figured out what it was. I saw the profile of the guy who was being threatened in the copy room. It looked a lot like Turner’s.”
“But he’s such a—such a wimp!” George protested. “Could he kill someone?”
“I don’t know,” Nancy said grimly. “But I’m going to find out.”
• • •
Nancy, Bess, and George spent the next morning at the hospital. Michael was being discharged, and Nancy had volunteered to drive him home.
“Do you really think this guy Franklin Turner could be involved in Kathy’s death and what’s happening to Michael too?” asked Bess as they waited.
“Why not? He had access to the copy machine. It could have been him I overheard that night threatening to take care of Kathy. And it was Michael’s document he was after.”
“But Turner’s rich! Why would he need to blackmail someone like Michael?” George asked, looking doubtful.
“We don’t know for sure that this is a case of blackmail,” said Nancy. “We’re not sure yet what’s going on. There hasn’t been any demand for money. In fact, whoever is doing these things to Michael seems to want him out of the way permanently, and that’s no way to get somebody’s money.”
“That’s true,” said George with a grim smile. “But then, the question is, why would Franklin Turner want Michael Mulraney out of the way?”
“I don’t have an answer to that yet.” Nancy was well aware that her theory had gaping holes in it, and she was a long way from filling them.
“I’m not saying I don’t think Turner could do such a thing. He strikes me as one of those rich kids who thinks he can get away with anything,” George commented. “Still, he’d have to have a reason.”
“I agree. I think it’s time for a closer look at Franklin Turner. Will he be at that fund-raiser tonight?”
George shrugged. “I guess so.”
“I think Councilman Terry just found another supporter,” said Nancy with a smile.
“Hey! I want to go too,”
Bess chimed in. “Is it a formal?”
“If you’re talking about a party, how about inviting me along?”
The girls looked up to see Michael Mulraney limping toward them, grinning rather crookedly. His right arm was in a soft sling, and he appeared to be listing in that direction.
“You don’t exactly look like you’re up to celebrating,” said George skeptically.
“Could you deny a condemned man his final wish?”
There was that crooked grin again. Nancy tried to smile along with him but couldn’t. The events of the past few days hadn’t put her in the right frame of mind to appreciate that kind of humor.
• • •
They all dressed in their best for the Pinnacle Club. George had on a navy blue dress with a short white jacket that emphasized her slim figure.
Nancy’s two-piece outfit was just the right color blue to set off the shine of her red-blond hair and put a blush in her cheeks.
“What a place!” Bess said as they entered the elegant foyer. She paused and stared at the gleaming chandeliers and marble columns. “I bet there’ll be a lot of great-looking guys here too!”
“I thought you were only interested in Jeff Matthews,” Nancy said, teasing her a bit.
Bess smoothed the skirt of her yellow silk dress. “Well, he’s wonderful, of course,” she replied. “But he’s not the only guy in the world. Anyway, I can look, can’t I?” she added with a mischievous grin.
George laughed. “Poor Bess. Being in love is almost as hard as being on a diet, huh?”
Nancy looked around curiously. She was only interested in one guy tonight, and Franklin Turner was hardly great looking. But she didn’t care as much about looking at him as listening to him. She was certain she’d recognize his voice if it was the one she’d overheard in the copy room.
There was a sudden clatter behind her, and she turned to see a half-dozen nails bouncing across the parquet floor.
“Sorry,” said Michael, retrieving the hardware and stuffing it into his suit pocket. “I stopped off at the site on my way here, and I guess I brought some of the job along with me.”
They moved into the main gallery where the reception had already started.
“I hadn’t expected anything quite this fancy for a local politician,” Nancy remarked.
“I don’t think he’ll be local for long,” said George. “I hear he’s planning to run for Congress soon—maybe even the Senate.”
“Does he have the kind of support it takes to do that?” Nancy asked.
“That’s what he’s after here tonight.”
“These are mostly businesspeople, aren’t they?” asked Nancy. She’d recognized several associates of her father’s.
“That’s right,” said George and began pointing out the big names. “We’re expecting some potential backers from as far away as Chicago.”
“So I heard at the office yesterday.”
“I wish businessmen were younger,” lamented Bess, still scanning the crowd.
Nancy laughed. “It takes a few years to get this successful.”
“There’s one closer to our age, but he’s not exactly my type.”
Nancy looked across the room where Bess was pointing. It was Franklin Turner!
He wore a tuxedo, and he had a very sophisticated-looking young blond woman on his arm.
“There’s Turner,” said George, who’d made the same discovery.
“Who’s that with him?” asked Nancy, adjusting the jacket of her blue outfit and wondering how she’d look in a sleek black number like the one Turner’s date was wearing.
“One of his friends from Chicago, probably. He doesn’t have much to do with anybody from River Heights. Not unless they’re very important, that is,” said George. “See those two men he’s walking up to? They’re big-time lawyers, Jethro Serkin and Maxwell Edwards. Turner’s probably trying to convince them he’s running the councilman’s operation, single-handedly.”
Nancy had heard Carson Drew mention both of those names. She wished he were here, so he could refresh her memory.
“We got word today that Jethro Serkin wants to cosponsor the voter-registration drive,” said George proudly.
“Congratulations,” said Nancy. She was only half paying attention, because she’d been watching Franklin Turner.
Two other men had joined his circle, and Nancy was about to ask George who they were when Councilman Terry and his wife came up to introduce themselves to Nancy and Bess.
They had a good talk until the councilman stopped in midsentence as a distinguished-looking man entered the room. Terry excused himself without finishing whatever he’d been saying and hurried away with his wife in tow.
“Bradford Williams just came in,” said George, nodding toward the new arrival. “He was one of the people we were hoping would come tonight.” There was a flash of gold as Williams smiled down at Mrs. Terry.
“He’s nice-looking,” Bess commented through a mouthful of pâté. She’d sent Michael after a waiter with a tray. “How old is he?”
“Old enough,” George answered dryly.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, the group Nancy was interested in had dissolved. Maxwell Edwards was talking to someone she’d never seen before, and she couldn’t find Franklin Turner.
“I’ll see you later, guys. There’s something I have to do,” said Nancy, and she launched herself into the crowd.
She moved purposefully through the two rooms, looking for the distinctive silver-blond hair of Turner’s companion. She’d be easier to pick out in a crowd than he was, but neither of them was anywhere. Nancy even checked the ladies’ room. She should have guessed from what George had said about him that Turner might not stay too long at a party with what he would consider local yokels.
“There you are,” said George, hurrying up to Nancy as she emerged from the ladies’ room. “Gee, it’s great to be friends with the daughter of the famous Carson Drew. I have a feeling that’s why we got this.” She held up an elaborately hand-lettered card of heavy, cream-colored vellum.
“What is it?” Nancy asked.
“An invitation to a private supper given by Terry and his wife for their special friends and associates. They’re picking us up outside and we’re being driven there in a limousine.”
“All of us?” asked Bess, who had just walked up with Michael. “Right now?”
“That’s what it says,” George answered.
Nancy really wasn’t in the mood for another party. Then a thought occurred to her.
“Will Franklin Turner be there?” she asked.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
That made up Nancy’s mind and the mention of the limo had sold Bess on the idea. Michael agreed to tag along.
Bess was in seventh heaven as the long, sleek car eased away from the portico of the Pinnacle Club.
“I absolutely love limos,” she exclaimed, as she explored the backseat cabinet. It was equipped with a television, CD player, and fully stocked bar.
Bess had served them each a soda with crushed ice in a crystal glass and was starting on the assortment of munchies when the car pulled over to the side of the road. The outside view was mostly obscured by the black glass and surrounding darkness, but Nancy could tell they’d left town and were on a country road.
The partition between the front and back seats was made of heavy, opaque Plexiglas. It was closed as it had been from the start. It occurred to Nancy that the Pinnacle Club doorman had helped them into the car, and they’d never actually seen their driver.
She had her hand on the intercom button when an all-too-familiar deep voice came through the speaker.
“End of the line” was all it said.
Nancy heard the front door on the driver’s side open and slam shut. She pressed herself up against the window, but could make out only an indistinct form hurrying toward another car up ahead. The figure climbed in and drove away.
“What’s going on?” asked George.
br /> Nancy didn’t answer. With rising dread she reached for the door handle and pulled it. The door didn’t budge.
“Nancy, what’s happening? Why are we stopped?” Bess asked, alarmed at the look on her friend’s face.
Michael sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?” he cried.
Nancy swallowed hard. “Guys, I think we’re in trouble,” she said. “That’s the car’s exhaust—and it’s loaded with carbon monoxide!”
Chapter
Nine
EXHAUST FUMES WERE HISSING steadily into the car. Bess opened her mouth to scream, but the sound was choked off as she started to cough.
Nancy knew they had to remain calm and act fast. Carbon monoxide didn’t take long to knock a person out.
“Give me your sling,” she said to Michael.
He winced as he yanked off the piece of black cloth and handed it over. Nancy grabbed the seltzer spigot from the wet bar. Her eyes had begun to water. She had to concentrate just to see clearly.
“Let us out of here!” shouted Bess between choking sounds. She started pounding on the door.
“Don’t panic!” said Nancy in a voice so stern and loud it made Bess snap around to look at her. “And don’t waste your energy beating on a locked door.”
She barely got that out before her first fit of choking overtook her. Time was dwindling now. Once the coughing turned to spasms she’d have a hard time doing anything.
She saturated the sling with seltzer water and handed it to George. “Tear this into four pieces and give each of us one,” Nancy instructed. “We’ll put them over our faces and breathe through them.”
“Let me,” said Michael tensely.
“You can’t tear cloth with one hand. Anyway, I need you for something else.” It was getting harder for Nancy to speak now. “Do you have any tools with you?”
She remembered the nails falling from Michael’s pockets in the foyer of the Pinnacle Club and prayed they weren’t all he’d stashed away. Michael rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a four-inch level. The bead of yellow liquid at its center bounced crazily in Nancy’s blearing vision as she shook her head vigorously.