Hidden Meanings

  A clue at last! Nancy thought triumphantly. Clutching the matchbook, she hurried over to give her evidence to the fire chief.

  • • •

  As soon as Bess was off duty, Nancy and George met her by the pool. “Let’s review our list of suspects,” Nancy suggested. “The fire broke out at twelve-thirty, so it was probably set about twelve twenty-five. Where was Jane Sellery?”

  “She was one of the first people in the banquet room at lunch today,” Bess reported. “No way would she have been able to set that fire.”

  “Nick Kessler was in the hotel, and so was Mr. Baggy Pants,” Nancy put in. “I didn’t see them anywhere near that landing, it’s true. But they might have had time to get there before me, if they took some other route from the seventh floor. Now that I think of it, the guy with the beard took the elevator to a higher floor when I saw him. He could have done that to throw me—and then he could have gone down again.”

  George drew a cautious breath. “And then there’s Paul,” she volunteered. “He was near the hotel this morning, at least. How about if I call him and see whether he has an alibi between the time we saw him and twelve-thirty?”

  Nancy nodded. “If we can clear him, all the better,” she said. “I still think Nick Kessler and Mr. Baggy Pants are our strongest suspects. But it’s pretty hard to tail them. We have no idea where they’re staying.”

  “I’m not working again until six,” Bess said. “I’ll plant myself in the lobby and wait till one of them comes by. And by the way, Ralph told me this is his day off, so I’m safe from him today.”

  “That’s great,” Nancy said with a grin. “Whichever of those two guys you see, follow him, whether he’s going in or out. I’ll go talk to Gina. Maybe we can learn some more about Kessler.”

  Hurrying up to the seventh floor, Nancy hoped to catch Gina between shopping and her afternoon classes. Ned was outside the room on his folding chair. As Nancy knocked on the door, he tugged on her skirt and murmured, “Three o’clock—can’t wait.”

  Nancy flipped him a quick smile as Sally opened the door. “Can I talk to Gina for a minute?” Nancy asked.

  Gina, sitting on the bed beside a heap of shopping bags, waved to Nancy. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “These incidents are getting too serious. You have to find out who’s behind it all.”

  “Tell me who you think it is,” Nancy said, settling into an armchair.

  “My dad’s political enemies have often threatened to hurt me or my sister at home in Italy,” Gina said. “That’s why Daddy insists we each have a bodyguard. My mom’s American, and she thinks we’re safe if we go to school in this country. But what if the enemies have followed us here now?”

  “Had Nick Kessler been with you long?” Nancy asked.

  “Nick?” Gina said. “He’d only worked for me three weeks. He used to guard a friend of Daddy’s—a man at the Italian embassy in Washington.”

  Nancy thought of the matchbook she’d found. It was from Washington, D.C. Had Nick Kessler dropped it while setting the display on fire?

  “Did he have a keycard for your room?” Nancy asked. “Maybe he was the one who broke in.

  Gina and Sally traded an uneasy look. “I made Nick return that card when I fired him,” Gina said.

  “Tell her, Gina,” Sally said in a low voice. Her gentle gray eyes actually looked stern.

  Nancy perked up. “Tell me what?”

  Sally turned to Nancy. “Well,” she began, “Gina faked the first break-in, hoping to make Jane Sellery look bad. Gina messed up our room herself and then put that Brookfield pen under the bed. She’d swiped it from Jane that afternoon. She told me the truth last night, after the fire, because I was so scared about all these incidents. I told her she had to tell you.”

  Nancy turned to Gina, stunned. “Why did you do that? Jane might have gotten into serious trouble.”

  Gina tossed her head and looked away. “It was a practical joke,” she said. “I saw Jane laughing at me in the lobby after I fell in the water, and it made me angry. I wanted to get back at her.”

  Nancy blew out a sigh of disgust. “So just to carry on this stupid feud, you created all this trouble?” she asked angrily. “Do you realize that someone from the housekeeping staff nearly got fired because of that break-in? Not to mention the worry it caused Mr. Ruxton and Ms. Peabody and Mr. Wasilick—”

  Gina stuck out her jaw. “I didn’t expect people to take it so seriously,” she said sullenly. “But then the other stuff happened, and that was real.” She looked up at Nancy. “The person who was almost fired—is her job safe now?” she asked, sounding sincere.

  “Well, yes, but she had a very unpleasant couple of days,” Nancy said tensely. “Now I’m going to have to rethink my whole investigation. At least I can drop Jane from the suspect list.” She drew an exasperated breath. “Will you both be at the workshop all afternoon?”

  Gina and Sally nodded.

  “I’ll meet you here just before dinner,” Nancy said. “Tomorrow’s the last day of the conference. Until then, Gina, be careful. This hotel is a prime place for our culprit to hurt you—I’ll bet he strikes again before you leave. Be on your guard every minute!”

  Saying goodbye to Gina and Sally, Nancy went down to the lobby. As she hunted for Bess, Nancy tried to get her mind off Gina’s prank. Feeling a tap on her shoulder, she spun around quickly.

  “It’s me,” Bess said with a cheerful grin. “Guess who I found? Mr. Baggy Pants.”

  “You did?” Nancy asked, her spirits rising.

  Bess nodded. “He came in through the front doors and I followed him upstairs,” she reported. “He went to room 637. He had a keycard and let himself in.”

  “Good work!” Nancy said with delight. “Sixth floor, huh? But he was on seven earlier today, and he took the elevator up—not back down to six. Seems pretty suspicious to me. The front desk won’t give out information on guests, but maybe Ms. Peabody can help us find this guy’s name. And while we’re there, we can speak to her about Paul’s job.”

  The girls went to Maureen Peabody’s office. Ms. Peabody wasn’t in, the secretary told them, but she had been authorized to give Nancy access to any information she needed. Her computer showed them that room 637 was registered to a Harold Karabell from Chicago.

  At Nancy’s request, the secretary agreed to make a printout of all the phone numbers that Karabell had dialed from his room during his stay. It would be ready in an hour, she said.

  “So he’s from Chicago—that doesn’t tie him to the Washington, D.C., matchbook I found,” Nancy said as she and Bess left the office. “And there’s still the possibility he’s with the workshop. Can you find Mr. Ruxton and check out that angle?”

  Bess nodded eagerly and sprinted off.

  Looking at her watch, Nancy saw it was almost three. She hurried to the escalator and rode it up to the mezzanine-level café. Ned waved from a table.

  Sitting down across from him, Nancy ordered an iced tea. As the waiter left, Ned pushed aside the small candleholder on the table and took Nancy’s hands in his. “This whole thing has been crazy, Nan,” he began. “I didn’t realize body-guarding was a twenty-four-hour-a-day job. Here we are, both staying in the same hotel, and we can’t spend any time together. Thank goodness this job ends when the conference is over.”

  “Whenever we do see each other, Gina always pops up,” Nancy added. “She really has her eye on you.”

  Ned made a face. “Yeah,” he said. “At first I thought it was kind of fun. You know, it’s flattering to have a girl throw herself at you, especially a girl that pretty. But she comes on too strong. It’s like she wants to own me. I hate that.”

  “And I hate being jealous,” Nancy said with a sigh. “I know I don’t own you, Ned, and I don’t want to. But it hurts to see you with someone else.”

  “I’m not ‘with’ her,” Ned said firmly. “Nancy, why would I dump you for Gina? You’re prettier, you’re smarter, you’re nicer—” Leaning ov
er the table, he gently brushed her lips with his.

  A moment later, they pulled away from the kiss and smiled at each other. Nancy glanced past Ned for a second. Then she sat up, alert.

  The bearded man with the baggy pants was at the next table. Harold Karabell!

  Karabell was nervously fiddling with the small candle on his table. As he tipped it to the side, melted wax spilled over, snuffing out the wick. Frowning, he fished a matchbook out of his roomy pants pockets and relit the candle.

  Peering over Ned’s shoulder, Nancy stared at the matchbook. It was neon orange, with bold blue letters on the side. Ben’s Back Room, it read.

  A perfect match!

  Chapter

  Twelve

  NED LOOKED AT NANCY, concern in his eyes. “What is it, Nan? What do you see?”

  “Don’t turn around, Ned,” she murmured. “But the guy at the table behind you is one of my suspects. In fact, I think he’s just become my prime suspect.”

  The waiter bringing Ned’s and Nancy’s drinks approached the table. Karabell’s gaze idly followed the waiter. When he saw Nancy, he panicked. He jumped up at once and headed out of the café area.

  “He’s leaving, Ned!” Nancy said. “I’ve got to follow him. Wait here.” She scrambled to her feet and sprinted to the escalator.

  Nancy spotted Karabell farther down the escalator, taking the moving steps two at a time. In front of Nancy, two men in business suits took up the whole width of the escalator. She couldn’t squeeze past them. “Excuse me,” she said impatiently.

  Deep in a discussion, the men seemed not to hear her. They didn’t move. Nancy asked again, and once more the men ignored her.

  Nancy fidgeted as the escalator descended at its own snail’s pace. She leaned over, trying to keep an eye on Karabell. She saw him hustle off the foot of the escalator and run for the front entrance.

  Springing off the escalator, Nancy dodged around the two businessmen and dashed through the lobby. She slid into a revolving door and shoved it around as fast as she could. She burst out into the hot, humid summer air. After being in the air-conditioned hotel nonstop for two days, she was surprised to remember what real air felt like.

  Standing on the curb of the driveway, Nancy looked in all directions for Harold Karabell. A red-uniformed bellman stepped over to her. “Can I get you a taxi?” he asked.

  “No, thanks,” Nancy said. “But did you see a man with a brown beard come out just now? He was wearing baggy khaki pants and a green army jacket.”

  The bellman looked vague. “Yeah, he got into a cab,” he said slowly. “There was one sitting here waiting for a fare, and he took it. It was a blue-and-white cab, I think—or maybe black-and-white.”

  That’s not much help, Nancy thought. “Did you happen to hear where he told it to go?” she asked. The bellman shook his head.

  Discouraged, Nancy went back into the atrium. Rejoining Ned in the café, she briefly told him what had happened. “I saw he had a matchbook from a place in Washington, D.C.,” she went on. “It was just like one that I found near Gina’s display after the fire today. Considering how far we are from Washington, that’s a pretty big coincidence.”

  “Who is this guy?” Ned asked.

  “I don’t really know,” Nancy admitted. “But whenever I see him around the hotel, he always looks scared and runs away. I only know that he might be a friend of Evan Sharpless. Remember the first day of the workshop, when we saw Mr. Sharpless go up the escalator? This is the guy who talked to him then.”

  “Did you ask Mr. Sharpless who he is?” Ned asked.

  “No, but I will now,” she replied. “I didn’t learn his name until just a few minutes ago.”

  “What is his name?” Ned asked. “I could ask Gina if she recognizes it. Since he seems to be after her, maybe she knows him.”

  “His name’s Harold Karabell,” Nancy told him. “Go ahead and ask her. But if he’s been hired by her dad’s enemies, they wouldn’t use someone she knows. That’s why it’s so hard for the police to find hired killers. They have no connection to their victims.”

  “Hired killers?” Ned repeated, his eyes widening. “So, you really think someone is trying to kill Gina?”

  “Maybe. Or kidnap her,” Nancy said. “I do think this is more than just harassment.”

  “But the fire last night—and the one today—were planned for when she wasn’t around,” Ned pointed out. “If someone wanted to hurt her, why do it that way? And she wasn’t there either time her room was broken into.”

  “Her room was only broken into once,” Nancy said. She told him about Gina faking the first incident.

  Ned chuckled at the story. “You have to admit, life around Gina is always interesting,” he said.

  “I don’t mind it being interesting from a detective’s point of view,” Nancy said. “But from a personal point of view, I don’t need the kind of interest Gina stirs up.”

  Ned smiled. “I told you, Nancy—you have nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “But it’s kind of cool to see that spark of jealousy in your eyes. Makes me feel I’m still wanted.”

  “Oh, you’re still wanted, all right, Nickerson,” Nancy said with a grin. They held hands tightly across the table as Ned called for their check. It feels good to clear the air, Nancy thought to herself. But who knows how I’ll feel when I see Gina hanging all over him again? The memory of seeing Ned kissing Gina was still clear in her mind.

  Leaving the café, Ned headed for the meeting rooms to wait for Gina’s workshop to end. Nancy went to Ms. Peabody’s office to pick up the printout of Harold Karabell’s phone calls.

  Taking the printout back to her room, Nancy looked first for any calls to Rome or Washington, D.C. But Karabell hadn’t been on the phone much, and most of the calls were local. Nancy picked up her phone and began to dial each number listed.

  The first one turned out to be a recorded message, giving show times for a nearby movie theater. The next number was a local bookstore.

  The third number had a Chicago area code. Probably Karabell’s home, Nancy assumed as she dialed. Then a voice answered, “Chicago Post, newsroom. Paula Rackow speaking.”

  Nancy cleared her throat. “Oh, hi, my name is Nancy Drew,” she said. “I was wondering if you know a Harold Karabell.”

  “Harold? Sure,” the journalist answered. “He and I worked together for a newswire service in Israel, four years ago. Why do you ask?”

  “Have you heard from him lately?” Nancy asked.

  “Who are you?” the reporter countered.

  “I’m a private detective,” Nancy said, “and someone has been harassing a client of mine. Mr. Karabell was seen near the scene of several incidents, so I’m checking him out.”

  The reporter laughed. “He’s probably just snooping around for a story,” she said. “Though I thought Harold’s specialty was politics. Is your client a sleazy politician, by any chance? That would attract Harold’s nose for news.”

  “Politics might be involved,” Nancy said cautiously. “Do you know where he is?”

  “He called me yesterday from River Heights,” Ms. Rackow said. “But he just called to apologize for missing my housewarming party. He said he’d been called away unexpectedly. I thought he might be on a story, but he said he wasn’t.” She sounded concerned. “He hasn’t worked much, you know, since he lost his job on the wire service. The last story of his I remember seeing was two years ago—something about a political assassination in Rome.”

  Rome! Nancy’s heartbeat quickened. “Why did he lose his job on the wire service?” she asked.

  Ms. Rackow sighed. “Who knows?” she said. “He’s bright, witty, resourceful. He could always dig up hot leads. Sometimes he relied too much on informers, though. You know, shady anonymous sources. Harold liked the clandestine part of reporting. I used to kid him that he should have been a spy instead.”

  The reporter drew a breath and went on. “To tell the truth, he’s not a very good writer,” she s
aid. “And he was never careful about verifying information. He wrote a couple of stories that were more hearsay than fact. It wasn’t a very responsible thing to do.”

  “But you don’t think he’s the kind of guy who might harass someone?” Nancy asked.

  “Not really,” Ms. Rackow said. “He’s too idealistic to stoop that low.”

  Thanking her, Nancy hung up. She sat on her bed, digesting the information. Karabell was a reporter—that would explain the Evan Sharpless connection. Was he following Gina as part of a story? Or were his contacts from Rome using him to go after Gina?

  • • •

  Over dinner in the employee cafeteria, George told Nancy and Bess what she had heard from Paul. “He has a pretty solid alibi,” she said. “He was at the college, in the dining hall, working at his second job as a dish washer. I called the dining commons manager, and she vouched for him.”

  Nancy appreciated how careful George had been not to take Paul’s word at face value. “I’m glad he checks out,” she said. She speared a tomato from her salad. “And by the way, Jane Sellery’s off the hook. It turns out Gina framed her for the break-in.”

  “Ooh, that little witch!” Bess exclaimed.

  “I’ve got lots more on Mr. Baggy Pants,” Nancy said, and she filled them in. “I guess he’s our top suspect now.”

  “Gary Ruxton said he’d never heard of Karabell,” Bess reported, buttering a baked potato.

  “But Nick Kessler is still hanging around the hotel,” George put in. “You know that picture window across from the pool, where you can see everyone on the weight machines in the health club? I looked in and saw Nick Kessler working out. So I went in and asked him why he’s still here.”

  “George, you blew your cover!” exclaimed Nancy.

  “He never saw me lifeguarding,” George argued. “Besides, he’s too dumb to figure it out. Anyway, he told me he’s still here because he wants to keep an eye on Gina. He seemed genuinely concerned about her safety. I almost felt sorry for him—he did lose his job, after all. But he isn’t mad at Gina, only at Ned.”