Date With Deception

  The driver was Dmitri Kolchak.

  Chapter

  Nine

  BESS LOOKED OUT at the empty stretch of beach behind Eloise’s property and yawned. “It’s only six-thirty in the morning,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “There’s nobody here but the sea gulls.”

  “That’s the point,” Nancy told her. “We can talk without being interrupted.”

  “We could do that at the house, over cocoa,” Bess pointed out. “Hot cocoa,” she added with a shiver.

  “Come on,” George told her. “Run a few minutes and you’ll get warm.” She and Nancy headed for the wet sand and began an easy jog. Bess tagged along behind, still yawning.

  It wasn’t long before they all were warm and wide-awake. They slowed to a walk, and Nancy told them what had happened the night before.

  “Dmitri Kolchak?” Bess looked horrified. “I can’t believe it!”

  “I can,” George said grimly. “You remember what Nancy said, Bess—he used to be a pilot. That makes him an excellent connection, and his job as chaperon is a great cover.”

  “I guess so,” Bess said reluctantly. “But the plans were stolen a while ago. He wasn’t even here then.”

  “But he could be the brains behind the whole operation, and he’s here to get the last of the plans now,” George said.

  “Why else would he have followed me to Jetstream last night?” Nancy asked.

  “Maybe he didn’t follow you,” George said. “Maybe he was there already, to meet his contact—Bill Fairgate. When he happened to see you, he decided to try to scare you off.”

  “I thought of that,” Nancy said. “Remember the car ‘accident’ at the beach, Bess?”

  Bess nodded. “Of course I remember. I guess it was a warning, just like the note you got.” Bess thought a minute. “What about Jacques?” she asked. “Do you think he’s involved?”

  “I don’t know,” Nancy admitted. “Maybe not. I really don’t know anything about Jacques. I don’t think I’ve ever talked to him, except when he was explaining to me about the car. But I’m almost positive about Dmitri.” She stopped and used her toes to dig out a shell half buried in the sand. “I should have known it was Dmitri in that car last night even before I saw him,” she said. “All that time he had his bright lights on only meant he wasn’t familiar with the car.

  “And that note on my windshield?” Nancy went on. “Sasha was right about that—there is something weird about it. ‘Stop now your investigation,’ ” she quoted. “That now is in a funny place. Funny for someone whose first language is English, that is.”

  “Right,” George agreed. “Dmitri’s first language is Russian.”

  Suddenly Bess’s eyes widened. “Nancy—maybe he’s KGB!” she whispered. “I was joking when I suggested it, but now I think I might be right. He’s leaking the plans to the Soviet Union!”

  Nancy shook her head. “I don’t think so. Jetstream doesn’t make military planes or anything. This isn’t a breach of national security—it’s industrial espionage. And anyway, those plans definitely went to France. It’s weird. I wonder how Dmitri got involved as a go-between. You’d think it would be either an American or a French person.”

  “Don’t forget Jacques,” George pointed out. “He could be in on it, too.”

  “You can figure the details out later,” Bess said impatiently. “What are we going to do now?”

  “I want to follow up on a couple of things,” Nancy said. “I need to find out from the car rental place if there really was something wrong with Dmitri’s car yesterday. Also, I still need to see the Jetstar plans. Maybe Gary can help figure out a way to get into Jetstream without being turned into dog food.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” George said. “He’s coming by after breakfast.”

  “Great.” Nancy picked up the shell and juggled it back and forth in her hands. “I wonder,” she said. “You don’t suppose Marina could be involved in this, too?” She swallowed. “Or even Sasha?”

  “I guess it’s possible.” George said. “Have they done anything suspicious?”

  “Not really. Marina’s awfully cool to me, but that doesn’t mean she’s involved in this. And Sasha?” Nancy shook her head, still fingering the seashell. “He’s a great guy,” she said quietly. “But he’s been awfully interested in this case from the start.”

  “Well, I don’t believe it,” Bess declared firmly. “You might have convinced me about Dmitri, but Sasha? Never!” She patted Nancy on the shoulder. “But don’t worry. I’ll help you keep an eye on him. I don’t have anything else to do, anyway.”

  Nancy laughed. “What about Yves?”

  “Oh, him.” Bess shook her head. “I’ve decided he’s not for me.”

  “Why?” George asked.

  “Well, he’s gorgeous, and his accent is divine,” Bess said. “But he keeps talking about how he’ll be retiring soon. Can you imagine? Retiring at age twenty-nine? It makes him seem so old!”

  George and Nancy burst out laughing. “You do have a point,” Nancy told Bess.

  They went back to the house, showered, and made breakfast for themselves. Eloise had gone out already. As Nancy was swallowing the last of her tea, Gary arrived. The lanky pilot looked depressed.

  “I just had my interview with Susan Wexler—told her the whole story,” he announced. “You don’t think she’ll break her word and let it run early, do you?”

  Wishing she felt as sure as she acted, Nancy shook her head. “Don’t worry,” she counseled him. “She’s looking for a bigger story. She knows she won’t get it from us unless she plays fair with us now.”

  Gary brightened a little. “I hope you’re right.” Crossing to George, who was loading the dishwasher, he put his arms around her slim waist from behind. “Hey, I know this poor, sad, unemployed pilot who could really use a day out with a pretty girl like you,” he said to her teasingly. “Want to meet him?”

  George turned to him, smiling and pink cheeked. “That depends,” she retorted. “Is he cute?”

  “Well, now, I guess he looks kind of like me,” Gary told her.

  “Let’s go,” George said promptly. “I have a feeling I’m going to like him!”

  “I’ll finish loading the dishwasher, George,” Bess volunteered. “You two are so cute together it makes me want to cry. Where, oh where, is the man for me?”

  “We’ll find you one, Bess,” Nancy promised as George and Gary left. “As soon as this case is solved.”

  After she and Bess finished cleaning up and showering, Nancy called the car rental agency at the airport. The man she spoke to was friendly, but not too helpful. They’d never had any other complaints about their cars surging forward uncontrollably, but it wasn’t impossible, he told her. The mechanic hadn’t found anything wrong with the brakes or timing on Mr. Kolchak’s car so far, but those things were difficult to detect. Mr. Kolchak could just have had a heavy foot on the gas pedal. However, it was true that earlier models of this same car had been recalled for exactly the problem Nancy described.

  Feeling frustrated, Nancy hung up. That conversation had gotten her nowhere. Glancing at her watch, she saw that it was after eleven. Where had the morning gone?

  “Come on,” she told Bess. “Let’s go to the dance institute and see what our friend Dmitri is up to.”

  When Nancy and Bess arrived at the institute, they could almost feel the tension as the dancers rehearsed both the new pieces and the traditional ones that everyone knew. The next night was the gala opening, and everyone wanted it to be perfect.

  As far as Nancy could tell, Sasha already was perfect. Watching him leap and whirl in time to Yves’s music, she couldn’t imagine him getting any better.

  She tried to tell herself it was only his talent she admired, but she knew it was more than that. Even though she was in love with Ned, something about Sasha made Nancy’s heart do somersaults.

  “I thought we were supposed to be watching Dmitri,” Bess whispered to her after they’d been
sitting in the auditorium for fifteen minutes.

  “We are.” Blushing, Nancy shifted her gaze to the chaperon, who was in the front row, six rows in front of them.

  “Nancy,” Bess said. “I know you’re attracted to Sasha, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to do anything about it, so stop feeling guilty.”

  Nancy had to smile. Trust Bess to figure her out. She could spot attractions a mile away.

  That’s all it is, Nancy told herself. Attraction. And she wasn’t going to do anything about it. Nodding firmly to herself, she kept her eyes on Dmitri Kolchak.

  The Soviet chaperon got up about ten minutes later. A manila envelope tucked under his arm, he strode up the aisle and out of the auditorium.

  Nancy stood up the minute the door clanged shut. “George said she and Gary would come by if they found a way to get into Jetstream,” she said to Bess. “You stay here in case they do. I want to see where Dmitri’s going.”

  Outside, Nancy saw the chaperon heading on foot toward the main street of the village. Hoping he wouldn’t look back, she started after him.

  Once he reached the main street, Dmitri walked one block and then stopped in front of a building. Nancy was on the other side of the street by now, under the awning of a bakery. As she watched, Dmitri Kolchak pushed open the door of the post office.

  Quickly Nancy crossed the street and walked to the post office. Peering in the front glass door, she saw the chaperon talking to the woman behind the counter. He passed her the envelope, waited while she weighed it, then paid for the postage.

  When he came back outside, Nancy was studying a display of fresh seafood in the window of the shop two doors down. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dmitri cross the street. When his back was completely to her, she hurried to the post office and went inside.

  “Hi,” she said to the postal worker. “I was wondering if you could tell me the rates to France.”

  “First class?” the woman asked.

  Nancy nodded. It didn’t really matter.

  “I shouldn’t have to look it up,” the woman said, running her finger down a chart. “The man who was in here before you just sent something to France.” She glanced up, smiling, to tell Nancy the rate.

  But Nancy was already out the door.

  Glancing around, Nancy spotted Dmitri halfway down the block. It seemed as if he were heading back to the institute. She would have given anything to see what was in that envelope. If he’d just mailed some Jetstar blueprints to France, there was no way she could prove it. Should she just go up to him and confront him?

  Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. He’d just deny it. Plus, if she said anything at all, he’d know she suspected him. Then he’d be even harder to trap.

  Dmitri was almost at the end of the road when Nancy saw him go into a food shop. She knew that place—it sold wonderful, thick sandwiches on fresh-baked Italian bread. It was lunchtime; he was probably going to take something back for Marina and Sasha.

  Nancy’s stomach rumbled. She’d eaten breakfast hours ago, so she might as well pick up something, too—after Dmitri left.

  Waiting outside the little shop, Nancy watched several people come and go. Her stomach was rumbling even louder now, and she wondered what was taking Dmitri so long. Finally, she edged up to the front window and looked inside.

  From where she was standing, Nancy could see the cash register. Gathered near it, chatting together, were Dmitri, Bill Fairgate, and Eileen Martin.

  Quickly Nancy pulled away and walked back down the block and around the corner. There she waited, peering around the edge of the building.

  First Eileen and Bill came out. They got into separate cars and drove off in the same direction. To Jetstream, Nancy guessed.

  At last Dmitri stepped out. He carried a bulging paper bag in one hand. Probably sandwiches, Nancy thought. But she was more interested in his other hand. In it was a folded sheet of white paper. He glanced at it, smiled, and tucked it carefully into the pocket of his lightweight windbreaker.

  He could have just taken a menu from the sandwich shop, Nancy told herself. Or he could have gotten new plans for the Jetstar—hand delivered by Bill Fairgate.

  Chapter

  Ten

  GIVING UP ON LUNCH, Nancy started back toward the institute, keeping a safe distance from Dmitri Kolchak.

  She wasn’t sure what was happening. Had Dmitri actually gone into the Jetstream complex the previous night? Had he gotten something from Bill Fairgate then, and more information at the sandwich shop just now? Then why hadn’t he waited and mailed both things at once? If he hadn’t gotten anything from Bill the previous night, then what had he just mailed to France?

  What about Eileen Martin? She and Bill Fairgate had obviously come to buy their lunch. But with Eileen there, would Bill Fairgate really have dared to hand over secret information?

  Nancy didn’t have any answers. The paper Dmitri had put in his pocket might have some, though. She had to find a way to look at it.

  She also had to find a way to get some leads on Bill Fairgate, Nancy realized. For instance, she could follow up on the reports that he liked to play the stock market. But how could she get any concrete information about his financial status, especially way out here in the Hamptons? If he was playing the stock market, he was probably doing it through a broker in New York. The only thing she could think to do was break into his office, either at work or at home, to look for bank statements or stockbroker’s reports. That wouldn’t be easy, and Nancy hated to do it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.

  As she turned up the path to the institute, Nancy tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her cheek. Maybe she’d come up with a better plan if she just thought about it for a while.

  “Well?” Bess whispered, when Nancy slipped back into the seat beside her. “Did he do anything suspicious?”

  The rehearsal was still going on, and Dmitri was back in his usual place—front row center, his eyes on Sasha and Marina.

  Nancy nodded. “I’ll tell you later.”

  “Okay.” Bess rolled her eyes. “It’s been crazy here,” she said. “Yves threw another fit about his sheet music. I’m really glad I didn’t let myself get serious about him.” She sighed, and then clapped a hand over her stomach. “I’m absolutely starving. Why don’t I go out and get us something to eat?”

  As if in answer, Dana Harding suddenly called out, “Okay, lunch, everybody!” Looking at her watch, she added, “We’ll start again at one-thirty. Don’t stuff; I want you light on your feet when you get back!”

  It was twelve-fifteen. Nancy suddenly had an idea. “Let’s take Sasha and Marina and Dmitri to the beach for lunch,” she said to Bess. “There won’t be time to swim, but it’ll be a nice break for them from this place. Besides, I still owe Sasha a hot dog.”

  “I’m tired of hot dogs,” Bess remarked.

  “Then you can get some fries,” Nancy told her, laughing. “Besides, eating isn’t the main reason we’re going.”

  “It’s not?”

  “I’ll explain everything to you on the way there,” Nancy said. “Come on, let’s ask them before Dmitri starts passing out the sandwiches he brought back.”

  Fifteen minutes later, using two cars, the five of them arrived at the beach. Dmitri hadn’t been eager to go, but Sasha talked him into it. Nancy could tell that Sasha was hoping to spend the entire time with her, but if Bess did her part, he was only going to get five minutes.

  “Mustard? Sauerkraut?” Nancy asked Sasha after she’d bought two hot dogs. Bess, Dmitri, and Marina had decided to eat Dmitri’s sandwiches.

  “The—what do you say?—the works,” Sasha told her.

  “Relish, too?”

  “Of course, relish,” he said. “The more stuff, the better.” He grinned. “It hides the taste of the frankfurter!”

  Laughing, Nancy told the boy behind the counter, and soon Sasha was taking an enormous bite of an overloaded hot dog.

  “I hope it doesn’t give yo
u indigestion,” Nancy said, as they slipped off their shoes and stepped onto the warm sand. “Dana Harding would kill me.”

  “I can eat anything,” he told her, patting his stomach. “This idea of yours was great, coming to the beach,” he added. “Look, I think even Marina is glad to be away from rehearsal.”

  Nancy looked over to where Bess, Dmitri, and Marina were sitting behind a dune, out of the wind. The ballerina was laughing, and even Dmitri was smiling. Bess must have said something funny. Nancy was glad to see that Dmitri had taken off his windbreaker. It was weighted down with his shoes.

  Come on, Bess, she said silently. We don’t have much time.

  As if she’d heard, Bess stood up, casually dusting the sand off her shorts. Still laughing, she glanced far off down the beach. Suddenly she froze. Then she started shrieking, jumping up and down, and waving wildly.

  Marina and Dmitri were standing now, too, cupping their hands around their eyes and looking to where Bess was excitedly pointing. She was still shouting, and finally the word shark drifted back on the wind.

  “Shark!” Sasha cried. “This is something I must see!”

  Nancy took his half-eaten hot dog. “Go on,” she told him. “I’m not too crazy about sharks, so I think I’ll just stay here and eat.”

  Like a shot, Sasha was off and running, joining the other three as they dashed along the sand.

  Nancy grinned to herself. Trust Bess to come up with the most dramatic distraction she could think of. She hoped there was something in the water, or Bess would have some fast explaining to do. In the meantime Nancy had to hurry.

  She raced over to the dune, put the hot dogs down on a sandwich wrapper, and reached into the pocket of Dmitri’s windbreaker. Her fingers closed over a piece of paper, and after glancing around to make sure they were still far away, she pulled the paper out.

  In her hand was a program for the next night’s dance performance.