Mixed Signals

  “It looks like the Emerson Wildcat could use a hand,” Nancy said to Bess and Kristin. “I’ll be right back.”

  Climbing down, Nancy hopped onto the field and approached the wildcat. “Do you need help?”

  “Please!” came the muffled response. “My zipper is stuck.”

  Nancy found the problem—a clump of fake fur had caught in the track of the zipper. She managed to work it free, then smoothly opened the zipper so that the student could remove the wildcat head.

  “Phew!” said the pretty, red-haired girl who emerged. “I thought I’d never get that thing off. Thanks a lot.” The girl tucked the wildcat head under her arm and held out her hand. “By the way, I’m Carrie Broder, alias Emerson Wildcat.”

  “My name’s Nancy Drew. Nice to meet you.”

  Carrie fluffed her curly red bangs and smiled. “I have to run, but maybe I’ll see you at the game.”

  “I’ll be there,” Nancy said. As Carrie turned and jogged toward the sports complex, Nancy headed back up the bleachers. She had gone only a few steps when a voice distracted her.

  “Can’t you bend the rules a little?” someone said below her.

  “I’m afraid not. Academic excellence is Emerson’s number-one priority.”

  Both voices sounded familiar. Leaning over the aluminum divider at the edge of the bleachers, she saw Coach Mitchell and Dean Jarvis standing in the walkway between sections of the stadium.

  “He’ll get his grades up,” Coach Mitchell insisted. “Believe me, I’ve read him the riot act on that. And he’s dying to play this one game. What’s the harm in letting him play this week?”

  He must be talking about Josh, Nancy realized.

  Dean Jarvis was shaking his head. “It would set a bad precedent—and it would send mixed signals to the other students. Besides, we have a decent replacement in Randy Simpson. Let’s give him a shot.” He gave the coach a friendly pat on the back. “Sorry, Dale, but Josh is benched until he gets his grades up.”

  Nancy’s mind was racing as she climbed the rest of the way up the bleachers to join Bess and Kristin. The coach wanted his son to play in Sunday’s game. Or maybe Josh himself was desperate to get back onto the team roster. If Randy were injured, perhaps the administration would reconsider and let Josh play. It was a possibility Nancy couldn’t ignore. Both the coach and his son seemed to like Randy, Nancy reflected. But she had to add them to her list of suspects.

  “What’s the matter, you guys?” Nancy asked as she rejoined Bess and Kristin. Both girls were staring glumly at the field. Bess was frowning, and Kristin was shaking her head in disgust.

  Without looking at Nancy, Kristin pointed at the players. “Our new quarterback is falling apart.”

  “But he was doing so well at the beginning of practice.” Sitting down, Nancy watched Randy stumble through the next play.

  She couldn’t believe her eyes. Randy lumbered clumsily into the huddle and then dragged himself into position on the field. “Come on, Randy,” Nancy said under her breath. “Look alive!”

  Her eyes were glued to the field as the Wildcats ran the play. The center snapped the ball to Randy, who, instead of passing it, tucked it under his arm and began to run with it. A very odd play, Nancy thought.

  But not as odd as the way he was moving, as if he were going in slow motion. Nancy felt very uneasy as she watched him stumble forward, jerking unsteadily with each step. This wasn’t the running pattern of someone who was tired, she realized. Something was seriously wrong.

  After four or five more unsteady steps, Randy fell—facedown on the grass.

  “No one even tackled him,” Nancy heard Kristin say in disbelief.

  The players clustered around Randy, waiting for him to get up, but Randy continued to lie prone.

  He didn’t budge.

  Chapter Eight

  “SOMETHING’S REALLY WRONG!” Nancy shouted, jumping to her feet. “Randy passed out!”

  She took off down the bleachers and darted across the field to where the players were circled around Randy, their jerseys a wall of orange.

  Coach Mitchell ran in from the sidelines and grabbed a player. “Call an ambulance. Now!” he ordered, and the player went racing off to the locker room.

  It wasn’t easy for Nancy to push past the crowd of players in their bulky equipment, but she managed to edge close enough to get a look at Randy. The team’s medic had turned him over, and Nancy could see that he was at least breathing.

  “His pulse is steady but slow,” said the medic. “Okay, guys, move back and give him some air.”

  Relieved, Nancy backed out of the crowd. Randy was still alive, but what had caused his sudden collapse?

  She touched a nearby player’s shoulder pad, asking, “Do you know what happened?”

  The player stripped off his helmet, then shook his head. “Not really. He just passed out.”

  She questioned a few more players, but they all seemed genuinely confused and concerned about what had happened. If any of them had done something to Randy, they were doing a good job of hiding it. At one point Nancy noticed Coach Mitchell watching her. He nodded his recognition, then turned his attention back to Randy.

  As Nancy wandered toward the stands, past the players’ bench, the water bottles caught her eye. They were scattered along the bench and in the grass below. Randy had been drinking from one throughout the practice, Nancy remembered.

  She went over and picked up one of the bottles. The name Gonzales was printed on the plastic. One at a time she checked the bottles until she found the one labeled Simpson. An ambulance was just pulling onto the field, and Nancy ran toward it, Randy’s bottle in her hand. She approached the driver and handed her Randy’s water bottle.

  “You may want to take this to the hospital and have it checked out.” Nancy nodded toward Randy, who was being lifted onto a stretcher by two attendants. “He was drinking from this all afternoon.”

  “I’ll take it to the lab,” the uniformed woman assured Nancy, taking the bottle. A moment later Randy was inside the ambulance and the vehicle was pulling away, its emergency lights flashing.

  Nancy turned as Bess appeared at her side, asking, “Is Randy okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy replied truthfully. “We’ll have to call the hospital later. But in the meantime—” She paused, seeing a husky figure trudging onto the field. “Oh, good. There’s Dean Jarvis.”

  Nancy hurried over to him. “I saw the ambulance from my office and came right over,” the dean of students told her. “Is it true that Randy Simpson passed out?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Nancy answered. “And I suspect that it wasn’t an accident. I’ve been investigating anonymous threats that Randy’s been receiving. Now it seems as if someone’s making good on those threats.”

  The dean nodded brusquely. “I heard that you were working on this.”

  Nancy quickly told him about Randy’s water bottle and how the ambulance attendant had promised to have the liquid analyzed. “In the meantime I’d like to search for evidence of foul play. Is there any way we can search the locker room?”

  “Of course,” the dean agreed. “Just let me check with Coach Mitchell.”

  He returned a few moments later, motioning for the girls to accompany him. Coach Mitchell caught up with them just as they were entering the men’s locker room. “Let me find the locker-room attendant. He might know something,” he said, slightly breathless from running.

  A few minutes later the attendant came rushing in. Nancy could tell that he was flustered as he pointed out Randy’s locker and, after checking a master list for the lock combination, opened it for the dean.

  As Nancy watched carefully, Dean Jarvis sorted through the contents of Randy’s locker: his clothes, towels, powder, a comb and brush, and a sports magazine. Nothing unusual.

  Not that that was surprising. After all, Randy himself wasn’t the one under suspicion, as far as Nancy was concerned.

  “Wait a minute,” she said
as the attendant was turning to leave. “I know this may sound like a weird request, but could we check the lockers of all the players?” she asked Dean Jarvis.

  Coach Mitchell’s face turned bright red, and he sputtered, “If you’re trying to say that any of my players would—”

  “It’s very unlikely, I know,” Nancy put in quickly. “But don’t you think we ought to be absolutely certain?”

  “She has a point,” Dean Jarvis told the coach. Before Coach Mitchell could object again, the dean waved over the locker-room attendant and instructed him to open the other players’ lockers.

  Twenty lockers later, Nancy hadn’t turned up anything more suspicious than a bunch of sports equipment and smelly towels. She heard Coach Mitchell mutter something under his breath about wasting time, but she held her tongue.

  Nancy was disappointed. She knew there had to be some shred of evidence that would lead her to the person trying to hurt Randy, but it kept eluding her. For now, she had many questions—and no real answers.

  “Not bad for cafeteria food!” Bess said as she popped a spoonful of spumoni into her mouth.

  It was Italian night in the dining room. Bess had moved on to dessert, but Nancy and Ned were still finishing up their plates of baked lasagna.

  “I wonder what happened to Jerry?” said Bess, turning her head to search the huge room.

  Ned checked his watch. “He was supposed to meet us here half an hour ago.” Ned checked his watch again, then scanned the crowded dining hall. “There he is now!” He stood up and waved Jerry over to the table. “You’re late, buddy.”

  “I know.” Jerry gave Bess an apologetic glance as he pulled out a chair. “Sorry. I just came from the gym. A bunch of the guys on the team were waiting to hear about Randy.”

  From the dark expression on Jerry’s handsome face, Nancy could tell that the news wasn’t good. She herself had called the hospital right after the accident but had been told he was still being revived. “Is he okay?”

  “He was released from the hospital, if that’s what you mean,” Jerry answered, still frowning.

  “Thank goodness!” exclaimed Bess. “After seeing him fall flat, I didn’t know what to think.”

  If the news was good, Nancy thought, then why was Jerry acting upset? “Will he be playing in Sunday’s game?” she asked him.

  “It looks that way, but the rest of the team is pretty shaken up.” Jerry paused, pushing a lock of brown hair off his forehead. “The hospital’s lab tests revealed that Randy’s water bottle was laced with sleeping pills.”

  “Drugs!” Bess gasped. “That’s horrible.”

  Nancy nodded. She’d suspected as much when she turned in Randy’s water bottle.

  “The doctors said he’ll be able to play on Sunday,” Jerry continued, “but the team’s all torn apart. Some of the guys think Randy is crumbling under the stress and that he took the pills to quiet his nerves. Others are saying that he was poisoned.” Jerry let out a low whistle. “Can you imagine that?”

  Nancy could, but before she could respond, she saw Coach Mitchell passing by with a tray of food in his hands.

  “Coach,” she called. When she caught his eye, he paused beside their table. “We just heard about Randy. You must be relieved that he’s okay.”

  The coach shook his head. “I understand about stress, but there’s no excuse for using drugs,” he said with disgust. “The Wildcats will never make it with a quarterback who’s cracking up.”

  Cracking up? Nancy frowned. It wasn’t fair for the coach to assume that Randy had knowingly taken the drugs. Didn’t the coach have any faith in him?

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Coach Mitchell added, “Randy Simpson’s football career is in serious trouble.”

  Chapter Nine

  “HOW CAN YOU be sure that Randy willingly took those sleeping pills?” Nancy asked the coach. “Has anyone spoken to him about it?”

  “The doctors questioned him.” Coach Mitchell frowned and rested his dinner tray on their table. “He denied it, of course. I suppose he’s pretty embarrassed about passing out during practice.”

  “But if Randy wanted to take pills to ease his nerves, wouldn’t he have taken the proper dosage?” Nancy asked, tuning out the noise of the busy room. “And why would he have dissolved the pills in his water bottle?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, but if it were up to me, he’d be suspended from the team,” the coach said. “But Dean Jarvis has decided that he deserves another chance.” He lifted his tray and stepped back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting my son for dinner.”

  As the coach disappeared into the crowd, Bess took another spoonful of her spumoni and said, “Coach Mitchell’s being awfully hard on Randy.”

  Nancy nodded her agreement. “It’s as if he doesn’t want Randy to play on Sunday.”

  “Well, he is a college coach,” Ned pointed out. “He can hardly condone a player using drugs.”

  “And to be fair,” Jerry added, “Coach Mitchell is tough on all of us, even his son. The guy’s a slavedriver, but that’s his job—to whip us into shape.”

  Ned and Jerry had a point, Nancy realized. “Maybe the coach is just doing his job, but one thing about this case is becoming very clear. Someone really is trying to play ‘kill the quarterback.’ ”

  Confusion showed in Jerry’s green eyes. “What do you mean, Nancy? I didn’t know you were working on a case.”

  An awkward silence fell as Nancy stared first at Bess and then at Ned. “Nancy didn’t want to say anything about it before—” Ned began to explain.

  “I promised Randy that I’d keep things under wraps,” Nancy added quickly. “But now that I’m officially working on the case, we could use your help. Someone has been threatening Randy. He’s been told to throw Sunday’s game—or else.”

  “You are kidding, right?” Jerry’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as Nancy told him about the phone calls, the note, and the suspicious incidents. “Do the other football players know about this?” he asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. That’s why I need your help. I’ve been checking out possible suspects, but I haven’t gotten an inside line on any of the Wildcats. Have you noticed anything strange going on among your teammates?”

  Jerry hesitated for a moment, and Nancy could tell it troubled him to think of his teammates as possible suspects. “Not really,” he answered at last. “I don’t know anyone who openly has a gripe against him. Simpson’s never going to make it to the pros, but he gives it his best shot. The guys admire him for that.”

  “I can’t help thinking that I missed something in the locker room,” Nancy murmured, twisting a strand of her reddish blond hair around a finger. “I was with the coach and Dean Jarvis when they searched the lockers, but there must be some sort of equipment closet or something.”

  “There sure is,” said Jerry.

  Nancy stood up abruptly. “Well, I’d better check on it. Anyone care to come along?”

  “Count me out,” Jerry said apologetically. “I have to get in some study time. But I’ll see you all at our party.”

  “Party?” Bess sat up straighter in her chair. “Did I miss something?”

  Grinning at Bess, Jerry said, “Not yet, but if you don’t come I’ll never forgive you. Our fraternity is throwing a bash tonight.”

  “Great,” Bess told him, blushing. “We’ll be there.”

  “In the meantime maybe I should go with you two to the locker room,” Ned volunteered. “I don’t want any of the guys on the team to freak out if they see you there.”

  Ten minutes later they were back in the sports complex. With Ned and Bess keeping watch at the locker room door, Nancy combed through the closet where the team equipment was stored. One by one, she examined the water bottles stacked on a tray. Although they were a little smudged and worn with use, nothing seemed amiss.

  Next, Nancy sifted through the contents of the first-aid case. It was filled with ointments and bandages, but she n
oted that the only drug it contained was aspirin. Otherwise, the closet held only extra equipment, towels, stopwatches, and the like. No typewriter and no sleeping pills.

  When she was finished, Nancy leaned against a row of lockers. “Hey, you guys,” she called to Ned and Bess. “I need to talk through this case out loud.” Sometimes simply bouncing ideas off other people helped her to unearth important clues.

  Ned and Bess came into the locker room and sat on a bench opposite Nancy. “If all these events are related—and that’s still an if,” she began, “then someone had to be close enough to drop drugs in Randy’s water bottle, pour kerosene on the wooden platform, and rig that barbell in the weight room.”

  “So the culprit is probably someone who can move about freely on campus,” Bess surmised.

  “Right,” said Nancy. “Someone like Danielle Graves. Or Tamara Carlson. Both girls had access to the platform and to the weight room.”

  “But what about the drugs?” Bess pointed out. “Do you think any of those girls could talk her way into the guys’ locker room?”

  “That would be tough,” Ned said.

  “Maybe they didn’t have to,” Nancy suggested. “They were on the field this afternoon, at cheerleading practice. Susannah was there, too. If Tamara or Susannah is working with Zip, that gives them motive and opportunity.

  “There are two team members we should keep in mind, too,” Nancy added. “Josh and his father.”

  “Coach?” Ned’s expression was extremely skeptical. “I don’t know about that, Nan.”

  “He and Josh have a reason to want Randy off the roster,” Nancy pointed out. She told Ned and Bess about the conversation she’d overheard between Coach Mitchell and Dean Jarvis. “If Randy’s out of the running, the coach has a shot at getting his son in as quarterback in Sunday’s game.”

  “But he and Josh are one of the most sought-after athletic combos in college football,” Ned protested.

  Bess turned to Ned and asked, “Where were they before they came to Emerson?”

  “Last year they were at Baldwin State,” he answered. “Their team made it to the state finals. And Jerry says the Wildcats have a good chance of making it to the finals this year. At least, they did before Josh was put on probation.”