Poison Pen

  Bess considered for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I do,” she agreed. “Okay.”

  The three girls picked up their shopping bags and headed out to the parking lot to Nancy’s blue Mustang. Nancy was the first one through the doors that led from the mall out to the asphalt lot. Heat struck her in a searing wave, and she could feel perspiration bead on her brow.

  Suddenly, from somewhere to her right, a sharp screech of rubber tore through the summer air, followed by the loud crashing of metal on-metal.

  “What was that?” George cried.

  Nancy was already running toward the noise. She didn’t even turn around as she yelled back, “It sounded like an accident. Come on! Someone might need our help!”

  Chapter

  Three

  AS NANCY SPRINTED toward the sound, she could see a crowd gathering around two cars in the parking lot. One of the cars, a silver sedan, had apparently struck the other, a red sports car, on the left front fender.

  As Nancy ran up, the driver of the sedan was just climbing out of her car. The woman was about forty, with short ash blond hair, and was wearing an expensive-looking linen suit. Nancy was relieved to see that the woman didn’t appear to be injured, although she seemed to be shaken.

  Nancy’s eyes widened when she saw who the driver of the other car was. Brenda Carlton—and she looked furious.

  “Look what you did to my car!” Brenda raged, pointing at her dented front fender. “Don’t think you won’t pay for the damage!”

  “I’m so sorry!” the woman exclaimed. Her voice shook, and there were tears in her eyes.

  The poor woman sounded as if she was about to break down. Stepping forward, Nancy asked, “Can I help? Is everyone all right?”

  “Just barely, no thanks to her,” Brenda said, jerking a thumb at the blond-haired woman. “She steered right into me!”

  “I tried to stop, really I did,” the other woman said shakily. “I kept pumping the brakes, but the car wouldn’t—” She broke off with a sob.

  “That’s crazy!” Brenda declared. “You just weren’t paying attention. Someone call the police!”

  “I think someone already went to do that,” George put in.

  “P-police?” The woman’s voice quavered. “Oh, dear!”

  “Don’t worry,” Nancy told her, putting an arm around her shoulders and steering her away from Brenda. “It’s just routine. The police have to be informed so that they can make a report to your insurance companies. You look pretty shaken up,” she went on. “Why don’t you sit in your car until the police get here? Here, let me help you.”

  “Thank you so much,” the woman said gratefully. “I’m Mrs. Keating—Maggie Keating. I just don’t know what happened,” she went on as Nancy led her to the sedan. “I couldn’t stop. It was so frightening!”

  “I’m sure it was,” Nancy said, trying to soothe her. “You should probably have your brakes checked.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that,” Mrs. Keating agreed.

  Nancy settled Mrs. Keating in the driver’s seat, then straightened up to find herself gazing into an extraordinary pair of eyes. One was a deep, vivid blue; the other was golden brown.

  The effect was so startling Nancy nearly jumped. The eyes belonged to a muscular, handsome man of medium height, who was standing only a few feet away. He had curly, light brown hair and a square jaw. His face was creased by a slight grin as he stared, first at Nancy, then at Mrs. Keating. Then, turning, the man stepped back into the crowd and was gone.

  “Nan, what’s wrong?” came Bess’s voice.

  Blinking, Nancy turned back to her two friends. “Nothing, really,” she told them. “It’s just that there was an unusual-looking guy here. He had one blue eye and one brown eye. . . .” She let her voice trail off. “I don’t know why he seemed so odd, though,” she said at last.

  “One blue eye and one brown eye? Sounds very unusual to me,” George commented. “Like a villain from a romance novel.”

  “Or a hero,” Bess put in. “Was he cute?”

  Nancy laughed. “He was pretty good-looking but definitely older. Close to thirty, I’d

  “Nancy! I hope Ned doesn’t hear about this,” George said in a mock disapproving voice. “I can’t believe you’re talking with strange older men in parking lots.”

  “Here comes a patrol car,” Bess cut in, pointing toward the entrance to the mall parking lot. “Do you think they’ll need us as witnesses or anything?”

  “We should probably stick around, just in case,” Nancy said. She threw a quick glance at Brenda, who was now regaling the crowd with a dramatic, blow-by-blow account of the crash. “If the police don’t get any story besides Brenda’s, poor Mrs. Keating might end up in prison for life!”

  • • •

  “I don’t believe this,” Nancy muttered to .herself the following morning. She had gone out after breakfast to pick up a copy of Today’s Times. Now, as she scanned the opening sentences of “Just Ask Brenda,” her eyes widened in amazement. The column had certainly taken a turn for the dramatic since the day before.

  Nancy’s father Carson Drew had already left for his law office, but Hannah Gruen, the Drews’ housekeeper, looked up from the plant she was repotting by the kitchen sink. A pleasant-faced middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and warm eyes, she had lived with the Drews since shortly after the death of Nancy’s mother, when Nancy was three. “What don’t you believe?” Hannah asked.

  Nancy was about to read to her from Brenda’s column when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she offered. Still holding her copy of Today’s Times, Nancy went to the foyer.

  “Hi, beautiful,” a warm male voice greeted her after she threw open the front door.

  “Ned!” Nancy’s heart leapt with pleasure as she took in her boyfriend’s tall, broad-shouldered frame and handsome face. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be working?”

  “I am working,” Ned replied, stepping inside. “I had to come into River Heights to pick up some papers, but they won’t be ready for another half hour. So I thought I’d come visit my favorite detective. Hey, don’t I get a kiss?”

  In answer Nancy put the paper down on the hall table and threw her arms around Ned’s neck. “You asked for it,” she warned, then gave him a warm, lingering kiss.

  “Mmm. How about seconds?” he murmured when their lips finally parted.

  Nancy ruffled his brown hair and chided, “Don’t be greedy!” Then she picked up the newspaper and led the way into the living room.

  “What’s going on? You don’t usually read that rag, do you?” Ned asked, catching sight of the Today’s Times logo.

  “Not usually,” Nancy agreed. “But Brenda Carlton has a new column, and I wanted to check it out. Here, take a look.” She handed Ned the paper, still opened to Brenda’s column, and pulled him down beside her on the couch.

  He glanced at it briefly. “What is this, some kind of advice column?”

  “Uh-huh,” Nancy told him, nodding. “The previous column I read was pretty silly stuff, but this one seems to be spiced up with some ‘creative’ writing.”

  Nancy told him about running into Brenda and how Bess had teased her about the column being a little dull. “She got mad and hinted that things were going to get more exciting soon. Lo and behold, the first letter in her column today is from a girl who thinks her mother is going insane. And listen to the second one!”

  She took the paper back from Ned and read, “ ‘Dear Brenda, I turn to you in fear and desperation. Please help me. I think my husband is trying to kill me!’ ”

  “What?” Ned exclaimed, alarm in his brown eyes.

  Nancy read on.

  • • •

  “It started several weeks ago, when I opened a kitchen cabinet and a heavy silver platter fell from the top shelf and just missed my head. I don’t usually keep the silver in that cabinet! What if he put it there hoping it would fall and kill me?

  “A week later I was climbing a ladder to
prune our apple tree, and my foot slipped on one of the metal rungs. I nearly fell. When I checked the rung, I found it was covered with grease!

  “Two days ago I went out to the garage and found my husband under my car with a pair of pliers in his hand. He says he was adjusting the steering, but I’m not sure I believe him. I haven’t driven my car since, and I know he wonders why.

  “Brenda, I don’t know why he’s doing this, but I’m sure my suspicions of him are right. I have no one else to turn to. Tell me what to do!

  “Desperate.”

  • • •

  “I see what you mean,” Ned said slowly. “She definitely could have made up something like this. So what’s her advice?”

  “It’s not very good, in my opinion. She tells Desperate to sit tight and do nothing.” Nancy pursed her lips. “My advice in this situation would be to tell the woman to go to the police.”

  Ned gave her a probing look. “But I thought you said you didn’t think this letter was real?”

  Nancy pressed her lips together. “It would be pretty sleazy—even for Brenda—to lie about something as serious as murder,” she said after a moment. “But I guess I wouldn’t put it past her. In fact, I think I know where Brenda got the idea for the last part of the letter—the bit about the car, I mean.” Nancy told him about the accident in the mall parking lot.

  “Brenda was in a fender bender, huh?” Ned remarked.

  Nancy nodded. “And Mrs. Keating—the woman in the other car—claimed her brakes weren’t working properly,” she explained. “I’ll bet you anything that’s what gave Brenda the idea about the husband sabotaging the car.”

  “I don’t want to bet,” Ned said, grinning at her. “I’m sure you’re right. Now, stop thinking like a detective for a second and tell me about tonight.”

  “Okay.” Nancy told Ned about the barbecue she’d planned for before the concert.

  “So you and I are playing matchmaker, eh?” Ned said. “Sounds like fun!” Glancing at his watch, he added, “Hey, I’ve got to go. My half hour is almost up.” He got to his feet. “Listen, I’ll see you tonight.”

  “I’ll be counting the hours, dahling,” Nancy said, waggling her eyebrows at him. Then she jumped up and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

  “You’re a lunatic,” Ned said affectionately.

  After he left, Nancy spent a couple of hours making potato salad and marinating chicken for the barbecue. Then, at noon, she headed over to the mall to meet George and Bess for some last-minute accessory shopping before the concert.

  “What are you going to wear tonight, Nan?” George asked as they walked down the mall concourse.

  “I think my aqua dress—you know, the one with the palm trees and flamingoes on it,” Nancy replied. “I’d like to find some really fun earrings to go with it, too.”

  “Let’s go to Zigzag,” Bess suggested. “They have the best jewelry.”

  As they approached the little store, Nancy was surprised to see a familiar dark-haired figure moving toward them. “Brenda Carlton —two days in a row,” she murmured. “Just our luck.”

  “Hello, you three,” Brenda called. She stepped around the scaffolding in the middle of the concourse and gave it a disapproving glare. “Seen the newspapers this morning?” she chirped.

  “If you mean, did we read your column, I did,” Nancy replied.

  “So did I,” Bess spoke up. A troubled expression crossed her face. “Are you sure you gave that woman the right advice, Brenda? I mean, if her husband really is trying to kill her, wouldn’t it be wiser for her to go to the police?”

  Brenda couldn’t keep the satisfied smile off her face. “That shows what you know,” she said smugly. “Going to the police wouldn’t help anything. I’m handling it.”

  “Oh,” Bess said in an uncertain voice.

  “Bess is right,” Nancy declared. “If someone came to me with a problem like that, I’d definitely tell her to go to the police.” She studied Brenda silently. “On the other hand, I don’t have a newspaper column to spice up.”

  Brenda’s nostrils flared with anger. “Just what are you trying to say?”

  “You tell me,” Nancy said evenly.

  Suddenly Brenda tossed her head. “You’re just jealous because my client didn’t come to you, Nancy.” She drew herself up haughtily. “If you must know, in tomorrow’s column I’m going to tell this woman to get in touch with me. I’ll get to the bottom of this case. After all, it’s the least I can do—the woman asked for my help.”

  Then Brenda whirled around and marched away.

  Staring after her, Nancy said, “I shouldn’t have baited her. Now she’s going to use her column to prove how great she is at solving a problem, which she probably made up in the first place. This whole dumb thing could go on forever.”

  “Nancy,” Bess began, obviously troubled. “What if Brenda didn’t make up that letter? It sounded real to me, and—well, she could really do something to make things worse for that woman.”

  “That’s a pretty scary thought,” Nancy agreed. “But think about it. It just seems like too much of a coincidence that you were teasing Brenda about how dull her column was only yesterday, and today—”

  She never got to finish her sentence because at that moment, she heard a man cry, “Look out!”

  Nancy spun, instantly alert. About fifty yards away Brenda was standing by the metal scaffolding in the middle of the main concourse. She was staring up, her face pale as death. She seemed to be frozen with fear.

  A massive wooden beam had apparently slid off the workmen’s platform, four stories above —and was hurtling straight at Brenda!

  Chapter

  Four

  BRENDA!” NANCY SHOUTED. She sprinted forward, but as she moved, she knew she didn’t have a chance of getting to Brenda before the beam struck.

  Nancy’s voice must have awakened Brenda from her trance, though. Suddenly the young reporter gave a shrill scream and threw herself backward. A split second later the beam crashed down with a deafening clatter and bounced on the marble floor—right where she had been standing.

  Nancy raced to Brenda’s side. “Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.

  Brenda was unable to speak. She only nodded, her teeth chattering and her dark eyes round as two buttons. Nancy followed Brenda’s horrified gaze to the beam, and her breath caught in her throat. The four-inch-thick plank was cracked along its entire length from the fall. There was no way Brenda would have survived being struck by it!

  “I saw it,” Nancy heard someone say. She raised her eyes to see a woman in a baker’s cap and apron. “I was standing right over there behind the counter, and I saw the whole thing.” The woman shook a finger at Brenda. “You’re lucky to be alive!”

  Bess and George had rushed over right behind Nancy, and a few other people were coming over to see what was wrong. Bess put an arm around Brenda, who looked as if she might faint.

  “Whew,” George said softly to Nancy, glancing at the fallen beam. “If that thing had hit Brenda . . .”

  Nancy nodded gravely. “It was close,” she said. Her gaze traveled up the sides of the scaffold to the platform at the top. It appeared to be deserted. Nancy checked her watch. One o’clock—the workers were probably at lunch.

  “If there’s no one up there, how did the beam fall?” she wondered aloud.

  Nancy heard Brenda draw in her breath sharply. Looking over, she saw two spots of color flaming in Brenda’s pale cheeks.

  “You don’t look well,” George told her.

  “Maybe I should call an ambulance,” the woman from the bakery offered.

  “An ambulance?” Brenda’s voice was shaky, but she managed a scornful laugh. “I think you’d better call the police.”

  Bess frowned. “Police?” she said. “Surely for an accident like this—”

  “Accident!” Brenda shrieked, twisting away from Bess. “You would think it was an accident. Well, it wasn’t, let me tell you. Someone just trie
d to kill me!”

  “What?” Nancy’s jaw dropped. “Brenda, what are you saying?”

  The reporter’s dark eyes glittered. “Isn’t it obvious?” she retorted. “I’m talking about my column. Someone clearly doesn’t want me to be in touch with that woman. The person must know I’m about to uncover the truth!”

  “How do you figure that? Did you see someone up there?” Nancy asked dubiously.

  “No,” Brenda said with an impatient flick of her fingers. “I was just minding my own business and—wham!”

  “How could anyone have dropped that beam on you?” Nancy asked. “There was no one up there to drop it.”

  “Exactly,” said Brenda triumphantly. “The perfect alibi—or so the murderer thinks.” She pointed dramatically at the platform. “That board should be dusted for fingerprints. I want to talk to the mall manager, and then I want to talk to the police. This was a deliberate attempt on my life, and I want them to do something about it.”

  Nancy suppressed a groan. Leaning close to Bess and George, she whispered, “I think what we’re seeing here is an attempt to get some free publicity for Brenda’s column.”

  “You mean she’s making up all that stuff about someone wanting to kill her?” Bess demanded, sounding outraged.

  Nodding, Nancy said, “I think so. I’m going to ask around, but I doubt anyone saw anything—there probably wasn’t anything suspicious to see.”

  Sure enough, none of the people the girls questioned had noticed anything unusual. Nancy even tracked down some of the construction workers and talked to the manager. By the time the police arrived and Brenda began her story again, Nancy was completely fed up.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said to Bess and George.

  The three girls were turning to leave when Nancy’s eye was caught by an amazingly good-looking young man in the crowd around Brenda. The guy was well over six feet tall, with a mane of unruly blond hair and piercing green eyes. He was staring at Brenda as if he were seeing a ghost.

  Nancy stopped short. What’s the matter with that guy? she wondered with a prickle of unease.