Date With Deception

  Nancy’s shoulders slumped. She’d been so sure! Now she felt ridiculous. She should have known Bill Fairgate wouldn’t hand over industrial secrets in the middle of a sandwich shop, right under the eyes of Eileen Martin.

  Eileen was in charge of the programs. She must have given it to Dmitri when she ran into him at the shop. All perfectly innocent, Nancy thought in disappointment.

  “Nancy?”

  It was Sasha’s voice. Quickly she slid the program back into the jacket pocket and stood up.

  “There you are!” he called, running up to her. “It wasn’t a shark at all. It was just an old, black air mattress, all torn up. Not by a shark, I hope,” he joked.

  Nancy smiled and glanced beyond him. The other three were coming back, Bess’s arms waving wildly as she talked.

  “Nancy,” Sasha said. “I can see that you have something on your mind. It’s the Jetstream case, am I right?” Without waiting for her answer, he went on, “You said you didn’t want my help. But, Nancy, I have had many thoughts about it. I truly believe I have discovered—”

  “Sasha, please,” Nancy interrupted. “It’s really better if you stay out of it.” She wanted to tell him about Dmitri, but how could she? She wasn’t even sure she could trust Sasha. “It’s true, I’ve been thinking about the case. But I can’t tell you anything. I wish I could, but I can’t. Please, stay out of it.”

  Sasha put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes for a long moment. “I won’t trouble you with my theories,” he said. “But Nancy, promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  Sasha’s blue eyes were serious, his handsome face was full of concern. “Promise me that you will be very careful,” he said.

  He’d said the same thing, the night before, in the parking lot. Now, why does he keep saying that to me? Nancy wondered. She gazed at Sasha as he picked up his hot dog. Is he just concerned for me? Or does he know something specific?

  Just then Bess, Dmitri, and Marina got back and retrieved their sandwiches.

  “Bess, I think you must have a remarkable imagination,” Marina was saying. “I do not think an air mattress looks anything like a shark.” She laughed, her dark eyes sparkling with humor. “It must be fun to be you,” she teased.

  To Nancy’s surprise, Dmitri let out a deep chuckle. “Marina, I do not believe your life can be so bad,” he admonished, but he sounded as if he were joking.

  Nancy had never seen either of them in so lighthearted a mood. Was it because Dmitri had just mailed the final installment of the Jetstar plans to Aviane? Was Marina in on it, too?

  Oh, boy, Nancy realized, I’m really going off the deep end today. Everyone looks suspicious. Come on, Drew, stick to the facts!

  Jumping up, she turned to the others. “Put those sandwiches down,” she ordered them. “It’s time for a swim. Last one in’s a rotten egg.”

  Nancy raced for the surf, Sasha by her side. She could hear Dmitri huffing along behind her and Bess and Marina giggling.

  Nancy decided she should take a break from thinking for a while. Right then, the most important thing to do was to have some fun!

  • • •

  “I can’t figure out if Sasha’s one of the nicest, most sincere guys I’ve ever met,” Nancy said, “or if he just acts as well as he dances.”

  She and Bess were back at Eloise’s house, fixing dinner. The dancers had taken an early break for dinner and were planning to rehearse late into the night, so Nancy and Bess had decided to leave. George still wasn’t back, and Eloise was taking a shower.

  “It’s awful,” Nancy went on, tearing up lettuce for a salad. “I’ve never had so much trouble figuring somebody out.”

  “I don’t see how you can really believe Sasha is involved,” Bess said. She brushed some chicken pieces with soy sauce. “He hasn’t done anything strange except ask you about the case. I don’t think he’d risk his career over something like this. Besides, he’s just too nice.”

  Nancy smiled. “Plenty of ‘nice’ people commit crimes, Bess.” She measured oil and vinegar into a bottle and shook it hard. “Anyway, even if he’s not involved, I can’t tell him anything. He might let something slip to Dmitri.”

  Nancy sighed and stared out the window toward the ocean. “But every time he looks at me with those blue eyes, I want to tell him everything.”

  Bess glanced at her. “As I said, you’re attracted to him.”

  Reluctantly, Nancy nodded, her eyes still on the ocean. “I hate to admit it, but it’s true,” she said slowly. “I don’t want to believe he’s involved in the Jetstream leak either, Bess. But I have to keep telling myself he could be. I can’t let the way I feel wreck my investigation.”

  Bess covered the plate of chicken with waxed paper and walked over to Nancy. “You’re worried about Ned, too, aren’t you?”

  Nancy nodded again. “It’s not that I think anything would ever happen between me and Sasha,” she said. “I mean, Ned and I have something totally special. I’ve never really looked twice at any other guy—until now.”

  Bess started to say something, but the phone interrupted her. She reached for it, said hello, and then held it out to Nancy.

  “Talk about timing,” she whispered. “It’s for you, Nancy. It’s Ned.”

  Chapter

  Eleven

  SMILING SYMPATHETICALLY, Bess left the kitchen. Nancy’s cheeks were hot, and she stared at the receiver for a second, feeling guilty. Finally she cleared her throat and held the phone to her ear.

  “Ned, hi!”

  “Hi, Nancy.” Ned Nickerson’s deep voice was warm with affection. “How’s the Atlantic Ocean?”

  “Wet,” Nancy replied, laughing. “Actually, it’s beautiful, but I haven’t had much time to relax and stare at it lately.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s George’s boyfriend, Gary,” Nancy said. “Remember, I told you about him?”

  “Sure,” Ned said. “What’s happened?”

  As Nancy told him the story, she relaxed a little. It felt good to be talking to Ned. “At first I thought he might actually have done it,” she finished. “But he’s trying too hard to clear his name.”

  “Knowing you, I’ll bet you’ve got a pretty good idea of who is doing it,” Ned told her.

  Nancy smiled. Ned always had confidence in her. “I have an idea,” she said. “But so far, no real proof.” She went on to describe the incidents with Dmitri Kolchak.

  “You’re kidding!” Ned sounded amazed. “Boy, that would really be something, wouldn’t it? I mean, if you caught the chaperon of that dancer you’ve been showing around. What’s his name, Sasha?”

  “That’s right.” Nancy felt her cheeks get warm again. “Sasha Petrov.”

  “How’s he enjoying the Hamptons?” Ned asked. “What’s he like?”

  “I think he’s having a great time.” Nancy decided not to answer the second question. “Anyway, that’s why we haven’t had time to take it easy the last couple of days.”

  “Too bad,” Ned said. “But I know you’ll get it all cleared up.”

  “I hope I do, especially before you come out here.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I called,” he said. “I’m not going to make it for a while, I’m afraid. Things are just too busy right now. But don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll show up one of these days.”

  “I can’t wait,” Nancy told him, although she couldn’t help hoping Sasha would be gone by then.

  “Me, either. Okay, I’d better go,” Ned said. “And, Nancy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Be careful.”

  Sasha had said the same thing, Nancy remembered, feeling guilty again. After she and Ned had said goodbye, she made up her mind to solve this case as fast as she could. Once it was behind her, she could try to figure out exactly how she felt about Sasha Petrov.

  • • •

  Nancy, Bess, and Eloise ate dinner out on the deck and watched the ocean in the distance and smelled the sa
lty air. Low clouds in the western sky were turning pink as the sun started to set.

  “The dinner is wonderful,” Eloise told them, reaching for a second piece of chicken. “You two can cook for me anytime. I just wish George was here to enjoy it,” she added.

  Nancy glanced at her watch. “I do, too. I thought she’d be back by now.”

  “Maybe she and Gary are on to something,” Bess said, forking up some salad. “Weren’t they going to try to figure out a way to get into Jetstream?”

  Eloise looked alarmed. “I hope they don’t do anything foolish like sneak in there,” she said. “It would look very bad for Gary if they got caught.”

  Nancy looked down at her plate. She was hoping to sneak into Jetstream herself, but she decided not to tell her aunt. Eloise was really very supportive about Nancy’s detective work, but if she knew Nancy’s plans, she’d never stop worrying.

  “That reminds me,” Nancy said, taking another piece of corn. “I found out how Eileen Martin’s son died. It would have been terrible no matter how it happened, but a plane crash makes it seem even worse, somehow.”

  “I know,” Eloise agreed. “Eileen doesn’t talk about it, not to me, anyway. We’re not really friends. But a friend of hers did tell me she was very bitter at first.”

  “Why?” Nancy asked.

  “She blamed the company,” Eloise explained. “Something about not checking the plane carefully enough before they let her son take it up.”

  Bitterness, Nancy thought. It could make people do things they’d never think of doing—just as greed could. “How does Eileen feel about the accident now?” she asked.

  “Well, as I said, she hasn’t talked about it to me,” Eloise told her, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “She certainly seems content enough now,”

  “It seems that you’d never get over something like that,” Bess commented.

  Just then they heard the front door slam, and in a moment George and Gary joined them on the deck.

  “You’re just in time,” Eloise said with a smile. “If you’d come any later, I might have finished all the chicken.”

  The two of them got plates, sat down, and began to eat hungrily. George’s eyes were bright with excitement, but she didn’t say anything about the case. Bess was right, Nancy thought. They’re on to something, but they don’t want to worry Aunt Eloise.

  By the time the pink clouds had faded to gray, Eloise pushed back her chair and stood up. “You cooked,” she said with a smile. “I’ll clean up.” She stacked the plates and carried them into the kitchen.

  When he was sure Eloise couldn’t see him, Gary turned to Nancy and gave her a thumbs-up signal. “We’re in!”

  • • •

  “How did you do it?” Bess asked, as the four of them drove toward the Jetstream complex later that night. “I mean, you didn’t get a key, did you?”

  Gary shook his head. “My roommate got the guards’ schedule,” he explained. “It’s posted at the main gate, and the fan belt on his car just ‘happened’ to break when he drove in this morning.”

  “The guard let him use the phone at the gate to call the AAA,” George said. “He said it took him about ten seconds to copy the schedule.”

  “Pretty good work.” Nancy chuckled. “But what about the dog? I mean, she just roams around, doesn’t she? She’s not on any schedule.”

  “And she’s mean,” Bess said, looking worried. “Nancy said she was real mean.”

  “Relax.” Gary laughed, his hopes high about clearing his name. “Gina’s not supposed to roam. What happened with Nancy was the guard’s fault. The dog is always supposed to be on a leash.”

  “Let’s hope the guard doesn’t make the same mistake tonight,” Bess remarked.

  Ten minutes later Nancy was parking the car just past the turnoff on the road leading to Jetstream. They set off on foot, all four of them wearing dark clothes, and they used low shrubbery as cover when they passed the main gate. A short time later they’d reached the place at the fence where Nancy had been caught.

  Nancy looked across the fence toward the dimly lit door. “You’re sure the alarm system’s off in the building?” she asked Gary.

  He nodded. “It’s lucky that it’s been broken for a couple of days,” he whispered. “That’s why they’ve got two extra guards on tonight, because they won’t have the system repaired until tomorrow.” Quietly, he unfolded the guards’ schedule and looked at it, using a tiny penlight. “We’ve got exactly eight minutes to get in that door before one of the guards comes to check it.”

  “Then let’s get going,” Nancy said.

  It took about two minutes for them all to get over the fence. Bess got caught on the top, snagging a leg of her jeans. When she finally broke free, the ripping noise sounded so loud, they all froze, expecting a guard or a dog to be on them in a second. No one came.

  “Well,” Bess said quietly, “I’m just glad I didn’t wear my favorite jeans.”

  Stifling a laugh, they streaked across the grass toward the door. In seconds they were down in the stairwell. George, Gary, and Bess focused their penlights on the lock, and Nancy went to work with a thin piece of wire.

  “Three minutes left,” Gary whispered. “How’s it going?”

  Nancy didn’t answer. She’d done this kind of thing a few times, but the wire just wasn’t working. It was all she’d been able to find at Eloise’s house, and it was too thin.

  “Two minutes,” Gary said, trying to keep his voice calm. “We’re going to hear the guard pretty soon.”

  Nancy pulled the wire out and tried to bend it. It snapped in her hands.

  “Should we forget it?” George asked.

  Stuffing the pieces of wire in her jeans pocket, Nancy shook her head. She looked up, then narrowed her eyes at Bess.

  “What?” Bess asked.

  “Your hair clip,” Nancy said quietly. “It’s not a treasured heirloom, I hope.”

  Bess already had the clip out of her hair. “It cost all of eighty-nine cents,” she said, handing it to Nancy. “Be my guest.”

  Carefully, Nancy broke the metal part of the clip from the colored, plastic part and worked it into the lock.

  “Forty-five seconds,” Gary told her.

  Ten more seconds passed, and then Nancy smiled. “Got it,” she said.

  They were in the door with half a minute to spare, but they didn’t take time for congratulations. Following Gary, who knew where all the blueprints were stored, they moved quickly and quietly through the dim halls.

  “I hope nobody’s working late tonight,” Bess commented.

  “Somebody usually is,” Gary told her. “We just have to take the chance and hope we don’t get spotted.”

  At the door of the blueprint room, Nancy went to work again with Bess’s hair clip.

  “Hold it,” George whispered tensely. “I hear something.”

  “I hear it, too,” Bess whispered. “It’s footsteps.” Her blue eyes were wide with fear. “Somebody is working late!”

  Chapter

  Twelve

  NANCY TURNED BACK to the iock, trying to keep her hand steady. “Come on, come on!” she silently urged.

  The lock turned at last, and in a tumble the four of them rushed into the room. Nancy stayed by the door, keeping it cracked open in case whoever was walking in the hall was headed for this room.

  The footsteps got closer and louder. Nancy held her breath, peering through the hairpin crack.

  The footsteps continued on, past the door. Nancy inched it shut and turned to the others.

  “It was Bill Fairgate,” she told them. “He was carrying a sports jacket and a briefcase, so maybe he’s leaving for the night.”

  George laughed nervously. “Let’s hope he wasn’t taking any plans with him!”

  Gary was already at one of the file cabinets, shining his penlight on the label. “Where’s the date? Oh, here. Nope, too old,” he muttered. “This isn’t the right cabinet.”

  “Which is the
right one?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know.” Gary’s mouth twisted in a grim smile. “I’m not the one who’s been leaking the stuff, remember?”

  Nancy was shining her light over other file drawers. “They use dates on all of them, not names,” she said. “Just forget the ones that go back farther than three years.”

  Ten minutes went by, and George finally whispered loudly, “This file could be it! Shall we give it a try? The dates are the most recent.”

  “How’s the hair clip holding up, Nancy?” Gary asked.

  “I think it’ll make it.”

  Bess laughed quietly. “Not bad for eighty-nine cents!”

  There were three wide, shallow drawers in the file cabinet, with a single lock that held a long rod in place to keep the whole cabinet secure.

  “This makes it easier—at least I don’t have to pick a lock on each drawer,” Nancy said, and got busy with the hair clip. When she got the top drawer open, Gary started studying the blueprints, some the size of notebook paper, others much larger than posters.

  “This is it!” he said. “They’ve got the word Jetstar printed on them.” He kept on searching through the blueprints.

  “What do you suppose Bill Fairgate—if he’s the one—did?” George asked. “Take pictures of them?”

  “Maybe,” Nancy said. “I guess the information could be sent in some kind of code, too.”

  “These are the latest!” Gary said excitedly, pointing to the dates penciled in the corner of a blueprint. “What did that reporter say? Aviane was talking about the engines?”

  “Right,” Nancy said.

  “Okay, I’ve got the right ones.” Gary handed them to George, then said, “Now we need engine plans from about two years ago. We’ll compare the two to see what kind of changes they’ve made.”

  They opened the right file and found the corresponding blueprints. Then Gary took out a drawing of the entire plane. It was one of the big ones.

  “Are we finished?” Bess asked anxiously.

  “Almost,” Nancy said. “But we’ve got to make copies. We can’t take these originals out. If anyone ever traced them to Gary, he’d be through. No one would believe he wasn’t the spy.”