Nancy smiled. “Well, it’s good to see that she’s managing to get over her crush on Mike Johnson.”
“So that was his real name, huh?” Ned asked, rolling over onto his back and putting on his sunglasses.
“That’s right. Sergeant Robinson asked me to come to the station this morning to make a statement. It looks like Mike will plea-bargain for a five-year suspended sentence in the DeCamp extortion. It doesn’t look like he was involved in Darla’s murder.” She turned to Ned. “Remember that comment we overheard him make in Felix’s trailer? ‘You’re making it sound like we’re wanted for murder.’ For me, that was a giveaway, and later, in the barn, it was clear that he didn’t even know that Darla was dead.”
“Still,” Ned objected, “a five-year sentence is pretty light.”
“Yeah, but I got the whole story from Dirk Bowman, and it’s pretty sad,” Nancy told him. “Mike was a teenage runaway. He knew the real Mike McKeever was dead, so he took his name, knowing that no one would find him that way.” Nancy took a deep breath and continued. “Then Felix picked him up in New York and tricked him into his first con job. After that it was easy for Felix to blackmail him into going along with the other extortions, by threatening to turn him in.”
“And now he has to live with the knowledge that his actions led to the death of the girl he loved,” Ned said quietly.
Nancy nodded somberly. “Personally, I think that may be punishment enough.”
“I agree,” Mr. Carlton said. “That’s why I’ve decided not to press charges in Brenda’s case. But what about Felix?”
“Felix is going directly back to jail—without passing go,” Nancy replied.
At that moment the Carltons’ maid appeared at the patio door. “Pardon me, Mr. Carlton,” she said. “A Mr. Perkins is here. He’s looking for Ms. Drew.”
“Please show the gentleman out here,” Mr. Carlton replied.
The young man who appeared on the patio, looking out of place in his suit and tie, was the same one who had collared Felix the night before.
“I’m Special Agent Perkins,” he said with a smile. “I’m on my way back to the field office in Chicago and wanted to stop by and thank you for your help. We’ve been on Frankson’s trail for quite a while, but he’s always eluded us.” He turned to Nancy. “You really did our job for us, Ms. Drew. I congratulate you on your fine detective work.”
“Thanks,” Nancy said. “But what about Chief Saunders? What’s going to happen to him?”
The agent looked grim. “Chief Saunders was arrested in Batesville this morning and charged with obstruction of justice and aiding an escaped felon. The DA thinks he can build a case of criminal conspiracy in the death of Darla DeCamp as well.”
“That should keep him out of action for a while,” Nancy said.
Perkins stood to leave. “Well, thanks again. If I can ever be of assistance to you in any of your cases, please let me know.”
“Hey, who was that?” Bess asked as she and George climbed, dripping, out of the pool. “He was kind of cute.”
“Watch it,” Ned cautioned in a teasing voice. “You don’t want to get mixed up with the FBI.”
“How did the FBI get involved?” George asked. “I mean, that guy just seemed to drop in from nowhere.”
“It does get complicated,” Nancy admitted. “When Dirk Bowman couldn’t identify the thumbprint I sent him, he passed it on to the national crime center in Washington. When the FBI made the identification, they got my name—and Brenda’s, as well—from Dirk.”
“Oh, I see,” George said. “So then the field office in Chicago sent Agent Perkins here to pick up Felix.”
“Right. Perkins immediately got in touch with Sergeant Robinson. When the two of them couldn’t find me, they headed over here. They arrived just as you called Mr. Carlton to alert everybody that we were at Flannagan’s Farm. That’s why they were in on the grand finale.”
Bess spread out her towel beside the pool. “Have you called Dirk yet to tell him that the case is finished?”
Nancy nodded. With a grin she recalled Dirk’s warm words of praise over the phone that morning. “Well done, detective. If you ever want a real job, give me a call and we’ll get you into our police academy.”
The door to the patio opened. “Well, is everybody having a simply terrific time?” Brenda asked sarcastically.
“Just a minute, young lady,” Mr. Carlton said, in a warning tone. “Don’t you think you should be a little more polite? After all, if it hadn’t been for Nancy and her friends, you might still be in some very serious trouble.”
Brenda dropped down onto a chaise longue. “Now, Daddy”—she pouted—“that’s just not true. I know you don’t believe me, but I was on to those crooks from the very beginning. If I’d just had a little more time, I would have wrapped this case up all by myself. I certainly didn’t need Nancy Drew.”
Mr. Carlton looked stormy. “Brenda,” he cautioned, “you know what I said about stretching the truth. Now, you thank Nancy.”
Brenda made a face. “Well,” she said grudgingly, “I suppose you helped a little, Nancy. But just wait until next time! I’m as good a detective as you are!”
Nancy suppressed a giggle. “Sure, Brenda. I don’t need any more thanks.”
Brenda stiffened, then stomped away from the group. “I’ll show you, Nancy Drew,” she flung over her shoulder. “I know my way around —aaaaaagh!”
Brenda had tripped over a chaise longue. She teetered for a moment, arms windmilling, then fell into the pool with a splosh!
Everyone went running to the edge of the pool. Nancy grinned at her friends. “Come on,” she said. “Time to save Brenda—again.”
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Simon Pulse
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Copyright © 1988 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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THE NANCY DREW FILES is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Carolyn Keene, Fatal Attraction
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